"Is my uncle ill? Is he worse?"
"Mr. Lowndes has brought down word that he is tired, sir. Mr. Armstrong,
the agent, arrived from Scotland this afternoon while you were out. Mr.
Rivers has had a long interview with him--too long an interview in Mr.
Lowndes's opinion."
"I am sorry," Laurence said absently. He fell to caressing his wonderful
idea again, but the butler waited.
"Mr. Armstrong requested me to add, sir, that if convenient to you, as
you will not be engaged with Mr. Rivers, he would be obliged if you
would allow him to speak to you in the course of the evening."
"Oh, by all means," the young man said, rising. Then he added--"Tell Mr.
Armstrong I will see him at once. Later I may be occupied. Where? In the
small library--yes."
Laurence betook himself to the library, prepared to be bored with a good
grace. But he might have spared himself such preparation, for looking on
the new-comer, he liked him. The man, in age about sixty, was of barely
middle height, broad-shouldered and lean about the flanks. He carried
his head forward, stooping slightly, in observant, meditative fashion.
He was slow of movement, calm, one capable of having his joke and
keeping it to himself. His face was shaped like a kite, remarkable in
the breadth of the lower part of the forehead and the high cheek-bones,
narrowing down to a long, flat chin. The upper lip was long too, a
somewhat pragmatical and self-righteous upper lip. While the eyes, set
far apart under the wide brow, showed a clear, kindly blue between the
narrow lids that ended in a fan-like system of wrinkles at the outward
corners. The nose was thin and straight at the bridge, with wide-winged,
open nostrils. The hair, formerly sandy, was now grey, smooth on the low
dome of the head, and thickly waved above and behind the flat-set,
long-lobed ears. In all a shrewd, humorous, sober countenance, ruddy,
moreover, as a well-ripened, autumn apple.
At first the agent's talk was professional, dealing in matters of leases
and rights-of-way; of draining operations and the breeding and rearing
of cattle; of the iniquitous heaviness of road rates, the culture of
hops, and the cutting of copses. But gradually it began to take on a
more personal and racial character, since the Scotchman is yet to be
born who can go very long in conversation without blowing--be it never
so discreetly--the trumpet of his own unrivalled nation. So he fell to
dilating upon the superiority of the Scotch to the English system of
national education; upon the indolence and general incapacity of the
south-country labourer; upon the glaring futilities and imbecilities of
district and parish councils; and upon the congenital incapacity of the
Anglican clergy--every man-Jack of them--to deliver a sermon which would
satisfy the intelligence and theological acumen of the most ordinary
congregation north of Tweed.
Laurence listened, amused by the exhibition of the speaker's both
conscious and unconscious prejudices. The man was alive; he was
self-secure and dependable. Laurence saw he would be a pleasant fellow
to work with. And the thought of that work began to occupy his mind,
opium dreams giving place before practical interests and activities.
Laurence talked in his turn, showing a keenness in business and a
knowledge of it, which Armstrong, with pursed-up lips and slow noddings
of the head, evidently relished.
"Aweel," he remarked at last, after the younger man had given a
particularly lucid description of certain labour-saving farm-implements
employed in the wheat-growing states of Western America,--"I trust it is
no disrespect to an old master, whom it pleases the Almighty to
withdraw to some other sphere of usefulness--or the contrary, for it
would be overbold to prophesy largely on that subject of utility in the
case of your uncle, Mr. Rivers--it is no disrespect, I say, I trust, for
a man who has served such an one for over thirty years to the best of
his ability, to feel himself not indisposed to welcome the new master. I
am constrained to tell you, Mr. Laurence Rivers, that I looked to find
in you some flighty, flimsy, modern run-about of a creature. I
acknowledge my error with thanksgiving. The impression you make on my
mind is far from unfavourable."
"That's right," Laurence said genially. "I am new to all these landed
property concerns as yet; but I expect I shall be able to get round them
pretty smartly when the time comes."
"I think you will, I think you will." The agent's blue eyes twinkled
with a certain quiet humour, upon the young man, from between their
narrow lids. "Your uncle, I must admit, is but a feeble body in the
practical domain. His great understanding has, so to speak, not
infrequently got between his legs and thrown him down. It is pitiful to
see any person so clever that he cannot condescend to take advantage of
the handsome position the Almighty has allowed him. I own there have
been times when I have felt rebellious against the Lord's too great
generosity in the goods of this world--perishable, I know, yet deserving
of consideration--to one constitutionally incapable of drawing full
profit out of them. Therefore I perceive with thankfulness, Mr. Rivers,
you are of a different make."
Laurence leaned back in his chair, and lighted another cigarette. It was
early yet--and he liked the man. He would encourage him to talk on for a
while longer.
"Oh yes," he said, "you needn't be worried under that head, Armstrong.
I've the reputation of by no means quarrelling with my bread and butter,
or despising the goodly fruits of this admittedly naughty world, in
whatever form I find them."
"Temperance is a canny virtue; and I would recommend moderation in all
things, after the teaching of the Apostle Paul. Yet I am glad to find,
Mr. Rivers, you have your feet upon the floor. It will be well for your
estates, at the preservation and improvement of which I and my kin have
laboured--not unfaithfully--for three generations."
"So long as that?" the young man ejaculated. The statement indirectly
suggested a former strain of thought.
"Yes, for three generations--and not without trials. For I would have
you understand that a certain impracticability runs in your family, Mr.
Rivers--a perversity, not sinful altogether, but very wearing to those
that have your temporal interests at heart."
Gently Laurence blew a little cloud out of his nostrils, and watched it
float upward across the dark, warm-hued landscape by Nicholas Poussin
hanging over the chimney-piece. Against the windows the rain beat, while
the heavy folds of the crimson, damask curtains, covering them, swayed
just perceptibly in the draught.
"I can believe it," he said. "My people have been afflicted with ideas;
and ideas play the very mischief with business, don't they, Armstrong?"
"In their degree, and subject to a thrifty discretion in their
application, I would not wholly condemn them," the agent replied. His
shrewd glance dwelt on the younger man with undisguised pleasure. He was
so handsome, well bred, well made, and apparently so able a
fellow.--"But ideas are kittle cattle, Mr. Rivers," he continued,
"needing strenuous supervision if you would not have them break out of
pasture and run mad, sairly to the dislocation of all legitimate
traffic. And it has been the affliction of more than one member of your
family to let his ideas run abroad to a length of pernicious
extravagance. For instance, my grandfather, a person of capacity and
circumspection beyond the average, was factor to your great uncle, Mr.
Dudley Rivers, and--"
Laurence kept his eyes fixed on the last blue of the little smoke-cloud
curling about the intricate foliations of the upper corner of the
picture frame; yet his voice had a certain quickness and vibration in it
as he exclaimed--
"Ah! Dudley Rivers--yes. Well, how about him, Armstrong?"
"Not much good, not much good. Like the foolish body recorded by the
Psalmist, he had 'said in his heart, There is no God.' And having made
that very impious and lying observation, and so disposed of the Deity,
he proceeded to supersede the latter in his own person, and attempt the
reorganisation of society according to his own hare-brained fancies.
Regarding his deliverance from dangerous delusions my grandfather could
do but little, being himself a godly man, and holding firmly by the
doctrine of Election. If the poor misguided creature would go to the
devil, Mr. Rivers, it was--so my grandfather held--because to the devil
he was righteously foredoomed and predestined to go. And so my
grandfather, relieved of all responsibility in that respect, felt free
to apply the whole of his abilities to saving the poor, erring person's
treasure on earth, since it was manifestly not the intention of
Providence that he should inherit any treasure in heaven. He had long
taken entire charge of those estates in the county of Fife, which
belonged to Mr. Dudley's young cousin and ward, Miss Agnes Rivers--"
"Ah!" Laurence ejaculated softly.
"And many a time did my grandfather undertake the tedious journey down
here, from the north, to lend a seasonable hand in restraining Mr.
Dudley from committing some ruinous foolishness in respect of Miss
Agnes, or of his own southern property. For Mr. Dudley was just
completely saturated with pernicious opinions derived from the writings
of Rousseau, and Tom Paine, and other such seditious persons; and Satan
entering into him at intervals, and blinding his small surviving modicum
of reason, he proposed to reduce them to practice--poor, demented body."
"Yes," Laurence said, "he had graduated in a rather impossible school,
no doubt. But--but--Armstrong, what about his private life--his morals?"
"Blameless--blameless--more's the pity, since his virtues could but come
under the head of works of supererogation--so my grandfather
held--profitless alike in this world and in the next. Indeed, though a
strict man himself, I am constrained to believe he would have
experienced relief in seeing Mr. Dudley enjoy the pleasures of sin--they
are real, very real while they last, unfortunately--for a season."
Laurence flung away the stump of his cigarette, and turned sideways in
his chair.
"Now, as we're on the subject," he said, "and as you seem to know all
about these people of mine, what sort of fellow was Dudley's younger
brother, my namesake, Laurence Rivers?"
"Weel, I have reason to believe he was a very promising sprig--a likely
young gentleman, high-spirited, clean-living, and not without a show of
capacity for affairs. My grandparents, both of them, entertained a warm
affection for him."--The man paused in his slow sing-song talk,
smiling.--"I should surmise him to have been much such a person as
yourself, Mr. Rivers, with a natural gift of winning the hearts of those
brought into contact with him. But he fell at Trafalgar, shot through
the lungs, as no doubt you have heard--cut off before he had opportunity
to acquaint the world with the worth of the talents that might reside in
him. It was a grievous misfortune, for his death took place but three
months before the day appointed for his and his cousin's marriage. And
often, as a soft-hearted bit of a laddie, I have cried to hear my
grandmother tell of the coming of the awful news and the grief of the
poor young lady. She was a gracious, winsome thing, as bright as a
sunbeam on a running brook; very pious, too, and charitable, so that no
mortal soul could but wish her well that looked on her. But she was
shivered by the stroke of her sorrow, as you might shiver some fragile
trifle of an ornament with a careless blow. She would not eat or speak
for many days, and her sleep departed from her. And, indeed, during the
few months of life that remained to her she rarely uttered a word. Her
poor bits of wits seemed to drain out of her with her tears, for all
that she was highly educated, and an accomplished musician and sweet
singer."
Laurence had risen to his feet. He stood with his back to the fire, his
hands behind him, and his head bent.
"Poor child!" he said softly. "Well, she knew how to love, anyway."
"No woman better; but I am thinking, Mr. Rivers, she introduced into her
affections a touch of that same extravagance which pertains to so many
members of your family. For my grandmother used to tell me that, though
altogether gentle and docile, she studied nothing but to turn over her
dead love's letters, and play with the various gifts he had bestowed
upon her, as a little lass plays with its puppets and toys. It was the
pitifulest spectacle under the dome of the sky, that of her affliction;
and Mr. Dudley, notwithstanding his reprehensible opinions and infamous
heresies, watched over her like a father. His patience knew no bounds,
poor body. He would have laid himself down as the ground for her to walk
on, could that have accelerated her recovery. He spared no expense of
doctors, both foreign and English, to prescribe for her; and carried her
away to Bath, by their advice, to drink the waters there. But all the
medicinal waters that ever welled up through the length and breadth of
God Almighty's curious earth are powerless to ease the ache of a broken
heart. She wanted but one thing, and that no mortal soul could give her.
And so, poor, white lily of a thing, she just sickened, and faded, and
died."
Laurence stood very still, looking down at the hearthrug between his
feet, while the rain beat against the windows. The agent watched him for
a little space, and then rose, a trifle stiffly and carefully, from his
chair.
"I am keeping you over long with my family histories, Mr. Rivers," he
said. "But it comes to me that we are about to see great changes in this
place very speedily; and our conversation to-night has been a
valediction to the old dynasty and a recognition of the new. There has
been no lady at Stoke Rivers since Miss Agnes died, and you, so I learn,
are a married man."
Laurence left his contemplation of the hearthrug, and drew himself up
rather sharply.
"Yes," he said, "my wife is much interested in the prospect of this
English property."
He turned his back, and stared into the fire.
"Look here, Armstrong," he said, "where was she--Agnes Rivers, I
mean--where was she buried?"
A singularly acute expression came over the agent's countenance. He
looked hard at the young man, but the latter did not move or turn his
head. The wind, increasing in force broke, as in great waves, against
the house front and the curtains swayed sullenly in the draught.
Armstrong cleared his throat.
"I am thinking it's a calamitous night for too many poor folks at sea,"
he remarked; and then added:--"Buried? Weel, presumably at Bath, where
she died, Mr. Rivers. A grand funeral took place there, to my
grandfather's knowledge, for he was called upon to journey the whole
long way from Cupar to attend it, and the snow lay some foot deep in the
North. A grand funeral, truly, in appearance, with black horses, and
plumes, and lumbering black coaches, and all signs of respect and
customary outward manifestations of woe."
Still Laurence did not move; but the gusty wind was so loud that it
obliged him to raise his voice in asking--
"Well, well, if there was all this display about the funeral, why
_presumably_ then?"
"Because I am constrained to admit that a certain mystery surrounded
that transaction. My grandparents would never speak directly of it,
being prudent persons, and knowing, conceivably, more than it was
becoming for them to tell. But there were tongues that said, Mr. Rivers,
that no sweet lassie's corpse lay in that coffin; but only books, and
cast clothes, and bricks, and rubbish, to make up the weight."
Laurence turned round suddenly. His face was keen, his eyes alight.
"But why?" he asked.
"Partly, I surmise, on account of Mr. Dudley's atheistical views, which
caused him to hate and scorn all decent Christian rites and ceremonies.
And partly because of the feelings he entertained towards his
cousin--for it was well known she was the only human creature that had
ever moved him to love--it was apprehended he refused to part with her
body even in death."
For a few moments the two men looked hard at each other.
"And what then?" Laurence demanded. Armstrong raised his hands, almost
as in repudiation of his own thought.
"The Lord only knows," he said. "As the poet says, 'There are more
things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.' But
I, being a practical man, do not concern myself with such, Mr. Rivers. I
would not learn more of hidden matters than is strictly necessary to
salvation. If it is the intention of the Deity that further revelation
of laws, either natural or spiritual, should be granted us, such
revelation will, without doubt, come at the time appointed. And so I,
personally, would not force the hand of Providence or be over forward in
pushing myself into its secret counsels."
He paused, regarding the younger man with much friendliness and some
anxiety. But Laurence did not speak. He merely smiled, holding out his
hand.
"Aweel, good night to you then, Mr. Rivers," the agent said, taking the
outstretched hand and holding it awhile.--"I must repeat, I am glad to
carry away so favourable an impression of our first meeting. But, as a
word at parting having in mind the tendencies of your family
constitution, I would earnestly commend to you those canny virtues,
moderation and temperance, in all your undertakings.--I will be resident
here for the coming week, or longer should a more protracted stay be
incumbent on me, in the interests of your affairs or your uncle's. My
sons are good, steady lads, and will mind our northern business for
me--a business not unprosperous or decreasing. And so you can notify me
at any time should you feel an inclination to acquaint yourself further
with the workings of this estate, or other items of poor Mr. Rivers's by
no means inconsiderable property."