Chapter XIV

"Mr. Rivers regrets that he is unable to receive you to-night, sir."

Laurence looked round with something approaching a start at Renshaw, the butler, whose respectful, colourless voice broke in thus upon his meditations. The dining-room struck him as hotter and more oppressive than ever--by contrast probably with the buffeting wind and driving mist in which he had paced the lime-tree walk for a good hour before the dressing-bell rang. To-night the glass bowl, supported by the wanton, dancing, Etruscan figures, was filled with tuberoses and carmine-stained Japanese lilies; and the odour given off by these acted on the young man's brain as opium or hashish might have acted--at least so it appeared to him. The longer he meditated, the less could he distinguish between real and unreal, fact and phantasy. The best accredited articles of his moral and scientific creed had passed into the region of the open question. Speculation ran riot, all the accustomed landmarks of his thought being for the time submerged; while the wildest and most extravagant ideas presented themselves as within the range of practical action. That last read letter of Agnes Rivers, and his own resemblance to her lover, had inflamed his imagination and his heart. Even in their one night's intercourse, he had seen intelligence, purpose, gaiety, return to her. Now the daring conception that such a process might be continued, until his sweet and mysterious companion recovered all the senses and attributes of living womanhood, formed itself in his mind. Was it not conceivable that this appearance might be materialised, so that the fair and gracious spirit should once again inhabit a human body, and know all those dear joys of love and motherhood which had been--by some evil fortune, some catastrophe, as he supposed--denied to her? An immense ambition to be the instrument of this restoration, this recovery, grew within him. He would work a miracle, he would be as God, clothing the soul with flesh, raising the dead. And this by no exercise of charlatanism, by no dabbling in old-world superstitions, or dealings in folly of White Magic or of Black; but simply by force of will, by the action of mind on mind, by the incalculable power of a great love. It was impious, perhaps. Morally it was doubtful--circumstanced as he, Laurence, was. But it was the most magnificent experiment ever offered either to man of science, or to poet. Here was the opportunity he had desired, had waited for. Here was his chance in life!

Then the butler's voice cut in, bringing him down to the everyday level. No wonder he looked round a little dazed.

"Mr. Rivers regrets that he will be unable to receive you to-night, sir," it said.

And Laurence asked in answer--

"Is my uncle ill? Is he worse?"

"Mr. Lowndes has brought down word that he is tired, sir. Mr. Armstrong, the agent, arrived from Scotland this afternoon while you were out. Mr. Rivers has had a long interview with him--too long an interview in Mr. Lowndes's opinion."

"I am sorry," Laurence said absently. He fell to caressing his wonderful idea again, but the butler waited.

"Mr. Armstrong requested me to add, sir, that if convenient to you, as you will not be engaged with Mr. Rivers, he would be obliged if you would allow him to speak to you in the course of the evening."

"Oh, by all means," the young man said, rising. Then he added--"Tell Mr. Armstrong I will see him at once. Later I may be occupied. Where? In the small library--yes."

Laurence betook himself to the library, prepared to be bored with a good grace. But he might have spared himself such preparation, for looking on the new-comer, he liked him. The man, in age about sixty, was of barely middle height, broad-shouldered and lean about the flanks. He carried his head forward, stooping slightly, in observant, meditative fashion. He was slow of movement, calm, one capable of having his joke and keeping it to himself. His face was shaped like a kite, remarkable in the breadth of the lower part of the forehead and the high cheek-bones, narrowing down to a long, flat chin. The upper lip was long too, a somewhat pragmatical and self-righteous upper lip. While the eyes, set far apart under the wide brow, showed a clear, kindly blue between the narrow lids that ended in a fan-like system of wrinkles at the outward corners. The nose was thin and straight at the bridge, with wide-winged, open nostrils. The hair, formerly sandy, was now grey, smooth on the low dome of the head, and thickly waved above and behind the flat-set, long-lobed ears. In all a shrewd, humorous, sober countenance, ruddy, moreover, as a well-ripened, autumn apple.

At first the agent's talk was professional, dealing in matters of leases and rights-of-way; of draining operations and the breeding and rearing of cattle; of the iniquitous heaviness of road rates, the culture of hops, and the cutting of copses. But gradually it began to take on a more personal and racial character, since the Scotchman is yet to be born who can go very long in conversation without blowing--be it never so discreetly--the trumpet of his own unrivalled nation. So he fell to dilating upon the superiority of the Scotch to the English system of national education; upon the indolence and general incapacity of the south-country labourer; upon the glaring futilities and imbecilities of district and parish councils; and upon the congenital incapacity of the Anglican clergy--every man-Jack of them--to deliver a sermon which would satisfy the intelligence and theological acumen of the most ordinary congregation north of Tweed.

Laurence listened, amused by the exhibition of the speaker's both conscious and unconscious prejudices. The man was alive; he was self-secure and dependable. Laurence saw he would be a pleasant fellow to work with. And the thought of that work began to occupy his mind, opium dreams giving place before practical interests and activities. Laurence talked in his turn, showing a keenness in business and a knowledge of it, which Armstrong, with pursed-up lips and slow noddings of the head, evidently relished.

"Aweel," he remarked at last, after the younger man had given a particularly lucid description of certain labour-saving farm-implements employed in the wheat-growing states of Western America,--"I trust it is no disrespect to an old master, whom it pleases the Almighty to withdraw to some other sphere of usefulness--or the contrary, for it would be overbold to prophesy largely on that subject of utility in the case of your uncle, Mr. Rivers--it is no disrespect, I say, I trust, for a man who has served such an one for over thirty years to the best of his ability, to feel himself not indisposed to welcome the new master. I am constrained to tell you, Mr. Laurence Rivers, that I looked to find in you some flighty, flimsy, modern run-about of a creature. I acknowledge my error with thanksgiving. The impression you make on my mind is far from unfavourable."

"That's right," Laurence said genially. "I am new to all these landed property concerns as yet; but I expect I shall be able to get round them pretty smartly when the time comes."

"I think you will, I think you will." The agent's blue eyes twinkled with a certain quiet humour, upon the young man, from between their narrow lids. "Your uncle, I must admit, is but a feeble body in the practical domain. His great understanding has, so to speak, not infrequently got between his legs and thrown him down. It is pitiful to see any person so clever that he cannot condescend to take advantage of the handsome position the Almighty has allowed him. I own there have been times when I have felt rebellious against the Lord's too great generosity in the goods of this world--perishable, I know, yet deserving of consideration--to one constitutionally incapable of drawing full profit out of them. Therefore I perceive with thankfulness, Mr. Rivers, you are of a different make."

Laurence leaned back in his chair, and lighted another cigarette. It was early yet--and he liked the man. He would encourage him to talk on for a while longer.

"Oh yes," he said, "you needn't be worried under that head, Armstrong. I've the reputation of by no means quarrelling with my bread and butter, or despising the goodly fruits of this admittedly naughty world, in whatever form I find them."

"Temperance is a canny virtue; and I would recommend moderation in all things, after the teaching of the Apostle Paul. Yet I am glad to find, Mr. Rivers, you have your feet upon the floor. It will be well for your estates, at the preservation and improvement of which I and my kin have laboured--not unfaithfully--for three generations."

"So long as that?" the young man ejaculated. The statement indirectly suggested a former strain of thought.

"Yes, for three generations--and not without trials. For I would have you understand that a certain impracticability runs in your family, Mr. Rivers--a perversity, not sinful altogether, but very wearing to those that have your temporal interests at heart."

Gently Laurence blew a little cloud out of his nostrils, and watched it float upward across the dark, warm-hued landscape by Nicholas Poussin hanging over the chimney-piece. Against the windows the rain beat, while the heavy folds of the crimson, damask curtains, covering them, swayed just perceptibly in the draught.

"I can believe it," he said. "My people have been afflicted with ideas; and ideas play the very mischief with business, don't they, Armstrong?"

"In their degree, and subject to a thrifty discretion in their application, I would not wholly condemn them," the agent replied. His shrewd glance dwelt on the younger man with undisguised pleasure. He was so handsome, well bred, well made, and apparently so able a fellow.--"But ideas are kittle cattle, Mr. Rivers," he continued, "needing strenuous supervision if you would not have them break out of pasture and run mad, sairly to the dislocation of all legitimate traffic. And it has been the affliction of more than one member of your family to let his ideas run abroad to a length of pernicious extravagance. For instance, my grandfather, a person of capacity and circumspection beyond the average, was factor to your great uncle, Mr. Dudley Rivers, and--"

Laurence kept his eyes fixed on the last blue of the little smoke-cloud curling about the intricate foliations of the upper corner of the picture frame; yet his voice had a certain quickness and vibration in it as he exclaimed--

"Ah! Dudley Rivers--yes. Well, how about him, Armstrong?"

"Not much good, not much good. Like the foolish body recorded by the Psalmist, he had 'said in his heart, There is no God.' And having made that very impious and lying observation, and so disposed of the Deity, he proceeded to supersede the latter in his own person, and attempt the reorganisation of society according to his own hare-brained fancies. Regarding his deliverance from dangerous delusions my grandfather could do but little, being himself a godly man, and holding firmly by the doctrine of Election. If the poor misguided creature would go to the devil, Mr. Rivers, it was--so my grandfather held--because to the devil he was righteously foredoomed and predestined to go. And so my grandfather, relieved of all responsibility in that respect, felt free to apply the whole of his abilities to saving the poor, erring person's treasure on earth, since it was manifestly not the intention of Providence that he should inherit any treasure in heaven. He had long taken entire charge of those estates in the county of Fife, which belonged to Mr. Dudley's young cousin and ward, Miss Agnes Rivers--"

"Ah!" Laurence ejaculated softly.

"And many a time did my grandfather undertake the tedious journey down here, from the north, to lend a seasonable hand in restraining Mr. Dudley from committing some ruinous foolishness in respect of Miss Agnes, or of his own southern property. For Mr. Dudley was just completely saturated with pernicious opinions derived from the writings of Rousseau, and Tom Paine, and other such seditious persons; and Satan entering into him at intervals, and blinding his small surviving modicum of reason, he proposed to reduce them to practice--poor, demented body."

"Yes," Laurence said, "he had graduated in a rather impossible school, no doubt. But--but--Armstrong, what about his private life--his morals?"

"Blameless--blameless--more's the pity, since his virtues could but come under the head of works of supererogation--so my grandfather held--profitless alike in this world and in the next. Indeed, though a strict man himself, I am constrained to believe he would have experienced relief in seeing Mr. Dudley enjoy the pleasures of sin--they are real, very real while they last, unfortunately--for a season."

Laurence flung away the stump of his cigarette, and turned sideways in his chair.

"Now, as we're on the subject," he said, "and as you seem to know all about these people of mine, what sort of fellow was Dudley's younger brother, my namesake, Laurence Rivers?"

"Weel, I have reason to believe he was a very promising sprig--a likely young gentleman, high-spirited, clean-living, and not without a show of capacity for affairs. My grandparents, both of them, entertained a warm affection for him."--The man paused in his slow sing-song talk, smiling.--"I should surmise him to have been much such a person as yourself, Mr. Rivers, with a natural gift of winning the hearts of those brought into contact with him. But he fell at Trafalgar, shot through the lungs, as no doubt you have heard--cut off before he had opportunity to acquaint the world with the worth of the talents that might reside in him. It was a grievous misfortune, for his death took place but three months before the day appointed for his and his cousin's marriage. And often, as a soft-hearted bit of a laddie, I have cried to hear my grandmother tell of the coming of the awful news and the grief of the poor young lady. She was a gracious, winsome thing, as bright as a sunbeam on a running brook; very pious, too, and charitable, so that no mortal soul could but wish her well that looked on her. But she was shivered by the stroke of her sorrow, as you might shiver some fragile trifle of an ornament with a careless blow. She would not eat or speak for many days, and her sleep departed from her. And, indeed, during the few months of life that remained to her she rarely uttered a word. Her poor bits of wits seemed to drain out of her with her tears, for all that she was highly educated, and an accomplished musician and sweet singer."

Laurence had risen to his feet. He stood with his back to the fire, his hands behind him, and his head bent.

"Poor child!" he said softly. "Well, she knew how to love, anyway."

"No woman better; but I am thinking, Mr. Rivers, she introduced into her affections a touch of that same extravagance which pertains to so many members of your family. For my grandmother used to tell me that, though altogether gentle and docile, she studied nothing but to turn over her dead love's letters, and play with the various gifts he had bestowed upon her, as a little lass plays with its puppets and toys. It was the pitifulest spectacle under the dome of the sky, that of her affliction; and Mr. Dudley, notwithstanding his reprehensible opinions and infamous heresies, watched over her like a father. His patience knew no bounds, poor body. He would have laid himself down as the ground for her to walk on, could that have accelerated her recovery. He spared no expense of doctors, both foreign and English, to prescribe for her; and carried her away to Bath, by their advice, to drink the waters there. But all the medicinal waters that ever welled up through the length and breadth of God Almighty's curious earth are powerless to ease the ache of a broken heart. She wanted but one thing, and that no mortal soul could give her. And so, poor, white lily of a thing, she just sickened, and faded, and died."

Laurence stood very still, looking down at the hearthrug between his feet, while the rain beat against the windows. The agent watched him for a little space, and then rose, a trifle stiffly and carefully, from his chair.

"I am keeping you over long with my family histories, Mr. Rivers," he said. "But it comes to me that we are about to see great changes in this place very speedily; and our conversation to-night has been a valediction to the old dynasty and a recognition of the new. There has been no lady at Stoke Rivers since Miss Agnes died, and you, so I learn, are a married man."

Laurence left his contemplation of the hearthrug, and drew himself up rather sharply.

"Yes," he said, "my wife is much interested in the prospect of this English property."

He turned his back, and stared into the fire.

"Look here, Armstrong," he said, "where was she--Agnes Rivers, I mean--where was she buried?"

A singularly acute expression came over the agent's countenance. He looked hard at the young man, but the latter did not move or turn his head. The wind, increasing in force broke, as in great waves, against the house front and the curtains swayed sullenly in the draught. Armstrong cleared his throat.

"I am thinking it's a calamitous night for too many poor folks at sea," he remarked; and then added:--"Buried? Weel, presumably at Bath, where she died, Mr. Rivers. A grand funeral took place there, to my grandfather's knowledge, for he was called upon to journey the whole long way from Cupar to attend it, and the snow lay some foot deep in the North. A grand funeral, truly, in appearance, with black horses, and plumes, and lumbering black coaches, and all signs of respect and customary outward manifestations of woe."

Still Laurence did not move; but the gusty wind was so loud that it obliged him to raise his voice in asking--

"Well, well, if there was all this display about the funeral, why _presumably_ then?"

"Because I am constrained to admit that a certain mystery surrounded that transaction. My grandparents would never speak directly of it, being prudent persons, and knowing, conceivably, more than it was becoming for them to tell. But there were tongues that said, Mr. Rivers, that no sweet lassie's corpse lay in that coffin; but only books, and cast clothes, and bricks, and rubbish, to make up the weight."

Laurence turned round suddenly. His face was keen, his eyes alight.

"But why?" he asked.

"Partly, I surmise, on account of Mr. Dudley's atheistical views, which caused him to hate and scorn all decent Christian rites and ceremonies. And partly because of the feelings he entertained towards his cousin--for it was well known she was the only human creature that had ever moved him to love--it was apprehended he refused to part with her body even in death."

For a few moments the two men looked hard at each other.

"And what then?" Laurence demanded. Armstrong raised his hands, almost as in repudiation of his own thought.

"The Lord only knows," he said. "As the poet says, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.' But I, being a practical man, do not concern myself with such, Mr. Rivers. I would not learn more of hidden matters than is strictly necessary to salvation. If it is the intention of the Deity that further revelation of laws, either natural or spiritual, should be granted us, such revelation will, without doubt, come at the time appointed. And so I, personally, would not force the hand of Providence or be over forward in pushing myself into its secret counsels."

He paused, regarding the younger man with much friendliness and some anxiety. But Laurence did not speak. He merely smiled, holding out his hand.

"Aweel, good night to you then, Mr. Rivers," the agent said, taking the outstretched hand and holding it awhile.--"I must repeat, I am glad to carry away so favourable an impression of our first meeting. But, as a word at parting having in mind the tendencies of your family constitution, I would earnestly commend to you those canny virtues, moderation and temperance, in all your undertakings.--I will be resident here for the coming week, or longer should a more protracted stay be incumbent on me, in the interests of your affairs or your uncle's. My sons are good, steady lads, and will mind our northern business for me--a business not unprosperous or decreasing. And so you can notify me at any time should you feel an inclination to acquaint yourself further with the workings of this estate, or other items of poor Mr. Rivers's by no means inconsiderable property."