Sword and Gown Part 5

Far deeper would have been the compa.s.sion had she guessed at the pang that shot straight to Armand's heart as he veiled his blasted features and haggard eyes, feeling bitterly that such as he were not worthy to look upon her in the glory of her brilliant beauty.

"A notorious atheist and profligate," was the reply. "We can not regard his sore affliction in any other light than a judgment--a manifest judgment, dear Miss Tresilyan."

There was grave disapproval and just a shade of contempt in the face of one of his hearers as she said, "The hand of G.o.d is laid so heavily there that man may surely forbear him." But Mrs. Danvers struck in to her favorite's rescue, rejoicing in an opportunity of displaying her partisanship.

"A judgment, of course. It would be sinful to doubt it. Besides, do not _others_ suffer?" (She cast up her eyes here pointedly, as though she said, "There may be more perfect saints, but if you want a fair specimen of the fine old English martyr--_me voici_.") "Cecil, my love, I wonder you did not perceive Major Keene's true character at once. You were talking to him a good deal the other day."

"He did not favor me with any remarkably heretical opinions," Miss Tresilyan replied, carelessly. "Perhaps they have been exaggerated. At all events, he is not likely to do us much harm. Don't you think _we_ are safe, Bessie? d.i.c.k does not care much for play; and his ideas on religious subjects are so very simple that it would be hard to unsettle them."

Clearly she thought the topic was exhausted, but it had a strange fascination for Mr. Fullarton. One of the many good-natured people, who especially abound in those semi-English Continental towns, had been kind enough to quote or misquote to him a remark of Royston's about that sermon; and on this topic the chaplain was very vulnerable. He would have forgiven a real substantial injury far sooner than a depreciation of his discourses.

Was he one whit weaker or more susceptible than his fellows? I think not. All the philosophy on earth will not teach us to endure without wincing a mosquito's bite. The hardiest hero bears about him one spot where an ivy-leaf clinging intercepted the petrifying water--a tiny out-of-the-way spot, not very near the head or heart, but palpable enough to be stricken by Paris's arrow or Hagen's spear. Caesar is very sensitive about that bald crown of his, and fears lest even the laurel wreath should cover it but meagrely. Many wars, since that which brought Ilium to the dust, might have been traced to slighted vanity, and many excellent Christians have waxed quite as wroth as the queen of heathenish heaven about the _spretae injuria formae_. (Do you think this is a peculiarly feminine failing? I have seen a first-cla.s.s man and Ireland scholar look ma.s.sacres at the child of his bosom friend, when the unconscious innocent made disagreeable remarks on his personal appearance, alluding particularly to the shape of his nose, which was _not_ Phidian. He has since been heard to speak of that terrible deed in Bethlehem as a painful but justifiable measure of political expediency; and is inclined, on many grounds, to excuse and sympathize with the stem Idumean.) The insult offered to the emba.s.sador in Tarentum was only the outbreak of a single drunkard's brutality, but all the wealth of the fair city of Phalanthus did not suffice to pay the account for washing the soiled robe white again; and blood enough ran down her streets to have quenched some blazing temples before the Romans would give her a receipt in full.

Arguing from these _data_, we may conclude that Mr. Fullarton was laboring under a slight delusion in believing (which he did sincerely) that only a pure and disinterested zeal for the welfare of his flock impelled him to say, "I shall make it my business to inquire more fully into Major Keene's antecedents. I am convinced there is something discreditable in the background, and it may be well to be armed with proofs in case of need."

Though _he_ may have deceived himself completely as to the nature of the spirit that possessed him, Cecil Tresilyan was more clear-sighted. She had not failed to remark a certain vicious twinkle in the speaker's eye and a deeper flush on his ruddy countenance, betokening rather a mundane resentment. Her lip began to curl.

"How very disagreeable some of your duties must be. No doubt you interpret them correctly, but in this case perhaps it would be well to be _quite_ sure before acting on the offensive. If I were a man--even a clergyman--I don't think I should like to have Major Keene for my declared enemy."

The text with which the chaplain enforced his reply--expressive of a determination to keep his own line at all hazards, strong in the rect.i.tude of his cause--had better not be quoted here, especially as it was not apposite enough to "lay" the contradictory spirit that was alive in his fair opponent. (How very angry Cecil would have been if she had been told ten minutes ago that such an expression would apply to her!) The temptation to answer sharply was so powerful that she took refuge in distant coldness.

"You quite misunderstand me, Mr. Fullarton. I never dreamed of offering advice; it would have been excessively presumptuous in me, especially as I have not the faintest interest in the subject we have been talking about. Need we discuss it any longer? I think Major Keene has been too highly honored already."

That weary look was so manifest now on the beautiful face that even the chaplain, albeit tenacious of his position as a sea-anemone, felt that, for once, he had overstaid his time and was periling his popularity. So, after an expansive benediction, and an entreaty that they would be early at church on the morrow, he went "to his own place."

With a sigh of admiration--"What an excellent man, and how well he talks!" said Bessie Danvers.

With a sigh of relief--"He talks a great deal, and it is very late,"

said Cecil Tresilyan.

CHAPTER IX.

From his "coign of vantage" in the reading-desk the next morning, Mr.

Fullarton surveyed a crowded congregation, serenely complacent and hopeful, as a farmer in August looking down from the hill-side on golden billows of waving grain. Visitors had been pouring in rather fast during the week; and there was a vague, general impression, which no individual would have owned, that they were to hear something unusually good. For once expectation was not to be disappointed--a remarkable fact, when one considers how much dissatisfaction is created, as a rule, in the popular mind, by the shortcomings of eclipses, processions, Vesuvian eruptions, new operas, and other advertised attractions, natural and artificial.

The singing was really a success. Miss Tresilyan's magnificent voice did its duty n.o.bly, and did no more. Without overpowering or singling itself out from the others, it lured them on to follow where they could never have gone alone: the choir was kept in perfect order without even knowing that it was disciplined.

There was an elderly Englishman who had resided at Dorade ever since he had a slight difference of opinion with the Bankruptcy Court a quarter of a century back. Drifting helplessly and aimlessly about Europe in search of employment, he had taken root where he came ash.o.r.e, and vegetated, as floating weeds will do. He picked up rather a precarious livelihood by acting as a species of factotum to his countrymen in the season, ministering, not injudiciously, to their myriad whims and necessities. Among his multifarious functions, perhaps the most respectable and permanent was that of clerk to the English chapel. He was by no means a very religious man, nor were his morals quite unexceptionable, but he had completely identified himself with the fortunes and interests of that modest building. A sneer at its capabilities or a doubt as to its prospects would exasperate him at any time far more than a direct insult to himself (to be sure there was little self-respect left to be offended). When disguised in drink, which was the case tolerably often, he generally proposed to settle the question by the ordeal of battle, and was only to be appeased by an apology or a great deal more liquor.

On this occasion the success and the singing combined--for excess and hardship had not quite deadened a good ear for music--moved the old castaway strangely. His thoughts wandered back to the misused days when he had friends, and a position, and character; when he was a householder and vestryman, and even dreamt ambitiously of a churchwardenship. He could see distinctly his own pew, with the gray, worm-eaten panels, where he had sat many and many a warm afternoon, resisting sternly, as became a man of mark in the parish, treacherous inclinations to slumber.

He saw the ponderous brown gallery--eyesore to archaeologists--which held the village choir: there they were, with the sun streaming in on their heads through the western window, till even the faded red cushion in front deepened into rich crimson, chanting their quaint old anthems with right good courage, though every one got lost in the second line, and, after much independent exertion of the lungs, just came up in time to join in the grand final rally. He saw the mild-faced, gray-haired parson mounting slowly the pulpit stairs, adjusting and manoeuvring the refractory gown that _would_ come off his shoulders with the nervous gesture which, beginning in timidity, had grown into a habit that was part of the man. More plainly than all--he saw a low, green mound, just beyond the chancel walls, where one was sleeping who had lavished on him all the treasures of a rare, unselfish, trusting love; the dear, meek, little wife, who was so proud of her husband's few poor talents, so indulgent to his many failings, who ever had an excuse ready to answer his self-reproaches, whose weak, thin hand was always strong enough to pluck him back from ruin and dishonor, till it grew stiff and cold. She knew it, too, for he remembered the wail that burst from her lips when she thought she was alone, the night before she died--"Ah! who will save him now that I am gone?" How miserable and lonely he was long after they buried her! How incessantly he used to repeat those last words, meant to be comforting, that she spoke, with her arm wound round his neck, "Darling, you have been so very, very kind to me!" So it went on, till the devil of drink, choosing his time cunningly, entered into him, and battled with and drove out the angel. A strange resurrection! Memories that had died years ago, withering from very shame, began to curl and twine themselves round the hard, battered heart as tenderly as ever.

These pictures of the past were still vivid and clear, when he became aware of a dimness in his eyes that blinded them to all real surrounding objects; he felt so surprised that it broke the spell; tears had almost forgotten the way to his eyes.

Not very probable, is it, that a prosaic elderly clerk should dream of all this during the three last verses of a hymn? Well, the steadiest imagination is apt to disregard sometimes the proprieties of place; and as for s.p.a.ce--of course the visions of the night are quicker on the wing than their rivals of the day; yet there must be some a.n.a.logy, and, they say, we pa.s.s through the vicissitudes of half a lifetime in the few seconds before we wake.

Cecil was really pleased with the result of the singing. She would have been even more so had it not been for the marked expression of approval on the face of Royston Keene. It was evident she had been on her trial.

The cool, tranquil, appreciative smile was very provoking. It made her feel for the moment like a _prima donna_ on her first appearance at a new theatre.

Unusually eloquent and verbose was the sermon that day, for not only was the preacher aware that bright eyes looked upon his deeds, but he saw his enemies in the front of the battle. Surely all extemporaneous speakers, in court, pulpit, or senate, must be accessible to such external influences. It ought not to be so, of course, but I fancy it _is_. Would John Knox have been so fiery in denunciation if those wicked maids of honor had not derided him? I doubt if a discourse delivered in a Union would ever soar to sublimity, even if the excellent paupers could be supposed to understand it. So, with every sentence more plaintive grew Mr. Fullarton's lamentations over worldlings and their vanities, more bitter his invectives against those who, having themselves broken out of the fold, seek to lead others astray. An occasional gesture--something too expressive--was not needed to point his animadversions. The object of them sat with his head slightly bent, neither by frown nor smile betraying that a single allusion had gone home. The simple truth was, that he scarcely caught one word. The last cadence of sweeter tones was still lingering in his ears, and had locked them fast against all other sounds. The energetic divine might have poured out upon his guilty head yet stormier vials, and he would never have heard one roll of the thunder. However, the dearest friends must part, and all orations must come to an end, except those of the much-desiderated Chisholm Anstey, of whom an old-world parliament was not worthy; so, after "a burst of forty-five minutes without a check,"

the chaplain dismissed his beloved hearers to their digestion.

The stream, as it flowed out, divided, and broke up into small pools of conversation. Miss Tresilyan and her chaperone joined the Molyneux party, just as f.a.n.n.y was saying to Keene that "she hoped he would profit by much in the sermon that was evidently meant for him."

"_Was_ he personal?" the latter asked, so indifferently; "I didn't notice it. Well, I suppose it amuses him, and it certainly does not hurt me." (Mrs. Danvers sniffed indignantly--a form of protest to which her nose, from its construction, was eminently adapted; but he went on before she could speak) "Miss Tresilyan, will you allow perhaps the unworthiest member of the congregation to express an opinion that the singing went off superbly?"

Her beautiful eyes glittered somewhat disdainfully. "Thank you, you are very good. But I think you have hardly a right to be critical. I should like to have some one's opinion who is _really_ interested in the chapel. It was scarcely worth taking so much trouble to appear so the other day. You know what Liston said about the penny? 'It is not the value of the thing, but one hates to be imposed upon.' Delusions are not so agreeable as illusions, Major Keene."

Royston was very much pleased. He liked above all things to see a woman stand up to him defiantly; indeed, if they were worth "setting to with,"

he always tried to get them to spar as soon as possible, to find out if they had any idea of hitting straight. He did not betray his satisfaction, though, as he answered quite calmly, "Pardon me, I could not be so impertinent as to attempt a 'delusion' on so short an acquaintance. I deny the charge distinctly. I believe that residence in Dorade, and a certain amount of subscription, const.i.tute a member of Mr.

Fullarton's congregation, and give one a franchise. He has not thought fit to excommunicate me publicly as yet. I really was interested in the subject, for I fully meant to go to church this morning, and I mean to go again."

Insensibly they had walked on in advance of the others. She shook her head with a saucy incredulity--"I am no believer in sudden conversions."

"Nor I; I was not speaking of such; but I am very fond of good singing, and I would go any where to hear it. Did our chaplain include hypocrisy among my other disqualifications for decent society last night? I understand he is good enough to furnish a catalogue of them to all new comers."

Cecil certainly had not abused him then; so there was not the slightest necessity for her looking guilty and conscious, both of which she felt she was doing as she replied--"I am sure Mr. Fullarton would not asperse any one's character knowingly. He could only speak from a sense of duty, perhaps not a pleasant one."

"Quite so," said Royston; "I don't quarrel with him for any fair professional move. If he thinks it necessary or expedient to prejudice indifferent people against me, he is clearly right to do so. Ah! I see, you think I dislike him. I don't, indeed. Morally and physically, he seems a little too unctuous, that's all. Capital clergyman for a cold climate! Fancy how useful he would be in an Arctic expedition. They might save his salary in Arnott's stoves: I'm certain he _radiates_."

Miss Tresilyan knew that it was wrong to smile. But she had an unfortunately quick perception of the ridiculous, and the struggles of principle against a sense of humor were not always successful. She would not give up her point, though. "I can not think that you judge him fairly," she persisted.

"Perhaps not; but there is a large cla.s.s who would scarcely be much moved by stronger and abler words than, I suppose, we heard to-day--spoken as they were spoken. These preachers won't study the fitness of things; that's the worst of it. I have known a garrison chaplain deliver a discourse that, I am convinced, was composed for a visitation. It seems absurd to hear a man warning us against a particular sin, and threatening us with all sorts of penalties if we indulge in it, when it is impossible that he himself should ever have felt the temptation. We want some one who can find out the harmless side of our character, as well as the diseased part, and work upon it. Such a person may be as strict and harsh as he pleases, but he is listened to."

He paused for a moment, and went on in a graver tone--"I think it might have done even _me_ some good, when I was younger, to have talked for half an hour with the man who wrote 'How Amyas threw his sword away.'"

Cecil could not disagree with him now, nor did she wish to do so. She liked those last words of his better than any he had spoken. Remember, she was born and bred in the honest west country, where one, at least, of their own prophets hath honor. If you want to indulge your enthusiasm for the Rector of Eversley, let your next walking-tour turn thitherward; for on all the sea-board from Portsmouth to Penzance, there is never a woman--maid, wife, or widow--that will say you nay.

Keene saw his advantage, but was far too wise to follow it up then. The weaker s.e.x, as a rule, are acute but not very close reasoners; they mix up their majors and minors with a charming recklessness; and, if innocent of nothing else, are generally guiltless of a syllogism. It follows that, in the course of an argument, it is easy enough to entangle them in their talk. When such a chance occurs, don't come down on your pretty antagonist with "I thought you said so and so," but be politic as well as generous, and pa.s.s it by. They will do more justice to your self-denial than they would have done to your dialectic talents.

Corinna loves to be contradicted, but hates to be convinced, and dreads no monster so much as a short-horned--dilemma. She may forgive the first offense as inadvertent, but "one more such victory and you are lost."

Think how often clemency has succeeded where severity would have failed.

What did that discreet Eastern emir, when he found his fair young wife sleeping in a garden, where she had no earthly business to be? He laid his drawn sabre softly across her neck, and retired without breaking her slumbers. The cold blade was the first thing Zuleika felt when she woke; I can not guess what her sensations were; but when she gave the weapon back to her solemn lord, she pressed her rosy lips thrice on the blue steel, and made a vow that she most probably kept; and Hussein Bey never was happier, than when he drew her back to his broad breast, looking into her face silently with his calm, grave smile.

I fancy our sisters enter into an argument with more simple good faith and eagerness than we are wont to indulge in; so that it is probably easier to tease and exasperate them, which is amusing enough while it lasts. But no doubt it hurts them sometimes more than we are aware of; and, after all, breaking a b.u.t.terfly on the wheel is poor pastime, and not a very athletic sport. The glory, too, to be won is so small that it scarcely compensates for the pain we inflict, and may, perchance, eventually _feel_. Is Achilles inclined to be proud of the strength of his arm, or the keenness of his falchion, as he grovels in the dust at the slain Amazon's side? Nay, he would give half his laurels to be able to close that awful gaping wound--to see the proud lips soften for a moment from their immutable scorn--to detect the faintest tremor in the long white limbs that never will stir again.

The solemnity of these ill.u.s.trations, in which battles, murders, and sudden deaths are mingled, will prove that I regard the subject as by no means trivial, but am sincerely anxious to warn my comrades against yielding to a temptation which a.s.sails us daily.

On these principles the Cool Captain acted, then. His gay laugh opened a bridge to the retreating enemy as he said, "How my poor character must have been worried last night! I wish Mrs. Molyneux had been there. She is good enough to stand up for her old friend sometimes. I could hardly expect _you_ to take so much trouble for a very recent acquaintance."

"Of course not," replied Cecil. "I was not in a position to contradict any thing, even if I had wished to do so. But, I remember, I thought I would speak to you about my brother. You know enough of him already to guess why I am nervous about him. I almost forced him to take me abroad; and he is exposed to so many more dangers here than at home. Please, don't encourage him to play, or tempt him into any thing wrong. Indeed, I don't mean to speak harshly or uncourteously, so you need not be angry."

She raised her eyes to her companion's with a pretty pleading. He met them fairly. Whatever his intentions might be, no one could say that the major ever shrank from looking friend or foe in the face.

"I am sorry that you should think the warning necessary. Supposing that it were so--on my honor, he is safe from me. I should like to alter your opinion of me, if it were possible. Will you give me a chance?" The others joined them before she could reply; but more than once that day Cecil wondered whether, even during their short acquaintance, she had not sometimes dealt scanty justice to Royston Keene.