Such a story, which Doctor Louis truly described as strange and
eventful, could not have failed to leave a deep impression upon me.
During its recital I had, as it were, been charmed out of myself. My
instinctive distrust of the twin brothers Eric and Emilius, the growth
of a groundless jealousy, was for a while forgotten, and at the
conclusion of the recital I was lost in the contemplation of the
tragic pictures which had been presented to my mind's eye. Singularly
enough, the most startling bit of colour in these pictures, that of
the two brothers in their life and death struggle on the outer walls
of the lighthouse, was not to me the dominant feature of the
remarkable story. The awful, unnatural contest, Avicias agony,
Silvain's soul-moving appeals, and the dread silence of Kristel--all
this was as nought in comparison with the figure of a solitary man
standing on the seashore, gazing in the direction of his lost
happiness. I traced his life back through the years during which he
was engaged in his relentless pursuit of the brother who had brought
desolation into his life. In him, and in him alone, was centred the
true pathos of the story; it was he who had been robbed, it was he who
had been wronged. No deliberate act of treachery lay at his door; he
loved, and had been deceived. Those in whom he placed his trust had
deliberately betrayed him. The vengeance he sought and consummated was
just.
I did not make Doctor Louis acquainted with my views on the subject,
knowing that he would not agree with me, and that all his sympathies
were bestowed upon Silvain. There was something of cowardice in this
concealment of my feelings, but although I experienced twinges of
conscience for my want of courage, it was not difficult for me to
justify myself in my own eyes. Doctor Louis was the father of the
woman I loved, and in his hands lay my happiness. On no account must I
instil doubt into his mind; he was a man of decided opinions,
dogmatic, and strong-willed. No act or word of mine must cause him to
have the least distrust of me. Therefore I played the cunning part,
and was silent with respect to those threads in the story which
possessed the firmest hold upon his affections.
This enforced silence accentuated and strengthened my view. Silvain
and Avicia were weak, feeble creatures. The man of great heart and
resolute will, the man whose sufferings and wrongs made him a martyr,
was Kristel. Faithful in love, faithful in hate. Trustful, heroic,
unflinching. In a word, a man. But he and his brother, and the woman
who had been the instrument of their fate, belonged to the past. They
were dead and gone, and in the presence of Doctor Louis I put them
aside a while. Time enough to think of them when I was alone.
Meanwhile Eric and Emilius remained. They lived, and between their
lives and mine there was a link. Of this I entertained no doubt, nor
did I doubt that, in this connection, the future would not be
colourless for us. To be prepared for the course which events might
take: this was now my task and my duty. The thought was constantly in
my mind. "As Kristel acted, so would I act, in love and hate."
I observed Doctor Louis's eyes fixed earnestly upon my face.
"You are agitated," he said.
"Is not such a story," I said evasively, "enough to agitate one? Its
movements are as the movements of a sublime tragedy."
"True," mused Doctor Louis; "even in obscure lives may be found such
elements."
"You have told me little," I said, "of Eric and Emilius. Do they
reside permanently in the lighthouse in which their mother died?"
"They have a house in the village by the sea," replied Doctor Louis,
"and they are in a certain sense fishermen on a large scale. The place
has possessed for them a fascination, and it seemed as if they would
never be able to tear themselves away from it. But their intimate
association with it will soon be at an end."
"In what way?"
"They have sold their house and boats, and are coming to reside in
Nerac for a time."
I started and turned aside, for I did not wish Doctor Louis to see the
cloud upon my face.
"Only for a time?" I inquired.
"It depends upon circumstances," said Doctor Louis. "If they are happy
and contented in the present and in their prospects in the future,
they will remain. Otherwise, they will seek a larger sphere."
"Is this their idea?"
"Not theirs alone. I am partly responsible. We have talked of it
often, and I have urged them not to waste their lives in a village so
small and primitive as that in which they were born."
"Somewhat destructive of your own theories of happiness, doctor," I
observed. "Yourself, for instance, wasting your life in a small place
like Nerac, when by your gifts you are so well fitted to play your
part in a large city."
"I am selfish, I am afraid," he said with a deprecatory smile, "and am
too much wrapped up in my own ease and comfort. At the same time you
must bear in mind that mine is an exceptional case. It is a regretful
thing to be compelled to say that the majority of lives and homes are
less happy than my own. Often there is love, and poverty stands at the
bright door which opens but on a scene of privation and ill-requited
toil. Often there is wealth, in the use of which there has been an
endeavour to purchase love, which, my friend, is not a marketable
commodity. Often there are sorrow and sickness, and neither faith nor
patience to lighten the load. It is my good fortune to have none of
these ills. We have love and good health, and a sufficient share of
worldly prosperity to provide for our days. Therefore I will leave
myself out of the question. What!" he cried, interrupting himself in a
tone at once light and earnest; "am I entirely useless in Nerac? Do I
do no good whatever?"
"You do much," I said, "and also do Eric and Emilius in their village.
You have admitted that they are fishermen on a large scale, and
possess boats. Consequently they employ labour, and the wages they pay
support the homes of those who serve them."
"With some young men," said Doctor Louis, with a good-humoured laugh,
"there is no arguing. They are so keen in defence that they have a
formidable parry for every thrust. To the point, then, without
argument. Eric and Emilius have in them certain qualities which render
me doubtful whether, as middle-aged men, they would be in their proper
sphere in their village by the sea. The maidens there find no serious
favour in their eyes."
"Do they look," I asked, with a torturing pang of jealousy, "with a
more appreciative eye upon the maidens in Nerac?"
"Tush, tush," said Doctor Louis, in a kind tone, laying his hand upon
my shoulder; "vex not yourself unnecessarily. Youth's hot blood is a
torrent, restless by day and night, never satisfied, never content,
for ever seeking cause to fret and fume. You have given evidence of
wisdom, Gabriel--exercise it when it is most needed. You are still
disturbed. Well, question me."
"Of all the maidens in Nerac," I said, striving to speak with
calmness, "Lauretta is the fairest and sweetest."
"Go on, my friend. I, her father, will not gainsay you."
"Is it because she is fairer and sweeter than any Eric and Emilius
have seen in the village by the sea that they quit their home there,
and come to live in Nerac?"
"A plain question. Were I simply an ordinary friend of yours, and not
Lauretta's father, I might feel inclined to play with you; but as
it is, my happiness here is too largely at stake. Do not fall into
error, Gabriel. Viewing with a selfish eye--a human failing, common
enough--your own immediate affairs, forget not that I, Lauretta's
father, am as deeply concerned in them as yourself. Never would I be
guilty of the crime of forcing my child's affections. Do you think I
love her less than you do? If it should be your happy fate to be a
father, you will learn how much purer and higher is the love of a
father than that which a young man, after an hour's acquaintance,
bears for the maiden whom he would wed."
"After an hour's acquaintance!" I exclaimed, somewhat hotly.
"It cannot be said to be more," responded Doctor Louis gravely,
"compared with my knowledge of my child."
The retort was well-merited, and I murmured, "Forgive me!" The
consistently sweet accents of Doctor Louis's voice produced in me, at
this moment, a feeling of self-reproach, and a true sense of my
petulance and imperiousness forced itself upon me.
"There is little need to ask forgiveness," said Doctor Louis; "I can
make full allowance for the impetuous passions of youth, and if I wish
you to place a curb upon them it is for your welfare and that of my
child. Indulgence in such extravagances leads to injustice. Gabriel, I
will be entirely frank with you. Before your arrival in Nerac I had a
slight suspicion that one of the brothers--towards both of whom I feel
as a father--had an affection for Lauretta which might have ripened
into love. It is in the nature of things that a beautiful girl should
inspire a sentiment in the breasts of more than one man, but she can
belong only to one, to him to whom her heart is drawn. What passed
between us when you spoke to me as a lover of my daughter was honest
and outspoken. The encouragement you received from me would have been
withheld had it not been that I saw you occupied a place in Lauretta's
heart, and that the one end and aim I have in view is her happiness."
"Is it too much to ask," I said, "to which of the brothers you
referred?"
"Altogether too much," replied Doctor Louis. "It is an unrevealed
secret, and the right is not mine to say more than I have said."
I did not speak for a little while; I was the slave of conflicting
passions. One moment I believed entirely in Doctor Louis; another
moment I doubted him; and through all I was oppressed by a
consciousness that I was doing him an injustice.
"Anything more, Gabriel?" he asked. "Nothing special, sir," was my
reply, "but in a general way."
"Well?"
"Born under such singular circumstances, and of such a father as
Silvain, it would not be unnatural to suppose that they might inherit
some touch of his strangely sympathetic nature."
"They have inherited it," said Doctor Louis; "there exists between
them a sympathy as strange as that which existed in Silvain. I am at
liberty to say nothing more."
He spoke in a firm tone, and I did not question him further. As I
accompanied him home we conversed upon general subjects, and I took
pains to convey to him an assurance that there was nothing really
serious in the ungracious temper I had displayed. He was relieved at
this, and we fell into our old confidential manner with each other.
I passed the evening, as usual, in the society of his wife and
Lauretta. Peace descended upon me, and in the sweet presence of these
pure women I was tranquil and happy. How lovely, how beautiful was
this home of love and tender thought! The wild storms of life died
away, and strains of soft, angelic music melted the heart, and made
themselves heard even in the midst of the silences. Doctor Louis's
gaiety returned to him; he smiled upon me, and indulged in many a
harmless jest. I was charmed out of my moody humour, and contributed
to the innocent enjoyment of the home circle. The hours passed till it
was near bed-time, and then it was that a change came over me. Sitting
by Lauretta's side, turning the pages of an illustrated book of
travel, I heard the names of Eric and Emilius spoken by Doctor Louis.
He was telling his wife of the impending change in their mode of life,
and there was an affectionate note in his voice, and also in hers,
which jarred upon me. I started to my feet, and they all turned to me
in surprise. I recovered myself in a moment, and explained that I had
suddenly thought of something which rendered it necessary that I
should go at once to the house I had taken, and of which Martin Hartog
was at present the sole custodian.
"But you were not to leave us till the end of the week," expostulated
Lauretta's mother. "Is it so very important?"
"Indeed it is," I replied, "and should have been attended to earlier."
"You will return?" she asked.
"Not to-night. You need have no anxiety; everything is prepared, and I
shall be quite comfortable."
"My wife is thinking of the sheets," observed Doctor Louis jocosely;
"whether they are properly aired."
"I have seen to that," she said, "and there is a fire in every room."
"Then we can safely let him go," rejoined Doctor Louis. "He is old
enough to take care of himself, and, besides, he is now a householder,
and has duties. We shall see you to-morrow, Gabriel?"
"Yes, I shall be here in the morning."
So I wished them good-night, and presently was out in the open,
walking through dark shadows.