I did not agree with Reginald's estimate of their beauty. He placed
Mildred first, and her mother second. My judgment reversed this order.
Mildred was truly a most beautiful girl, but Mrs. Carew's beauty was
of a quality which, the moment I set eyes on her, impressed me more
deeply than I had ever been in my life by the sight of a woman's face.
It is not only that it is physically perfect, but that there is in it
a spirituality which took my heart and my mind captive. It is as
though the soul of a pure woman is there reflected--of a woman who, if
she ruled the world, would banish from it suffering and injustice. She
is the incarnation of sweetness and gentleness; and yet I could not
avoid observing in her features the traces of a secret sorrow to which
the lady of the house had referred. This indication of a grief nobly
and patiently borne added to her beauty, and deepened the impression
it produced upon me. I am not exaggerating when I say that, standing
before her, I felt as if I were in the presence of an angel. Were I a
painter, my ambition would be to fix upon canvas a faithful portrait
of one so pure and lovely. I should call my picture Peace.
Her daughter differs from her in appearance. Her beauty is of another
type--milder, more full of expression and variety; she has opposite
moods which, as occasion serves, are brought into play in
contradiction of each other. This may render her more captivating to a
young man like Reginald, and were I as young as he I might also find a
greater attraction in the daughter than in the mother. A sweet and
beautiful girl, modest and graceful in all her movements, I was
satisfied that Reginald had chosen well, and at the same time I was
convinced that all the earnestness of his soul was engaged in the
enterprise.
"I am happy," said Mrs. Carew to me, "to know Reginald's father."
"No less happy am I," was my rejoinder, "in making the acquaintance of
a lady of whom I have heard so much."
"Reginald has spoken of me?"
"Of you and your daughter--continually, from the first evening on
which he had the happiness of meeting you. It was for the purpose of
obtaining an introduction to you that I came here to-night, an
uninvited guest."
I felt that there must be no concealment in my intercourse with Mrs.
Carew. To be honest and outspoken was the surest way of winning her
friendship. Reginald and Mildred had wandered away, her hand upon his
arm. Mrs. Carew's eyes followed them, tenderly and wistfully.
"We shall be very happy to see you at Rosemullion," she said; and I
promised to pay her an early visit.
"Well?" said my hostess, when I left Mrs. Carew's side.
"I cannot but approve," I answered. "I have never met a sweeter lady.
If the daughter's nature resembles her mother's, and Reginald is
fortunate enough to win her, he will be a happy man."
My hostess smiled and nodded in satisfaction. An inveterate
match-maker, she was always delighted at the success of her
good-natured schemes.
On the following day I visited Mrs. Carew, and made the acquaintance
of her husband, Gabriel Carew. I will not waste time by giving a
description of him. What you have already read will have prepared you
for his introduction _in propria persona_. Sufficient to say that I
was favourably impressed, and that I had not been in his company five
minutes before I discovered that the gentleman I was conversing with
was a man of extraordinary erudition and mental compass. I was
fortunate enough to win his favour; he showed me over his library--a
collection made by himself, and which could only have been gathered by
one of superior attainments. That my society was agreeable to her
husband was a manifest pleasure to Mrs. Carew, and once during his
temporary absence to obtain a book of which we had been conversing she
expressed a hope that we should be often together.
"He is too much of a recluse," she said. "I have wished that he should
mix in society more than he does--indeed, he sees very little of
life--but he has a distaste for it."
I replied that the distaste of a man like Gabriel Carew to share in
the frivolities of the age was to be easily understood. She answered
wisely, "Surely a little innocent frivolity is not to be condemned.
One may become too serious."
"Mr. Carew is a student?" I said.
"From his early youth," she replied, "he has been devoted to
book-lore. His young life was lived here in seclusion, and it was not
till after the death of his parents that he saw anything of the
world."
Mr. Carew returned, and looked at us smilingly. He touched his wife's
hand lightly, but slight as was the action, there was affection in it.
"I possess the gift of divination," he said. "You have been speaking
of me?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Carew.
"And of my love of solitude," he continued. "But what is bred in the
bone--you understand. There are inherited virtues and inherited vices.
The question is, at what point does actual responsibility become a
burden for which we can be justly called to account, and until that
moment, to define its precise relation to committed acts? Is it your
opinion that crime can be justified?"
"No," I said.
"Under no circumstances?"
"Under no circumstances."
"Early teaching, early habits, transmitted vices of the blood--are
they not factors? A man is an entity--complete possessor of his own
body and soul, which may be pure or hideous according to
circumstances. But you make him arbitrarily accountable. Do not
misunderstand me--I am simply theorising. Nothing of the argument
applies to me except my love of solitude, which is harmless, and hurts
no man. I have had experiences of the world, and have been misjudged.
There was a time when I was angry, when I inwardly rebelled. I do so
no longer. I am content. My wife, my child, my home, my lonely habits,
make up the sum of a fairly happy life. Are you fond of tea?"
The light question, addressed to me in the midst of serious words,
somewhat startled me. I answered, "Yes;" and upon a motion from her
husband Mrs. Carew left the room to prepare the tea. Gabriel Carew
explained.
"It is not ordered in this room because of a whim of mine. My wife has
an apartment which is to me a sanctuary of rest, and there it is that
we often sit and read and converse as we drink our tea. She is anxious
about me, but there is really no cause for anxiety. She has an idea
that solitude is affecting my health; she is mistaken; I was never
stronger, never better." He broke off suddenly with the remark, "You
are a physician?"
"It will be correct to say I was," I replied. "Many years ago I
relinquished practice."
"So I have heard; and I have also learnt that you held a distinguished
position. I have in my library your book treating of diseases of the
mind, in which you avoid the common ground of demonstrable insanity.
You speak there, if I remember aright, of inherited mental disease."
"I have devoted two chapters to the theme."
"And clearly confute," he pursued, "the statement you made just now
that under no circumstances can crime be justified."
"I made that statement," I said, a little confused by this just
challenge, "from a general standpoint."
"I speak from an individual standpoint," he remarked. "Which of the
two is the more human? However, this is diverging somewhat. Can you
tell me why, as twilight approaches, a change in my mood works
mysteriously within me? I was gay--I become morose. I was cheerful--I
am sad."
"Nerves," I said, "affected by external forces. That is the only
answer I can at present give, knowing so little of you."
Twilight was upon us as we conversed, and I observed that his face was
growing dark. With a strong, healthy, and decided motion he shook off
the influence, and held out his hand to me.
"Know more of me," he said. "I have been informed of the mutual liking
which has sprung up between my daughter Mildred and your son. We will
speak of this seriously at a future time. Meanwhile, let your son
visit us; my home is open to him and you. I have a horror of
secrecies. We will shape our course in the light. Shall we strive to
be friends?"
Apart from my inclination to be upon friendly terms with him--in the
first instance born of my anxiety for Reginald's happiness--there was
in Gabriel Carew's manner an irresistible charm, and I now desired his
friendship for my own sake as well as for Reginald's. I met his
advances cordially, and we spent a pleasant hour with Mrs. Carew and
Mildred in the room which Carew had likened to a sanctuary. Its
influence upon him was an influence for good. The gloom which had
gathered on his face with the approach of night faded away, and was
replaced by a cheerfulness which found vent in his speech. I was more
than ever surprised at the vast stores of knowledge which he had
acquired. There was not a subject started of which he was not master,
and upon which he was not able to throw a new light, and when we
parted it was with mutual expressions of esteem, and with a mutual
wish that the intimacy thus auspiciously commenced should be allowed
to ripen into a close and genuine friendship. What particularly struck
me was the almost worshipping love Carew entertained for his wife. We
were standing in the garden, when, with a tender, personal application
of a theme we had broached, Carew said:
"You know the old legend of every human being being accompanied
through life by two angels, one good and one bad each striving to
obtain mastery over him. My good angel is a visible one, and it is
ever by my side."
He placed his hand upon his wife's shoulder, and she raised her eyes
to his. They gazed upon each other like lovers, and at that moment
there was not upon either face a trace of gloom or sorrow.
"True love exists between those two," I thought, as I wended my way
home. "The shadows that hover round them are but idle fancies. I
rejoice that a daughter of these noble people has won my son's heart."