Lawrence Clavering

  CHAPTER III.

  MY KINSMAN AND I RIDE DIFFERENT WAYS.

  Two days later, being deputed upon some errand, the import of which Ihave forgotten, I chanced to-pass by the barrier of the Rue deGrenelle, and a travelling-carriage drew up at my side. My eyes werebent upon the ground, so that I took no heed of it until I heard myname cried. I looked up, and there was my Lord Bolingbroke at thewindow.

  "You see, Lawrence," he said, "I leave Paris as I promised Stair, andI travel into Dauphine."

  "But by a roundabout road," I answered eagerly. "It is possible thatyou might take St. Germains on the way;" for it had reached my earsthat Queen Mary of Modena was desirous to try her persuasions uponhim.

  "No," he returned, with a shake of the head; "I have my poor friendsin England to consider. I should provide a fine excuse for ill-usingthem if I made common cause with the Chevalier. They have served me;it is my turn to serve them; and I shall be better employed that waythan in weaving fairy-stories with Queen Abdicate.--But what's thetrouble?" he continued, with a change of tone. "You walked as thoughthe world had withered at your feet."

  "Nay," I answered, with a laugh, "there is no trouble. I was merelywondering----" and I hesitated.

  "At what?" he asked curiously.

  "At the rule which bids me sleep with my chamber-window closed," Ireturned, with a laugh. And, indeed, it was a question you had reasonto put during this hot spring, when from behind your stifling panesyou looked out at night across Paris lying cool and spacious beneath apurple sky. But the truth is that all these regulations which wereinstituted to discipline the novice to a habit of obedience, werebeginning to work me into a ferment of irritability; and through themonths that followed, April, May, and June, the irritability increasedin me to a spirit of rebellion. At times I felt a mad desire to risein my seat and hurl defiance, and with that defiance my books, at mytutors' heads. The desire surged up within my veins, became active inevery limb, and I had to set my teeth until my jaws ached to repressit. At times sick and dispirited, I counted up the years to come; Ipassed them through my thoughts even as I passed the beads of myrosary beneath my thumb, and even as the beads of my rosary, they weremonotonously alike one to the other.

  Doubtless, too, the recollection of the picture I had seen at themonastery of the Chartreux helped to intensify my unrest. For it abodevividly in my memory, and the menace I drew from it grew more and moreurgent as the days slipped on. I should note, however, that a certainchange took place in the manner in which it presented itself. I couldstill see, I could still hear the figure speaking. But it did not somuch cry "Hypocrite!" as thunder out, in the very lines of theCarmelite preacher, "The Eve of St. Bartholomew--the Eve of St.Bartholomew."

  Of course, as the rector had declared, I was under no vows orobligation to persist in my novitiate. But I felt the very knowledgethat I was free to be in some way a chain about my ankle constrainingme. I took a cast back to the period of my boyhood when enrolmentamongst the priests of the Jesuit order had been the aim of a fervidambition; when the thought of that body, twenty thousand in number,spread throughout the earth, in Japan, in the Indies, in Peru, andworking one and all in a consonant vigilance for the glory of theirorder, had stirred me with its sublimity; and I sought--with whateffort and despair!--to recreate those earlier visions. For to countthem fanciful seemed treachery; to turn deliberately aside from themwas evident instability.

  So much I have deemed it necessary to set down concerning myperplexities at this time, since they throw, I think, a light upon theevents which I am to relate. For I was shortly afterwards to departfrom this safe corner, and wander astray just as I wandered when Ilost myself in the labyrinth of Blackladies. And the explanation Itake to be this--for it is merely in explanation and not at all inextenuation that I put this forward--I had clean broken from the oneprinciple by which, however clumsily, I had hitherto guided my life,and had as yet grappled to no other with sufficient steadiness offaith to make it useful as a substitute.

  It was on the Saturday of the first week of July that I left theJesuit College. I was standing at my window about two of theafternoon, and looking down at the river and the bridge which crossedit. I had a clear view of the bridge from end to end betwixt thegables of a house, and I noticed that it was empty, save for one man,who jogged across on horseback--or rather, so it seemed at the heightfrom which I looked, for when I saw the horse close at hand a shortwhile afterwards, I found reason to believe that the man had galloped.I stood watching him idly until he crossed out on to the quay; and Iremember that the refectory bell rang just as he turned the corner andpassed out of my sight. Towards the end of dinner, a message wasbrought to me that the rector desired to see me in his study as soonas we were risen from table. This time, however, it was in nohesitancy or trepidation that I waited on him, but rather with aspringing heart. For let him but dismiss me from the college, and herewas an end to all the torture of my questionings--an unworthy thought,you will say, and, indeed, none knew that more surely than myself.

  On the contrary, however, the rector received me with a benevolenteye. "I have strange news for you, my son," said he, with a glancetowards a stranger who stood apart in the window; and the strangerstepped forward hurriedly, as though he would have the telling of thenews himself. He was a man of middle height and very close-knit,though of no great bulk, dark in complexion, and possessed, as far asI could judge, of an honest countenance.

  "Mr. Clavering," he began, with a certain deference, and after thesemonths of "brother" and "my son" the manner of his address struck uponmy ears with a very pleasant sound, "I was steward to your uncle, SirJohn Rookley, at Blackladies in Cumberland."

  "Was?" said I.

  "Until Monday was se'nnight," says he.

  "Then what may be your business with me?" I asked sharply. For therewas throughout England such a division of allegiance as set even themembers of a family on opposite sides the while they maintained to theworld an appearance of concord, so that many a dismissed servantcarried away with him secret knowledge wherewith to make his profit. Iwas therefore pretty sharp with the steward, and quickly repeated thequestion.

  "Then what may you have to ask of me?"

  "That you will be pleased to continue me in the office," he returnedhumbly.

  I stood cluttered out of my senses, looking from the servant to therector, and from the rector again to the servant, with I know not whatwild fancies choking at my throat.

  "It is true," said the rector. "Your uncle died of an apoplexy afortnight back."

  "But he has a son," I gasped out

  "Sir John quarrelled with Mr. Jervas two days before he died,"answered the steward. "Blackladies comes to you, Mr. Clavering, and Ihave travelled from Cumberland to acquaint you of the fact."

  It was true! My heart so throbbed and beat that I could not utter aword. I could not so much as think, no, not even of my uncle or mycousin. It is true that I had seldom seen the one, and never theother. I was conscious only of an enlarging world. But my eyes chancedat the moment to meet the rector's. His gaze was fixed intently uponmy face, and with a sudden feeling of shame I dropped my eyes to theground.

  "My son," he said, drawing me a little on one side and speaking withall kindliness, as though in answer to my unspoken apology, "it may bewell that you can do better service as the master of Blackladies. Youwill have the power and the means to help effectually, and such helpwe need in England;" and as I still continued silent, "If you become apriest, by the laws of your country you lose that power, and surelythe Church will share in the loss. And are you fitted for a priest?"He looked at me keenly. "I spoke my doubts to you some while back, andI do not think they went much astray."

  I did not answer him, nor did he wait for an answer, but took me bythe arm and led me back to the steward.

  "My cousin quarrelled with his father. Then what has become of him?" Iasked, still in an indecision.

  "I do not know, sir. Most like he is in Fr
ance."

  "In France?" I cried with a start. For the answer flashed a suspicioninto my mind which--prove it true, and it was out of my power toaccept the inheritance! "In France? And the substance of the quarrel?"

  "It is not for me, sir, to meddle in the right or wrong of it," hebegan.

  "Nor did I ask you to," I cut him short "I ask you for the bare fact."

  He looked at me for a second like one calculating his chances.

  "Mr. Jervas sided with the Jacobites," and the words struck my hopesdead. My world dwindled and straitened as swiftly as it had enlarged.

  "Then I can hardly supplant him," I said slowly, "for I side with thatparty too."

  The steward's eyes gleamed very brightly of a sudden.

  "Ah!" said I, "you, too, have the cause at heart"

  "So much, sir, that I make bold to forget my station and to urge youto accept the bequest. There is no supplanting in the case. For if yourefuse Blackladies it will not fall to Mr. Jervas." He drew from hispocket a roll of paper fastened with a great seal, and held it out tome. I broke the seal, and opened it. It contained a letter from SirJohn's attorney at Appleby, and a copy of the will which set out veryclearly that I was to possess the house and lands of Blackladies withall farms, properties, and rents attached thereto, upon the onecondition, that I should not knowingly divert so much as the value ofa farthing into the pockets of Mr. Jervas Rookley.

  So far I had read when I looked up at the steward in a suddenperplexity.

  "I do not understand why Sir John should disinherit his son, who is,at all events, a Protestant, because he is a Jacobite, in favour ofmyself, who am no less a Jacobite, and one of the true faith besides."

  The steward made a little uneasy movement of impatience. "I was not sodeep in my master's confidence that I can answer that."

  I held out the will to him, though my fingers clung to it. "I cannot,"I said, "take up the inheritance."

  It was not, however, the steward, but the rector who took the paperfrom me. He read it through with great deliberation, and then--

  "You did not finish," he said, and pointed his finger to the lastclause.

  "I saw no use in reading more, Father," I replied; but I took the willagain and glanced at the clause. It was to this effect: that if Ifailed to observe the one condition or did not enter into possessionfrom whatsoever cause, the estate should become the property of theCrown.

  "I cannot help it," I said. "To swell the treasury of the Hanoverianby however so little, is the last thing I would wish to do, but Icannot help it. Mr. Jervas Rookley suffers in that he is what I pridemyself on being. I cannot benefit by his sufferings," and I folded upthe will.

  "There is another way, sir," suggested the steward, diffidently.

  "Another way?" I asked.

  "Which would save the estate and save Mr. Jervas too from thisinjustice."

  "Explain!" I cried. "Explain!" For indeed it grieved me beyond measurethat I should pass these revenues to one whom I could not but consideran usurper.

  "I do but propose it, sir, because I see you scruple to----" he began.

  "Nay, man!" I exclaimed, starting forward, "I need no apologies. Showme this way of yours!"

  "Why, sir, the will says the Crown. It names no names. If you infringethe condition or refuse the estate, Blackladies goes to the Crown.But," and he smiled cunningly, "it is not likely that King James, didhe come to the throne, would accept of a bequest which comes to himbecause the rightful owner served his cause so well."

  I nodded my head. "That is true. King James would restore it," I said.

  "To the rightful owner," said he.

  "So be it, then!" I cried. "I will hold Blackladies in trust forJervas Rookley," and then I stopped. "But meanwhile Mr. Jervas Rookleymust shift for himself," I added, bethinking me of the condition.

  The steward smiled again. "If you knew him, sir, you would not fearfor him on that account;" and he continued, "You will return with meto England?"

  "Yes, but not now," I exclaimed, for all at once a new resolve hadtaken shape within my mind. There was no word in the will about mypolitics. Sir John was acquainted with them when he made the will. Iwas free to use Blackladies as I chose.

  "Wait you here in Paris," I cried to the steward, and came of a suddento an awkward pause. "You brought money with you?" I asked.

  "I have an order upon Mr. Waters the banker," he replied.

  "Good," I said, my spirits rising with my voice. "Get it cashed--now,at once, and bring the money back to me. But be quick, be quick. For Ihave business in Lorraine."

  "In Lorraine?" exclaimed the steward, and his face flashed to anexcitement equal with my own.

  "In Lorraine," I repeated, "and at Bar-le-Duc."

  He waited for no further explanation, but made his reverence to therector, a low bow to me, and departed on his errand. I began to paceimpatiently about the room, already looking for his return, even as Iheard him pass beneath the window.

  "Was I not right, my son?" asked the rector. "You walk, you speak,like a man refreshed. And yet--and yet----"

  He came over to me and laid a hand upon my shoulder, while a greatgravity overspread his face, and somehow at the touch of his hand, atthe mere sight of his face, my overweening confidence burst like abubble. For looking through my eyes he seemed to search my soul, andin his eyes I seemed to see, as in a mirror, the naked truth of allthe folly that he noted there.

  "These are the last words," he went on, "which I shall speak to thepupil, and I would have you bear them as the crest and motto of yourlife. I would have you beware of a feverish zeal. To each man I dosolemnly believe there comes one hour of greatness, and only one. Itis not the hour of supreme happiness, or of a soaring fortune, asworldlings choose to think, but the hour when God tries him upon Histouchstone. And for that hour each man must watch if he would notfail. Indeed, it brings the test which proves--nay, makes--him man,and in God's image, too, or leaves him lower than the brutes; for hehas failed. Therefore watch! No man knoweth the hour of God's coming.Therefore watch! But how shall he watch"--and his voice to my hearinghad in it some element of prophecy--"how shall he watch who swingsever from elation to despair, and knows no resting-place betweenthem?"

  He spoke very quietly, and so left me alone. I do not know that I aminclined now to set great store upon the words. They seem almost topresent some such theory as children and men over-occupied withbook-learning are wont to fondle. But after he had left me alone, Isat with his discourse overlaying me like an appalling shadow. Thesunlight in the court without lost its brightness; the very roomdarkened within. I saw my whole life before me, a procession ofinnumerable hours. Hooded and cloaked, they passed me with silentfeet. I sought to distinguish between them. I chose at random fromamongst them. "This," I cried, in a veritable fear--"this is thehour;" and even as I spoke, one that had passed threw back the hoodand turned on me a sorrowing face. So would the hour come, and sounready should I be to challenge it! My fear swelled to a panic; itbore me company all that day as I made my purchases in the streets, asI took leave of my companions, as I passed out of the Porte St.Antoine. It was with me, too, in the quiet evening long after thespires of Paris had vanished behind me, when I was riding with mysteward at my back across that open country of windmills and poplartrees on the highroad to Lorraine.