CHAPTER XXXIV

In the shadowy library light, when there was dawn out of doors, Edward

sat with his father, and both were silent, for Edward had opened his

heart, and his father had breathed some of the dry stock of wisdom on it.

Many times Edward rose to go; and Sir William signalled with his finger

that he should stay: an impassive motion, not succeeded by speech. And,

in truth, the baronet was revolving such a problem as a long career of

profitable banking refreshed by classical exercitations does not help us

to solve. There sat the son of his trust and his pride, whose sound and

equal temperament, whose precocious worldly wit, whose precise and broad

intelligence, had been the visionary comfort of his paternal days to

come; and his son had told him, reiterating it in language special and

exact as that of a Chancery barrister unfolding his case to the presiding

judge, that he had deceived and wronged an under-bred girl of the humbler

classes; and that, after a term of absence from her, he had discovered

her to be a part of his existence, and designed "You would marry her?"

Sir William asked, though less forcibly than if he could have put on a

moral amazement.

"That is my intention, sir, with your permission," Edward replied firmly,

and his father understood that he had never known this young man, and

dealt virtually with a stranger in his son--as shrewd a blow as the

vanity which is in paternal nature may have to endure.

He could not fashion the words, "Cerritus fuit," though he thought the

thing in both tenses: Edward's wits had always been too clearly in order:

and of what avail was it to repeat great and honoured prudential maxims

to a hard-headed fellow, whose choice was to steer upon the rocks? He did

remark, in an undertone,--

"The 'misce stultitiam' seems to be a piece of advice you have adopted

too literally. I quote what you have observed of some one else."

"It is possible, sir," said Edward. "I was not particularly sparing when

I sat in the high seat. 'Non eadem est aetas, non mens." I now think

differently."

"I must take your present conduct as the fruit of your premature

sagacity, I suppose. By the same rule, your cousin Algernon may prove to

be some comfort to his father, in the end."

"Let us hope he will, sir. His father will not have deserved it so well

as mine."

"The time is morning," said Sir William, looking at his watch, and

bestowing, in the bitterness of his reflections, a hue of triumph on the

sleep of his brother upstairs. "You are your own master, Edward. I will

detain you no more."

Edward shook his limbs, rejoicing.

"You prepare for a life of hard work," Sir William resumed, not without

some instigation to sternness from this display of alacrity. "I counsel

you to try the Colonial Bar."

Edward read in the first sentence, that his income would be restricted;

and in the second, that his father's social sphere was no longer to be

his.

"Exactly, sir; I have entertained that notion myself," he said; and his

breast narrowed and his features grew sharp.

"And, if I may suggest such matters to you, I would advise you to see

very little company for some years to come."

"There, sir, you only anticipate my previously formed resolution. With a

knavery on my conscience, and a giddy-pated girl on my hands, and the

doors of the London world open to me, I should scarcely have been capable

of serious work. The precious metal, which is Knowledge, sir, is only to

be obtained by mining for it; and that excellent occupation necessarily

sends a man out of sight for a number of years. In the meantime, 'mea

virtute me involvo.'"

"You need not stop short," said his father, with a sardonic look for the

concluding lines.

"The continuation is becoming in the mouth of a hero; but humbler persons

must content themselves not to boast the patent fact, I think." Edward

warmed as he spoke. "I am ready to bear it. I dislike poverty; but, as I

say, I am ready to bear it. Come, sir; you did me the honour once to let

me talk to you as a friend, with the limits which I have never

consciously overstepped; let me explain myself plainly and simply."

Sir William signified, "Pray speak," from the arms of his chair! and

Edward, standing, went on: "After all, a woman's devotion is worth

having, when one is not asked for the small change every ten minutes. I

am aware of the philosophic truth, that we get nothing in life for which

we don't pay. The point is, to appreciate what we desire; and so we reach

a level that makes the payment less--" He laughed. Sir William could

hardly keep back the lines of an ironical smile from his lips.

"This," pursued the orator, "is not the language for the Colonial Bar. I

wish to show you that I shall understand the character of my vocation

there. No, sir; my deeper wish is that you may accept my view of the sole

course left to a man whose sense of honour is of accord with the

inclination of his heart, and not in hostility to his clearer judgement."

"Extremely forensic," said Sir William, not displeased by the promise of

the periods.

"Well, sir, I need not remark to you that rhetoric, though it should fail

to convey, does not extinguish, or imply the absence of emotion in the

speaker; but rather that his imagination is excited by his theme, and

that he addresses more presences than such as are visible. It is, like

the Roman mask, fashioned for large assemblages."

"By a parity of reasoning, then,"--Sir William was seduced into

colloquy,--"an eternal broad grin is not, in the instance of a dualogue,

good comedy."

"It may hide profound grief." Edward made his eyes flash. "I find I can

laugh; it would be difficult for me to smile. Sir, I pray that you will

listen to me seriously, though my language is not of a kind to make you

think me absolutely earnest in what I say, unless you know me."

"Which, I must protest, I certainly do not," interposed Sir William.

"I will do my best to instruct you, sir. Until recently, I have not known

myself. I met this girl. She trusted herself to me. You are aware that I

know a little of men and of women; and when I tell you that I respect her

now even more than I did at first--much more--so thoroughly, that I would

now put my honour in her hands, by the counsel of my experience, as she,

prompted by her instinct and her faith in me, confided hers to

mine,--perhaps, even if you persist in accusing me of rashness, you will

allow that she must be in the possession of singularly feminine and

estimable qualities. I deceived her. My object in doing so was to spare

you. Those consequences followed which can hardly fail to ensue, when, of

two living together, the woman is at a disadvantage, and eats her heart

without complaining. I could have borne a shrewish tongue better,

possibly because I could have answered it better. It is worse to see a

pale sad face with a smile of unalterable tenderness. The very sweetness

becomes repugnant."

"As little boys requiring much medicine have anticipated you by noting in

this world," observed Sir William.

"I thank you for the illustration." Edward bowed, but he smarted. "A man

so situated lives with the ghost of his conscience."

"A doubtful figure of speech," Sir William broke in. "I think you should

establish the personality before you attempt to give a feature to the

essence. But, continue."

Edward saw that by forfeiting simplicity, in order to catch his father's

peculiar cast of mind, he had left him cold and in doubt as to the

existence of the powerful impulse by which he was animated. It is a prime

error in the orator not to seize the emotions and subdue the humanity of

his hearers first. Edward perceived his mistake. He had, however, done

well in making a show of the unabated vigour of his wits. Contempt did

not dwell in the baronet's tone. On the contrary, they talked and fenced,

and tripped one another as of old; and, considering the breach he had

been compelled to explode between his father and himself, Edward

understood that this was a real gain.

He resumed: "All figures of speech must be inadequate--"

"Ah, pardon me," said Sir William, pertinaciously; "the figure I alluded

to was not inadequate. A soap-bubble is not inadequate."

"Plainly, sir, in God's name, hear me out," cried Edward. "She--what

shall I call her? my mistress, my sweetheart, if you like--let the name

be anything 'wife' it should have been, and shall be--I left her, and

have left her and have not looked on her for many months. I thought I was

tired of her--I was under odd influences--witchcraft, it seems. I could

believe in witchcraft now. Brutal selfishness is the phrase for my

conduct. I have found out my villany. I have not done a day's sensible

work, or had a single clear thought, since I parted from her. She has had

brain-fever. She has been in the hospital. She is now prostrate with

misery. While she suffered, I--I can't look back on myself. If I had to

plead before you for more than manly consideration, I could touch you. I

am my own master, and am ready to subsist by my own efforts; there is no

necessity for me to do more than say I abide by the choice I make, and my

own actions. In deciding to marry her, I do a good thing--I do a just

thing. I will prove to you that I have done a wise thing.

"Let me call to your recollection what you did me the honour to remark of

my letters from Italy. Those were written with her by my side. Every

other woman vexed me. This one alone gives me peace, and nerve to work.

If I did not desire to work, should I venture to run the chances of an

offence to you? Your girls of society are tasteless to me. And they don't

makes wives to working barristers. No, nor to working Members.

"They are very ornamental and excellent, and, as I think you would call

them, accomplished. All England would leap to arms to defend their

incontestible superiority to their mothers and their duties. I have not

the wish to stand opposed to my countrymen on any question, although I go

to other shores, and may be called upon to make capital out of

opposition. They are admirable young persons, no doubt. I do not offer

you a drab for your daughter-in-law, sir. If I rise, she will be equal to

my station. She has the manners of a lady; a lady, I say; not of the

modern young lady; with whom, I am happy to think, she does not come into

competition. She has not been sedulously trained to pull her way, when

she is to go into harness with a yokefellow.

"But I am laying myself open to the charge of feeling my position weak,

seeing that I abuse the contrary one. Think what you will of me, sir, you

will know that I have obeyed my best instinct and my soundest judgement

in this matter; I need not be taught, that if it is my destiny to leave

England I lose the association with him who must ever be my dearest

friend. And few young men can say as much of one standing in the relation

of father."

With this, Edward finished; not entirely to his satisfaction; for he had

spoken with too distinct a sincerity to please his own critical taste,

which had been educated to delight in acute antithesis and culminating

sentences--the grand Biscayan billows of rhetorical utterance, in

comparison wherewith his talk was like the little chopping waves of a

wind-blown lake. But he had, as he could see, produced an impression. His

father stood up.

"We shall be always friends; I hope," Sir William said. "As regards a

provision for you, suitable to your estate, that will be arranged. You

must have what comforts you have been taught to look to. At the same

time, I claim a personal freedom for my own actions."

"Certainly, sir," said Edward, not conceiving any new development in

these.

"You have an esteem for Mrs. Lovell, have you not?"

Edward flushed. "I should have a very perfect esteem for her, if--" he

laughed slightly--"you will think I want everybody to be married and in

the traces now; she will never be manageable till she is married."

"I am also of that opinion," said Sir William. "I will detain you no

longer. It is a quarter to five in the morning. You will sleep here, of

course."

"No, I must go to the Temple. By the way, Algy prefers a petition for

Sherry. He is beginning to discern good wine from bad, which may be a

hopeful augury."

"I will order Holmes to send some down to him when he has done a week's

real duty at the Bank."

"Sooner or later, then. Good morning, sir."

"Good morning." Sir William shook his son's hand.

A minute after, Edward had quitted the house. "That's over!" he said,

sniffing the morning air gratefully, and eyeing certain tinted wisps of

cloud that were in a line of the fresh blue sky.