THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Doctor Chalmers was right. The discovery of the telescope was very fine in
its way; but the invention of the microscope was, after all, a much more
sensible affair. We may look at the mountains of the moon, and the spots
on the sun, until we have rendered our eyes, for all practical purposes,
useless for a month, and yet not bring to light one secret worth knowing,
one fact that, as inhabitants of the earth, we care to be acquainted with.
Not so with one microscopic peep at a particle of water or an atom of
cheese. Here we arrive at once at the disclosure of what modern
philosophers call "a beautiful law"--a law affecting the entirety of
animal creation--invisible and visible; a law which proclaims that the
inferior as well as the superior animals, the lowest as well as the
highest, the smallest as well as the largest, live upon one another,
derive their strength and substance from attacking and devouring those of
their neighbours. Shakspeare, whom few things escaped, has not failed to
tell us, that "there be land rats and water rats, water thieves and land
thieves;" he knew not, however, that there be likewise water devils as
well as land devils--water lawyers as well as land lawyers--water
swindlers as well as land swindlers. In one small liquid drop you shall
behold them all--indeed a commonwealth of Christians but for their forms,
and for the atmosphere in which they live and fight. I have often found
great instruction in noting the hypocritical antics of a certain watery
rascal, whose trick it is to lie in one snug corner of the globule,
feigning repose, indifference, or sleep. Nothing disturbs him, until some
weak, innocent animalcule ventures unsuspiciously within his reach, and
then with one muscular exertion, the monster darts, gripes, gulps him
down--goes to his sleep or prayers again, and waits a fresh arrival. The
creature has no joy but in the pangs of others--no life but in their
sufferings and death. Even worse than this thing is the worm, its earthly
prototype, with whom, rather than with himself, this chapter has to deal.
Whilst the last most precious drops of Mildred's breath were leaving him,
whilst his cleansed soul prepared itself for solemn flight, whilst all
around his bed were still and silent as the grave already digging for
him--one human eye, secreted from the world and unobserved, peered into
the lonely chamber, watching for the dissolution, impatient at delay, and
greedy for the sight. I speak of an old, grey-headed man, a small, thin
creature of skin and bone, sordid and avaricious in spirit--one who had
never known Mildred, had not once spoken to or seen him, but who had heard
of his possessions, of his funded gold, and whose grasping soul was sick
to handle and secure them. Abraham Allcraft, hunks as he was, was reputed
wealthy. For years he had retained a high position as the opulent banker
of the mercantile city of ----. His business was extensive--his habits
mean, penurious; his credit was unlimited, as his character was
unimpeachable. There are some men who cannot gain the world's favour, do
what they will to purchase it. There are others, on the other hand, who,
having no fair claim at all to it, are warmed and nourished throughout
life by the good opinion of mankind. No man lived with fewer virtues than
Abraham Allcraft; no man was reputed richer in all the virtues that adorn
humanity. He was an honest man, because he starved upon a crust. He was
industrious, because from morn till night he laboured at the bank. He was
a moral man, because his word was sacred, and no one knew him guilty of a
serious fault. He was the pattern of a father--witness the education of
his son. He was the pattern of a banker--witness the house's regularity,
and steady prosperous course. He lived within view of the mansion in which
Mildred breathed his last; he knew the history of the deceased, as well as
he knew the secrets of his own bad heart. He had seen the widow in her
solitary walks; he had made his plans, and he was not the man to give them
up without a struggle.
It was perhaps on the tenth day after Mildred had been deposited in the
earth, that Margaret permitted the sun once more to lighten her abode.
Since the death of her husband the house had been shut up--no visitor had
been admitted--there had been no witness to her agony and tears. It should
be so. There are calamities too great for human sympathy; seasons too
awful for any presence save that of the Eternal. Time, reason, and
religion--not the hollow mockery of solemn words and looks--must heal the
heart lacerated by the tremendous deathblow. Abraham Allcraft had waited
for this day. He saw the gloomy curtains drawn aside--he beheld life
stirring in the house again. He dressed himself more carefully than he had
ever done before, and straightaway hobbled to the door, before another and
less hasty foot could reach it. A painter, wishing to arrest the look of
one who smiles, and smiles, and murders whilst he smiles, would have been
glad to dwell upon the face of Abraham, as he addressed the servant-man
who gave him entrance. Below the superficial grin, there was, as clear as
day, the natural expression of the soul that would not blend with any show
of pleasantry. Abraham wished to give the attendant half-a-crown as soon
as possible. He dared not offer it without a reason, so he dropped his
umbrella, and, like a generous man, rewarded the honest fellow who stooped
to pick it up. This preliminary over, and, as it were, so much of dirt
swept from the very threshold, he gave his card, announced himself as Mr
Allcraft, banker, and desired to see the lady on especial business. He was
admitted. The ugliest of dresses did not detract from the perfect beauty
of the widowed Margaret; the bitterest of griefs had not removed the bloom
still ripening on her cheek. Time and sorrow were most merciful. The wife
and widow looked yet a girl blushing in her teens. Abraham Allcraft gazed
upon the lady, as he bowed his artful head, with admiration and delight,
and then he threw one hurried and involuntary glance around the gorgeous
room in which she sat, and then he made his own conclusions, and assumed
an air of condolence and affectionate regard, as the wolf is said to do in
fables, just before he pounces on the lamb and strangles it.
The villain sighed.
"Sad time, madam," he said, in a lugubrious tone--"sad time. _Strangers_
feel it."
Margaret held down her face.
"I should have come before, madam, if propriety had not restrained me. I
have only a few hours which I can take from business, but these belong to
the afflicted and the poor."
"You are very kind, sir."
"I beg you, Mrs Mildred, not to mention it. It was a great shock to me to
hear of Mr Mildred's death--a man in the prime of life. So very good--so
much respected."
"He was too good for this world, sir."
"Much, madam--very much; and what a consolation for you, that he is gone
to a better--one more deserving of him. You will feel this more as you
find your duties recalling you to active usefulness again."
The lady shook her head despairingly.
"I hope, madam, we may be permitted to do all we can to alleviate your
forlorn condition. I am one of many who regard you with the deepest
sympathy. You may have heard my name, perhaps."
The lady bowed.
"You _must_ be very dull here," exclaimed the wily Abraham, gazing round
him with the internal consciousness that the death of every soul he knew
would not make _him_ dull in such a paradise--"very dull, I am sure!"
"It was a cheerful home while _he_ lived, sir," answered Margaret, most
ruefully.
"Ah--yes," sighed Abraham; "but now, too true--too true."
"I was thinking, Mr Allcraft"--
"Before you name your thought, dear madam, let me explain at once the
object of my visit. I am an old man--a father, and a widower--but I am
also" (oh, crafty Allcraft!) "a simple and an artless man. My words are
few, but they express my meaning faithfully. There was a time when, placed
in similar circumstances to your own, I would have given the world had a
friend stepped forward to remove me for a season from the scene of all my
misery. I remembered this whilst dwelling on your solitariness. Within a
few miles of this place, I have a little box untenanted at present. Let me
entreat you to retire to it, if only for a week. I place it at your
command, and shall be honoured if you will accept the offer. The house is
sweetly situated--the prospect charming; a temporary change cannot but
soothe your grief. I am a father, madam--the father of a noble youth--and
I know what you must suffer."
"You anticipate my wish, sir, and I am grateful for your kindness. I was
about to move many miles away; but it is advisable, perhaps, that for the
present I should continue in this neighbourhood. I will see your cottage,
and, if it pleases me, you will permit me to become your tenant for a
time."
"My guest rather, dear Mrs Mildred. The old should not be thwarted in
their wishes. Let me for the time imagine you my daughter, and act a
father's part."
The lady smiled in gratitude, and said that "she would see"--and then the
following day was fixed for a short visit to the cottage and then the
virtuous Allcraft took his leave, and went immediately to Mr Final, house
agent and appraiser. This gentleman was empowered to let a handsome
furnished villa, just three miles distant from poor Margaret's residence.
Allcraft hired it at once for one month certain, reserving to himself the
option of continuing it for any further period. He signed the
agreement--paid the rent--received possession. This over, he hurried back
to business, and by the post dispatched a letter to his absent son,
conjuring him, as he loved his father, and valued his regard, to return
to ---- without an instant's hesitation or delay.
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