Here was a prompt removal of my scruples! There could be no question of
my remaining, for the case was one of the first importance, which I had
feared might break up my holiday. The consultation fell in vacation-time
to meet the convenience of certain people who were going abroad, and
there was the most instant demand for my presence. I must go and at
once; and, as I hunted in the time-table, I found that in five hours'
time a night-train for the South would pass Borrowmuir, which might be
stopped by special wire. This would give me time for dinner and a
comfortable departure.
But I had no pleasure in my freedom, for I was in despair about Sybil. I
must return to More--that was clear; and I must find some one to look
after Ladlaw. I found my cousin in the drawing-room alone and told her
my plans.
She was very pale and fragile, and she seemed to shiver as the prospect
of solitude returned to her. I spoke with all the carelessness I could
muster. "I am coming back," I said. "Don't think you have got rid of me
so easily. It is most unpleasant to have to travel eight hundred miles
in thirty-six hours, but there is no help for it. I ought to be back
again by Friday morning. And you know Bob is much better. He was quite
like his old self driving to-day."
My words comforted the poor child, and I went away with the novel
feeling of a good conscience. Frankly, I hate the sordid and unpleasant.
I am honestly a sun-worshipper; I have small taste for arduous duty, and
the quixotic is my abhorrence. My professional success is an accident,
for Lord knows I had no impulse to contend and little ambition. But
somewhere or other I have the rudiments of an austere conscience. It
gives me no peace, and as I love a quiet life, I do its bidding with a
grumble. Now I grumbled fiercely in spirit, but outwardly I was a model
of virtuous cheerfulness.
But to find somebody to keep Ladlaw company--there was the rub. I racked
my brains to think of a substitute. It must be a man of some education
and not a mere servant, and it must be somebody in the parish of More;
the conjunction seemed for the moment impossible. Then a brilliant idea
struck me. There was the minister of Morebrig, the ugly village by the
roadside. I remembered him on previous visits. He was a burly young man,
with a high complexion and a drooping blonde moustache, who smoked cheap
cigarettes incessantly, and spat. He had been what they call a
"brilliant student," and he was reported to be something of an orator,
eagerly sought after by city congregations, but at present hiding his
light under the bushel of Morebrig to allow him time to prepare some
great theological work. Ladlaw had liked him in a half-amused and
tolerant way, and he used to come sometimes to dine. His name was Bruce
Oliphant, and he inhabited a dark manse at the outskirts of the village.
I had an hour before dinner, and I set out for Mr Oliphant's dwelling. I
remember the curious dull village street, without colour or life, drab
women looking out of dingy doorways, and a solitary child playing in the
red mud. The manse stood at the back of the usual elder thicket, a
little place with small windows and a weather-stained front door. A
gaunt old servant ushered me into Mr Oliphant's study, where I found
that young man smoking and reading a weekly paper. It was a room well
stocked with books in the popular religious vein, and the Poets in gilt
editions adorned his shelves. Mr Oliphant greeted me with the nervous
ease of one who would fain cultivate a good manner. The first sight of
him sent my hopes down. He had a large calf-like face, mildly arrogant
eyes, and a chin which fell sharply away beneath the eaves of his
moustache. This was not one to do Ladlaw much good; indeed I questioned
if I could ever make him understand, for the man before me had an
impenetrable air of omniscience.
"I have come to ask you a great favour on behalf of the Ladlaws," said
I. "You are the only other gentleman in the parish of More, and it is
your duty to help your neighbours."