It is possible that Colonel Sutherland might have perhaps experienced a
little annoyance at himself next day, for having so completely taken up
and taken charge of the fortunes of his new _protegé_. That, however,
did not give him half so much thought and perplexity as the other
question which this morning presented itself to him more immediately,
and demanded a settlement--How to meet, and what to decide upon for
Horace. This was a very different matter from the simple help which he
could offer frankly to the straightforward Musgrave; and all his doubts
of the previous night returned to him with fresh force, as he considered
the subject once more. He had not still an idea upon the matter. His
own thoughts as to the choice of occupations for a young man ran in
rather a circumscribed channel. The first thing which occurred to him
involuntarily was, of course, his own profession; and India naturally
associated itself to the old Indian officer with all hopes of
advancement--but there was something in Mr. Scarsdale's secret, whatever
it might be, which made Colonel Sutherland shake his head. "No, that
would never do," he said to himself; "he must be on the spot whatever
happens."
After that the Colonel thought of the learned professions of Medicine,
and the Church, which his acquaintance with Edinburgh kept foremost in
his mind--and shook his head over these also, concluding his nephew to
be too old to begin an elaborate course of study. Lagging a long way
after these, a faint and vague idea of "business" loomed through mists
upon the Colonel's mind; he was very well aware of all that it is
common to say of British commerce and enterprise--the vast concerns of
our trade, and the princely wealth of our merchants; but,
notwithstanding, knew as little about these great realities as it is
possible for a man brought up in a society innocent of trade, and
occupied all his life with the duties of an exclusive profession, to
know. He had not the slightest idea what it would be proper to do to
introduce a young man into "business." He had no influence to rely upon,
nor friend to turn to for enlightenment upon the matter. He began to
turn over in his mind the long roll of his allies and acquaintance--to
think who he could best apply to; when suddenly finding himself pass in
that review name after name of Scotch lawyers, in all their different
grades, from the "writer" to the advocate, a brilliant idea burst upon
him--the law!--it was evidently of all others the profession which
Horace Scarsdale was best fitted for. How strange that he should not
have thought of it before!
Somewhat reassured by this idea, the Colonel sat down to breakfast with
increased comfort. It was again a drizzly, uncomfortable day--by no
means the kind of day which one would choose to spend away from the
resources and solaces of home, in the dreary little parlour of a country
inn, with the _Fool of Quality_ on the table, and defunct winners of the
Oaks and Derby upon the walls. The Colonel stirred the fire, and
returned to his pink rasher of country bacon with a sigh. He thought of
his cosy sitting-room, warmly-curtained and carpeted, where all the
draughts were carefully extinguished with mats, and list, and sand-bags,
and from the windows of which he could see the noble Forth and the Fife
coast, always bright, attractive, and full of beauty to his eyes. He
thought of his books, companions of his life, and of the _Times_, which
was one of his very few personal indulgences, and which at that very
moment, all fragrant from the press in its post envelope, would be
lying on his table; and the Colonel, munching his bacon with teeth which
were not so perfect as they used to be, shrugged his shoulders as he
glanced out of the low parlour-window upon the wet houses opposite, and
the dim drizzle of rain. If it must be confessed, he thought of his
proposed walk to Marchmain, through five miles of that dreary, damp, and
dismal road, with a shiver, and terrible imaginations of rheumatism; yet
this room and the _Fool of Quality_ were not much more entertaining. And
he could not bear the idea of disappointing Susan, who, the old man was
pleased to think, would be watching for and expecting him. Then he
pleased himself with the thought of carrying Susan home with him, and
making her mistress and housekeeper of the house of his old age. He was
glad to escape from his perplexities about Horace by thinking of Susan.
There was no vexation nor doubt in the remembrance of the candid,
honest, affectionate girl, who answered so warmly to his fatherly
affections. Would her father give her up, even for a time, to her uncle?
Colonel Sutherland, remembering his interview with Mr. Scarsdale, did
not think it was likely; but he was young enough at heart, in spite of
probabilities, to take pleasure in the thought.
He had just finished breakfast, and the room was beginning to brighten
under the influence of a good fire, between which and the _Fool of
Quality_ the Colonel felt more drowsy than he thought it creditable to
be in the morning, when Horace made his appearance. The young man came
in with drops of rain shining all over his rough coat, and with muddy
boots, which he had taken no pains to clean before entering, and which
offended the Colonel's professional and natural fastidiousness. The
rain-drops flew over into his uncle's face as Horace threw off his coat.
The Colonel looked on with a mortified displeasure, wondering over
him;--he could not understand how it happened that so near a relation
of his own should have so little natural grace of manner or perception
of propriety. Accordingly, he looked very grave as he shook hands with
Horace. He could not enter immediately on the more important subject
between them; he could not help criticizing these lesser matters, and
thinking how he could manage to suggest an improvement without wounding
his nephew; for the Colonel, like other people, had his weaknesses, and
in his opinion a disregard of the ordinary proprieties showed a dulness
of heart.
As for Horace, he on his part showed no particular anxiety about the
question of the day--he was more inclined a great deal to draw his uncle
into conversation on general subjects connected with his past life, his
former visits to England, and the intercourse he formerly had with his
sister and her husband. To this conversation Horace himself contributed
a little description of their dinner-table on the previous evening,
which was indeed a very dismal picture, and could scarcely be
exaggerated. The Colonel shook his head over the story with pain and
distress, grieved for the facts, and still more grieved to know that
they rather gained than lost in bitterness by his nephew's recital. This
stimulated him to introduce the real subject-matter of the present
conference.
"It is natural enough, under all the circumstances, and I daresay
advisable as well," said the Colonel, "that you should wish to get away
as soon as possible. Then as to what you are going to do, Horace, I come
to the question under great difficulties. In the first place, when you
leave me to choose for you, it almost appears as if I were the person
sending you away, and not your own desire; and I have no object in
sending you away, you must be aware."
"What does it matter, uncle, how it appears, when we know exactly how
it _is_?" said Horace, with apparent impatience and real craftiness.
"That is very true, and the most sensible thing I have heard you say,"
said the unsuspecting Colonel. "Well then, Horace, my boy, there's
business. I don't know very well how to set about it, but no doubt we
could inquire; and I believe, for a man who desires to get on, there is
nothing equal to that."
"If a man has money to begin with, sir," said Horace. "No, uncle, I
detest buying and selling--_that_ will not do for me."
"Then you detest what many a better man than either you or I has
practised, Horace," said the Colonel, a little affronted. "And there is
my own profession. I have some little influence to serve a friend; but
to be a soldier--a real soldier--I don't mean a man of parades and
barracks, for at present you are not rich enough for that--requires a
strong natural inclination. No--I see your answer--that will not do
either; and indeed I think you're right. Then--I speak to you frankly,
Horace--I would not advise you, for instance, to think of the Church."
"Because I am not good enough," said Horace, feeling his pride wounded
by the suggestion, yet laughing with a contempt of the goodness which
could conform itself to that level; "and also, uncle, because I have no
education and no influence--that of course is impossible."
Colonel Sutherland could not help making an involuntary comparison
between Roger Musgrave's humble declaration of want of wit and want of
teaching, and this confession, which sounded the same in words. But
Horace made his avowal with all the egotistic confidence of a young man
who knew nothing of the world; and having never met his equals, in his
heart thought education a very trivial circumstance, and believed his
talent to be such as should triumph over all disadvantages. The Colonel
gave a little suppressed sigh in his heart, and said to himself that
nothing would show the boy his mistake--nothing but _life_.
"Well then, Horace," he cried, with sudden animation, remembering his
own brilliant idea, "what do you think of the _Law_? So far as I can
see, that is exactly the thing which is best suited to your genius--eh?
My wonder is that it should never have occurred to yourself. What do you
think of that, my boy?--the very thing for you, is it not?"
"The Law?" said Horace--"do you mean to make me an attorney, uncle?"
"I mean that you should make yourself anything that you may prove
yourself to have a talent for," said the Colonel. "What, boy! you must
have _some_ idea as to what you're good for--attorney, solicitor,
advocate--I am not particular for my part, but let it be something. It's
an honourable profession when it's exercised with honour: in my opinion,
it's the thing most suitable to your manner of mind. Eh?--don't you
think so now yourself?"
Horace leaned over the table with his elbows on it, and his chin
supported in his palms. It flashed upon him as he gazed into the air,
and thought with little goodwill over this project, that the
practitioners of the Law were men who knew everybody's secrets; that the
power of the profession lay in its craft, and the skill with which it
laid things together; that to lawyers, of all the different grades,
belonged especially the task of finding out, and of concealing
everything which it was for the interests of the rest of the world to
discover or to hide. This idea sent a little animation into his face; he
began to feel that this might really be congenial to the habits of his
mind, as his uncle said; and, at all events, he might thus be in the way
of discovering those secrets which affected his own life.
"The Law, like every other profession, requires study and time," said
Horace, with, at last, a sincere sigh; "and I have no chance of being
able to wait or to learn, uncle. No! it is impossible--my father will do
nothing for me. If I could be a clerk, or something, and pick up what
information I might," he continued, warming to the idea, as it seemed
more and more impracticable; "but, as for study, what can I do?"
"My dear boy," said the Colonel, warmly, "if you really feel that you
can go into this with all your mind, I will not hesitate to speak to
your father. I believe he has not been kind to you--but no father in the
world will sacrifice the future of his son for the sake of a trifling
sum of money, or a little trouble. No, Horace, you do your father
injustice. If you really can go into this--if you feel yourself ready to
give your whole might to it, and make thus a deliberate choice of your
profession, I feel sure he will not deny you the means. No, my boy--you
are wrong; trust to me; I will see him myself."
"I shall be very glad, uncle, if you will make the experiment," said
Horace; "but I know him better--he will do nothing for me. No!--he'd
rather see me an errand-boy or a street-sweeper, than help me to the
profession of a gentleman. I have known it for years; but still, if you
will take the trouble, and undergo the pain of asking him, of course I
can only be thankful. Try, uncle--I will not be disappointed if you
fail, and you will be satisfied. I can only say try."
"Yes; but my condition of trying is that you are resolved to go into
this, and think it a thing in which you can succeed," said the Colonel,
fixing his eyes anxiously on his nephew's face.
Horace did not look at him in return; but there was an animation and
eagerness unusual to it in his face--he was following out in
imagination, not a young man's vague, ambitious dreams, but a chain of
elaborate researches after the one secret which he could not discover,
and which haunted him night and day. "I do!" he exclaimed, with an
emphasis of sincerity and earnestness which delighted the Colonel, who
seized him by the hand, and promised, over and over again, to leave no
exertion untried which could obtain him his wish. Horace responded to
this with the best appearance of gratitude and cordiality which he could
manage to show, but with, in reality, a great indifference. He had no
hope whatever from his uncle's mediation, and was forming other and
secret plans in his own mind for his own object, which was not the same
as Colonel Sutherland's; for he did not dream of success in the
profession which he was about to choose, or of "scope for his talents,"
or any of those natural ambitions which occurred to the old soldier--but
had entirely concentrated his underground and cavernous thoughts upon
this new and unthought of mode, of carrying his personal inquiries out.
Having settled this matter to his great satisfaction, Colonel Sutherland
walked to the window and contemplated the weather: it had ceased to
rain, but the chill, damp, penetrating atmosphere was as ungenial as
ever; the roads were wretched, and he shuddered involuntarily to think
of that bare and miserable moor. However, the Colonel had already been
three days at Tillington; and did not admire his quarters sufficiently
to remain longer than he could help. Then this interview with his
brother-in-law, being eminently disagreeable, would be well over. He
hesitated, looked wistfully at his good fire, and with melancholy eyes
at the dark sky without; but, at last, taking courage, buttoned on his
great-coat, threw his cloak round him, took his stick in his hand, and
thus defended from cold and violence, took his way once more, Horace by
his side, to Marchmain.