“A letter,--a long letter from Alfred,” said Layton's wife, as she
knocked at his door on the following morning. “It has been lying for
four days at the office in Coleraine. Only think, Herbert, and I
fretting and fretting over his silence.”
“Is he well?” asked he, half gruffly.
“Quite well, and so happy; in the midst of kind friends, and enjoying
himself, as he says he thought impossible when absent from his home.
Pray read it, Herbert. It will do you infinite good to see how
cheerfully he writes.”
“No, no; it is enough that I know the boy is well. As to being happy, it
is the affair of an hour, or a day, with the luckiest of us.”
“There are so many kind messages to you, and so many anxious inquiries
about the laboratory. But you must read them. And then there is a bank
order he insists upon your having. Poor fellow! the first money he has
ever earned--”
“How much is it, Grace?” asked he, eagerly.
“It is for twenty pounds, Herbert,” said she, in a faltering accent,
which, even weak as it was, vibrated with something like reproach.
“Never could it be more welcome,” said he, carelessly. “It was
thoughtful, too, of the boy; just as if he had known all that has
happened here.” And with this he opened the door, taking hurriedly from
her hand the letter and the money-order. “No; not this. I do not want
his letter,” said he, handing it back to her, while he muttered over the
lines of the bank check. “Why did he not say,--or order?” said he, half
angrily. “This necessitates my going to Coleraine myself to receive it.
It seems that I was overrating his thoughtfulness, after all.”
“Oh, Herbert!” said she, pressing both her hands over her heart, as
though an acute pain shot through it.
“I meant what I have said,” said he, roughly; “he might have bethought
him what are twelve weary miles of road to one like me, as well as that
my clothes are not such as suit appearance in the streets of a town. It
was _not_ thoughtful of him, Grace.”
“The poor dear boy's first few pounds; all that he could call his own--”
“I know that,” broke he in, harshly; “and in what other way could they
have afforded him a tithe of the pleasure? It was a wise selfishness
suggested the act; that is all you can say of it.”
“Oh, but let me read you how gracefully and delicately he has done it,
Herbert; how mindful he was not to wound one sentiment--”
“'Pay to Herbert Layton, Esquire,'” read he, half aloud, and not heeding
her speech. “He ought to have added 'M. D.'; it is as 'the doctor' they
should know me down here. Well, it has come right opportunely, at all
events. I believe I was the owner of some fifteen shillings in the
world.”
A deep, tremulous sigh was all her answer.
“Fifteen and ninepence,” muttered he, as he counted over the pieces in
his hand. “Great must be the self-reliance of the man who, with such a
sum for all his worldly wealth, insults his patrons and resigns his
office,--eh, Grace?”
There was in his tone a blended mockery and seriousness that he often
used, and which, by the impossibility of answering, always distressed
her greatly.
“It is clear you do not think so,” said he, harshly. “It is evident you
take the vulgar view of the incident, and condemn the act as one
dictated by ill temper and mere resentment. The world is always more
merciful than one's own fireside, and the world will justify me.”
“When you have satisfied your own conscience, Herbert--”
“I'll take good care to make no such appeal,” broke he in. “Besides,”
added he, with a bitter levity, “men like myself have not one, but fifty
consciences. Their after-dinner conscience is not their waking one next
morning; their conscience in the turmoil and bustle of life is not their
conscience as they lie out there on the white rocks, listening to the
lazy plash of the waves. Not to say that, after forty, every man's
conscience grows casuistical,--somewhat the worse for wear, like
himself.”
It was one of Layton's pastimes to sport thus with the feelings of his
poor wife, uttering at random sentiments that he well knew must pain her
deeply; and there were days when this spirit of annoyance overbore his
reason and mastered all his self-control.
“What pleasant little sketches Alfred gives of his travelling
acquaintances!” said she, opening the letter, and almost asking to be
invited to read it.
“These things have no value from one as untried in life as he is,” broke
he in, rudely. “One only learns to decipher character by the time the
world has become very wearisome. Does he tell you how he likes his task?
How does he fancy bear-leading?”
“He praises Lord Agincourt very much. He calls him a fine, generous boy,
with many most attaching qualities.”
“They are nearly all such in that class in very early life, but, as
Swift says, the world is full of promising princes and bad kings.”
“Lord Agincourt would appear to be very much attached to Alfred.”
“So much the worse; such friendships interfere with the work of tuition,
and they never endure after it is over. To be sure, now and then a tutor
is remembered, and if he has shown himself discreet about his pupil's
misdeeds, reserved as to his shortcomings, and only moderately rebukeful
as to his faults, such virtue is often rewarded with a bishopric. What
have we here, Grace? Is not that a row-boat rounding the point yonder,
and heading into the bay?”
So rare an event might well have caused astonishment; for since the
place had been deserted by the fishermen, the landlocked waters of the
little cove had never seen the track of a boat.
“Who can it be?” continued he; “I see a round hat in the stern-sheets.
Look, he is pointing where they are to land him, quite close to our door
here.” Stimulated by an irrepressible curiosity, Herbert arose and
walked out; but scarcely had he reached the strand when he was met by
Colonel Karstairs.
“I could n't trust my gouty ankles down that precipice, doctor,” cried
he out; “and although anything but a good sailor, I came round here by
water. What a charming spot you have here, when one does reach it!”
“It is pretty; and it is better,--it is solitary,” said Layton, coldly;
for somehow he could not avoid connecting the Colonel with a scene very
painful to his memory.
“I don't think I ever saw anything more beautiful,” said Karstairs, as
he gazed around him. “The wild, fantastic outlines of those rocks, the
variegated colors of the heath blossom, the golden strand, and the
cottage itself, make up a fairy scene.”
“Let me show you the interior, though it dispel the illusion,” said
Layton, as he moved towards the door.
“I hope my visit is not inconvenient,” said Karstairs, as he entered and
took a seat; “and I hope, besides, when you hear the object of it, you
will, at least, forgive me.” He waited for a reply of some sort, but
Layton only bowed his head stiffly, and suffered him to continue: “I am
a sorry diplomatist, doctor, and have not the vaguest idea of how to
approach a point of any difficulty; but what brought me here this
morning was simply this: you sent that letter”--here he drew one from
his pocket, and handed it to Layton--“to our friend the rector.”
“Yes; it is my hand, and I left it myself at the parsonage.”
“Well, now, Millar has shown it to no one but myself,--indeed, he placed
it in my hands after reading it; consequently, its contents are unknown
save to our two selves; there can, therefore, be no difficulty in your
withdrawing it. You must see that the terms you have employed towards
him are not such as--are not civil, I mean; in fact, they are not fair.
He is an excellent fellow, and sincerely your friend, besides. Now,
don't let a bit of temper get the mastery over better feeling, nor do
not, out of a momentary pique, throw up your appointment. None of us,
nowadays, can afford to quarrel with his bread-and-butter; and though
you are certainly clever enough and skilful enough not to regard such an
humble place as this, yet, remember, you had a score of competitors when
you looked for it. Not to say that we all only desire to know how to be
of service to you, to make your residence amongst us agreeable, and--and
all that sort of thing, which you can understand far better than I can
say it!” Nor, to do the worthy Colonel justice, was this a very
difficult matter, seeing that, in his extreme confusion and
embarrassment, he stammered and stuttered at every word, while, to
increase his difficulty, the manner of Layton was cold and almost
stately.
“Am I to suppose, sir,” said he, at length, “that you are here on the
part of Dr. Millar?”
“No, no; nothing of the kind. Millar knows, of course, the step I have
taken; perhaps he concurs in it; indeed, I 'm sure he does. He is your
sincere well-wisher, doctor,--a man who really wants to be your friend.”
“Too much honor,” said Layton, haughtily. “Not to say how arduous the
task of him who would protect a man against himself; and such I opine to
be the assumed object here.”
“I 'm sure, if I had as much as suspected how you would have taken my
interference,” said the Colonel, more hurt by Layton's tone than by his
mere words, “I 'd have spared myself my mission.”
“You had no right to have anticipated it, sir. It was very natural for
you to augur favorably of any intervention by a colonel,--a C.B., with
other glorious distinctions--in regard to a poor dispensary doctor,
plodding the world wearily, with a salary less than a butler's. You had
only to look down the cliff, and see the humble cottage where he lived,
to calculate what amount of resistance could such a man offer to any
proposal that promised him bread.”
“I must say, I wish you would not mistake me,” broke in Karstairs, with
warmth.
“I am not stating anything with reference to you, sir; only with respect
to those judgments the world at large would pronounce upon _me_.”
“Am I to conclude, then,” said the Colonel, rising, and evidently in
anger,--“am I to conclude, then, that this is your deliberate act, that
you wish to abide by this letter, that you see nothing to recall nor
retract in its contents?”
Layton bowed an assent
“This is too bad--too bad,” muttered the Colonel, as he fumbled for his
gloves, and dropped them twice over in his confusion. “I know well
enough where the sting lies: you are angry with Ogden; you suspect that
he has been meddling. Well, it's no affair of mine; you are the best
judge. Not but a little prudence might have shown you that Ogden was a
dangerous man to offend,--a very dangerous man; but of course you know
best. I have only to ask pardon for obtruding my advice unasked, a
stupid act always, but I 'm right sorry for it.”
“I am very grateful for the intention, sir,” said Layton, with dignity.
“That 's all I can claim,” muttered the Colonel, whose confusion
increased every moment. “It was a fool's errand, and ends as it ought.
Good-bye!”
Layton arose and opened the door with a respectful air.
Karstairs offered his hand, and, as he grasped the other's warmly, said,
“I wish you would let me talk this over with your wife, Layton.”
The doctor drew haughtily back, and, with a cold stare of astonishment,
said: “I have addressed you by your title, sir; _I_ have mine. At all
events, there is nothing in your station nor in my own to warrant this
familiarity.”
“You are quite right,--perfectly right,--and I ask pardon.”
It was a liberty never to be repeated, and the bronzed weatherbeaten
face of the old soldier became crimson with shame as he bowed deeply and
passed out.
Layton walked punctiliously at his side till he reached the boat,
neither uttering a word; and thus they parted. Layton stood for a moment
gazing after the boat. Perhaps he thought that Karstairs would turn his
head again towards the shore; perhaps--who knows?--he hoped it. At all
events, the old Colonel never once looked back, and the boat soon
rounded the point and was lost to view.
There are men so combative in their natures that their highest enjoyment
is derived from conflict with the world,--men whose self-esteem is never
developed till they see themselves attacking or attacked. Layton was one
of this unhappy number, and it was with a sort of bastard heroism that
he strolled back to the cottage, proud in the thought of how he stood,
alone and friendless, undeterred by the enmity of men of a certain
influence and station.
He was soon in his laboratory and at work, the reaction imparting a
great impulse to his energy. He set to work with unwonted vigor and
determination. Chemical investigation has its good and evil days,--its
periods when all goes well, experiments succeed, tests answer, and
results respond to what was looked for; and others when disturbing
causes intervene, gases escape, and retorts smash. This was one of the
former; and the subtle essence long sought after by Layton, so eagerly
desired, and half despaired of, seemed at last almost within reach. A
certain salt, an ingredient very difficult of preparation, was, however,
wanting to his further progress, and it was necessary that he should
provide himself with it ere he advanced any further. To obtain this
without any adulterating admixture and in all purity was essential to
success; and he determined to set out immediately for Dublin, where he
could himself assist in its preparation.
“What good luck it was, Grace,” said he, as he entered the room where
she sat awaiting dinner for him,--“what good luck that the boy should
have sent us this money! I must go up to Dublin to-morrow, and without
it I must have given up the journey.”
“To Dublin!” said she, in a half-frightened voice, for she dreaded--not
without reason--the temptations he would be exposed to when accidentally
lifted above his usual poverty.
“Ay, girl; I want a certain 'cyanuret' of which you have never heard,
nor can help me to any knowledge of, but which a Dublin chemist that I
know of will assist me to procure; and with this salt I purpose to make
myself a name and reputation that even Mr. Ogden will not dare to
dispute. I shall, I hope, have discovered what will render disease
painless, and deprive operation of all its old terrors. If my
calculations be just, a new era will dawn upon medical science, and the
physician come to the sick man as a true comforter. My discovery, too,
is no empyric accident for which I can give no reason, nor assign no
cause, but the result of patient investigation, based upon true
knowledge. My appeal will be to the men of science, not to popular
judgments. I ask no favor; I seek no patronage. Herbert Layton would be
little likely to find either; but we shall see if the name will not soar
above both favor and patronage, and rank with the great discoverers, or,
better again, with the great benefactors of mankind.”
Vainglorious and presumptuous as this speech was,--uttered, too, in a
tone boastful as the words themselves,--it was the mood which Layton's
wife loved to see him indulge. If for nothing else than it was the
reverse of the sardonic and bitter raillery he often practised,--a
spirit of scoff in which he inveighed against the world and himself,--it
possessed for her an indescribable charm. It represented her husband,
besides, in what she loved to think his true character,--that of a
noble, enthusiastic man, eagerly bent upon benefiting his fellows. To
her thinking, there was nothing of vanity,--no overweening conceit in
all these foreshadowings of future fame; nay, if anything, he
understated the claims he would establish upon the world's gratitude.
With what eager delight, then, did she listen! how enchanting were the
rich tones of his voice as he thus declaimed!
“How it cheers my heart, Herbert, when I hear you speak thus! how bright
everything looks when you throw such sunlight around you!”
“'Is this the debauchee,--is this the fellow we have been reading of in
the reports from Scotland Yard? Methinks I hear them whispering to each
other. Ay, and that haughty University, ashamed of its old injustice,
will stoop to share the lustre of the man it once expelled.”
“Oh, think of the other and the better part of your triumph!” cried she,
eagerly.
“The best part of all will be the vengeance on those who have wronged
me. What will these calumniators say when it is a nation does homage to
my success?”
“There are higher and better rewards than such feelings,” said she, half
reproachfully.
“How little you know of it!” said he, in his tone of accustomed
bitterness. “The really high and great rewards of England are given to
wealth, to political intrigue, to legal success. It's your banker, your
orator, or your scheming barrister, who win the great prizes in our
State Lottery. Find out some secret by which life can be restored to the
drowned, convert an atmosphere of pestilence into an air of health and
vigor, discover how an avalanche may be arrested in its fall, and, if
you be an Englishman, you can do nothing better with your knowledge than
sell it to a company, and make it marketable through shareholders.
Philanthropy can be quoted on 'Change like a Welsh tin-mine or a patent
fuel company; and if you could raise the dead, make a 'limited
liability' scheme of it before you tell the world your secret.”
“Oh, Herbert, it was not thus you were wont to speak.”
“No, Grace,” said he, in a tone of gentle, sorrowful meaning; “but there
is no such misanthrope as the man who despises himself.” And with this
he hastened to his room and locked the door. It was while carelessly and
recklessly he scattered the harsh words by which he grieved her most
that he now and then struck some chord that vibrated with a pang of
almost anguish within him, uttering aloud some speech which from another
he would have resented with a blow. Still, as the criminal is oftentimes
driven to confess the guilt whose secret burden is too heavy for his
heart, preferring even the execration of mankind to the terrible
isolation of secrecy, so did he feel a sort of melancholy satisfaction
in discovering how humbly and meanly he appeared before himself.
“A poor man's pack is soon made, Grace,” said he, with a sad smile, as
he entered the room, where she was busily engaged in the little
preparations for his journey.
“Tom, don't go! don't go! don't!” screamed out the parrot, wildly.
“Only listen to the creature,” said he; “he 's at his warnings again. I
wish he would condescend to be more explanatory and less oracular.”
She only smiled, without replying.
“Not but he was right once, Grace,” said Layton, gravely. “You remember
how he counselled me against that visit to the Rectory.”
“Don't! don't!” croaked out the bird, in a low, guttural voice.
“You are too dictatorial, doctor, even for a vice-provost. I will go.”
“All wrong! all wrong!” croaked the parrot.
“By Jove! he has half shaken my resolution,” said Layton, as he sat down
and drew his hand across his brow. “I wish any one would explain to me
why it is that he who has all his life resented advice as insult, should
be the slave of his belief in omens.” This was uttered in a half-
soliloquy, and he went on: “I can go back to at least a dozen events
wherein I have had to rue or to rejoice in this faith.”
“I too would say, Don't go, Herbert,” said she, languidly.
“How foolish all this is!” said be, rising; “don't you know the old
Spanish proverb, Grace, 'Good luck often sends us a message, but very
rarely calls at the door herself?' meaning that we must not ask Fortune
to aid us without our contributing some effort of our own. I will go,
Grace. Yes, I will go. No more auguries, doctor,” said he, throwing a
handkerchief playfully over the bird and then withdrawing it,--a measure
that never failed to enforce silence. “This time, at least,” said he, “I
mean to be my own oracle.”