CHAPTER VI.
AGNES DUDLEY.
After the trial of Dr. Medjora, the young men who had so successfullydefended him became rapidly prominent. Within six months they wereretained in another celebrated case, and won new laurels. Within fiveyears they were counted among the first lawyers of the Metropolis, andhad already a practice which assured them ease and comfort for theirdeclining years.
Mr. Dudley continued to be the ardent student that he had always been,and those who knew how well versed he was in law, were not at allsurprised when he was eventually made a judge, a position which atthis time he had held with honor for five years. He had achievedwell-deserved fame. Aside from his undoubted probity, he really gracedhis position, for it was very seldom that any of his rulings werereversed by the higher courts.
I may mention here, parenthetically, that Mr. Bliss had also risen inhis profession, and had just been elected District Attorney, havingpreviously acquitted himself well as an assistant to his predecessor.
Agnes Dudley, the Judge's daughter, was eighteen years of age, havingbeen born about a year after the Medjora trial. Indeed, Dr. Medjoraalways called her his godchild, because he had been present at herbirth, and had enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with her and herparents throughout the years that followed. Judge Dudley had notmerely defended Dr. Medjora as a matter of business. Having nopositive opinion at the beginning of the trial, he had becomeconvinced during its progress, and especially while his client was onthe witness-stand, that Dr. Medjora was entirely innocent of the crimewith which he was charged. This feeling was intensified when the juryshowed an agreement with him, by acquitting the Doctor, and, as aresult, an intense sympathy was aroused in his breast for one whoseemed to have wrongfully undergone such an ordeal. For a man mustsuffer in reputation when once the finger of suspicion is pointed inhis direction, and it is out of the power of the State to repair theharm which has been done. Thus, from the position of client, Mr.Dudley elevated the Doctor into that place in his regard occupied byhis warmest friends.
Dr. Medjora had been quick to appreciate the affiliation of a man ofbrains, such as he recognized Judge Dudley to be, and, therefore, thefriendship had thriven. None exalted the legal ability of Mr. Dudleyhigher than did the Doctor, and no one valued Dr. Medjora'sprofessional skill more than did Mr. Dudley. Under thesecircumstances, of course the Doctor was intrusted with the medicalcare of the lawyer's family, and thus it was natural that he shouldfeel a paternal regard for his friend's daughter.
If he loved Agnes, she returned his affection in full measure. Sheused to say, even when a little tot, that she had two papas, and ifasked which she loved best, she would reply: "Bofe of 'em."
As she grew older, of course she discriminated between her father andthe Doctor, but if Judge Dudley received the greater share of herdemonstrations of affection, the Doctor was more than satisfied withwhat was allotted to him.
In proportion as the Doctor loved the child, so his wife disliked her,though she never exhibited her feelings openly. Indeed, in this onematter she had succeeded in deceiving her husband, who, astute as hewas in all other things, had never suspected that Madame harbored anyill-feeling against the girl. But Agnes herself was not very old whenshe began to understand, and as her wisdom increased with her years,she became less and less demonstrative towards the Doctor when thewife was present. Women detect these hidden heart-throbs with aninstinct which is peculiar to their sex, and which transcends reason,in that it is unfailing, however illogical it may seem to a man.
Agnes was a rare child, a rarer girl, and one of the rarest of womenas she matured. Without having a beautiful face, measured by the rulesof high art, she was endowed with a countenance which might escapenotice, but which, having once attracted observation, was never to beforgotten. Hers was a face that the least imaginative could readilyrecall in a dark room, and by an operation of the mind which producesimages subjectively, summon up a hallucination of the girl, asdistinct in lineament as though she were present in the flesh. Anartist had proven this by sitting in his studio, lighted only by acandle, that he might see his drawing-board, and he had succeeded inproducing a portrait of Agnes, as true to life as was possible. Heclaimed afterward that, without difficulty, he had projected hismental image of her against the dark background of his room, and thathe had seen her as clearly as though she had sat for him.
From one point of view, then, it might be said that she had a strongface, by which I would mean that it would make an indelible impressionupon the mind that observed her closely. There is a psychologicalreason for this, which I must ask you to look at with me if you wishto know Agnes. One dead face differs from another merely in theoutlines of form. A living face differs from all others, and isdifferent itself in varying moods, because there is something withinthe form which animates it. This is intellect. Some are poor in this,while others are richly endowed. The greater the intellect, the moredistinctively individual will be the face, and it is thisindividuality which marks the features, differentiating thecountenance from all others about it, so that it leaves a deeperimpression upon the brain, just as a loud noise is heard, or a brightflash seen, the more intensely.
Agnes's pre-eminent characteristic was her intellectuality. Sheabsorbed books, as a sponge does water, without apparent effort, andas a sponge may be squeezed and made to yield up nearly as much as ithad drawn in, so Agnes, if catechised, would show that she had apermanent grasp on what she had studied. She developed a fondness forthe classics, and for law, which delighted her father, and as hermother died when she was nearing her fifteenth year, they grew to bevery close companions. The father, deprived of the support andencouragement always afforded by a true and well-beloved wife,gradually leaned more and more upon his daughter, who showed herselfso worthy of affiliating with him mentally. It was therefore not verylong before her services became indispensable to him in findingreferences in his law library, and in many ways connected with hisprofession.
Of two other things in connection with Agnes I must speak. Physicallyshe was the perfection of ideal womanhood. She was strong in limb andbody, yet possessed all the grace of contour essential to the femininescheme of beauty. She had never been corseted in her life, and yet herfigure was superb, being well rounded and full, yet so supple thatevery muscle was obedient to her will. She could ride a horse, leap afence, swim, fish, and row a boat as well and untiringly as a man, yetin nothing was she masculine. She had cultivated all of those physicalpossibilities of her body, which it should be the privilege of allwomen to do, without transgressing some rule of society which has beenfashioned to protect the weaker specimens of the sex, rather than todevelop the dormant energies of womankind. It was her constant boastthat neither rain nor sun, nor any untoward freak of the elements,could deter her from pursuing a pre-arranged purpose. She never"caught cold." In truth she had never been ill one whole day since herbirth.
The other matter may seem a slight one, as I describe it, but were youto meet the girl, you would notice it very quickly. I allude to hermanner of speech. We all of us, when writing, are careful in formingour sentences. We spell all words in full, avoiding abbreviations. Butnote well the speech of even the most liberally educated and carefullynurtured, and what do we discover? That our English is sadlydefective, not merely in grammatical construction, but, moreparticularly, in pronunciation, and in enunciation. We slur manyletters, and merge many words, the one into the other. We are sopressed for time that we cannot pause to breathe between words; oursentences have no commas, and sometimes not even periods, that can berecognized as such. In our hurry we use abbreviations wheneverpossible. We say "don't," "won't," "can't," and many others that we"shouldn't."
Agnes never did this. Her language was always as correct, herpronunciation as perfect, and her enunciation as distinct, as thoughshe were constantly studying to be a purist. You say that she musthave been affected! But you are wrong. Not for an instant did she makesuch an impression upon any one. In this, as in all things, she wasmerely her natur
al self. It was a charm to the ear to hear her inconversation. Her voice was so musical, and her intonation sopleasant. I remember how attractive to me it was to listen to her asshe would say "I shall let you, etc." pronouncing the "t" and the "y"without effort and yet each distinctly. How much prettier than the"let chou" which so commonly assails the ear! Ah! You are saying thatyou do not so merge words; but be honest, and observe when next youessay such a phrase.
It was by the merest chance that the Judge and Agnes called on thevery day of Leon's arrival. They were _en route_ for the race-track,and passing near the Doctor's home, the Judge turned his horses in thedirection of his friend's house to inquire when he was expected toreturn. He was delighted to meet him.
Greetings having been exchanged they began a general conversation.
"What have you been doing up in the country, Doctor?" asked the Judge."Fishing, I suppose?"
"You might say," answered Dr. Medjora, "that I have been a fisher ofmen. I brought one back with me, you see." He indicated Leon by a waveof his hand. The Judge glanced at the youth, and awaited a furtherexplanation.
"Leon and I are old friends," continued the Doctor. "I met him firstwhen he needed my services to help him with a broken leg. But I haveaccepted his assistance many times since, when, without him, I mightnever have found my way back to civilization from the jungles intowhich I had strayed. For the future I need him so much that I havebrought him home with me, to remain permanently."
"Indeed!" said the Judge, much interested, for if Leon were to bealways with his friend, it was of more than passing moment to himself."In what way do you need him?"
"Judge, as you know, my good wife here has not given me the son that Ihave longed for." Madame scowled, enraged by the speech which howeverhad not been meant to wound her. The Doctor had not thought of her atall, but merely mentioned what was a fact. "Therefore I have no heir.I do not mean in connection with my worldly goods. I speak of myprofession. I wish a student to whom I may impart my methods, so thatafter my day has passed my people may still have some one to dependupon. You see, I look upon my practice, much as a shepherd wouldconsider his sheep. I am responsible for them. They depend upon me tokeep them out of danger. I consider it a duty to supply a successor tomyself."
"And this young gentleman is to be he?" asked the Judge.
"Leon is my choice before all whom I have known. Above all others Ihave decided that he is the most worthy of the trust that I shallimpose in him." The Doctor spoke feelingly.
"Young man," said the Judge, addressing Leon, "I hope you appreciatethe rare opportunity offered to you by my friend. If you are reallycapable of becoming his successor, then you are destined to be a powerin the community, as he is to-day."
"Judge Dudley," said Leon, "I know that I am most fortunate. Dr.Medjora has taken me from beggary, and placed before me a future whichwould tempt any young man. But, to me, it means more than a salvationfrom drudgery; it means more than a high-road to fortune. I feel thatI am destined to realize the hopes of my life, the yearnings of all mypast days. I shall have a chance to acquire learning, to cultivate myintellect, to gain knowledge, which in my mind is the supremestpower."
The Judge was somewhat surprised to hear such words from a countrylad, still habited in clothing more suited to a farmer than to onewith such aspirations. He said: "Young man, you interest me. Evidentlyyou have learned to think for yourself. Come, tell me! Why do you laysuch store by knowledge, when the rest of mankind are crying formoney?"
"Money! Money! Money!" repeated Leon with a contemptuous curl of thelip. "Judge Dudley, I am nearing my majority, and I can say, that inall my life I do not think that I have owned more than fifty dollars.My food, clothing, and a home, have been provided for me, but asidefrom that I have not spent more than the sum named, and most of thatwent for books. So, you see, one may live without wealth, if enough tocover actual necessities be his. Without knowledge, a man would be anidiot. I think that is a logical proposition. If you grant that, thenthe less knowledge one has, the nearer he must be to the imbecile, andthe more he acquires, the closer he approaches the highest stage ofexistence. Money we leave behind us at death. Knowledge, on thecontrary, not only goes with us, but is really the only guarantee theindividual has of a continuance of existence beyond the grave."
The Judge became more and more interested, and Dr. Medjora, observingthe good impression which his _protege_ was making, was content toremain silent and listen.
"Your last statement indicates that you have formulated some mode ofreasoning, upon which to base your convictions," said the Judge. "Willyou take us a little further into your doctrine?"
"I am afraid that my ideas are rather crude, sir. I have had access tofew standard works, and have been compelled to think out things formyself. But if I do not bore you, I shall be only too willing tocontinue. Indeed, it is a great treat to me, to speak with some onewho may contradict me where I fall into error."
"You are a modest young man, Mr. Grath. Please continue. You weresaying that one's knowledge might assure him a life hereafter."
"So I believe. Of course it is almost impossible, if not quite so, toprove anything in connection with the great future. But it is theprerogative of man to reason upon all subjects, and it is eminentlyfitting that he should study that one which most nearly affectshimself. In the absence of absolute proof, I claim that one may adoptany theory that appeals to him as reasonable and probable. Now inrelation to knowledge. I say it is more important to amass knowledgethan to hoard up wealth. Money belongs to the material plane, and,having no relation to any other, it is as perishable, as far as itaffects one individual, as is the human body. Money buys luxuries andcomforts for the body only. It can add nothing to intellectualattainment. You may say that with it one may purchase books with whichto improve the mind. That is true, but does not invalidate myargument, for it is not the book which is pabulum to our intellect,but only the thoughts which have been recorded upon its pages. Moneyprocures us the possession of the book, whereas if we borrow it, andreturn it again, in the interval we may receive all the mental benefitwhich it can bestow upon the owner. Knowledge, on the other hand, isimmaterial. It is an attribute of what has been called the soul. It ispotent while being invisible, and though invisible it has a marketvalue as well as things material. All the wealth of the world may notsuffice to make one man wise, while all the wisdom in the world wouldsurely make its possessor wealthy, but for the fact that he wouldprobably be too wise to wish for riches. If, then, knowledge is such apotent factor in the world's affairs, can it be that it ceases toexist when a man dies? It is reasonable to suppose that it does not:then what becomes of it? The man cannot leave it to his heirs, as hedoes his chattels. Therefore it must continue where it has alwaysbeen, and that is within the mind, which must have a continuance ofexistence to retain its knowledge."
"Ah! Very good! But Dr. Medjora has just announced that he ispreparing to bequeath his knowledge to you, who are to be his heir inthat respect. How do you make that conform to your curious theory?
"You misapprehend the true condition. Dr. Medjora does not purposegiving me his knowledge, as one gives money, thereby lessening his ownstore. He merely intends to cultivate my own intellect, training it ingrooves parallel with those which he himself has followed. He mightlive until I know as much as he does now, yet he would be no less wisethan he is. Rather, he would have grown wiser himself in havingacquired the experience of teaching another."
"You should study law instead of medicine. If you grow tired of theDoctor, you must come to me. Only, let me ask you one more question.If, according to your tenets, the wisest man is most certain of afuture life, what of the most idiotic?"
"He is most apt to meet with annihilation. But he would cease toexist, only as to his individuality. I have not thought very deeply inthat direction, but as my mind cannot conceive of the actualannihilation of anything that is existent, I have surmised thatperhaps the minds of many idiots may become coalescent, so that a newindividual might he
created, who would possess sufficientintellectuality at birth in the world, to realize the importance tohimself of mental cultivation."
"Ha! Ha! Doctor," said the Judge, laughing. "If two idiots mayeventually be rolled into one, there is some hope for you and me. Wemay be joined together in the next world, and what a fellow we wouldbe on our next trip to this old-fashioned planet! But seriously, Mr.Grath, your theories interest me. We will talk together again. Youmust come to our house some day. But I have not time for theology now.My daughter has a little bet on the first race, and if I delay longershe will miss seeing it. She has been making impatient signs to me forsome time."
"Father!" exclaimed Agnes, deprecatingly; then turning to Leon, shecontinued: "Mr. Grath, you must not lay too much stress upon what myfather says, when he is not upon the bench. When acting in hisofficial capacity, his word is law, but at other times----"
"My daughter's is," interrupted the Judge, with a good-humored laugh.
"At other times," Agnes resumed, "he often prevaricates. He isconstantly endeavoring to impress people with the idea that I am onlya child, and not capable of comprehending serious conversation. Let meassure you that I have been highly entertained and edified by what youhave been saying."
Leon bowed gravely without a suspicion of a blush, or embarrassment ofmanner, at thus receiving a compliment for the first time in his lifefrom the lips of beauty. He was very self-reliant, though neverobtrusively so. What he said was very simple.
"That you have been pleased to listen to me with attention, wassufficient proof to me, Miss Dudley, that at least I was not tryingyour patience too far by my speech."
"Come, Agnes, or we will miss that race, and whether you care or not,I confess that I do."
Then adieux were made and Dr. Medjora accompanied his guests to thedoor, where he paused a moment to say a word to the Judge, Leon havingremained behind.
"What do you think of the lad?" he asked.
"A promising pupil, Medjora," replied the Judge. "He has brains, anuncommon endowment in these days. He is worth training. Do your bestwith him."
"I will!" answered the Doctor.
As the carriage bore the Judge and Agnes towards the race-track, theformer asked his daughter this question.
"Agnes, what do you think of Mr. Grath?"
"He is bright," she replied, "but what he was saying impressed me fromthe fact that he seems to have convinced himself of the correctness ofhis theories, rather than from any argument which he offered, whichwould satisfy another's mind. Nearly all of it I have read."
When the Doctor returned to the room, he found Leon looking at a bookon the table, whereas he had expected to see him at the windowwatching the departing girl. Therefore he asked:
"What do you think of Miss Dudley?"
"Miss Dudley?" repeated Leon. "Oh! She has a face which one would noteasily forget. I met her once, some years ago, but only for a fewminutes. Long enough only to answer some question which she asked, yetalso long enough to impress her face upon my recollection indelibly.But I suppose you mean the girl herself, and all I can say is, that Ishould never form an opinion after an interview so brief. I would add,however, that she seems to be intellectually superior to her sex."
He spoke entirely dispassionately, and Dr. Medjora said no more.
Madame Medjora had quietly left the room while Leon was expounding hisviews to the Judge.
During the afternoon, the Doctor took Leon down into the city, to showhim about, and more especially to have proper clothing prepared forhim. They returned to the Villa Medjora, as Madame called their home,just in time to hear the voice of the Doctor's wife raised in anger.She was enraged because the butler had opened a box and releasedLossy.
"It is bad enough to have the beggar boy thrust upon me," she hadexclaimed. "I will not tolerate the nuisance of having a pest likethis about the premises. Put him back in his box, and take him awayfrom here instantly. Do you hear?"
The butler heard, but did not heed. He had learned that the Doctor wasthe master, and having received explicit orders in relation to thedog, he proceeded to put them into effect, despite the protests ofMadame. Thus Lossy was bathed, combed, dried, and fed, Madame watchingthe performance from a window, and continuing her violent tirade,becoming more and more angered as she realized the impotency of herwrath.
As the Doctor and his _protege_ entered the grounds, Lossy boundedalong the walk, barking delightedly at the sight of his master. Forone moment the lad's cup of happiness was full, but in the next adread entered his heart. He distinctly heard Madame say:
"I'll poison that beast!" With which she closed the window anddisappeared. Leon looked appealingly at the Doctor, whose brows wereknit together in an ominous frown.
"Do not be alarmed, Leon," said he, "I will guarantee that Madame willnot carry her threat into execution. She is a woman of hasty temper,and often speaks without reflection. She is annoyed because the doghas come, but when she learns that he will not disturb her in any way,her resentment will pass. Lossy is safe. Let your mind rest easy onthat point." He placed his hand upon Leon's shoulder and looked at himwith reassuring kindliness. Leon felt slightly relieved, but when heretired to rest that night, in the room allotted to him, he secretlycarried Lossy with him, and the dog slept at the foot of his master'sbed.