XIII.
I did not agree with Reginald's estimate of their beauty. He placedMildred first, and her mother second. My judgment reversed this order.Mildred was truly a most beautiful girl, but Mrs. Carew's beauty wasof a quality which, the moment I set eyes on her, impressed me moredeeply than I had ever been in my life by the sight of a woman's face.It is not only that it is physically perfect, but that there is in ita spirituality which took my heart and my mind captive. It is asthough the soul of a pure woman is there reflected--of a woman who, ifshe ruled the world, would banish from it suffering and injustice. Sheis the incarnation of sweetness and gentleness; and yet I could notavoid observing in her features the traces of a secret sorrow to whichthe lady of the house had referred. This indication of a grief noblyand patiently borne added to her beauty, and deepened the impressionit produced upon me. I am not exaggerating when I say that, standingbefore her, I felt as if I were in the presence of an angel. Were I apainter, my ambition would be to fix upon canvas a faithful portraitof one so pure and lovely. I should call my picture Peace.
Her daughter differs from her in appearance. Her beauty is of anothertype--milder, more full of expression and variety; she has oppositemoods which, as occasion serves, are brought into play incontradiction of each other. This may render her more captivating to ayoung man like Reginald, and were I as young as he I might also find agreater attraction in the daughter than in the mother. A sweet andbeautiful girl, modest and graceful in all her movements, I wassatisfied that Reginald had chosen well, and at the same time I wasconvinced that all the earnestness of his soul was engaged in theenterprise.
"I am happy," said Mrs. Carew to me, "to know Reginald's father."
"No less happy am I," was my rejoinder, "in making the acquaintance ofa lady of whom I have heard so much."
"Reginald has spoken of me?"
"Of you and your daughter--continually, from the first evening onwhich he had the happiness of meeting you. It was for the purpose ofobtaining an introduction to you that I came here to-night, anuninvited guest."
I felt that there must be no concealment in my intercourse with Mrs.Carew. To be honest and outspoken was the surest way of winning herfriendship. Reginald and Mildred had wandered away, her hand upon hisarm. Mrs. Carew's eyes followed them, tenderly and wistfully.
"We shall be very happy to see you at Rosemullion," she said; and Ipromised to pay her an early visit.
"Well?" said my hostess, when I left Mrs. Carew's side.
"I cannot but approve," I answered. "I have never met a sweeter lady.If the daughter's nature resembles her mother's, and Reginald isfortunate enough to win her, he will be a happy man."
My hostess smiled and nodded in satisfaction. An inveteratematch-maker, she was always delighted at the success of hergood-natured schemes.
On the following day I visited Mrs. Carew, and made the acquaintanceof her husband, Gabriel Carew. I will not waste time by giving adescription of him. What you have already read will have prepared youfor his introduction _in propria persona_. Sufficient to say that Iwas favourably impressed, and that I had not been in his company fiveminutes before I discovered that the gentleman I was conversing withwas a man of extraordinary erudition and mental compass. I wasfortunate enough to win his favour; he showed me over his library--acollection made by himself, and which could only have been gathered byone of superior attainments. That my society was agreeable to herhusband was a manifest pleasure to Mrs. Carew, and once during histemporary absence to obtain a book of which we had been conversing sheexpressed a hope that we should be often together.
"He is too much of a recluse," she said. "I have wished that he shouldmix in society more than he does--indeed, he sees very little oflife--but he has a distaste for it."
I replied that the distaste of a man like Gabriel Carew to share inthe frivolities of the age was to be easily understood. She answeredwisely, "Surely a little innocent frivolity is not to be condemned.One may become too serious."
"Mr. Carew is a student?" I said.
"From his early youth," she replied, "he has been devoted tobook-lore. His young life was lived here in seclusion, and it was nottill after the death of his parents that he saw anything of theworld."
Mr. Carew returned, and looked at us smilingly. He touched his wife'shand lightly, but slight as was the action, there was affection in it.
"I possess the gift of divination," he said. "You have been speakingof me?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Carew.
"And of my love of solitude," he continued. "But what is bred in thebone--you understand. There are inherited virtues and inherited vices.The question is, at what point does actual responsibility become aburden for which we can be justly called to account, and until thatmoment, to define its precise relation to committed acts? Is it youropinion that crime can be justified?"
"No," I said.
"Under no circumstances?"
"Under no circumstances."
"Early teaching, early habits, transmitted vices of the blood--arethey not factors? A man is an entity--complete possessor of his ownbody and soul, which may be pure or hideous according tocircumstances. But you make him arbitrarily accountable. Do notmisunderstand me--I am simply theorising. Nothing of the argumentapplies to me except my love of solitude, which is harmless, and hurtsno man. I have had experiences of the world, and have been misjudged.There was a time when I was angry, when I inwardly rebelled. I do sono longer. I am content. My wife, my child, my home, my lonely habits,make up the sum of a fairly happy life. Are you fond of tea?"
The light question, addressed to me in the midst of serious words,somewhat startled me. I answered, "Yes;" and upon a motion from herhusband Mrs. Carew left the room to prepare the tea. Gabriel Carewexplained.
"It is not ordered in this room because of a whim of mine. My wife hasan apartment which is to me a sanctuary of rest, and there it is thatwe often sit and read and converse as we drink our tea. She is anxiousabout me, but there is really no cause for anxiety. She has an ideathat solitude is affecting my health; she is mistaken; I was neverstronger, never better." He broke off suddenly with the remark, "Youare a physician?"
"It will be correct to say I was," I replied. "Many years ago Irelinquished practice."
"So I have heard; and I have also learnt that you held a distinguishedposition. I have in my library your book treating of diseases of themind, in which you avoid the common ground of demonstrable insanity.You speak there, if I remember aright, of inherited mental disease."
"I have devoted two chapters to the theme."
"And clearly confute," he pursued, "the statement you made just nowthat under no circumstances can crime be justified."
"I made that statement," I said, a little confused by this justchallenge, "from a general standpoint."
"I speak from an individual standpoint," he remarked. "Which of thetwo is the more human? However, this is diverging somewhat. Can youtell me why, as twilight approaches, a change in my mood worksmysteriously within me? I was gay--I become morose. I was cheerful--Iam sad."
"Nerves," I said, "affected by external forces. That is the onlyanswer I can at present give, knowing so little of you."
Twilight was upon us as we conversed, and I observed that his face wasgrowing dark. With a strong, healthy, and decided motion he shook offthe influence, and held out his hand to me.
"Know more of me," he said. "I have been informed of the mutual likingwhich has sprung up between my daughter Mildred and your son. We willspeak of this seriously at a future time. Meanwhile, let your sonvisit us; my home is open to him and you. I have a horror ofsecrecies. We will shape our course in the light. Shall we strive tobe friends?"
Apart from my inclination to be upon friendly terms with him--in thefirst instance born of my anxiety for Reginald's happiness--there wasin Gabriel Carew's manner an irresistible charm, and I now desired hisfriendship for my own sake as well as for Reginald's. I met hisadvances cordially, and we spent a pleas
ant hour with Mrs. Carew andMildred in the room which Carew had likened to a sanctuary. Itsinfluence upon him was an influence for good. The gloom which hadgathered on his face with the approach of night faded away, and wasreplaced by a cheerfulness which found vent in his speech. I was morethan ever surprised at the vast stores of knowledge which he hadacquired. There was not a subject started of which he was not master,and upon which he was not able to throw a new light, and when weparted it was with mutual expressions of esteem, and with a mutualwish that the intimacy thus auspiciously commenced should be allowedto ripen into a close and genuine friendship. What particularly struckme was the almost worshipping love Carew entertained for his wife. Wewere standing in the garden, when, with a tender, personal applicationof a theme we had broached, Carew said:
"You know the old legend of every human being being accompaniedthrough life by two angels, one good and one bad each striving toobtain mastery over him. My good angel is a visible one, and it isever by my side."
He placed his hand upon his wife's shoulder, and she raised her eyesto his. They gazed upon each other like lovers, and at that momentthere was not upon either face a trace of gloom or sorrow.
"True love exists between those two," I thought, as I wended my wayhome. "The shadows that hover round them are but idle fancies. Irejoice that a daughter of these noble people has won my son's heart."