II

Not until after dinner, on the evening of his arrival, was Laurence

admitted to his uncle's presence. The aspect of the room was rich though

sombre. Long in proportion to its width, with a low, heavily-moulded

ceiling, the walls of it were panelled in black oak three parts of their

height. The space between the top of the panelling and the cornice was

hung with dark blue silk-damask, narrow diagonal lines of yellow

crossing the background of the raised pattern. The short, full curtains

drawn over the wide window were of the same handsome material. So were

the counterpane and hangings of the half-tester, ebony bed. This last

was elaborately carved. Two couchant sphinxes, the polished surface of

whose cup-like breasts glowed in the firelight, supported the footboard,

as did a couple of caryatides--naked to the loins--the canopy. Near the

fireplace stood an oaken table, on which lay a few well-bound books. The

further end of it was covered by a cloth of gold and crimson

embroidery--evidently fashioned from some priestly vestment--upon which

rested a _memento mori_, about four inches in height, cut out of a solid

block of rock crystal, the olive crown which encircled the brow being of

pale, green jade.

In a deep-seated, high-backed armchair--placed between the table and the

outstanding pillars of the chimney piece--propped up by dark silken

pillows, his spare frame wrapped in a long, fur-lined, violet, cloth

dressing-gown, a violet, velvet skull-cap on his head, sat Mr. Rivers.

Laurence, who had not seen his uncle for the last five or six years, was

conscious of receiving an almost painfully vivid impression at once of

physical feebleness and intellectual energy. The elder man's face and

hands appeared transparent as the crystal _memento mori_ on the table

beside him. His long, straight nose showed thin as a knife. His wide,

lip-less mouth seemed to shut with a spring, like a trap. The bone of

the face and hands was salient, as of one suffering starvation. Yet the

blue-grey eyes, though sunk in their cavernous sockets, were brilliant,

alert, full of an almost malevolent greed of observation. Laurence

noted that a spotless cleanliness and order pervaded the room and the

person of its occupant. The angular and attenuated face was shaven with

scrupulous nicety. The finger-nails were carefully polished and pointed.

An open collar and wristbands of fine lawn showed exquisitely white

against the purple cloth and fur of the dressing-gown. It was evident

that Mr. Rivers, whatever the peculiarities of his temper or of his

opinions, treated illness and approaching dissolution with an admirable

effect of stoicism and personal dignity.

As Laurence--himself conspicuously well-groomed, in evening dress, no

mark of his long journey upon him, save in a complexion tanned by sun

and sea-wind, and by the directness of glance and vigour of movement

that remains, for a while, by every true sea-lover after he comes

ashore--crossed the space between the door and fireplace, the old man

raised himself a little in his chair.

"Believe me, I am very sensible of the consideration you show in so

immediately gratifying my desire to see you, my dear Laurence."

"I was very happy to come, sir," the younger man answered. But he was

not unconscious of a point of irony in the cold, level tones of the

voice, or in the persistent scrutiny of the brilliant eyes. These

appeared to regard him as they might some row of figures--mentally

casting up, subtracting, dividing, intent on arriving, with all possible

despatch, at a conclusive and final result. The effect was not precisely

encouraging, nor were the words which followed.

"That is well," Mr. Rivers said. "But it is desirable you should

understand from the outset that which you have undertaken. You may be

detained here. The disease from which I suffer is, as you have been

informed, incurable; though it is, I am happy to say, neither offensive

or infectious. But though the final result is assured, the moment of its

advent is uncertain. Neither I, nor the physicians who amiably expend

their limited and somewhat empirical skill upon me, can determine the

date at which this disease will prove fatal. I shall regret to cause you

inconvenience, but the event is beyond my control. I may keep you

waiting."

"The longer the better, sir," Laurence said, smiling, and his smile was

sincere and genial, of the sort which inspires confidence.--"That is,"

he added, "if you do not suffer unduly."

"When the mind has realised the greatness of its own powers, and trained

itself to their exercise, the will can almost invariably reduce

suffering to endurable proportions," Mr. Rivers replied contemptuously,

as dealing with a matter obvious, and so beneath discussion. He raised

one transparent hand, pointed towards a chair, and then let his wrist

drop again upon a supporting silken cushion. As he did so the two heavy

rings he wore--one an amethyst set in brilliants and engraved with

Arabic characters, the other a black scarab on a hoop of rough

gold--slipped up the long phalange of his second finger to the knotted

knuckle, and back again, with a dry rattle and chink.

"Oblige me by sitting down, Laurence," he said. "I wish you to labour

under no misapprehension as to my intentions in sending for you. A

certain amount of business may need attention; but all that you can

discuss with my agent, Armstrong,--a very worthy, though prejudiced

person. My affairs are in order. I am not called upon to waste any of

the time remaining to me upon them. Let me explain myself. The

disease--for, to do so, I must refer to it once again--which is in

process of destroying certain organs, and consequently paralysing

certain functions of my body, has in no degree affected my mind. This

retains the completeness of its lucidity. Indeed, I am disposed to

believe that my enforced physical inactivity, and the small number of

objects presented to my sight--I never leave this room--tend to exalt

and stimulate my intellectual powers. You recall the legend of the

ancient philosopher who plucked out his eyes, that, undisturbed by the

vision of irrelevant objects, he might attain to greater concentration

of thought. Disease, in limiting my activities, has gone far to confer

upon me the boon which the philosopher in question strove, rather

violently, to bestow upon himself. I have ever been a student. I propose

to continue so to the last. My interest is unabated. My passion for

knowledge--the sole passion of my life--remains in full force."

Laurence sat listening, nursing his knee. The speaker's attitude was

impressive, in a way admirable. His detachment, his calm, his acumen,

commanded his hearer's respect.

"Yes, yes. I see--that's fine," Laurence said under his breath.

A slightly ironical expression passed across the elder man's attenuated

face.

"I am, of course, glad that my sentiments meet with your approval. But I

fear that approval may prove premature. I have not yet fully explained

myself."

Laurence smiled at him good-temperedly. "All right, sir; I'm listening,"

he said.

"I must frankly admit I did not require your presence with a view to

having you endorse my opinions. These are, I trust, too much the outcome

of close and lengthened thought to stand in need of support from the

agreement of another mind. I have never desired disciples, having the

evidence of the history of all great religious, political, and

scientific movements to prove conclusively that it is the invariable

habit of the disciple to falsify his master's teaching, to attach

himself to the weak rather than the strong places of such teaching, to

betray intellectually with some emotional, some hysterical kiss. The

disciple resembles those parasitic plants of the tropic forests, that

strangle the tree upon which they climb upward toward the air and

light."

He paused a moment, turned his head against the pillows, with a movement

of almost distressing weakness. Then, gathering himself together by a

perceptible exercise of will, he looked searchingly at Laurence again,

and resumed his speech.

"Nor have I required your presence here during these last days or

weeks--as the case may be--with a view to offering to you, or receiving

from you, that which is usually termed affection. I am not aware of any

demand, or supply, in myself of that very much overrated commodity. I

deny the actuality, indeed, of its existence. Subjected to analysis, it

can always be resolved into workings of self-interest, or into the

gratification, more or less gross, of the animal passions. It is the

generator of all the practical folly and intellectual sloth which go to

retard the progress of science, and the rule of high philosophy among

men. As between ourselves, my dear Laurence, any pretence of affection

would be transparently ridiculous. We are barely acquainted. My

departure will very clearly be to your advantage. Moreover, our tastes

and characters are so divergent, that any real community of interests,

any real bond of sympathy, is clearly out of the question."

During the course of this address the young man's pleasant smile had

broadened almost to the point of laughter.

"I understand, I really do understand," he said. "And now that we've

cleared the decks for action in this very comprehensive manner, I

grow--if I may mention it--most uncommonly curious to learn what you did

send for me here for."

"I sent for you because there is one matter regarding which my

information is conspicuously defective, and because your conversation,

your habits, your very appearance, and gestures may serve to enlighten

me. I have lived among books, and objects of art of no mean value. I

have enjoyed communion, both by letter and in speech, with many of the

most distinguished minds of the present century. But I never

associated, I have never cared to associate, with the average man of the

world, of the clubs and the racecourse, the man of intrigues, of, in

short, society. He appeared to me to weigh too lightly in the scale to

be a worthy object of study. I ignored him, and in so doing dropped an

important link out of the chain of being. For these persons breed, they

perpetuate tendencies, they influence and modify the history of the

race. Not to reckon with such persons, is not to reckon with a

persistent and active factor in intellectual and moral evolution."

Laurence had risen to his feet. He stood with his hands behind him and

his back to the fire. He was amused, but he was also slightly nettled.

"Ah!" he said, "exactly. And so you sent for me. You took for granted I

was that sort. You wanted to see how we do it."

"Yes," Mr. Rivers answered, "it did appear to me that you were

calculated to fulfil the conditions. In any case you were the only

example of the type available. Our connection by blood, and the relation

in which you stand to my property, gave me certain claims upon your

time and your consideration. I wish very much to observe you. I wish to

study you from the psychological and other points of view. You need not

attempt to assist me. Be yourself, please. Be passive. I need no

co-operation on the part of my subject. This will really give you very

little trouble, while it will afford me interesting occupation during

the period--whether short or protracted, I know not--which must elapse

before disease has run its course and procured dissolution."

Laurence listened in silence; and while he did so, he ceased to be

nettled, he ceased even to be inclined to treat these singular proposals

humorously. For there appeared to him a certain pathos in the earnest

desire of this recluse and student now, at the eleventh hour, to

acquaint himself with just that which he had so arrogantly despised,

namely the Commonplace. It was slightly wounding to personal vanity to

be thus selected, from among the millions of mankind, as a fine,

thorough-paced example and exponent of the Commonplace. But Laurence was

kind-hearted. He also possessed a fund of practical philosophy.

No--decidedly the position was not a flattering one! Yet it was rather

original, and, moreover, how could one in common charity refuse any

little pleasure to a dying man?

"Very well, sir," he said. "I think I quite grasp the necessities of the

inquiry. I'm quite willing to be operated on, and I promise to play fair

and not let the evidence be faked. But I'm afraid you'll get bored

first. I am likely to be more illuminated than illuminating."

"I am obliged to you," Mr. Rivers said. "To-night I will not further

detain you. Pray give any orders you please to Renshaw. He is a

well-trained and responsible servant. There are horses in the stable.

Good-night. I repeat that I am obliged to you."