THE LOW STARTING-POINT
On the afternoon of the following day Mrs. Arnot again visited Haldane,
bringing him several letters from his mother which had been sent in her
care; and she urged that the son should write at once in a way that
would reassure the mother's heart.
In his better mood the young man's thoughts recurred to his mother with
a remorseful tenderness, and he eagerly sought out the envelope bearing
the latest date, and tore it open. As he read, the pallor and pain
expressed in his face became so great that Mrs. Arnot was much troubled,
fearing that the letter contained evil tidings.
Without a word he handed it to her, and also two inclosed paragraphs cut
from newspapers.
"Do you think your mother would wish me to see it?" asked Mrs. Arnot,
hesitatingly.
"I wish you to see it, and it contains no injunctions of secrecy.
Indeed, she has been taking some very open and decided steps which are
here indicated."
Mrs. Arnot read:
"MY UNNATURAL SON--Though you will not write me a line, you still make
it certain that I shall hear from you, as the inclosed clippings from
Hillaton papers may prove to you. You have forfeited all claim on both
your sisters and myself. Our lawyer has been here to-day, and has shown
me, what is only too evident, that money would be a curse to you--that
you would squander it and disgrace yourself still more, if such a thing
were possible. As the property is wholly in my hands, I shall arrange it
in such a way that you shall never have a chance to waste it. If you
will comply with the following conditions I will supply all that is
essential to one of your nature and tastes. I stipulate that you leave
Hillaton, and go to some quiet place where our name is not known, and
that you there live so quietly that I shall hear of no more disgraceful
acts like those herein described. I have given up the hope of hearing
anything good. If you will do this I will pay your board and grant you a
reasonable allowance. If you will not do this, you end all communication
between us, and we must be as strangers until you can show an entirely
different spirit. Yours in bitter shame and sorrow,
"EMILY HALDANE."
The clippings were Mr. Shrumpf's version of his own swindle, and a
tolerably correct account of the events which led to the present
imprisonment.
"Will you accept your mother's offer?" Mrs. Arnot asked, anxiously, for
she was much troubled as to what might be the effect of the unfortunate
letter at this juncture.
"No!" he replied with sharp emphasis.
"Egbert, remember you have given your mother the gravest provocation."
"I also remember that she did her best to make me the fool I have been,
and she might have a little more patience now. The truth is that
mother's God was respectability, and she will never forgive me for
destroying her idol."
"Read the other letters; there may be that in them which will be more
reassuring."
"No, I thank you," he replied, bitterly; "I have had all that I can
stand for one day. She believes the infernal lie which that scoundrel
Shrumpf tells, and gives me no hearing;" and he related to Mrs. Arnot
the true version of the affair.
She had the tact to see that his present perturbed condition was not her
opportunity, and she soon after left him in a mood that promised little
of good for the future.
But in the long, quiet hours that followed her departure his thoughts
were busy. However much he might think that others were the cause of his
unhappy plight, he had seen that he was far more to blame. It had been
made still more clear that, even if he could shift this blame somewhat,
he could not the consequences. Mrs. Arnot's words had given him a
glimpse of light, and had revealed a path, which, though still vague and
uncertain, promised to lead out of the present labyrinth of evil. During
the morning hours he had dared to hope, and even to pray, that he might
find a way of escape from his miserable self and the wretched condition
to which it had brought him.
For a long time he turned the leaves of Mrs. Arnot's Bible, and here and
there a text would flash out like a light upon the clouded future, but
as a general thing the words had little meaning.
To his ardent and somewhat imaginative nature she had presented the
struggle toward a better life in the most attractive light. He was not
asked to do something which was vague and mystical; he was not exhorted
to emotions and beliefs of which he was then incapable, nor to forms and
ceremonies that were meaningless to him, nor to professions equally
hollow. On the contrary, the evils, the defects of his own nature, were
given an objective form, and he could almost see himself, like a knight,
with lance in rest, preparing to run a tilt against the personal faults
which had done him such injury. The deeper philosophy, that his heart
was the rank soil from which sprang these faults, like Cadmus' armed
men, would come with fuller experience.
But in a measure he had understood and had been inspired by Mrs. Arnot's
thought. Although from a weak mother's indulgence and his own, from
wasted years and bad companionships, his life was wellnigh spoiled, he
still had sufficient mind to see that to fight down the clamorous
passions of his heart into subjection would be a grand and heroic thing.
If from the yielding mire of his present self a noble and granite-like
character could be built up, so strongly and on such a sure foundation
that it would stand the shocks of time and eternity, it were worth every
effort of which human nature is capable. Until Mrs. Arnot had spoken her
wise and kind, yet honest words, he had felt himself unable to stand
erect, much less to enter on a struggle which would tax the strongest.
But suppose God would deign to help, suppose it was the divine purpose
and practice to supplement the feeble efforts of those who, like
himself, sought to ally their weakness to his strength, might not the
Creator and the creature, the Father and the child, unitedly achieve
what it were hopeless to attempt unaided?
Thoughts like these more or less distinctly had been thronging his mind
during the morning, and though the path out of his degradation was
obscure and uncertain, it had seemed the only way of escape. He knew
that Mrs. Arnot would not consciously mock him with delusive hopes, and
as she spoke her words seemed to have the ring and echo of truth. When
the courage to attempt better things was reviving, it was sad that he
should receive the first disheartening blow from his mother. Not that
she purposed any such cruel stroke; but when one commences wrong in life
one is apt to go on making mischief to the end. Poor Mrs. Haldane's
kindness and severity had always been ill-timed.
For some hours, as will be seen, the contents of the mother's letter
inspired only resentment and caused discouragement; but calmer thoughts
explained the letter, and confirmed Mrs. Arnot's words, that he had
given the "gravest provocation."
At the same time the young man instinctively felt that if he attempted
the knightly effort that Mrs. Arnot had so earnestly urged, his mother
could not help him much, and might be a hindrance. Her views would be so
conventional, and she would be so impatient of any methods that were not
in accordance with her ideas of respectability, that she might imperil
everything should he yield to her guidance. If, therefore, he could
obtain the means of subsistence he resolved to remain in Hillaton, where
he could occasionally see Mrs. Arnot. She had been able to inspire the
hope of a better life, and she could best teach him how such a life was
possible.
The next day circumstances prevented Mrs. Arnot from visiting the
prison, and Haldane employed part of the time in writing to his mother a
letter of mingled reproaches and apologies, interspersed with vague
hopes and promises of future amendment, ending, however, with the
positive assurance that he would not leave Hillaton unless compelled to
do so by hunger.
To Mrs. Haldane this letter was only an aggravation of former
misconduct, and a proof of the unnatural and impracticable character of
her son. The fact that it was written from a prison was hideous, to
begin with. That, after all the pains at which she had been to teach him
what was right, he could suggest that she was in part to blame for his
course seemed such black ingratitude that his apologies and
acknowledgments of wrong went for nothing. She quite overlooked the
hope, expressed here and there, that he might lead a very different life
in the future. His large and self-confident assurances made before had
come to naught, and she had not the tact to see that he would make this
attempt in a different spirit.
It was not by any means a knightly or even a manly letter that he wrote
to his mother; it was as confused as his own chaotic moral nature; but
if Mrs. Haldane had had a little more of Mrs. Arnot's intuition, and
less of prejudice, she might have seen scattered through it very hopeful
indications. But even were such indications much more plain, her anger,
caused by his refusal to leave Hillaton, and the belief that he would
continue to disgrace himself and her, would have blinded her to them.
Under the influence of this anger she sat down and wrote at once:
Since you cast off your mother for strangers--since you attempt again
what you have proved yourself incapable of accomplishing--since you
prefer to go out of jail to be a vagrant and a criminal in the streets,
instead of accepting my offer to live a respectable and secluded life
where your shame is unknown, I wash my hands of you, and shall take
pains to let it be understood that I am no longer responsible for you or
your actions. You must look to strangers solely until you can conform
your course to the will of the one you have so greatly wronged.
Haldane received this letter on the morning of the day which would again
give him freedom. Mrs. Arnot had visited him from time to time, and had
been pleased to find him, as a general thing, in a better and more
promising mood. He had been eager to listen to all that she had to say,
and he seemed honestly bent on reform. And yet, while hopeful, she was
not at all sanguine as to his future. He occasionally gave way to fits
of deep despondency, and again was over-confident, while the causes of
these changes were not very apparent, and seemingly resulted more from
temperament than anything else. She feared that the bad habits of long
standing, combining with his capricious and impulsive nature, would
speedily betray him into his old ways. She was sure this would be the
case unless the strong and steady hand of God sustained him, and she had
tried to make him realize the same truth. This he did in a measure, and
was exceedingly distrustful; and yet he had not been able to do much
more than hope God would help him--for to anything like trustful
confidence he was still a stranger.
The future was very dark and uncertain. What he was to do, how he was to
live, he could not foresee. Even the prison seemed almost a refuge from
the world, out into which he would be thrown that day, as one might be
cast from a ship, to sink or swim, as the case might be.
While eager to receive counsel and advice from Mrs. Arnot, he felt a
peculiar reluctance to take any pecuniary assistance, and he fairly
dreaded to have her offer it; still, it might be all that would stand
between him and hunger.
After receiving his mother's harsh reply to his letter, his despondency
was too great even for anger. He was ashamed of his weakness and
discouragement, and felt that they were unmanly, and yet was powerless
to resist the leaden depression that weighed him down.
Mrs. Arnot had promised to call just before his release, and when she
entered his cell she at once saw that something was amiss. In reply to
her questioning he gave her the letter just received.
After reading it Mrs. Arnot did not speak for some time, and her face
wore a sad, pained look.
At last she said, "You both misunderstand each other; but, Egbert, you
have no right to cherish resentment. Your mother sincerely believes your
course is all wrong, and that it will end worse than before. I think she
is mistaken. And yet perhaps she is right, and it will be easier for you
to commence your better and reformed life in the seclusion which she
suggests. I am sorry to say it to you, Egbert, but I have not been able
to find any employment for you such as you would take, or I would be
willing to have you accept. Perhaps Providence points to submission to
your mother's will."
"If so, then I lose what little faith I have in Providence," he replied
impetuously. "It is here, in this city, that I have fallen and disgraced
myself, and it is here I ought to redeem myself, if I ever do. Weeks
ago, in pride and self-confidence, I made the effort, and failed
miserably, as might have been expected. Instead of being a gifted and
brilliant man, as I supposed, that had been suddenly brought under a
cloud as much through misfortune as fault, I have discovered myself to
be a weak, commonplace, illiterate fellow, strong only in bad passions
and bad habits. Can I escape these passions and habits by going
elsewhere? You have told me, in a way that excited my hope, of God's
power and willingness to help such as I am. If he will not help me here,
he will not anywhere; and if, with his aid, I cannot surmount the
obstacles in my way here, what is God's promised help but a phrase which
means nothing, and what are we but victims of circumstances?"
"Are you not reaching conclusions rather fast, Egbert? You forget that I
and myriads of others have had proof of God's power and willingness to
help. If wide and varied experience can settle any fact, this one has
been settled. But we should ever remember that we are not to dictate the
terms on which he is to help us."
"I do not mean to do this," said Haldane eagerly, "but I have a
conviction that I ought to remain in Hillaton. To tell you the truth,
Mrs. Arnot, I am afraid to go elsewhere," he added in a low tone, while
tears suffused his eyes. "You are the only friend in the universe that I
am sure cares for me, or that I can trust without misgivings. To me God
is yet but little more than a name, and one that heretofore I have
either forgotten or feared. You have led me to hope that it might be
otherwise some day, but it is not so yet, and I dare not go away alone
where no one cares for me, for I feel sure that I would give way to
utter despondency, and recklessness would follow as a matter of course."
"O Egbert," sighed Mrs. Arnot, "how weak you are, and how foolish, in
trusting so greatly in a mere fellow-creature."
"Yes, Mrs. Arnot, 'weak and foolish.' Those two words now seem to sum up
my whole life and all there is of me."
"And yet," she added earnestly, "if you will, you can still achieve a
strong, and noble character. O that you had the courage and heroic faith
in God to fight out this battle to the end! Should you do so, as I told
you before, you would be ideal knight. Heaven would ring with your
praise, however unfriendly the world might be. I cannot conceive of a
grander victory than that of a debased nature over itself. If you should
win such a victory, Egbert--if, in addition, you were able, by the
blessing of God on your efforts, to build up a strong, true character--I
would honor you above other men, even though you remained a wood-sawyer
all your days," and her dark eyes became lustrous with deep feeling as
she spoke.
Haldane looked at her fixedly for a moment, and grew very pale. He then
spoke slowly and in a low tone:
"To fail after what you have said and after all your kindness would be
terrible. To continue my old vile self, and also remember the prospect
you now hold out--what could be worse? And yet what I shall do, what I
shall be, God only knows. But in sending you to me I feel that he has
given me one more chance."
"Egbert," she replied eagerly, "God will give you chances as long as you
breathe. Only the devil will tell you to despair. He, _never_. Remember
this should you grow old in sin. To tell you the truth, however, as I
see you going out into the world so humbled, so self-distrustful, I have
far more hope for you than when you first left this place, fully assured
that you were, in yourself, sufficient for all your peculiar
difficulties. And now, once more, good-by, for a time. I will do
everything I can for you. I have seen Mr. Growther to-day, and he
appears very willing that you should return to his house for the
present. Strange old man! I want to know him better, for I believe his
evil is chiefly on the outside, and will fall off some day, to his great
surprise."