AT SOME LENGTH
ELIZABETH sat down on the bench beside him. Her whole demeanour said as
plainly as speech:
“Take your own time. I have nothing on earth to do but listen to
you. Nothing will give me greater pleasure. This is what I have been
wanting.”
It is astonishing what confidence such an attitude will give.
Confidences--hesitating confidences, at all events--will take flight
before the least trace of urgency. If you think you’ve got to be in a
hurry to show them, they hide like shy children in the inmost recesses
of your soul, and no amount of coaxing will bring them forth to the
light of day. You may, by dint of violent effort, force them forth, so
to speak; but, coming unwillingly, they show no trace of their true
personality. You barely recognize them yourself; a stranger will not
recognize them at all, unless he be the one in a million endowed with
an almost uncanny gift of insight. And such a one, to my thinking, will
never hurry confidences.
“Do you mind my smoking?” asked David.
“Not a bit,” returned Elizabeth cheerily.
David pulled pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. Busy with them, he
spoke.
“I am a bad hand at talking,” said he. “Words are slippery kind of
things, and slide out of my mind as soon as I think I’ve got them fixed
there; so, if I talk in a muddle, perhaps you’ll forgive me. I can’t
even get what I want to say very clearly to myself.”
He paused to light his pipe. Then went on:
“I fancy I’ll have to talk a bit in kind of symbols. I see things
that way myself better than in actual descriptive words. You know, of
course, my reason for being here?”
“I do,” responded Elizabeth.
David was silent for a moment.
“Well,” he said presently, pulling at his pipe, “when I set out on this
job, I didn’t think much about the right or wrong of it. It was simply
there. It got up and stood before me suddenly, and I said to myself,
That’s what I’m going for. I went for it. There’s no need to go into
details. It wasn’t an easy undertaking, but I brought it through. What
I set out to get is mine. It’s there. I’ve only got to put out my hand
and take it.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, as he stopped.
“Well,” said David frowning, “now comes the difficult part to put
into words. What I’m going to say may sound rubbish; but, for the
life of me, I don’t think it is. I’m going to get to symbols now. Can
you figure to yourself a man finding a mighty powerful telescope;
and, looking through it, he sees a sack of gold lying in a place some
thousands of miles away, and he knows that the sack is his for the
seeking. Well, he doesn’t think much about the wisdom of the search,
or its difficulties, or what he’s going to do with the gold when he
gets it. He just knows it’s there, and it’s his if he can get to it. It
isn’t easy to find, and there are other people who think they’ve got
the right to it. But anyhow he gets there, and establishes his claim.
He’s got nothing to do now, but put in his hand and take everything
that is in the sack. It seems simple enough, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” said Elizabeth smiling. The naïveté of his words amused her.
“But,” went on David, “just as he’s waiting to take possession of
the whole thing, he suddenly gets a glimpse of something else, a bit
further on. Now, he doesn’t for the life of him know exactly what it
is, or what use he’s going to make of it, only there’s some kind of
voice telling him all the time that it’s worth going for. That’s pretty
nearly all he knows about it. Common-sense seems to say to him, ‘Empty
your sack first, and then go on and have a look.’ But way back in his
mind he has three thoughts,--one is that he hasn’t any darned use for
the gold in the sack, he doesn’t know what to make of it--you remember
I’m speaking in symbols; the second is that somehow it will be a bother
carrying it along with him on this other quest; and the third is a
queer sort of idea as to whether the gold is really his after all. Of
course everybody tells him it is. Even the folk, who originally had the
handling of it, are bound to say it must be, and yet he doesn’t feel
dead sure. Do you see what I’m driving at?”
“Perfectly,” said Elizabeth.
“Well,” he demanded, “what does it all mean?”
For a moment Elizabeth was silent.
“Can’t you tell me a little more?” she suggested. “Haven’t you the
smallest idea what this other quest is?”
David hesitated.
“Not an atom clearly,” he said slowly, “at least--” he stopped.
Again there was a silence. There was no sound but the rippling of the
water, and the humming of insects. Occasionally a dragon-fly darted
across the surface of the stream with a flash of silver wings. Beyond
the grassy slope of the fields opposite them stood the trees of the
wood, dark green, deep shadows lying beneath them.
And in the silence Elizabeth waited.
Presently David began to speak, shyly, difficultly.
“When I was a very little chap, I used to read Tennyson. Do you know
the bit,
“‘... I heard a sound
As of a silver horn from o’er the hills...’?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“‘... O never harp nor horn,
Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with hand.
Was like that music as it came; and then
Stream’d through my cell a cold and silver beam,
And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail,
Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive,
Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed
With rosy colours leaping on the wall...’”
Her words fell softly into the silence.
“That’s it,” said David, his cheeks flushing. “I used to care for that
a lot,” he went on slowly. “I used to play I was one of those knights
going in search. But it’s years since I’ve thought of the poem, or had
any of those fancies. Perhaps working around knocks them out of one’s
head. Now, what I am going to say will sound pure nonsense. One day,
here, in a wood, the whole thing came back to me.”
“Yes?” said Elizabeth gently.
“I came up through the wood to the edge of the park,” said David, “and
I found myself by the Castle Chapel. A bell rang. I can’t in the least
explain what happened then, but I might have been a little chap again,
fancying myself near the end of my quest, only it was about a thousand
times more real. Well, it’s just that. What I played at as a little
fellow has got hold of me again.” He stopped.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth again, and very softly.
“I’ve tried to tell myself it’s nonsense,” went on David, “but it’s no
good. And it doesn’t seem like play now. I can’t explain. Of course
reason tells me I’m being a bit mad, but the thought has got hold of
me and won’t let me go. Mr. Elmore talked to me yesterday, down on the
beach. He talked what seemed to me a good deal of rubbish, though I’ll
grant it sounded all right in one way. I told him what I thought about
it. But what we both said is beside the matter. It’s just that all the
time this idea was gripping me tighter and tighter. It was as if the
quest was real. Everything--the sea, the rocks, the birds, the sun, the
wind--was telling me so. I wanted to speak to someone about it. Somehow
I felt I could tell you. It seems so real, and yet-- What do you make
of a fantastic idea like that?” There was almost a wistful note in his
voice.
Elizabeth’s eyes were shining. Perhaps there was the faintest hint of
tears in them.
“I don’t think it is fantastic,” she said quietly. “I--I know it isn’t.”
“You know it is real?” asked David wonderingly.
“I know it is real,” she said. “There are others who could tell you
probably a great deal better than I can; yet you’ve asked me, so I will
do my best. The story of King Arthur and his knights seeking the Holy
Grail, is a beautiful story, a wonderful story. It was a marvellous
quest. It was the quest far the holiest purely material thing that
ever existed. And yet there is Something more wonderful even than it,
Something always present upon the earth which may be found by all who
seek It. I think you have been given a glimpse of that Quest.”
David looked at her silently.
Elizabeth drew in her breath.
“Christ in the Blessed Sacrament,” she said.
A silence fell on the words. Elizabeth’s heart was beating quickly.
David was looking at the water.
“When the bell rang,” went on Elizabeth, speaking simply, almost as
she would have spoken to a child, “it meant that Christ had come to
the altar within the chapel. He was lying there as helpless as when
He was nailed to the Cross. It needs, perhaps, as great faith to see
Him there, under His white disguise, as it did to see God in the
Man nailed to the tree of shame. Yet the one stupendous marvel is as
true as the other. Up there, in the wood, you recognized the miracle,
without realizing what it was that you recognized.”
Once again fell silence. The wonder had been spoken, the miracle, which
day by day, at countless altars, is silently performed, before which
the very angels themselves stand watching in reverent awe.
It was a long time before David spoke again. At last he said:
“Yet what bearing has--has _that_ on the other question,--the question
of my accepting this inheritance? Why do I imagine that my acceptance
might, in a measure, hinder this quest? There are, by the way, quite
a dozen ordinary reasons which have cropped up to make me dislike
the thought of accepting. I’ll grant that they are, no doubt, stupid
reasons, which most people would consider barely worth consideration,
but there they are. By themselves I might face them fairly, weigh them,
and come to a decision; but added to them, all the time, has been this
other thought. Now the point is,” went on David, leaning forward, and
speaking with frowning deliberation, in the effort to make his meaning
clear, “which is really influencing me? Am I making this queer thought
the pretext for wanting to be rid of the whole business, when it’s
really that I shirk the thought of the restrictions this new mode of
life must bring? Or is the thought of these restrictions merely a side
issue, which should be ignored while I figure out the other question?
And, from every reasonable standpoint, it hasn’t the smallest bearing
on the case. It seems absurd to suppose that it has. Then there’s
the third idea that I mentioned, the idea that the whole thing is a
mistake, and that I haven’t any right to the place at all. But that can
really be ruled out; there’s so much proof to the contrary. It’s odd
to me to analyse like this; and yet, for the life of me, I can’t help
doing it.”
Elizabeth listened, turned the matter in her mind, and spoke.
“Let’s get hold of the business from a purely reasonable and sensible
standpoint first,” quoth she. “You’ve made a bid for this inheritance
which you believed to be yours. It is proved, from a legal point of
view, that it is yours. Now tell me what you think of it,--from the
merely sensible standpoint, remember.”
“There isn’t one,” laughed David. “At least, I don’t believe any one
would dream of calling it sensible. But we’ll call it the material
standpoint. The fact is that I’m not in the least dead sure that I want
the thing now. It would mean a mode of life entirely foreign to me. I
should feel cramped and caged.”
“Well?” smiled Elizabeth triumphantly.
His statement so entirely coincided with her own and Mrs. Trimwell’s
views. Also Mrs. Trimwell’s exceeding simple solution of the problem
was before her mind.
“Well,” echoed David, “naturally the simple solution of the difficulty
would be to chuck the whole thing.”
“Exactly,” nodded Elizabeth, delightedly, encouragingly.
“But,” continued David, “there’s another side to the matter. Supposing
I marry-- I don’t feel drawn to marriage I own,--but supposing I do,
supposing I have a son, won’t he possibly turn on me? Won’t he ask
what earthly right I had to renounce what wasn’t mine alone, but which
belonged to him as well? Won’t he ask why on earth I raked up the
whole business if I was going to funk it in the end? Won’t he say, ‘You
made a fight for a thing which was yours and mine. You got it. If it
had been yours alone you would have had every right to chuck it up. But
it wasn’t. You had no right to throw away what belonged to me.’”
Elizabeth was dumb. Truly had this aspect of affairs not dawned upon
her. For a minute, for two minutes, she was faced with a new problem.
Then suddenly, eagerly, she sprang at its solution.
“Legally,” she announced, “in strict justice, the inheritance may be
yours. In equity I don’t believe it is at all.”
“What do you mean?” asked David.
“The whole thing,” said Elizabeth firmly, “turned on that missing
document. Those old letters--my brother has told me about them--proved
that there had been such a document. From the legal point of view those
letters were worthless, but only from the legal point of view. Taking
them into consideration, you could renounce the property at once with a
clear conscience. Indeed,” pursued Elizabeth judicially, “if you want
to act from the merely conscientious point of view, disregarding the
strict legality of the matter, it would be, to my mind, the only thing
to do.”
David gazed at her.
“I never thought of those letters,” he said slowly.
“Never thought of them!” cried Elizabeth. “Why they were the crux of
the whole business, the only standpoint the present owners had to work
from.”
“Oh, I see that now you’ve said it,” replied David. “But, honest injun,
I’ve only just seen it clearly. Perhaps you will hardly believe me, but
it’s true. I left the details of the affair to the solicitors. I began
to get a bit sick of the job after I’d got hold of the clues. I gave
them all I’d collected, and told them to bring the matter through. I
knew of the letters, of course, but somehow never thought of the point
of view you’ve put forward. It seems incredible, but I didn’t.”
“I can quite believe that,” said Elizabeth thoughtfully.
Oh, she understood fast enough. She could understand the nature that
went hot-foot to the vital issue, disregarding side lights on it, not
from callousness, but merely because they sank into insignificance
before the one big thought.
“Well?” demanded David.
“Oh,” smiled Elizabeth, “are you asking me to be judge? Well, at all
events, you must be jury. If I sum up, you’ve got to weigh the case and
give the casting vote, remember.”
She stopped, collecting her thoughts.
“Well,” she said after a minute, “you’ll allow that now you are seeing
matters from a different standpoint. You could--at least you think you
could--say to this imaginary son of yours: ‘My dear boy, legally I had
the possession in my hands. Morally there was sufficient ground for
me to give it up if I chose.’ You see I am not driving home the moral
necessity of renouncement. I am leaving a choice.”
“I see,” smiled David.
“Well,” pursued Elizabeth, “given the freedom in that choice, we find
the matter a trifle less complicated. Let’s deal first with the purely
sensible side. Could you get used to the restrictions you fancy the
possession would entail? Is the possession worth it?”
“In a measure it is,” said David, answering the last question first.
“It isn’t the title, or the place for the grandeur of the thing. It’s
the linking up with the past. _That_ holds me,--the oldness of it. I
suppose, too, I _could_ get used to the restrictions in time.”
“Well,” said Elizabeth slowly, “now we come to the more subtle aspect
of affairs. You’ve an idea that the possession may hinder you in your
quest. You must grant the quest real. I _know_ it is. Now, I can’t see
the smallest reason why it should prevent you actually finding what you
seek. It couldn’t. But I fancy,” went on Elizabeth thoughtfully, “that
there may be two reasons for that idea of yours. The first, and most
obvious, seems that there is probably a bigger moral obligation to give
up the possession than appears on the surface of things, in fact that
the possession _isn’t_ yours, and that this queer idea is a sort of
inner voice telling you so. The other reason--well, that’s only an idea
of mine. You can leave it at the first reason.”
“Why don’t you tell me the second reason?” demanded David.
“Because it isn’t a reason,” said Elizabeth. “At least it isn’t
properly one. It’s an idea. And--well, anyhow I couldn’t exactly
explain it to you.”
“All right,” laughed David. “Well then, it comes to this,--legally
the thing is mine. Morally even, I’m not _bound_ to give it up--we’ve
allowed that, remember,--but weighing against it is a quite absurd
feeling that I’d better give it up. I’m putting aside mere material
inclinations. That sums up the case, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” said Elizabeth.
David knocked the ashes from his pipe.
“What would you do?” he asked.
“No,” protested Elizabeth, “that isn’t fair. You’re trying to shift the
rôles. Your summing up is merely a repetition of mine. I refuse to act
as jury, and pronounce the verdict.”
“The jury always talk the matter over,” said David aggrievedly.
“There’s never a jury of one man.”
Elizabeth sighed.
“Oh, well,” she said resignedly.
“Doesn’t it seem an absurd thing to do--to give it up?” queried David.
“Y-yes,” she hesitated.
“Wouldn’t any one say I was pretty mad to do it?” he demanded.
“The world would,” said Elizabeth loftily.
“Well, we live in it,” announced David calmly. “Doesn’t the reason for
giving it up appear far-fetched?”
“To those who don’t understand,” allowed Elizabeth. She was feeling
rather disappointed at his arguments.
“Then the common-sense point of view would be to hang on to it?” argued
David.
“I suppose so,” agreed Elizabeth depressed.
“I am glad you agree with me,” reflected David.
“But I don’t,” protested Elizabeth.
“Oh!” David raised amazed eyebrows. “You’ve agreed to everything I’ve
said.”
“I know,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t help it. It’s true. It is
common-sense. And yet----”
“Well?” queried David.
“Oh,” sighed Elizabeth, “where’s the use of arguing the matter if you
feel like that about it.”
“Only I don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t _feel_ like that at all,” announced David calmly. “The points
of view I’ve put forward express the workings of my intellect, not my
feelings.”
“Yes?” queried Elizabeth.
“And on the whole I prefer my feelings.”
“You mean----?”
“That I’m going to give up the whole thing.”
Elizabeth looked at him.
He really was rather an amazing young man.
And then the door in the house behind them opened. Elizabeth turned.
“Why!” said she surprised. “It’s Father Maloney.”
He came quickly across the grass. It was obvious that something was
amiss.
“Forgive me for troubling you,” he began breathlessly. “I have come to
ask your help. Antony is lost.”
“Antony!” exclaimed David and Elizabeth in one breath.
Half a dozen words from Father Maloney sufficed as explanation; half a
dozen more from the two promised all possible aid.
Father Maloney returned to the Castle. David and Elizabeth set off on
the search.