THE MOUSE AND THE LION
HE who is restrained by a paternal law from attacking the person of his
enemy need not chafe under this restriction; for he has only to attack
him in the vanity, and the result, though far less entertaining, will
be twice as effective. Gilbert Speid, in spite of his dislike to Mr.
Barclay, did not bear him the slightest ill-will; nevertheless, he had
dealt his ‘man of business’ as shrewd a blow as one foe may deal
another. Quite unwittingly, he had exposed him to some ridicule.
The lawyer had ‘hallooed before he was out of the wood,’ with the usual
consequences.
Kaims had grown a little weary of the way in which he thrust his
alleged intimacy at Whanland in its face, and when Speid, having come
to an end of his business interviews, had given him no encouragement to
present himself on a social footing, it did not conceal its amusement.
As Fordyce dismounted, on his return from Morphie, Barclay was on his
way to Fullarton, for he was a busy man, and had the law business of
most of the adjoining estates on his hands. Robert, who had arranged to
meet him in the early afternoon, had been away all day, and he was told
by the servant who admitted him that Mr. Fullarton was still out, but
that Mr. Fordyce was on the lawn. The lawyer was well pleased, for he
had met Crauford on a previous visit, and had not forgotten that he was
an heir-apparent of some importance. He smoothed his hair, where the
hat had disarranged it, with a fleshy white hand, and, telling the
servant that he would find his own way, went through the house and
stepped out of a French window on to the grass.
Fordyce was sitting on a stone seat partly concealed by a yew hedge,
and did not see Barclay nor hear his approaching footfall on the soft
turf. He had come out and sat down, feeling unable to occupy himself or
to get rid of his mortification. He had been too much horrified and
surprised at the time to resent anything Lady Eliza had said, but, on
thinking over her words again, he felt that he had been hardly treated.
He could only hope she would keep her word and say nothing to Cecilia,
and that the letter he had undertaken to produce from Lady Fordyce
would make matters straight. A ghastly fear entered his mind as he sat.
What if Lady Eliza in her rage should write to his mother? The thought
was so dreadful that his brow grew damp. He had no reason for supposing
that she would do such a thing, except that, when he left her, she had
looked capable of anything.
‘Good heavens! good heavens!’ he ejaculated.
He sprang up, unable to sit quiet, and found himself face to face with
Barclay.
‘My dear sir,’ exclaimed the lawyer, ‘what is the matter?’
‘Oh, nothing--nothing,’ said Crauford, rather startled by the sudden
apparition. ‘Good-morning, Mr. Barclay; pray sit down.’
The lawyer was as inquisitive as a woman, and he complied immediately.
‘Pardon me,’ he said, ‘but I can hardly believe that. I sincerely hope
it is nothing very serious.’
‘It is nothing that can be helped,’ said Fordyce hurriedly; ‘only a
difficulty that I am in.’
‘Then I may have arrived in the nick of time,’ said Barclay. ‘Please
remember it is my function to help people out of difficulties. Come,
come--courage.’
He spoke with a familiarity of manner which Crauford might have
resented had he been less absorbed in his misfortunes. He had an
overwhelming longing to confide in someone.
‘What does the proverb say? “Two heads are better than one,” eh, Mr.
Fordyce?’
Crauford looked at him irresolutely.
‘I need hardly tell you that I shall be silent,’ said the lawyer in his
most professional voice.
Fordyce had some of the instincts of a gentleman, and he hesitated a
little before he could make up his mind to mention Cecilia’s name to a
stranger like Barclay, but he was in such dire straits that a
sympathizer was everything to him, and the fact that his companion knew
so much of his uncle’s affairs made confidence seem safe. Besides
which, he was not a quick reader of character.
‘You need not look upon me as a stranger,’ said the lawyer; ‘there is
nothing that your uncle does not tell me.’
This half-truth seemed so plausible to Crauford that it opened the
floodgates of his heart.
‘You know Miss Raeburn, of course,’ he began.
Barclay bowed and dropped his eyes ostentatiously. The action seemed to
imply that he knew her more intimately than anyone might suppose.
‘She is a very exceptional young lady. I had made up my mind to propose
to her.’
‘She has not a penny,’ broke in Barclay.
‘That is outside the subject,’ replied Fordyce, with something very
much like dignity. ‘I wrote to my father, telling him of my intention,
and yesterday I got his consent. He told me to expect a most liberal
allowance, Mr. Barclay.’
‘Naturally, naturally; in your circumstances that would be a matter of
course.’
‘I thought it best to have Lady Eliza’s permission before doing
anything further. I was right, was I not, sir?’
‘You acted in a most gentlemanly manner.’
‘I went to Morphie. Lady Eliza was cool with me, I thought. I confess
I expected she would have shown some--some----’
‘Some gratification--surely,’ finished Barclay.
‘I took my father’s letter with me, and unfortunately, I had also one
in my pocket from my mother. It was not quite like my father’s in tone;
in fact, I am afraid it was written under considerable--excitement. I
think she had some other plan in her mind for me. At any rate I took it
out, mistaking it for the other, and gave it to her ladyship to read.
Mr. Barclay, it was terrible.’
The lawyer was too anxious to stand well with his companion to venture
a smile.
‘Tut, tut, tut, tut!’ he said, clicking his tongue against his teeth.
‘My only comfort is that she promised to say nothing to Miss Raeburn; I
sincerely trust she may keep her word. I am almost afraid she may write
to my mother, and I really do not know what might happen if she did.
That is what I dread, and she is capable of it.’
‘She is an old termagant,’ said the other.
‘But what am I to do? What can I do?’
There was a silence in which the two men sat without speaking a word.
Barclay crossed his knees, and clasped his hands round them; Fordyce’s
eyes rested earnestly upon his complacent face.
‘I suppose you know that she used to set her cap at your uncle years
ago?’ said the lawyer at last.
‘I knew they were old friends.’
‘You must persuade him to go and put everything straight. He can if he
likes; she will keep quiet if he tells her to do so, trust her for
that. That’s my advice, and you will never get better.’
Fordyce’s face lightened; he had so lost his sense of the proportion of
things that this most obvious solution had not occurred to him.
‘It seems so simple now that you have suggested it,’ he said. ‘I might
have thought of that for myself.’
‘What did I tell you about the two heads, eh?’
‘Then you really think that my uncle can make it smooth?’
‘I am perfectly sure of it. Will you take another hint from a
well-wisher, Mr. Fordyce?’
‘Of course, I shall be grateful!’
‘Well, do not let the grass grow under your feet, for Speid is looking
that way too, if I am not mistaken.’
Crauford made a sound of impatience.
Barclay leaned forward, his eyes keen with interest.
‘Then you don’t like him?’ he said.
‘Oh, I scarcely know him,’ replied Fordyce, a look that delighted the
lawyer coming into his face.
‘He is one of those who will know you one day and look over your head
the next. It would be a shame if you were set aside for a conceited
coxcomb of a fellow like that--a sulky brute too, I believe. I hate
him.’
‘So do I,’ exclaimed Crauford, suddenly and vehemently.
Barclay wondered whether his companion had any idea of the tissue of
rumours hanging round Gilbert, but he did not, just then, give voice to
the question. It was a subject which he thought it best to keep until
another time. Fullarton might return at any minute and he would be
interrupted. The friendly relations which he determined to establish
between himself and Fordyce would afford plenty of opportunity. If he
failed to establish them, it would be a piece of folly so great as to
merit reward from a just Providence. All he could do was to blow on
Crauford’s jealousy--an inflammable thing, he suspected--with any
bellows that came to his hand. Speid should not have Cecilia while he
was there to cheer him on.
‘You should get Mr. Fullarton to go to Morphie to-morrow, or even this
afternoon; my business with him will not take long, and I shall make a
point of going home early and leaving you free.’
‘You are really most kind to take so much interest,’ said Crauford.
‘How glad I am that I spoke to you about it.’
‘The mouse helped the king of beasts in the fable, you see,’ said the
lawyer.
The simile struck Crauford as a happy one. He began to regain his
spirits. His personality had been almost unhinged by his recent
experience, and it was a relief to feel it coming straight again, none
the worse, apparently, for its shock.
Barclay noted this change with satisfaction, knowing that to reunite a
man with his pride is to draw heavily on his gratitude, and, as
Fordyce’s confidence grew, he spoke unreservedly; his companion made
him feel more in his right attitude towards the world than anyone he
had met for some time. Their common dislike of one man was exhilarating
to both, and when, on seeing Fullarton emerge from the French window
some time later, they rose and strolled towards the house, they felt
that there was a bond between them almost amounting to friendship. At
least that was Crauford’s feeling; Barclay might have omitted the
qualifying word.