STRANGE REVELATIONS IN UNCLE BRYAN'S LIFE.
So, without a friend in the world, I wandered still further away from
the town in which I was born. I tarried here and tarried there, and
found no rest for the sole of my foot until I reached a city where,
before my means were exhausted, I obtained employment in the office of
an accountant. It was by the merest chance that I obtained the
situation, for there were many applicants; but I was quick at figures,
and that quality served me. The position was not a distinguished one;
I was not destined to occupy it long, however, for being coldly
interested in my work--simply because it enabled me to live--I
performed the tasks set for me to do, not only expeditiously, but with
the exactitude of a machine. This was precisely what was required of
me, and I rose into favour with my employer. Some of the clients who
came to us for advice in their difficulties were afflicted with a kind
of moral disease, which for their credits' sake it was necessary
should not be exposed to the world. It was not the business of our
office to be nice as to our clients' honesty and integrity, and it did
not trouble me to see rogues walking about in broadcloth. It was of a
piece with the rest. Many delicate matters of figures were intrusted
to me; my lonely habits, my reserved manner, and the circumstance of
my having no connections or friends, were high recommendations, and I
heard my employer say, more than once, to his clients, 'Mr. Carey is
as secret as the grave; you may confide anything to him.' No wonder,
therefore, that in the course of years I became manager of the
business. I began to save money, simply because I was earning more
than I required for my necessities. I had no extravagances, I never
went into society, and I did not see that any pleasure was to be
derived from following the ordinary pursuits of men of my own age. I
set down a rigid course of life for myself, and I spent my leisure in
solitude; walked and read and lived entirely in myself. One fancy
alone I indulged in; I loved flowers, and I made them my companions.
An occupation of some kind for my leisure was forced upon me, I
suppose, by natural necessity; the mind, if its balance is to be
maintained, must have something to feed upon, and I tended my flowers
and watched them through their various stages with much interest; I
had, and have a real affection for them. Every year that passed fixed
my habits more firmly, and I had no desire to change them. Apart from
my mute and beautiful friends, life was tasteless for me; there was no
sweetness in it that I could see. It consisted of dull plodding day
after day, of growing older day after day. I reflected upon it with
scornful curiosity, and made myself, as it were, a text for
speculative commentary. I knew what would be the end of it: in the
natural order of things I should live until I grew old, when, in the
natural order of things, I should die and pass away, fading into
absolute nothingness--that was all. It seemed to me a poor affair, so
far as it was presented to me in the different aspects with which I
had been made familiar. I often thought of the poor girl who had been
the only friend I had ever had in the world, and in that remembrance
was comprised all the tenderness I had ever felt towards my species.
I hope I do not distress you by my words; but it has come upon me in
some odd way to give you as exact a portrait of myself, as I was at
that time, as I can produce; perhaps for the reason that I wish you to
understand the wonderful change that took place in me not long
afterwards. Years ago I buried as in a grave all the records of my
life, with the intention of never speaking of them, of never thinking
of them if I could help it. But man proposes, chance disposes. Even
to-night I intended to pluck out only one remembrance, but I have been
overpowered.
When I was thirty years of age I was taken into partnership, and five
years afterwards my partner died, and I was sole master. Before I was
taken into partnership I had been a machine, paid to perform certain
duties; but when I was a partner I considered myself responsible for
the nature of the business we undertook, and I purified the office,
sending all clients away who came with a dishonest intent. This change
resulted, strangely enough, to my advantage, and the business
increased. I conducted it steadily, without in any respect changing my
mode of life. The money I was making was in every way valueless to me.
I had no one to whom I cared to leave it, and no pet scheme which I
wished to be carried out after my death. I remember thinking that it
would be a fine thing to fling the money into the sea before I died.
I come now to the most eventful page in the history of my life. If I
could blot out the record, and could stamp it into oblivion, I would
gladly do so; but it is out of my power, and I can only look upon it
with wonder, and upon myself with contempt for the part I played in
it.
It was a cold day in November, and a miserable sleet was falling. I
was sitting alone in my private office, looking over some papers, when
my clerk announced a Mr. Richard Glaive, who had written that he
wished to consult me upon his affairs. He entered--a tall sleek man,
well fed, well dressed, about fifty years of age--a man, I judged, who
had seen but little of the troubles of the world. But there was
trouble in his face on the occasion of my first introduction to him.
With the air of one who was suffering from a deep injustice, he
explained to me the nature of his inheritance. I learnt that he was,
as I had supposed, a man who had never worked, who had never done
anything useful, and who had lived all his life upon a moderate income
which he had inherited. Wishing to increase his income, for the
purpose, as I understood, of being able the better to enjoy
life--'surely an innocent and laudable desire,' he said--he had been
tempted to take a large number of shares in a company which had been
established with a great flourish of promises--had been tempted to
become a director for the sake of the fees; 'nothing to do, my dear
sir,' he explained to me, and so much a year for it; the very thing to
suit a gentleman.' His money hitherto had yielded five per cent,
invested in safe securities; the new company promised from twenty to
thirty. The temptation was too great to be resisted, and, blinded by
his cupidity, he had walked into the pit. As was to be expected, the
company was a bubble, the crash came, and the gulls were swooped upon
by the creditors. Lawyers' letters were pouring in upon him, and
actions were about to be taken against him. There were other
complications, also, in the shape of long-standing debts upon which he
had been paying interest, but a full settlement of which was now
demanded. There was a manifest sense of injury in his tone as he spoke
of these debts--'youthful follies,' he called them; adding
immediately, with an easy smile, 'youth must have its fling;'
conveying the idea that he did not consider himself responsible for
them, for the reason that they had been so long standing. Altogether
the case was a common one enough, and when he had concluded the
catalogue of his embarrassments, I said that the first thing to be
done was to prepare a statement of his affairs from his papers, so
that he might really see how he stood with the world. He thanked me
effusively, as though I had suggested something which would not have
occurred to an ordinary mind, and said that he had been advised to
consult me, as I should most certainly be able to steer him safely
through his difficulties. I replied that I would do the best I could,
and on the following day he brought to the office a mass of papers,
letters, and accounts. He had received other threatening letters since
our first interview, and he was in a fever of perplexity. 'I depend
entirely upon you, my dear sir,' he said. I suggested that I should
write to his creditors to the effect that he had placed his affairs in
my hands, and that in a short time he would be able to make a proposal
to them, asking them to be patient in the mean while. He assented,
saying, in words which sounded queerly in my ears, that all he wanted
was to be relieved of his liabilities, and to be allowed to go on
enjoying life in his old way; and before he left he asked me not to
intrust the business to the hands of my clerks, but to undertake it
personally myself. I promised that I would do so, and in a week I had
the statement prepared--a statement which showed his affairs to be in
the worst possible condition. He was insolvent to the extent of not
being able to pay one quarter of what he owed. I was surprised at this
result, for I had expected something very different from his manner
and statements. On the morning of the day on which it had been
arranged that Mr. Glaive should call, I received a note from him,
saying that he was very unwell, and that he would regard it as a
favour if I would come to his house and explain matters to him. In the
ordinary course of business I should have sent a clerk with the
statement; but I could not do so in this instance, as it was necessary
I should tell him what course he had best pursue. At seven o'clock in
the evening I was at his house, a pretty little villa in the suburbs
embedded in a garden. I was shown at once into what Mr. Glaive called
his study, where he sat expecting me. He glanced carelessly down the
columns of figures in the statement.
'I don't understand figures,' he said; 'will you please explain them
to me?'
I commenced an explanation of the statement, line by line, when he
interrupted me, saying,
'Pray forgive me, but I can't keep these details in my head. Tell me
the result.'
I told him in one word--ruin. Hitherto his manner had been so
indifferent that one might have supposed we were speaking of business
which did not concern him, but on mention of the word 'ruin,' a
deathly paleness came into his face. Before he had time to speak the
door opened, and a young man entered the room with the air of one who
was privileged in the house.
'Uncle,' he said, 'Fanny told me--'
'Don't you see that I'm engaged, Ralph?' cried Mr. Glaive. 'I can't be
disturbed. Go and wish Fanny good-night.'
The young man muttered a word or two of laughing apology, and retired.
I saw him no more on that night, but, in the brief glance I cast at
him, I saw that he was singularly handsome.
'Now tell me,' said Mr. Glaive, breathing quickly, 'what is your
meaning?'
'My meaning is clear enough,' I answered. 'If these claims against you
are pressed--and they will be--your entire property will not be
sufficient to pay one-fourth of them.'
'But why should the claims be pressed?' he asked, with a helpless
look.
I almost laughed in his face.
'You owe the money,' I said; 'that should be a sufficient
explanation.'
'Do you mean to tell me,' he asked, 'that they would turn me out of
house and home?' And he looked around his comfortably-furnished room.
'It is more than probable,' I replied. 'I know the lawyers with whom
you have to deal. This house is your own freehold, and its value is
included in the statement.'
He clasped his hands despairingly; I was silent, despising his
weakness.
'Can't you advise me?' he cried. 'If ruin came to you, what would you
do?'
'Bear it,' I replied. I was growing weary of him.
'Have you any children?' he asked.
'No,' I replied.
'Nor wife perhaps?' he continued.
'Nor wife, nor child, nor friend,' I said, rising.
'What are you going to do?' he cried. 'For God's sake, don't leave me!
You have undertaken the conduct of my affairs, and you will surely not
desert me when your services are most needed?'
The observation was a just one, and I resumed my seat. I should not
have attempted to leave so abruptly had it not been that his manner of
addressing me had irritated me. He had spoken to me as though our
positions were not equal, almost as though I were a dependent, and it
was because of this that I had answered him roughly. His manner was
now changed; it became almost servile. He implored me to suggest a
plan by which he could be released from his liabilities, and he
revealed sufficient of his true nature to convince me that he would
have shrunk from no meanness to accomplish his desire. Perhaps,
however, I do him injustice; perhaps I should rather say that he
convinced me he had no sense of moral responsibility in the matter. I
resolved to come to the point at once, and I told him that I saw
absolutely no way but one in which he could free himself from his
liabilities, and that even that way, supposing his creditors were
hard, would be difficult and harassing. It was by offering to give up
the whole of his property on the condition of obtaining a clear
release.
'But then I shall be beggared,' he exclaimed, pressing his hand to his
heart. 'It is cruel--merciless!'
'It is just,' I said sternly. 'Your creditors have more right to
complain than you. 'There is another plan, certainly, by which you
might be enabled to keep possession of your house.'
He asked me eagerly what it was, and I said that if he had a friend
who would come forward and advance the necessary sum, his creditors
would almost certainly accept it; but he informed me that he had no
such friend, and that he and his daughter were alone in the world.
Upon mention of his daughter, as if he had conjured her up, she
entered the room. I do not know how to describe the effect of her
appearance upon me. It was like the breaking of the sun upon one who
had lived in the dark all his life. Mr. Glaive, clutching my arm, drew
me close to him, and whispered to me that _that_ was the reason he
could not contemplate the ruin before him with a calm mind.
(Uncle Bryan paused. Hitherto he had spoken in a cold and measured
tone; when he resumed his story his voice was no longer passionless,
and he did not seek to hold it in restraint.)
As Mr. Glaive introduced me to his daughter I rose to go, and bowing
to her and saying that I would see him again, was about to take my
departure, when Miss Glaive said she hoped she had not frightened me
away. Not her words, nor the effect of her appearance upon me, but her
voice, arrested my steps; it was so exactly like the voice of the poor
girl of whose last agony I had been the only witness, that I turned
and looked steadily at her. There was no resemblance between them--my
lost friend was dark, Miss Glaive was fair.
'You look at me,' said Miss Glaive, 'as if you knew me.'
I managed to say that her voice reminded me of a dear friend.
'Dear!' Miss Glaive exclaimed archly; 'very dear?'
'Very dear,' I said gravely.
'A lady friend?' she asked, with smiles.
'She of whom I speak,' I said, 'was a woman.'
'Was!' echoed Miss Glaive.
'She is dead,' I explained.
'I am sorry,' said Miss Glaive very gently; 'I beg your pardon.'
I was strangely stirred by her sympathising words. There was a little
pause, and I moved again, towards the door, not wishing to leave, but
finding no cause to stay. Again her voice arrested me.
'If you go now,' she said, 'I shall be quite sure that I _have_
frightened you away. Papa declares that no one makes tea like me; I
tell him he knows nothing about it. Do you drink tea, Mr. Carey? You
shall be the judge.'
'And after tea,' added Mr. Glaive with an observant look at me--he had
grown calmer while his daughter and I were speaking--'Fanny will give
us some music.'
Miss Glaive did not ask for my verdict upon her tea-making, and soon
sat down to the piano and played. In this quiet way an hour must have
passed without a word being spoken. It was a new experience to me, and
it took me out of myself as it were. The peaceful room, the presence
of this graceful girl, and the sweet melodies she played, softly and
dreamily, seemed to me to belong to another and a better world than
that in which I was accustomed to move. It was strangely unreal and
strangely beautiful. The music ceased, and Miss Glaive came to my
side.
'Papa is asleep,' she whispered; 'we must be very quiet now.'
There were books on the table, and I turned the leaves of one without
any consciousness of what I was gazing upon. It did not occur to me
that this was the proper time for me to leave; I was as a man
enthralled. A movement made by the sleeping man (did he sleep? I have
sometimes wondered in my jealous analysis of these small details)
aroused me from my dream, and I wished Miss Glaive good-night. She
accompanied me to the street-door.
'Papa is in trouble,' she said; are you going to assist him?'
'He has asked for my advice,' I replied.
'We must not talk now,' she said, 'for fear he should wake up and miss
me; he is irritable, and has heart-disease. May I call and see you
to-morrow? I know where your office is. I wrote the notes you received
from papa.'
'I shall be glad to see you,' I said.
'At three o'clock, then,' were her last words, and we shook hands and
parted.
A heavy rain had set in during my visit, but I was scarcely conscious
of it as I walked into the town. Late as it was, I went to my office.
For what purpose do you think? To get the notes which I had received
from Mr. Glaive--the notes which now were precious to me because she
had written them. I took them home with me and read them, and studied
the delicate writing with senseless infatuation, and then placed them
under my pillow for a charm, as a schoolgirl might have done. At the
office the next morning I made another and a closer examination of Mr.
Glaive's affairs, with the same result as I had previously obtained.
Ruin was before him--before her. Punctually at three o'clock Miss
Glaive arrived. I met her at the door, and conducted her to my private
room. My impressions of the previous night were deepened by her
appearance; she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and her
charm of manner was perfect. It would be useless for me to attempt to
describe the feelings with which she inspired me; I have often
endeavoured to account for them and understand them, and have never
succeeded.
'Papa is very ill to-day,' she said; 'the doctor has been to see him,
and says that he is suffering from mental disorder, which may prove
dangerous. I have come to you to ask you the nature of his trouble.'
'Do you not think,' I asked, 'that he would be angry if he knew I had
made any disclosure of his private affairs?'
'But he need not know,' she replied; 'I shall not tell him. Let it
be a confidence between us. I saw some papers which you brought last
night, but I do not understand them any more than papa does.'
I could not resist her pleading, and I told her, awkwardly and
hesitatingly, what I had told her father.
'And all this trouble is about money,' she said with smiles; 'I was
afraid it was something worse.'
I told her that it could not well be worse, unless she knew where
money was to be obtained. She answered that she did not know, but that
she supposed it would be got somewhere.
'You don't understand these matters of business,' I said; 'it is
perhaps better for you.'
'That can't be,' she exclaimed; 'if I knew anything of business I
should know where to get the money from, and I would get it That is
what business men are for, is it not?'
Charmed as I was by her simplicity--a simplicity which was utterly new
to me, and which it was delightful to hear from her lips--I deemed it
my duty to explain matters clearly to her. Steeling my heart, I did so
in plain terms, and showed her the position in which her father would
be placed within a very few days.
'You frighten me!' she cried, as my words forced conviction upon her;
and overcome by the news or by my manner of telling it, she fainted.
If she had been fair before, how much fairer was she now as she lay
before me? Her childlike ways, her beauty, her helplessness, made a
slave of me. I feared at first that I had killed her, and I reproached
myself bitterly. Timidly I bathed her forehead with water, and when
she opened her eyes, and looked at me in innocent wonder, a feeling
that might have been heaven-born--to use a phrase--so fraught was it
with thankful happiness, took possession of me. I explained to her
what had occurred, and she lowered her veil to hide her tears. As I
witnessed her grief, it seemed to me as if I were the cause of her
father's misfortunes.
'And there is absolutely no hope for us?' she sobbed.
'There is only the hope,' I replied, 'as I explained to your father,
that some friend will come forward and serve him in this strait.'
'Papa has no such friend that I know of,' she said.
I thought of the young man whom I had seen at Mr. Glaive's house on
the previous night, and I mentioned him.
'Ralph,' she said, 'my cousin. No, he is very poor.' She turned to me.
'I had a fancy last night that you were our friend.'
I answered in a constrained voice: 'I never saw Mr. Glaive until a
fortnight ago; he called upon me only in the way of business.'
'Forgive me,' she murmured; 'I was wrong to come, perhaps--but I did
not know.'
'If I could serve you--' I said, and paused. The words came to my lips
and were uttered almost without the exercise of my will; not that I
repented of them. She threw up her veil, and moved towards me.
'_If!_' she echoed. 'You could if you pleased, could you not? _You_ are
rich?'
'I am not a poor man,' I said.
'Help us,' she pleaded, holding out her hands to me. 'Be my friend.'
I murmured something--I did not know what--and she clasped my hand;
the warm pressure of her fingers upon mine thrilled my pulses. The
next minute I was alone. I strove to concentrate my thoughts upon
certain matters of business which claimed my attention, but I found it
impossible to do so. I could not dispossess myself of the image of
Frances Glaive. In an idle humour I wrote her name, Frances Glaive,
over and over again; if I had been a boy, with all a boy's enthusiasm,
instead of a man hardened and embittered by cruel experience, I could
not have behaved more in accordance with established precedent. I saw
Frances Glaive sitting in the vacant chair at my table; I heard her
sweet voice; I gazed upon her face as it lay, insensible and
beautiful, before me. 'Be my friend,' she had said. I could serve her;
it was in my power to make her happy. I took out my bank-book and the
private ledger in which I kept the record of my worldly progress; I
was rich enough to pay all Mr. Glaive's liabilities, and still have a
considerable sum left; but I need not pay them in full. I knew that I
could easily settle with his creditors for a trifle over the value of
his estate. I did not value money, and yet I decided upon nothing; I
could not think calmly upon the matter; I thought only of Frances
Glaive, knowing full well that she, by a word, by a look, by a smile,
could make me do any wild or extravagant thing against all reason and
conviction. I craved to see her again, and so strong was this craving
that in the evening I found myself walking in the direction of Mr.
Glaive's house. I can recall the manner of that walk; I can recall
how, governed by an impulse stronger than reason, I still was
conscious of a curious mental conflict which was being waged within
me, independent of my own will as it seemed, and the most powerful
forces of which strove to pull me back, while I was really walking
along without hesitation. I _did_ hesitate when I stood before Mr.
Glaive's house, but only for a very few moments. Frances Glaive came
into the passage to receive me.
'I thought you would come,' she said, her face lighting up.
'And you are glad?' I could not help asking.
'Very, very glad. Papa is in the study; he is dreadfully weak and ill,
and I have been counting the minutes. May I tell him that I have
brought him a friend?'
'Yes,' I answered; 'a friend of yours.'
All this while she had not relinquished my hand; and I too willingly
retained hers in mine. Well, well--at that time I would have thought
no price too heavy to pay for such precious moments.
I will not prolong my story more than I can help; already it has far
exceeded the limits I proposed to myself; but when the floodgates are
opened, the tide rushes in. You can guess what followed; you can guess
that I served Mr. Glaive for the sake of his daughter. In a short time
he was a free man, and I was his only creditor. I grew to love Frances
Glaive most passionately, and her father saw and encouraged my
passion. My character underwent a wonderful change. Love transformed
all things. Through Frances Glaive's innocence and artlessness the
world became purified; through her beauty the world became beautiful
to me. By simple contact with her nature all the bitterness in my
nature was dissolved. The scales fell from my eyes, and I saw good
even in things I had most despised. The days were brighter; the nights
were sweeter. Life was worth having. Say that a man who had been born
blind, and who had no knowledge of the beauties of nature, is suddenly
blessed with vision; a new world is open to him, and he appreciates,
with the most exquisite enjoyment and sensibility, the light and
colour and graceful shapes by which for the first time he sees
himself surrounded. The spring buds, the bright sunshine of summer,
the russet tints of autumn, the pure snow with its myriad wonders, as
it lies on the hills, as it floats in the air, as it fringes the bare
branches--not alone these, but the tiniest insect, the smallest
flower, are revelations to him. It was thus with me, and all the fresh
feelings of youth came to me when I was a middle-aged man.