There was a small closet-like room in Layton's cottage which he had
fitted up, as well as his very narrow means permitted, as a laboratory.
Everything in it was, of course, of the very humblest kind; soda-water
flasks were fashioned into retorts, and even blacking-jars held strange
chemical mixtures. Here, however, he spent most of his time in the
search of some ingredient by which he hoped to arrest the progress of
all spasmodic disease. An accidental benefit he had himself derived from
a certain salt of ammonia had suggested the inquiry, and for years back
this had constituted the main object of all his thoughts. Determined, if
his discovery were to prove a success, it should burst upon the world in
all its completeness, he had never revealed to any one but his son the
object of his studies. Alfred, indeed, was made participator of his
hopes and ambitions; he had seen all the steps of the inquiry, and
understood thoroughly the train of reasoning on which the theory was
based. The young man's patience in investigation and his powers of
calculation were of immense value to his father, and Layton deeply
regretted the absence of the one sole assistant he could or would
confide in. A certain impatience, partly constitutional, partly from
habits of intemperance, had indisposed the old man to those laborious
calculations by which chemical discovery is so frequently accompanied,
and these he threw upon his son, who never deemed any labor too great,
or any investigation too wearisome, if it should save his father some
part of his daily fatigue. It was not for months after Alfred's
departure that Layton could re-enter his study, and resume his old
pursuits. The want of the companionship that cheered him, and the able
help that seconded all his efforts, had so damped his ardor, that he
had, if not abandoned his pursuit, at least deferred its prosecution
indefinitely. At last, however, by a vigorous effort, he resumed his old
labor, and in the interest of his search he soon regained much of his
former ambition for success.
The investigations of chemistry have about them all the fluctuating
fortunes of a deep and subtle game. There are the same vacillations of
good and bad luck; the same tides of hope and fear; the almost certain
prospect of success dashed and darkened by failure; the grief and
disappointment of failure dispelled by glimpses of bright hope. So many
are the disturbing influences, so subtle the causes which derange
experiment, where some infinitesimal excess or deficiency, some minute
accession of heat or cold, some chance adulteration in this or that
ingredient, can vitiate a whole course of inquiry, requiring the labor
of weeks to be all begun again, that the pursuit at length assumes many
of the features of a game, and a game only to be won by securing every
imaginable condition of success.
Perhaps this very character was what imparted to Layton's mind one of
the most stimulating of all interests; at all events, he addressed
himself to his task like one who, baffled and repulsed as he might be,
would still not acknowledge defeat. As well from the indefatigable ardor
he showed, as from the occasional bursts of boastful triumph in
anticipation of a great success in store, his poor ailing wife had grown
to fancy that his pursuit was something akin to those wonderful
researches after the elixir vitae, or the philosopher's stone. She knew
as little of his real object as of the means he employed to attain it,
but she could see the feverish eagerness that daily gained on him, mark
his long hours of intense thought, his days of labor, his nights of
wakefulness, and her fears were that these studies were undermining his
strength and breaking up his vigor.
It was, then, with a grateful joy at her heart she saw him invited to
the Rectory,--admitted once more to the world of his equals, and the
notice of society. She had waited hour by hour for his return home, and
it was already daybreak ere she heard him enter the cottage, and repair
to his own room. Who knows what deep and heartfelt anxieties were hers
as she sought her bed at last? What sorrowful forebodings might not have
oppressed her? What bitter tears have coursed along her worn cheeks? for
his step was short and impatient as he crossed the little hall, and the
heavy slam of his door, and the harsh grating of the lock, told that he
was ruffled and angry. The morning wore on heavily,--drearily to her, as
she watched and waited, and at last she crept noiselessly to the door,
and tapped at it gently.
“Who's there? Come in!” cried he, roughly.
“I came only to ask if you would not have your breakfast,” said she,
timidly. “It is already near eleven o'clock.”
“So late, Grace?” said he, with a more kindly accent, as he offered her
a seat. “I don't well know how the time slipped over; not that I was
engaged in anything that interested me,--I do not believe I have done
anything whatever,--no, nothing,” muttered he, vaguely, as his wearied
eye ranged over the table.
“You are tired to-day, Herbert, and you need rest,” said she, in a soft,
gentle tone. “Let this be a holiday.”
“Mine are all holidays now,” replied he, with an effort at gayety. Then
suddenly, with an altered voice, he added: “I ought never to have gone
there last night, Grace. I knew well what would come of it. I have no
habits, no temper, no taste, for such associates. What other thoughts
could cross me as I sat there, sipping their claret, than of the cold
poverty that awaited me at home? What pleasure to me could that short
hour of festivity be, when I knew and felt I must come back to this? And
then, the misery, the insult of that state of watchfulness, to see that
none took liberties with me on the score of my humble station.”
“But surely, Herbert, there is not any one--”
“I don't know that,” broke he in. “He who wears finer linen than you is
often a terrible tyrant, on no higher or better ground. If any man has
been taught that lesson, _I_ have! The world has one easy formula for
its guidance. If you be poor, you must be either incompetent or
improvident, or both; your patched coat and shabby hat are vouchers for
one or the other, and sleek success does not trouble itself to ask
which.”
“The name of Herbert Layton is a sure guarantee against such
depreciation,” said she, in a voice tremulous with pride and emotion.
“So it might, if it had not earned a little extra notoriety in police
courts,” said he, with a laugh of intense bitterness.
“Tell me of your dinner last night,” said she, eager to withdraw him
from the vein she ever dreaded most. “Was your party a pleasant one?”
“Pleasant!--no, the very reverse of pleasant! We had discussion instead
of conversation, and in lieu of those slight differences of sentiment
which flavor talk, we had stubborn contradictions. All _my_ fault, too,
Grace. I was in one of _my_ unhappy humors, and actually forgot I was a
dispensary doctor and in the presence of an ex-Treasury Lord, with great
influence and high acquaintances. You can fancy, Grace, how boldly I
dissented from all he said.”
“But if you were in the right, Herbert--”
“Which is exactly what I was not; at least, I was quite as often in the
wrong. My amusement was derived from seeing how powerless he was to
expose the fallacies that outraged him. He was stunned by a fire of
blank cartridge, and obliged to retreat before it. But now that it's all
over, I may find the amusement a costly one. And then, I drank too much
wine--” She gave a heavy sigh, and turned away to hide her look. “Yes,”
resumed he, with a fierce bitterness in his tone, “the momentary flush
of self-esteem--Dutch courage, though it be--is a marvellous temptation
to a poor, beaten-down, crushed spirit, and wine alone can give it; and
so I drank, and drank on.”
“But not to excess,” said she, in a half-broken whisper.
“At least to unconsciousness. I know nothing of how or when I quitted
the Rectory, nor how I came down the cliffs and reached this in safety.
The path is dangerous enough at noonday with a steady head and a
cautious foot, and yet last night assuredly I could not boast of
either.”
Another and a deeper sigh escaped her, despite her efforts to stifle it.
“Ay, Grace, the doctor was right when he said to me, 'Don't go there.'
How well if I had but taken his advice! I am no longer fit for such
associates. They live lives of easy security,--they have not the cares
and struggles of a daily conflict for existence; we meet, therefore, on
unequal grounds. Their sentiments cost them no more care than the French
roll upon their breakfast-table. They can afford to be wrong as they can
afford debt, but the poor wretch like myself, a bare degree above
starvation, has as little credit with fine folk as with the huckster. I
ought never to have gone there! Leave me now,” added he, half sternly;
“let me see if these gases and essences will not make me forget
humanity. No, I do not care for breakfast,--I cannot eat!”
With the same noiseless step she had entered, she now glided softly from
the room, closing the door so gently that it was only when he looked
round that he was aware of being alone. For a moment or two he busied
himself with the objects on the table; he arranged phials and retorts,
he lighted his stove, he stood fanning the charcoal till the red mass
glowed brightly, and then, as though forgetting the pursuit he was
engaged in, he sat down upon a chair, and sank into a dreamy revery.
Another low tap at the door aroused him from his musings, and the low
voice he knew so well gently told him it was his morning to attend the
dispensary, a distance fully three miles off. More than one complaint
had been already made of his irregularity and neglect, and, intending to
pay more attention in future, he had charged his wife to keep him
mindful of his duties.
“You will scarcely reach Ballintray before one o'clock, Herbert,” said
she, in her habitually timid tone.
“What if I should not try? What if I throw up the beggarly office at
once? What if I burst through this slavery of patrons and chairmen and
boards? Do you fancy we should starve, Grace?”
“Oh, no, Herbert,” cried she, eagerly; “I have no fears for our future.”
“Then your courage is greater than mine,” said he, bitterly, and with
one of the sudden changes of humor which often marked him. “Can't you
anticipate how the world would pass sentence on me, the idle debauchee,
who would not earn his livelihood, but must needs forfeit his
subsistence from sheer indolence?--ay, and the world would be right too.
He who breaks stones upon the highroad will not perform his task the
better because he can tell the chemical constituent of every fragment
beneath his hammer. Men want common work from common workmen, and there
are always enough to be found. I'll set out at once.”
With this resolve, uttered in a tone she never gainsaid or replied to,
he took his hat and left the cottage.
There is no more aggressive spirit than that of the man who, with the
full consciousness of great powers, sees himself destined to fill some
humble and insignificant station, well knowing the while the inferiority
of those who have conquered the high places in life. Of all the
disqualifying elements of his own character, his unsteadiness, his want
of thrift, perseverance, or conduct, his deficiency in tact or due
courtesy, his stubborn indifference to others,--of all these he will
take no account as he whispers to his heart,
“I passed that fellow at school!--I beat this one at college!--how often
have I helped yonder celebrity with his theme!--how many times have I
written his exercise for that great dignitary!” Oh, what a deep well of
bitterness lies in the nature of one so tried and tortured, and how
cruel is the war that he at last wages with the world, and, worse again,
with his own heart!
Scarcely noticing the salutations of the country people, as they touched
their hats to him on the road, or the more familiar addresses of the
better-to-do farmers as they passed, Layton strode onwards to the little
village where his dispensary stood.
“Yer unco late, docther, this morning,” said one, in that rebukeful tone
the northern Irishman never scruples to employ when he thinks he has
just cause of complaint.
“It's na the way to heal folk to keep them waitin' twa hours at a closed
door,” said another.
“I'se warrant he's gleb eneuch to call for his siller when it's due to
him,” said a third.
“My gran'mither is just gane hame; she would na bide any longer for yer
comin',” said a pert-looking girl, with a saucy toss of her head.
“It's na honest to take people's money and gie naething for it,” said an
old white-haired man on crutches; “and I 'll just bring it before the
board.”
Layton turned an angry look over the crowd, but never uttered a word.
Pride alone would have prevented him from answering them, had he not the
deeper motive that in his conflict with himself he took little heed of
what they said.
“Where's the key, Sandy?” cried he, impatiently, to an old cripple who
assisted him in the common work of the dispensary.
The man came close and whispered something secretly in his ear.
“And carried the key away, do you say?” asked Layton, eagerly.
“Just so, sir. There was anither wi' him,--a stranger,--and he was mair
angry than his rev'rance, and said, 'What can ye expec'? Is it like that
a man o' his habits could be entrusted with such a charge as this?”
“And Dr. Millar--what did he reply?”
“Na much; he just shook his head this way, and muttered, 'I hoped for
better,--I hoped for better!' I dinna think they 'd have taken away the
key, but that old Jonas Graham kem up at the time, and said, 'It's mair
than a month since we seen him'--yourself he meant--'down here, and them
as has the strength for it would rather gae all the gait to Coleraine
than tak their chance o' him.' For a' that,” said Sandy, “I opened the
dispensary door, and was sarvin' out salts and the like, when the
stranger said, 'Is it to a cretur like that the people are to trust
their health? Just turn the key in the door, Millar, and you'll
certainly save some one from being poisoned this morning.' And so he
did, and here we are.” And poor Sandy turned a rueful look on the
surrounders as he finished.
“I can't cure you as kings used to cure the evil, long ago, by royal
touch, good people,” said Layton, mockingly; “and your guardians, or
governors, or whatever they call themselves, have shut me out of my own
premises. I am a priest cut off from his temple.”
“I 'm na come here to ask for charity,” said a stout old fellow, who
stood alongside of a shaggy mountain pony; “I 'm able to pay ye for a'
your docther's stuff, and your skill besides.”
“Well spoken, and like a man of independence,” said Layton. “Let us open
the treaty with a gill of brandy, and you shall tell me your case while
I am sipping it.” And with these words he led the way into a public-
house, followed by the farmer, leaving the crowd to disperse when and
how they pleased.
Whatever the nature of those ailments now so confidentially imparted,
they were long enough in narration not only to require one, or two, or
three gills, but a full bottle of strong mountain whiskey, of which it
is but fair to say the farmer took his share. Layton's powers as a
talker were not long in exercise ere they gained their due influence
over his companion. Of the very themes the countryman deemed his own, he
found the doctor knew far more than himself; while by his knowledge of
life and human nature generally, he surprised his listener, who actually
could not tear himself away from one so full of anecdote and
observation.
Partly warned by the lateness of the hour--for already the market was
over and the streets deserted--and partly by the thick utterance of his
companion, whose heavy, bloodshot eye and sullen look now evidenced how
deeply he had exceeded, the farmer at last arose to go away.
“You 're not 'flitting.' as you call it hereabouts,” said Layton, half
stupidly, “you're not thinking of leaving me alone to my own company,
are you?”
“I maun be thinkin' of home; it's more than twalve miles o' a mountain
that's afore me. There's na anither but yoursel' had made me forget it
a' this while,” said the farmer, as he buttoned his coat and prepared
for the road. “Just tell me now what's to pay for the bit o' writin' ye
gav' me.”
“You 've had a consultation, my friend,--not a visit, but a regular
consultation. You've not been treated like the outer populace, and only
heard the oracles from afar, but you have been suffered to sit down
beside the augur, to question him, and to drink with him. Pay,--nothing
to pay! I'll cure your boy, there's my word on't. These cases are
specialities with me. Bell used to say, 'Ask Layton to look at that
fellow in such a ward; he's the only one of us understands this sort of
thing. Layton will tell us all about it.' And I 'm Layton! Ay, sir, this
poor, shabby, ill-dressed fellow that you see before you is that same
Herbert Layton; so much for brains and ability to work a man's way in
life! Order another quart of Isla whiskey, man,--that's my fee; at least
it shall be to-day. Tell them to send me pen, ink, and paper, and not
disturb me; tell them, besides--no, nevermind, I'll tell them that! And
now, good-day, my honest fellow. _You_ 've been _my_ physician to-day as
much as _I_ have been _yours_. You have cured a sick heart--cheated it,
at least--out of one paroxysm, and so, a good journey, and safe home to
you. Send me news of your boy, and good-bye.” And his head dropped as he
spoke; his arms fell heavily at his sides; and he appeared to have sunk
into a profound sleep. The stupor was but brief; the farmer was not well
out of the village when Layton, calling for a basin of cold water,
plunged his face and part of his head in it, baring his brawny throat,
and bathing it with the refreshing liquid. As he was thus employed, he
caught sight of his face reflected in a much-cracked mirror over the
fireplace, and stood gazing for a few seconds at his blotched and
bloated countenance.
“A year or two left still, belike,” muttered he. “Past insuring, but
still seaworthy, or, at least”--and here his voice assumed an intense
mockery in tone,--“at least, capable of more shipwreck!” The sight of
the writing-materials on the table seemed to recall him to something he
had half forgotten, and, after a pause of reflection, he arranged the
paper before him and sat down to write.
With the ease of one to whom composition was familiar, he dashed off a
somewhat long letter; but though he wrote with great rapidity, he
recurred from time to time to the whiskey-bottle, drinking the strong
spirits undiluted, and, to all seeming, unmoved by its potency. “There,”
cried he, as he finished, “I have scuttled my own ship; let's see what
will come of it.”
He called for the landlord to give him wax and a seal. Neither were to
be had, and he was fain to put up with a wafer. The letter closed and
addressed, he set out homewards; scarcely, however, beyond the outskirts
of the village, than he turned away from the coast and took the road
towards the Rectory. It was now the early evening, one of those brief
seasons when the wind lulls and a sort of brief calm supervenes in the
boisterous climate of northern Ireland. Along the narrow lane he trod,
tall foxgloves and variegated ferns grew luxuriantly, imparting a half-
shade to a scene usually desolate and bare; and Layton lingered along it
as though its calm seclusion soothed him. At last he found himself at a
low wall, over which a stile led to a little woodland path. It was the
Rectory; who could mistake its trim neatness, the order and elegance
which pervaded all its arrangements? Taking this path, he walked
leisurely onward, till he came to a small flower-garden, into which
three windows opened, their sashes reaching to the ground. While yet
uncertain whether to advance or retire, he heard Ogden's sharp voice
from within the room. His tone was loud, and had the vibration of one
speaking in anger. “Even on your own showing, Millar, another reason for
getting rid of him. _You_ can't be ambitious, I take it, of newspaper
notoriety, or a controversy in the public papers. Now, Layton is the
very man to drag you into such a conflict. Ask for no explanations,
inquire for no reasons, but dismiss him by an act of your board. Your
colonel there is the chairman; he could n't refuse what you insist upon,
and the thing will be done without your prominence in it.”
Millar murmured a reply, but Layton turned away without listening to it,
and made for the hall door. “Give this to your master,” said he, handing
the letter to the servant, and turned away.
The last flickerings of twilight guided him down the steep path of the
cliff, and, wearied and tired, he reached home.
“What a wearisome day you must have had, Herbert!” said his wife, as she
stooped for the hat and cane he had thrown beside him on sitting down.
“I must n't complain, Grace,” said he, with a sad sort of smile. “It is
the last of such fatigues.”
“How, or what do you mean?” asked she, eagerly.
“I have given it up. I have resigned my charge of the dispensary. Don't
ask any reasons, girl,” broke he in, hastily, “for I scarcely know them
myself. All I can tell you is, it is done.”
“I have no doubt you were right, Herbert,” began she. “I feel assured--”
“Do you? Then, by Heaven! you have a greater confidence in me than _I_
have in myself. I believe I was more than two parts drunk when I did it,
but doubtless the thought will sober me when I awake to-morrow morning;
till when, I do not mean to think of it.”
“You have not eaten, I 'm sure.”
“I cannot eat just yet, Grace; give me a cup of tea, and leave me. I
shall be better alone for a while.”