CHAPTER XV
UNDER THE LIGHT
DECEMBER 16TH.--Again I separate your green boards, my diary. No onehas opened you; for your key, now a little rusty, still hangs upon mywatch--my poor watch whose heart has ceased to beat, who, unlike itsmistress, has _not_ survived the ordeal by sand and water! What isbetter, no one has attempted to force your secrets from you; which,since it appears that it had been agreed that Molly de Savenaye wasdead and buried in Scarthey sands, speaks well for all concerned. Butshe is not dead. She is very much alive; and very happy to be so.
This will indeed be an adventure worth reading, in the days to come;and it must be recounted--though were I to live to a hundred years Ido not think I could ever forget it. Tanty Rose (she has not yetstopped scolding everybody for the fright she has had) is in the nextroom with Madeleine, who, poor dear, has been made quite ill by thisprank of mine; but since after the distress caused by her Molly'sdeath she has had the joy of finding her Molly alive again, things arebalanced, I take it; and all being well that ends well, the wholeaffair is pleasant to remember. It has been actually as interesting asI expected--now that I think it over--even more.
Of all the many pictures that I fancied, not one was at all like thereality--and this reality I could not have rested till I had found. Itwas Rene's account decided me. I laid my plans very neatly to pay therecluse a little visit, and plead necessity for the intrusion. Mymachinations would have been perfect if they had not caused Madeleineand poor old Tanty unnecessary grief.
But now that I know the truth, I cannot distinctly remember what itwas that I _did_ expect to find on that island.
If it had not been that I had already gone through more excitementthan I bargained for to reach that mysterious rock, how exciting Ishould have found it to wander up to unknown ruins, to knock at theclosed doors of an enchanted castle, ascend unknown stairs and engagein devious unknown passages--all the while on the tiptoe ofexpectation!
But when I dragged myself giddy and faint from the boiling breakersand scrambled upon the desolate island under the rain that beat melike the lashes of a whip, pushing against a wind that bellowed andrushed as though determined to thrust me back to the waters I hadcheated of their prey, my only thoughts were for succour and shelter.
Such warm shelter, such loving welcome, it was of course impossiblethat I could for a moment have anticipated!
Conceive, my dear diary, the feelings of a poor, semi-drownedwanderer, shivering with cold, with feet torn by cruel stones, whosuddenly emerges from howl and turmoil into a warm, quiet room to bereceived as a long and eagerly expected guest, whose advent bringshappiness, whose presence is a highly prized favour; in fact not asone who has to explain her intrusion, but as one who in the situationholds the upper hand herself.
And _this_ was my welcome from him whose absence from Pulwick was morehaunting than any presence I can think of!
Of course I knew him at once. Even had I not expected to see him--hadI not come to seek him in fact--I should have known him at once fromthe portrait whose melancholy, wide-open eyes had followed me aboutthe gallery. But I had not dreamed to see him so little altered. Now,apart from the dress, if he is in any way changed from the picture, itis in a look of greater youth and less sombreness. The portrait ishandsome, but the original is better.
Had it not been so, I imagine I might have felt vastly different whenI was seized and enfolded and--kissed! As it was I cannot rememberthat, even at the moment of this extraordinary proceeding, I wasotherwise than pleased, nor that the dark hints of Mr. Landaleconcerning Sir Adrian's madness returned to disturb my mind in theleast.
And yet I found myself enveloped in great strong arms out of which Icould not have extricated myself by the most frantic efforts--althoughthe folding was soft and tender--and I loved that impression. Why? Icannot say.
His words of love were not addressed to me; from his exclamation Iknew that the real and present Molly was not the true object of hissudden ecstasy.
And yet I am glad that this is the first man who has been able to kissMolly de Savenaye. It is quite incomprehensible; I ought to beindignant.
Now the whole secret of my reception is plain to see, and it ispathetic; Sir Adrian Landale was in love with my mother; when she wasan unprotected widow he followed her to our own country; if she hadnot died soon after, he would have married her.
What a true knight must this Sir Adrian be, to keep so fresh fortwenty years the remembrance of his boyish love that when I came inupon him to look at him with _her_ eyes, it was to find him ponderingupon her, and to fill his soul with the rapturous thought that hislove had come back to him. Though I was aware that all this fervourwas not addressed to me, there was something very gratifying in beingso like one who could inspire such long-lived passion.--Yes, it wasunexpectedly pleasant and comforting to be so received. And the tendercare, the thoughtful solicitude next bestowed on the limp anddishevelled waif of the sea by my _beau tenebreux_ were unmistakablymeant for Molly and no one else, whatever his first imaginings mayhave been, and they were quite as interesting to receive.
The half-hour I spent, cosily ensconced by his hands, and waited uponby his queer household, was perhaps the best I have ever known. Hestood by the fireplace, looking down from his great height, with awondering smile upon me. I declare that the loving kindness of hiseyes, which he has wide, grey, and beautiful, warmed me as much as thepyramid of logs he had set burning on the hearth!
I took a good reckoning of the man, from under the gigantic collar, inwhich, I felt, my head rested like a little egg at the bottom of awarm nest. "And so," I thought, "here is the Light-keeper of ScartheyIsland!" And I was obliged to confess that he was a moreromantic-looking person than even in my wildest dreams I had picturedto myself--that in fact I had found out for the first time _the man_really approved of.
And I congratulated myself on my own cleverness--for it was evidentthat, just as I had suspected from Rene's reticent manner, even by himour existence at Pulwick had not been mentioned to "the master."
And as Mr. Landale was quite determined to avail himself of hisbrother's _sauvagerie_ not to let him know anything about us, on hisside, but for me we might have remained at and departed from Pulwickunknown to the head of the house! And what a pity that would havebeen!
Now, _why_ did not Mr. Landale wish his brother to know? Did he think(as indeed has happened) that the Light-keeper would take too kindlyto the Savenaye children? Or to one of them? If so, he will be _bienattrappe_, for there is no doubt that my sudden and dramatic arrivalupon his especial domain has made an impression on him that no meetingprepared and discussed beforehand could have produced.
Adrian Landale may have been in love with our beautiful mamma in hisboyish days, but now, Sir Adrian, the _man_ is in love with thebeautiful Molly!
That is positive.
I was a long time before I could go to sleep in the tower; it was tooperfect to be in bed in such a place, safe and happy in the midst ofthe rage I could hear outside; to have seen the unknown, to have foundhim such as he is--to be under _the Light_!
What would have happened if my cousin had really been mad (and Renehis keeper, as that stupid country-side wit suggested in my ear theother night at dinner)? It would have been still more of an adventureof course, but not one which even "Murthering Moll the Second" canregret. Or if he had been a dirty, untidy hermit, as Madeleinethought? That would have spoilt all.
Thus in the owl's nest, as Mr. Landale (spiteful creature!) called itto Tanty, there lives not owl any more than lunatic. A polishedgentleman, with white, exquisite hands, who, when he is discovered bythe most unexpected of visitors, is shaven as smooth as Ruperthimself; has the most unexceptionable of snowy linen andold-fashioned, it is true, but most well-fitting clothes.
As for the entertainment for the said casual visitor, not even Pulwickwith all its resources (where housekeeping, between the fussy brotherand the docile sister is a complicated science) could have producedmore real comfort.
&
nbsp; In the morning, when I woke late (it was broad daylight), feeling asif I had been beaten and passed through a mangle, for there was not aninch of my poor body that was not sore, I had not turned round and sogiven sign of life, before I heard a whisper outside my door; thencomes a sturdy knock and in walks old Margery, still dignified as aqueen's housekeeper, bearing a bowl of warm frothy milk.
And this being gratefully drunk by me, she gravely inquires, in herqueer provincial accent, how I am this morn; and then goes to reportto some anxious inquirer (whom?--I can easily guess) that with theexception of my cut foot I am very well.
Presently she returns and lights a blazing fire. Then in come my dressand linen and my one shoe, all cleaned, dried and mended, only my poorhabit is so torn and so stiff that I have to put up with Margery'sbest striped skirt in lieu of it, till she has time to mend and washit. As it is she must have been at work all night upon these repairsfor me.
Again she goes out--for another consultation, I suppose--and comesback to find me half clad, hopping about the room; this time she hasgot nice white linen bandages and with them ties up my little foot,partly for the cuts, partly for want of a sandal, till it is twice thesize of its companion. But I can walk on it.
Then my strange handmaid--who by the way is a droll, grumbling oldsoul, and orders me about as if she were still my nurse--dresses meand combs my hair, which will not yet awhile be rid of all its sand.And so, in due course, Molly emerges from her bower, as well tendedalmost as she might have been at Bath, except that Margery's stripedskirt is a deal too short for her and she displays a little more ofone very nice ankle and one gouty foot than fashion warrants.
And in this manner the guest goes to meet her host in the great room.
He was walking up and down as if impatiently expecting me, and when Ihobbled in, he came forward with a smile on his face which, once more,I thought beautiful.
"God be praised!" he said, taking both my hands and kissing one ofthem, with his fine air of gallantry which was all the more delightfulon account of his evident earnestness, "you seem none the worse forthis terrible adventure. I dreaded this morning to hear that you werein a fever. You know," he added so seriously that I had to smile, "youmight easily have had a fever from this yesterday's work; and whatshould we have done without doctor and medicines!"
"You have a good surgeon, at least," said I laughing and pointing atmy swaddled extremity. He laughed too at the _enmitouflage_. "I triedto explain how it was to be done," he said, "but I think I could havemanaged it more neatly myself."
Then he helped me to the arm-chair, and Rene came in, and, after aprofound bow (which did not preclude much staring and smiling at meafterwards), laid, on a dazzling tablecloth, a most temptingbreakfast, explaining the while, in his odd English, "The bread isstale, for we bake only twice a month. But there are some cakes hotfrom the fire, some eggs, new laid last evening, some fresh milk, sometea. It was a happy thing I arrived yesterday for there was no moretea. The butter wants, but Mistress Margery will have some madeto-morrow, so that the demoiselle will not leave without having tastedour Scarthey butter."
All the while Sir Adrian looked on with a sort of dreamy smile--ahappy smile!
"Poor Rene!" he said, when the man had left the room, "one would thinkthat you have brought to him almost as much joy as to me."
I wondered what Mr. Landale would have said had he through some magicglass been able to see this little feast. I never enjoyed a meal more.As for my host, he hardly touched anything, but, I could see, was allabsorbed in the delight of looking at me; and this he showed quiteopenly in the most child-like manner.
Not one of the many fine gentlemen it has been my fate to meet in mysix months' apprenticeship to the "great world," not cousin Ruperthimself with all his elaborate politeness (and Rupert has de _grandesmanieres_, as Tanty says), could have played the host with a moreexquisite courtesy, and more true hospitality. So I thought, at least.Now and again, it is true, while his eyes were fixed on me, I wouldsee how the soul behind them was away, far in the past, and then at aword, even at a movement, back it would come to me, with the tenderestsoftening I have ever seen upon a human face.
* * * * *
It was only at the end of breakfast that he suddenly adverted to theprevious day.
"Of course," he said, hesitatingly, but keeping a frank gaze on mine,"you must have thought me demented when--when you first entered,yesterday."
Now, I had anticipated this apology as inevitable, and I was preparedto put him at his ease.
"I----? Not at all," I said quite gravely; and, seeing the puzzledexpression that came upon his face, I hastened to add in lower tones:"I know I am very like my mother, and it was her name you called outupon seeing me." And then I stopped, as if that had explainedeverything.
He looked at me with a wondering air, and fell again into a muse.After a while he said, with his great simplicity which seems somehowin him the last touch of the most perfect breeding: "Yes, such anapparition was enough to unhinge any one's mind for the moment. Younever knew her, child, and therefore never mourned her death. Butwe--that is, Rene and I, who tried so hard to save her--though it isso long ago, we have not forgotten."
It was then I asked him to tell me about the mother I had never known.At first it was as if he could not; he fell into a great silence,through which I could feel the working of his old sorrow. So then Isaid to him quickly, for I feared he thought me an indiscreettrespasser upon sacred ground, that he must remember my right to knowmore than the vague accounts I had been given of my mother's history.
"No one will tell me of her," I said. "It is hard, for I am her owndaughter."
"It is wrong," he said very gently; "you ought to know, for you areindeed, most verily, her own daughter."
And then by fragments he tried to tell me a little of her beauty, herloving heart, her faithfulness and bravery. At first it was withgreat tripping sighs as if the words hurt him, but by and by it cameeasier, and with his eyes fixed wistfully on me he took me, as itwere, by his side through all their marvellous adventures.
And thus I heard the stirring story of the "Savenaye band," and I feltprouder of my race than I had ever been before. Hitherto, being aSavenaye only meant the pride our aunt tried to instil into us ofbeing undeniably _biennees_ and connected with numbers of greatfamilies. But the tale of the deeds mine had done for the King'scause, and especially the achievements of my own mother in startingsuch an expedition after my father's death, and following its fortunesto the bitter end, made my blood tingle with a new emotion.
Little wonder that Sir Adrian should have devoted his life to herservice. How madly enthralled I should have been, being a man, andfree and strong, by the presence of a woman such as my mother. I, too,would have prostrated myself to worship her image returning tolife--and I am that living, living portrait!
When he came to the story of her death, he hesitated and finallystopped. It must have been horrible. I could see it in his eyes, and Idared not press him.
Now, I suppose I am the only one in the world, besides Rene, who knowsthis man as he is. And I am proud of it.
And it is for this constancy, which no vulgar soul of them canunderstand, that Rupert and his class have dubbed the gallantgentleman a madman. It fills me with scorn of them. I do not yet knowwhat love is, therefore of course I cannot fathom its grief; but thismuch I know--that if I loved and yet could not reach as high as everlove may reach both in joy and sorrow, I should despise myself. I,too, would draw the utmost from life that life can give.
He never even hinted at his love for my mother; speaking of himselfthroughout as Rene might, as of her humble devoted servant merely. Andthen the question began to gnaw at me. "Did she love him?" andsomehow, I felt as if I could not rest till I knew; and I had it on mylips twenty times to cry out to him: "I know you loved her: oh! tellme, did she love you?" And yet I dared no more have done so, andoverstepped the barrier of his gentle, reticent dignity, than I couldhave thrust the
lighthouse tower down; and I could not think, either,whether I should be glad to hear that she had loved him, or that shehad not. Not even here, alone with myself, can I answer that question.
But though I respect him because he is as I have found him, andunderstand how rare a personality it takes to achieve such refinementof faithfulness, it seems to me, that to teach this constant lover toforget the past in the present, would be something worth livingfor--something worthy of _me_!
Molly!--What is the meaning of this? You have never before put thatthought in words, even to yourself! But let me be frank, or else whatis the use of this diary?
Looking back to those delightful three days, did not the _thought_come to me, if not the words? Well, well, it is better, sometimes, Ibelieve, to let oneself drift, than to try and guide the boat; and Imust hurry back to Scarthey or I shall never have told my story....
How swiftly time had flown by us! I sitting in the arm-chair, with theold dog's muzzle on my lap, and Sir Adrian standing by his greatchimney; the clock struck twelve, in the midst of the long silence,and I had thought that barely an hour had passed.
I got up, and, seeing me limp in my attempt to walk, Sir Adrian gaveme his arm; and so we went round the great room _bras dessus_, _brasdessous_, and it already seemed quite natural to feel like an intimatefriend in that queer dwelling.
We paused a long time in silence by the window, the tempest wind wasstill raging, but the sky was clear, and all round us was a wonderfulsight; the sea, as far as eyes could reach, white with foam, lashedand tossing in frenzy round the rock on which we stood so safely, andrising in long jets of spray, which now and then dashed as far as ourwindow; and when I looked down nearer, I could see the little stuntedtrees, bending backwards and forwards under the blast, and an odd ideacame to my mind:--they looked to me when they caught my sight, asthough they were bowing deep, hurriedly and frantically greeting meamong them.
I glanced up at my silent companion, the true knight, and found hiswide grey eyes fixed upon me with the same expression that wasalready familiar to me, which I had especially noted as he told me hislong tale of olden times.
This time I felt the look go to my heart. _And then the thought firstcame to my mind, all unformed, but still sweet._
I don't know exactly why, but in answer to his sad look, I smiled athim, without a word, upon which he suddenly grew pale. After a whilehe gave a sigh, and, as he drew my arm again through his, I fancy hishand trembled a little.
When he had taken me back to my chair, he walked to and fro insilence, looking at me ever and anon.
A long time we passed thus, without speaking; but it seemed as if ourthoughts were intermixing in harmony in the midst of our silence. Andthen the spell was broken by Rene, who never came in without making mehis great scrape, trying hard not to beam too obtrusively in thedelight that evidently overtakes him whenever he sets eyes on me.
It was after a prolonged talk between him and the master, I fancy,concerning the means of attending fitly upon my noble and delicateperson, that Sir Adrian, brought back, evidently, to the considerationof present affairs, began to be exercised about the best means ofwhiling away my time. When he hinted at the difficulty, I very soondisposed of it.
I told him I had never been so happy in my life before--that the hourswent all too quickly--I told him there was so much he and Rene had yetto tell me of their wonderful adventures, that I thought I should haveto carry them back to Pulwick with me. At the mention of Pulwick hisbrow darkened, and Rene turned away to cough into his hand, and I sawthat I had gone too fast. (N.B.--Pulwick is evidently a sore subject;I am sure I am not surprised. I can conceive how Rupert and Sophiawould drive a man of Sir Adrian's sensitiveness nearly to desperation.Yet I _have_ brought Sir Adrian back to Pulwick, in spite of all. Isnot that a feather in my cap?)
But to return; I next made Rene laugh aloud and Sir Adrian give hisindulgent smile--such as a father might give to his child--by addingthat when I was bored I would soon let them know. "I always do," Isaid, "for I consider that a duty to myself."
"God knows," said this strange man then, half smiling, "I would wecould keep you here for ever."
It was almost a declaration, but his eyes were far off--it was notaddressed to me.
I soon found that the recollection of all the extraordinary incidentsSir Adrian had lived through, is one neither of pride nor pleasure tohim, but, all the same, never has anything in books seemed to me sostirring, as the tale of relentless fate, of ever-recurring battlesand struggles and misfortunes told by the man who, still in thestrength of life, has now chosen to forego everything that might forthe remainder of his days have compensated him.
Willing as he was to humour me, however, and disproportionatelyanxious to amuse me, it was little more than the dry bones of hishistory, I was able to obtain from him.
With Rene's help, however, and my own lively imagination I have beenable to piece together a very wonderful skeleton, from these same drybones, and, moreover, endow it with flesh and blood and life.
Rene was very willing to descant upon his master's exploits, as far ashe knew them: "Whew, Mademoiselle should have seen him fight!" hewould say, "a lion, Mademoiselle, a real lion!"
And then I would contrast the reposeful, somewhat immobilecountenance, the dreaming eye, the almost womanly softness of hissmile, with the picture, and find the contrast piquant in the extreme.
Concerning his present home Sir Adrian was more willing to speak--Ihad told him how the light on the little island had fascinated me fromthe distance, and all the surmises I had made about it.
"And so, it was in order to see what sort of dungeon they kept themadman in," he said, laughing quietly, "that you pushed thereconnaissance, which nearly sent you into the jaws of death!"
I was so struck, at first, by his speaking of himself as the reputed"madman" that I could not answer. To think of him as serenelycontemptuous of the world's imputation--and an imputation so gallingas this one of being irresponsible for his actions--and deliberatelycontinuing his even way without taking the trouble to refute it, hasgiven me an insight into his nature, that fills me with admiration,and yet, at the same time, with a sort of longing to see himreinstated in his proper place, and casting out those slanderinginterlopers.
But, as he was waiting to be answered, I had to collect my thoughtsand admit, not without a little bashfulness, that my first account ofmy exploit had contained a slight prevarication.
In all he has to say about his little Scarthey domain, about theexistence he has made for himself there, I cannot help noticing withwhat affection he speaks of Rene. Rene, according to Sir Adrian, iseverything and everywhere; a perfect familiar genius; he is counselloras well as valet, plays his master's game of chess as well as shaveshim, can tune his organ, and manage his boat, and cast his nets, forhe is fisherman as well as gardener; he is the steward of thiswonderful little estate, and its stock of one pony, one cow, andtwelve hens; he tends the light, and can cook a dinner a great dealbetter than his great rival, old Margery.
Of this last accomplishment we had good proof in the shape of variousdainties that appeared at our dinner. For when I exclaimed inastonishment, the master said, well pleased, and pointing to theattentive major-domo: "This is Rene's way of spoiling me. But now hehas surpassed himself to celebrate so unique an occasion."
And Rene's face was all one grin of rapture. I observe that onoccasions his eyes wander quite tenderly from me to his master.
Shall I ever enjoy dinners again like those in that old ruined tower!Or hours like those during which I listened to tales of peril andadventure, or to the music that pealed forth from the distant corner,when Sir Adrian sat down to his organ and made it speak the wordlesslanguage of the soul: that language that made me at times shiver witha mad yearning for life, more life; at times soothed my heart with acaress of infinite softness.
How is it that our organ-songs at the convent _never_ moved me in thisfashion?
Ah! those will be days to remember; all
the more for being certainthat they will not be forgotten by him. Yes, those days have broughtsome light into his melancholy life.
Even Rene knows that. "Oh, my lady," said he to me as he was leavingthe island yesterday. "You have come like the good fairy, you havebrought back the joy of life to his honour: I have not heard himreally laugh--before this year passed I did not believe he knew anymore how to laugh--what you can call laugh!"
It is quite true. I had made some droll remark about Tanty and CousinSophia, and when he laughed he looked like a young man.
He was quick enough in grasping at a pretext for keeping me yetanother day. Yesterday the wind having suddenly abated in the night,there was quite a bevy of little fishing-boats sailing merrily away.And the causeway at low water was quite visible. As we looked out Iknow the same idea came to both our minds, though there was no wordbetween us. At last it was I who spoke. "The crossing is quite safe,"said I. And I added, as he answered nothing, "I almost wish now it wasnot. How quick the time has gone by, here!"
His countenance when I looked up was darker. He kept his eyes fixed inthe distance. At last he said in a low voice:
"Yes, I suppose it is high time you should go back."
"I am sure I don't wish it," I said quite frankly--he is not the sortof man with whom one would ever think of _minauderie_, "but Madeleinewill be miserable about me."
"And so you would really care to stop here," said he, with a smile ofwonder on his face, "if it were not for that reason?"
"Naturally I would," said I. "I feel already as cosy as a tame cathere. And if it were not for Madeleine, poor little Madeleine, whomust be breaking her heart!--But then how can I go back?--I have nowraps and only one shoe?"
His face had cleared again. He was walking up and down in his usualway, whilst I hopped back, with more limping than was at allnecessary, to my favourite arm-chair.
"True, true," he said, as if speaking to himself, "you cannot walk,with one shoe and a bandaged foot. And your clothes are too thin forthe roundabout sea journey in this cold wind. This is what we shalldo, child," he went on, coming up to me with a sage expression thatstruggled with his evident eager desire. "Rene shall go off, as soonas the tide permits, carrying the good news of your safety to yoursister, and bring back some warm things for you to wear to-morrowmorning, and I shall write to Rupert to send a carriage, to wait foryou on the strand."
And so, pleased like two children who have found a means of securing afurther holiday, we wrote both our letters. I wonder whether itoccurred to Sir Adrian, as it did to me, that, if we had been so veryanxious that I should be restored to the care of Pulwick with thebriefest delay, I might have gone with Rene that same day, wrapped upin a certain cloak which had done good warming service already; andthat, as Rene had constructed with his cunning hands a sufficient ifnot very pretty sandal for my damaged foot out of some old piece offelt, I might have walked from the beach to the fishing village; andthat there, no doubt, a cart or a donkey might have conveyed me homein triumph.
Perhaps it did _not_ occur to him; and certainly I had no desire tosuggest it on my side.
Thus, soon after mid-day, Master Rene departed alone. And Sir Adrianand I, both very glad of our reprieve, watched, leaning side by sideupon the window-sill, the brave little craft glide away on the stillruffled waters, until, when it had grown very small in the distance,we saw the sail lowered and knew Rene had reached mainland.
And that was perhaps the best day of the three. Rene having beenunexpectedly despatched, we had to help to do everything ourselveswith old Margery, who is rather feeble. The sky was clear andbeautiful; and, followed gravely by Jem the dog, we went round thelittle outer domain. I fed the hens, and Sir Adrian carried the pailwhen Margery had milked the cow; we paid a visit in his wide paddockto the pony, who trotted up to his master whinnying with pleasure. Welooked at the waters rushing past like a mill race on the further sideof the island, as the tide was rising, and he explained to me that itwas this rush which makes the neighbourhood of Scarthey so dangerousto unwary crafts; we went down into the sea-caves which penetrate deepunder the ruins.--They say that in olden days there was a passageunder the rocky causeway that led as far as the old Priory, but alltraces of it have been effaced.
Then, later on, Sir Adrian showed me in detail his library.
"I was made to be a man of books," he said, when I wondered at thenumber he had accumulated around him--there must be thousands, "a manof study, not of action. And you know how fate has treated me. Thesehave been my one consolation of late years."
And it marvelled me to think that one who had achieved so many manlydeeds, should love musty old tiresome things so much. He really turnedthem over quite reverentially. I myself do not think much of books ascompanions.
When I made that little confession he smiled rather sadly, and saidthat one like me never would lack the suitable companions of youth andhappiness; but that a creature of his unfortunate disposition couldfind, in these long rows of folded leaves, the society of the best andthe loftiest minds, not of our age, but of all ages, and, what wasmore, could find them ready for intercourse and at their best humour,just in those hours when he himself was fit and disposed for suchintercourse--and this without dread of inflicting his own misery anddulness upon them.
But I could not agree with his appreciation. I felt my nose curl withdisdain at the breath of dust and must and age these old tomes gaveforth, and I said again it was, to my mind, but a poor and tame sortof fellowship.
He was perched on his ladder and had some odd volume in his hand, fromwhich he was about to give an example in point; on hearing, however,this uncongenial sentiment he pushed back the book and came downquickly enough to talk to me. And this was the last of our excursionsamong the bookshelves.
Of this I was glad, for I confess it was there I liked Sir Adrian theleast.
When the end of the short day drew near it was time to go and attendto the beacon. We ascended the ladder-like wooden stairs leading tothe platform. Then I had the _reverse_ of that view that for so manydays had engrossed my interest.
_Pulwick from Scarthey!..._ What a long time it seemed then since Ihad left those rooms the windows of which now sent us back the rays ofthe setting sun! and I had no desire to return, though return I muston the morrow.
Rene, of course, had left everything in his usual trim order, so allwe had to do was to see to the lamp. It pleased my fantasy to lightthe beacon of Scarthey myself, and I struck the steel and kindled thebrimstone and set fire to the huge, ill-smelling wicks until they gavea flame as big as my hand; and "there is the light of Scarthey atclose quarters," I thought. And the Light-keeper was bending over mewith his kindly look, humouring me like a child.
As we sat there silently for a while in the twilight, there came fromthe little room adjoining the turret an odd sound of flapping anduncanny, melancholy cries. Sir Adrian rose, and we remembered theseagull by which he had played the part of good Samaritan.
It had happened on the second day, as the storm was at its height.There had come a great crash at the window, and we saw something whitethat struggled on the sill outside; Sir Adrian opened the casement(when we had a little tornado of our own inside, and all his papersbegan dancing a sarabande in the room), and we gathered in the poorcreature that was hurt and battered and more than half stunned,opening alternately its yellow bill and its red eyes in the mostabsurd manner.
With a solicitude that it amused me to watch, Sir Adrian had tendedthe helpless, goose-like thing and then handed it to Rene's furthercare.
Rene, it seemed, had thought of trying to tame the wild bird, and hadconstructed a huge sort of cage with laths and barrel-hoops, andinstalled it there with various nasty, sea-fishy, weedy things, suchas seagulls consider dainty. But the prisoner, now its vigour hadreturned, yearned for nothing but the free air, and ever and anonalmost broke its wings in sudden frenzy to escape.
"I wonder at Rene," said Sir Adrian, contemplating the animal with hisgrave look of commiseration; "Rene
, who, like myself, has been aprisoner! He will be disappointed, but we shall make one of God'screatures happy this day. There is not overmuch happiness in thisworld."
And, regardless of the vicious pecks aimed at his hands, he withfirmness folded the great strong wings and legs and carried the gulloutside on the parapet.
There the bird sat a moment, astonished, turning its head round at itsbenefactor before taking wing; and then it rose flying away in greatswoops--flap, flap--across the waves till we could see it no longer.Ugly and awkward as the creature looked in its cage, it was beautifulin its joyful, steady flight, and I was glad to see it go. I must havebeen a bird myself in another existence, for I have often that longingto fly upon me, and it makes my heart swell with a great impatiencethat I cannot.
But I could not help remarking to Sir Adrian that the bird's last lookround had been full of anger rather than gratitude, and his answer, ashe watched it sweep heavily away, was too gloomy to please me:
"Gratitude," said he, "is as rare as unselfishness. If it were not sothis world would be different indeed. As it is, we have no more rightto expect the one than the other. And, when all is said and done, ifdoing a so-called kind action gives us pleasure, it is only a specialform of self-indulgence."
There is something wrong about a reasoning of this kind, but I couldnot exactly point out where.
We both stood gazing out from our platform upon the darkening waters.Then across our vision there crept, round the promontory, a beautifulship with all sails set, looking like some gigantic white bird;sailing, sailing, so swiftly yet so surely by, through the dim light;and I cried out in admiration: for there is something in the sight ofa ship silently gliding that always sets my heart beating. But SirAdrian's face grew stern, and he said: "A ship is a whitenedsepulchre."
But for all that he looked at it long and pensively.
Now it had struck me before this that Sir Adrian, with all hiskindness of heart, takes but a dismal view of human nature and humandestiny; that to him what spoils the face of this world is that strifeof life--which to me is as the breath of my nostrils, the absence ofwhich made my convent days so grey and hateful to look back upon.
I did not like to feel out of harmony with him, and so almost angrilyI reproached him.
"Would you have every one live like a limpet on a rock?" cried I."Great heavens! I would rather be dead than not be up and doing."
He looked at me gravely, pityingly.
"May _you_ never see what I have seen," said he. "May you never learnwhat men have made of the world. God keep your fair life from suchways as mine has been made to follow."
The words filled me, I don't know why, with sudden misgiving. Is thislife, I am so eager for, but horror and misery after all? Would it bebetter to leave the book unopened? They said so at the convent. Butwhat can they know of life at a convent?
He bent his kind face towards mine in the thickening gloom, as thoughto read my thoughts, and his lips moved, but he did not speak aloud.Then, above the song of the waves as they gathered, rolled in, andfell upon the shingle all around, there came the beat of oars.
"Hark," said Sir Adrian, "our good Rene!"
His tone was cheerful again, and, as he hurried me away down thestairs, I knew he was glad to divert me from the melancholy into whichhe had allowed himself to drift.
And then "good Rene" came, bringing breezy life and cheerfulness withhim, and a bundle and a letter for me.
Poor Madeleine! It seems she has been quite ill with weeping forMolly; and, indeed, her dear scrawl was so illegible that I couldhardly read it. Rene says she was nearly as much upset by the joy asby the grief. Mr. Landale was not at home; he had ridden to meet Tantyat Liverpool, for the dear old lady has been summoned back in hothaste with the news of my decease!
He for one, I thought to myself, will survive the shock of relief atlearning that Molly has risen from the dead!
* * * * *
Ting, ting, ting.... There goes my little clock, fussily counting thehour to tell me that I have written so long a time that I ought to betired. And so I am, though I have not told you half of all I meant totell!