DEEP AND SHALLOW.
Lawyer Larkin's mind was working more diligently than anyone suspected
upon this puzzle of Mark Wylder. The investigation was a sort of
scientific recreation to him, and something more. His sure instinct told
him it was a secret well worth mastering.
He had a growing belief that Lake, and perhaps he _only_--except Wylder
himself--knew the meaning of all this mysterious marching and
counter-marching. Of course, all sorts of theories were floating in his
mind; but there was none that would quite fit all the circumstances. The
attorney, had he asked himself the question, what was his object in these
inquisitions, would have answered--'I am doing what few other men would.
I am, Heaven knows, giving to this affair of my absent client's,
gratuitously, as much thought and vigilance as ever I did to any case in
which I was duly remunerated. This is self-sacrificing and noble, and
just the conscientious conduct I should expect from myself.'
But there was also this consideration, which you failed to define.
'Yes; my respected client, Mr. Mark Wylder, is suffering under some acute
pressure, applied perhaps by my friend Captain Lake. Why should not I
share in the profit--if such there be--by getting my hand too upon the
instrument of compression? It is worth trying. Let us try.'
The Reverend William Wylder was often at the Lodge now. Larkin had struck
out a masterly plan. The vicar's reversion, a very chimerical
contingency, he would by no means consent to sell. His little man--little
Fairy--oh! no, he could not. The attorney only touched on this, remarking
in a friendly way--
'But then, you know, it is so mere a shadow.'
This indeed, poor William knew very well. But though he spoke quite
meekly, the attorney looked rather black, and his converse grew somewhat
dry and short.
This sinister change was sudden, and immediately followed the suggestion
about the reversion; and the poor vicar was a little puzzled, and began
to consider whether he had said anything _gauche_ or offensive--'it would
be so very painful to appear ungrateful.'
The attorney had the statement of title in one hand, and leaning back in
his chair, read it demurely in silence, with the other tapping the
seal-end of his gold pencil-case between his lips.
'Yes,' said Mr. Larkin, mildly, 'it is so _very_ shadowy--and that
feeling, too, in the way. I suppose we had better, perhaps, put it aside,
and maybe something else may turn up.' And the attorney rose grandly to
replace the statement of title in its tin box, intimating thereby that
the audience was ended.
But the poor vicar was in rather urgent circumstances just then, and his
troubles had closed in recently with a noiseless, but tremendous
contraction, like that iron shroud in Mr. Mudford's fine tale; and to
have gone away into outer darkness, with no project on the stocks, and
the attorney's countenance averted, would have been simply despair.
'To speak frankly,' said the poor vicar, with that hectic in his cheek
that came with agitation, 'I never fancied that my reversionary interest
could be saleable.'
'Neither is it, in all probability,' answered the attorney. 'As you are
so seriously pressed, and your brother's return delayed, it merely
crossed my mind as a thing worth trying.'
'It was very kind and thoughtful; but that feeling--the--my poor little
man! However, I may be only nervous and foolish, and I think I'll speak
to Lord Chelford about it.'
The attorney looked down, and took his nether lip gently between his
finger and thumb. I rather think he had no particular wish to take Lord
Chelford into council.
'I think before troubling his lordship upon the subject--if, indeed, on
reflection, you should not think it would be a little odd to trouble him
at all in reference to it--I had better look a little more carefully into
the papers, and see whether anything in that direction is really
practicable at all.'
'Do you think, Mr. Larkin, you can write that strong letter to stay
proceedings which you intended yesterday?'
The attorney shook his head, and said, with a sad sort of dryness--'I
can't see my way to it.'
The vicar's heart sank with a flutter, and then swelled, and sank another
bit, and his forehead flushed.
There was a silence.
'You see, Mr. Wylder, I relied, in fact, altogether upon this
a--arrangement; and I don't see that any thing is likely to come of it.'
The attorney spoke in the same dry and reserved way, and there was a
shadow on his long face.
'I have forfeited his good-will somehow--he has ceased to take any
interest in my wretched affairs; I am abandoned, and must be ruined.'
These dreadful thoughts filled in another silence; and then the vicar
said--
'I am afraid I have, quite unintentionally, offended you, Mr.
Larkin--perhaps in my ignorance of business; and I feel that I should be
quite ruined if I were to forfeit your good offices; and, pray tell me,
if I have said anything I ought not.'
'Oh, no--nothing, I assure you,' replied Mr. Larkin, with a lofty and
gentle dryness. 'Only, I think, I have, perhaps, a little mistaken the
relation in which I stood, and fancied, wrongly, it was in the light
somewhat of a friend as well as of a professional adviser; and I thought,
perhaps, I had rather more of your confidence than I had any right to,
and did not at first see the necessity of calling in Lord Chelford, whose
experience of business is necessarily very limited, to direct you. You
remember, my dear Mr. Wylder, that I did not at all invite these
relations; and I don't think you will charge me with want of zeal in your
business.'
'Oh! my dear Mr. Larkin, my dear Sir, you have been my preserver, my
benefactor--in fact, under Heaven, very nearly my last and only hope.'
'Well, I _had_ hoped I was not remiss or wanting in diligence.'
And Mr. Larkin took his seat in his most gentlemanlike fashion, crossing
his long legs, and throwing his tall head back, raising his eyebrows, and
letting his mouth languidly drop a little open.
'My idea was, that Lord Chelford would see more clearly what was best for
little Fairy. I am so very slow and so silly about business, and you so
much my friend--I have found you so--that you might think only of me.'
'I should, of course, consider the little boy,' said Mr. Larkin,
condescendingly; 'a most interesting child. I'm very fond of children
myself, and should, of course, put the entire case--as respected him as
well as yourself--to the best of my humble powers before you. Is there
any thing else just now you think of, for time presses, and really we
have ground to apprehend something unpleasant _to-morrow_. You ought not,
my dear Sir--pray permit me to say--you really ought _not_ to have
allowed it to come to this.'
The poor vicar sighed profoundly, and shook his head, a contrite man.
They both forgot that it was arithmetically impossible for him to have
prevented it, unless he had got some money.
'Perhaps,' said the vicar, brightening up suddenly, and looking in the
attorney's eyes for answer, 'Perhaps something might be done with the
reversion, as a security, to borrow a sufficient sum, without selling.'
The attorney shook his high head, and whiskers gray and foxy, and
meditated with the seal of his pencil case between his lips.
'I don't see it,' said he, with another shake of that long head.
'I don't know that any lender, in fact, would entertain such a security.
If you wish it I will write to Burlington, Smith, and Company, about
it--they are largely in policies and _post-obits_.'
'It is very sad--very sad, indeed. I wish so much, my dear Sir, I could
be of use to you; but you know the fact is, we solicitors seldom have the
command of our own money; always in advance--always drained to the
uttermost shilling, and I am myself in the predicament you will see
there.'
And he threw a little note from the Dollington Bank to Jos. Larkin, Esq.,
The Lodge, Gylingden, announcing the fact that he had overdrawn his
account certain pounds, shillings, and pence, and inviting him forthwith
to restore the balance.
The vicar read it with a vague comprehension, and in his cold fingers
shook the hand of his fellow sufferer. Less than fifty pounds would not
do! Oh, where was he to turn? It was _quite_ hopeless, and poor Larkin
pressed too!
Now, there was this consolation in 'poor Larkin's case,' that although he
was quite run aground, and a defaulter in the Dollington Bank to the
extent of 7_l_. 12_s_. 4_d_., yet in that similar institution, which
flourished at Naunton, only nine miles away, there stood to his name the
satisfactory credit of 564_l_. 11_s_. 7_d_. One advantage which the good
attorney derived from his double account with the rival institutions was,
that whenever convenient he could throw one of these certificates of
destitution and impotence sadly under the eyes of a client in want of
money like poor Will Wylder.
The attorney had no pleasure in doing people ill turns. But he had come
to hear the distresses of his clients as tranquilly as doctors do the
pangs of their patients. As he stood meditating near his window, he saw
the poor vicar, with slow limbs and downcast countenance, walk under his
laburnums and laurustinuses towards his little gate, and suddenly stop
and turn round, and make about a dozen quick steps, like a man who has
found a bright idea, towards the house, and then come to a thoughtful
halt, and so turn and recommence his slow march of despair homeward.
At five o'clock--it was dark now--there was a tread on the door-steps,
and a double tattoo at the tiny knocker. It was the 'lawyer.'
Mr. Larkin entered the vicar's study, where he was supposed to be busy
about his sermon.
'My dear Sir; thinking about you--and I have just heard from an old
humble friend, who wants high interest, and of course is content to take
security somewhat personal in its nature. I have written already. He's in
the hands of Burlington, Smith, and Company. I have got exactly 55_l._
since I saw you, which makes me all right at Dollington; and here's my
check for 50_l._ which you can send--or perhaps _I_ had better send by
this night's post--to those Cambridge people. It settles _that_; and you
give me a line on this stamp, acknowledging the 50_l._ on account of
money to be raised on your reversion. So that's off your mind, my dear
Sir.'
'Oh, Mr. Larkin--my--my--you don't know, Sir, what you have done for
me--the agony--oh, thank God! what a friend is raised up.'
And he clasped and wrung the long hands of the attorney, and I really
think there was a little moisture in that gentleman's pink eyes for a
moment or two.
When he was gone the vicar returned from the door-step, radiant--not to
the study but to the parlour.
'Oh, Willie, darling, you look so happy--you were uneasy this evening,'
said his little ugly wife, with a beautiful smile, jumping up and
clasping him.
'Yes, darling, I was--_very_ uneasy; but thank God, it is over.'
And they cried and smiled together in that delightful embrace, while all
the time little Fairy, with a paper cap on his head, was telling them
half-a-dozen things together, and pulling Wapsie by the skirts.
Then he was lifted up and kissed, and smiled on by that sunshine only
remembered in the sad old days--parental love. And there was high
festival kept in the parlour that night. I am told six crumpets, and a
new egg apiece besides at tea, to make merry with, and stories and little
songs for Fairy. Willie was in his old college spirits. It was quite
delightful; and little Fairy was up a great deal too late; and the vicar
and his wife had quite a cheery chat over the fire, and he and she both
agreed he would make a handsome sum by Eusebius.
Thus, if there are afflictions, there are also comforts: great
consolations, great chastisements. There is a comforter, and there is a
chastener. Every man must taste of death: every man must taste of life.
It shall not be all bitter nor all sweet for any. It shall be life. The
unseen ministers of a stupendous equity have their eyes and their hands
about every man's portion; 'as it is written, he that had gathered much
had nothing over; and he that had gathered little had no lack.'
It is the same earth for all; the same earth for the dead, great and
small; dust to dust. The same earth for the living. 'Thorns, also, and
thistles shall it bring forth,' and God provides the flowers too.