Robert Orange Part 19

"Well, I can tell you of three wretches at any rate."

"Three--against the world and all the planets and heaven?" said he.

"Yes. They are Beauclerk, and Agnes and I. We want time and s.p.a.ce annihilated in order that we may be happy. We must be humorous studies to those looking on, but we are, nevertheless, utterly desperate. This is true. Scold me now--if you can. Tell me what is to become of us--if you dare."

She stood up. She clenched her small hands, set her lips, and grew so pale that the pearls around her neck seemed dark.

"Tell me what is to become of us--if you dare," she repeated, "because mischief is certain. You belong to those who endure and fight good fights, and keep the faith. Beauclerk and I are of another order altogether. We suffer without endurance, we fight without winning, and the little faith we have is so little that it is taken away from us. As for Agnes--wait! She is encased, at present, in conventionalities. But she is gradually getting rid of these wrappings and trappings. She will surprise you all yet."

"I can believe that. She is a woman, and a good one. All the surprising, inconceivable things are done by good women."

"And most of the wicked things, too."

"Possibly."

"Let me tell you then that, if it is possible in the circ.u.mstances, Agnes ought to give Beauclerk his release. It would be no more than his right to demand this."

"A right is something independent of circ.u.mstances, and paramount to them. But when you once talk of your rights and your wrongs in love, all love is gone, or going. I hope it hasn't come to that--with Reckage!"

"You have great knowledge of him and know how to press it home when you choose. Can't you see, plainly enough, that he is on the road to disaster?"

"No. One may easily be a long way from happiness and still be nowhere near disaster," he said, checking a deep sigh. "Of course, if he feels that he cannot in honour remain in his present situation, he must act at once. Men who are desirous to satisfy all their friends soon become irresolute on every occasion. That is all I shall say upon the subject, and this, perhaps, may be saying more than I ought."

"Another reproof! So be it. But I am thinking of his contentment, and you are thinking of his duty. What is duty? It generally means that which your acquaintances--for no reason and without warrant--expect of you. I take a larger view."

"People of Beauclerk's stamp are so const.i.tuted that they can rarely find contentment by defying a general opinion."

"But Agnes is not a pretty, crying, fluttering creature who would excite compa.s.sion. Who, for instance, could jilt Pensee? I don't wish Beauclerk to jilt anybody, however. I want Agnes to take the step."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because he will break his heart and die--if she doesn't. There!"

"Then it will be your fault."

"Mr. Orange!"

"You know it, and I mean it."

She smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"Do you think I would ever take the commonplace course?" she said proudly. "I did hope that you could appreciate motives for which the world at large is slow enough to give credit. Beauclerk is weak, attractive, and in perplexity; I search my heart again and again, and I find nothing but friendship there--for him. I am careful of every word I speak, and every look, and every thought. My interest is unselfish.

But," she added, "what can any of us do, after all, toward raising either dead bodies or dead souls?"

"Dead souls?"

"Yes. Beauclerk might have been something once; he is still very clever; he will soon be a man for occasional addresses. I believe in him, you see."

"I know that."

She was smiling, yet almost in tears, and her voice trembled. He wished to speak, if only to break the sudden, oppressive silence which followed her last words; but neither of them could find a thought to offer. They sat facing each other, lost in following out unutterable conjectures, fancies, and doubts, each painfully aware of a certain mystery, each filled with a sure premonition of troubles to come.

"I could almost pray," she exclaimed at last, "that you didn't trust him. Because--in spite of himself--he must disappoint every one. He is not a deliberate traitor--but a born one."

As Sara spoke the double doors were thrown open.

Lord Reckage was announced.

"Beauclerk!" she exclaimed.

His lordship, self-absorbed, did not perceive her confusion--which she was too young to dissemble perfectly.

"The man told me that you were here," he said, addressing Orange and seating himself by Sara. "I call this luck--finding you both together. I have just been with my Committee. They always expect the worst of me now, and they are always cheerful in the expectation."

Sara began to disentangle some silk fringe on her skirt; she did not look up, and she offered no comment.

"What is the matter now?" asked Robert.

"They want to get rid of me. You see, one might practise very considerably on the credulity of the members if one chose, and these fellows on the Executive wish me to take a cautious line with regard to Dr. Temple's nomination.[Footnote: Mr. Gladstone's nomination of Dr.

Temple to the See of Exeter.] It is all very well for Pusey to write, 'Do you prefer your party to Almighty G.o.d and to the souls of men?' But, as Aumerle says, Pusey is not in the House of Commons. An attack on Temple will be highly unpopular. We have sounded opinion in various quarters, and we receive the unanimous reply--'Have nothing to do with it.' There is a feeling in the clubs, too, that vapid, colourless orthodoxy is not wanted in England. Healthy disagreement within limits suits us. The question is, then: Ought I to go against this strong tide and get myself disliked?"

"Yes," said Sara at once.

"You think so?"

"Beyond a doubt."

"Of course," said his lordship, readily enough, "a combination in defence of any article of the faith is a n.o.ble thing. My original idea was to get up a combination of High and Low and Broad Churchmen, and make a stand on purely legal grounds. For instance, how can the bishops, _without previous explanation_, consecrate one lying under the censure of their House? That is all. There is nothing offensive in that. We merely ask for an explanation: we offer no judgment: we state no prejudice. If Dr. Temple intends to withdraw his paper from _Essays and Reviews_--well and good. Personally, he bears the highest character. He would be, in many ways, an acquisition to the Church. But does he himself believe in the Church as a Divine inst.i.tution--mark you, a _Divine_ inst.i.tution? Neither the _Outs_ nor the _Ins_, I should think, could object to this question. Aumerle and the Executive, however, are dead against any proceedings at all. They think we ought to give our a.s.sociation a more secular character. They say we are hampered by too vehement a religious tone. They say that broad Christian principles are more workable. Besides, the word Christian always attracts the Nonconformists in spite of themselves. They are bound to support you if you stick to the line of a believer in Christ--irrespective of particular doctrines. And so on and so on. I prefer something more hard and fast myself. Yet they may be right. One must go with the times."

He shifted his chair several times during this speech, looking first at Orange and then at Sara for encouragement.

"Your Executive are poor creatures," said Sara, with a curling lip; "your weak theologians have become flabby politicians--their one rule of action is to avoid everything which demands even the possibility of self-sacrifice or adverse criticism."

"That is most unfair," said Reckage hotly. "One must see where one is going."

"The world," said Sara, "in the long run, despises those who pander to it."

"Yes, but it is in the _long_ run, and no mistake! What a fellow you are, Robert! Why don't you suggest something? Are you trying to find the civilest thing you can say of the performance?"

"It is the system which you must attack in the present difficulty. The system is at fault--not Dr. Temple," said Robert.

"No other system can be now looked to as a subst.i.tute," answered Reckage impatiently. "The thing cannot be done away now, the danger is too near."

"Exactly. The English can never deal with systems or ideas. They can only attack individuals--you depend in a crisis on the pa.s.sions of men, never on their reason. Whereas if you overhauled their reason, worked it, and trained it, the pa.s.sions, at the critical moment, would be roused with better effect, and would be properly organised. Organised pa.s.sions are what you need for a strong public movement. Whirling emotions in contrary currents are utterly futile."

"I daresay. I hoped we might make such efforts as to fix a lasting impression on both Houses that the State appointment of bishops, coupled with the farce of a _conge d'elire_, is rank blasphemy. This outrage on good taste ought to occupy the attention of every man. It is quite enough to fill the minds of all."

"It won't," said Robert. "You must remember that whatever strikes the mind of an average man, as the result of his own observation and discovery, makes always the strongest impression upon him. Now the average man is not engaged in studying Church government. He will not thank you for calling his attention to it."