Chapter XV

‘BUT YOU ARE NOT A CHRISTIAN.’

Mr. Lindsay listened in silence while his son detailed to him the plans he had made for his future; and when Alec came to an end, he made no remark.

‘I hope, father, you do not disapprove of what I have done,’ said Alec, after waiting for his father to speak.

‘You are not acting in accordance with my wishes, as you know very well,’ was the reply. ‘I do not forbid your going to London, because you would pay no attention to me if I did. But I do not approve of your going. You will have no properly defined position in this firm of lawyers, of whom, after all, you know next to nothing. You are throwing away an excellent opportunity for a vague chance, out of mere caprice; and you may live to regret that you have not taken my advice. I wish you would go over to Muirburn to-morrow, and tell Symes that I must have the new cart-wheels at once.’

Nor did Alec get much more sympathy from his sister; though, unknown to him, she often dropped a tear over the articles of his outfit which she was busily preparing.

‘You have never wished me good luck, Maggie,’ he said on one occasion.

‘You know I don’t think you are doing right,’ she answered without looking up.

‘I am doing nothing wrong in choosing my own path in life,’ cried Alec. ‘And I must say,’ he added, provoked at her want of sympathy, ‘you and my father are not——’ Then he stopped. ‘But I’m not going to quarrel with you, this last week, Maggie.’

‘I know quite well what you were going to say, Alec. But I am very sorry you are going away at all, and the more so that you are going without my father’s consent.’

Alec sighed impatiently.

‘What is the use of going back to all that now?’ said he.

And his sister made no reply.

It may easily be imagined that it was a relief to Alec, and indeed to the whole family, when Hubert Blake made his appearance at the farm.

‘Well,’ he said, passing his arm through Alec’s as they strolled together towards the river, ‘so you have settled the great question without me?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am sorry I am too late to be of any use; but I came off as soon as I read your letter—that is, the very next morning. I think I had better go back to-morrow, for my uncle was not particularly well pleased at my running away directly after I got home.’

‘I think it was more than good of you to come,’ answered the other; ‘but now you are here, I do wish you could stay till I go, if you can. You see, things are not altogether smooth here, and——’

‘All right. I will stay, and we can go up to London together. But what put it into your head to go into a lawyer’s office?’

‘I want to go to the bar, and this is the first step.’

‘But why?’

‘Because that is the great avenue by which men rise to political power. Three-fourths of the men in the House of Commons (that is, of the respectable men), who have not had the advantages of birth or fortune, have entered by that door.’

Blake stared at his companion.

‘I had no idea you were so ambitious,’ he said. ‘But I doubt whether, even if you did get into the House, you would be much nearer your goal than you are now. And you have no idea of the difficulty of getting a practice at the bar, unless you have a connection among solicitors, or unless you are a born advocate.’

‘Of course there will be plenty of difficulties. I’ve made up my mind to that. But I can see you think I ought to have taken my uncle’s offer.’

‘It might have been more prudent. If your ambition is to get into Parliament, you might have done that, perhaps, more easily as a wealthy manufacturer than as a struggling barrister. And yet, I don’t know. Every man to his taste. It is a great thing to choose one’s own work. You will have a wider and more varied life in London certainly, and——there’s somebody running after us.’

‘It’s Cameron!’ cried Alec, as he turned round, and ran to meet his friend. ‘This is awfully good of you, old fellow! coming to bid me good-bye,’ he exclaimed, as he grasped his former chum by the hand.

‘I heard you were going to the land of the southron, so I thought I would give the poor folk at the infirmary a holiday, and come to give you my blessing ere you departed,’ answered the Highlander.

Alec introduced Blake to his old companion, and the three continued to stroll on in company.

‘Don’t you think,’ said Cameron, addressing Blake, ‘our friend here was greatly left to himself, when he decided not to help to illuminate the world by means of paraffin oil, and to woo the jade Fortune in your country instead?’

‘I don’t believe you think he was wrong,’ answered Blake, with a smile. ‘You Scotchmen look upon England as your natural prey.’

‘It’s not everyone that goes to fish that comes back wi’ a full creel,’ responded Cameron; ‘but we’ll hope that Lindsay will spoil the Egyptians of much fine gold, and rise to be Lord Chancellor. Last summer I took a run down to Manchester, and as the assizes were going on, I looked in at the courts. It was a fearfu’ sight.’

‘Was it a murder case?’ asked Blake.

‘No; I mean the scores o’ young an’ middle-aged men daunderin’ about in wigs and gowns, with their hands in their pockets. I suppose every one of them thought he had a prospect of being Lord Chancellor. One of them was a man I had met at College—you may remember him, Alec; Ferguson is his name. He asked me to dine at their mess, and after dinner they sang a song about that. I mind the chorus. It went something like this,’ and Cameron sang in a deep bass voice:

‘Tell us where you have been, Blake, since I saw you last,’ said Alec, anxious to turn the conversation from himself and his own prospects.

‘Oh, the usual round—Switzerland, Rome, and Venice. I spent a good while in Venice.’

Cameron looked at the Englishman with admiration and envy.

‘I would like fine to see Rome,’ he said to himself in an undertone. Then he began to ask questions about those cities, which Blake answered as well as he was able.

After a time the conversation changed again, for Alec began to talk to Cameron about their old College friends, and Blake walked on in silence. He was comparing, in his own mind, his lot in life with that of the two young men beside him. His advantages had been so much greater than theirs, and his performances had been so trifling! He had seen, and admired, and copied: they had struggled and acted. He was already feeling wearied of life, while Cameron was beginning what promised to be a successful career of great usefulness, and Alec was bravely setting out to battle with the world. Would he never be able to give anything to his fellow-men in return for the food he ate—never be able to do anything on which he could afterwards look back with satisfaction?

Alec interrupted these reflections by hinting that they had better return to the farm, as it was getting late, and it would soon be time for supper.

Cameron was in capital spirits, and he managed to infect the whole party with his genial humour. Even Mr. Lindsay thawed visibly, and spoke to his son more kindly than he had done since Alec had refused to walk in the way he had chosen for him.

The next two days passed rapidly and pleasantly, Cameron still remaining a guest at the farm. Blake, meanwhile, perceived quite clearly that time had made no change in his sentiments towards Margaret. She seemed to him more beautiful than ever, and more soft and womanly than she had appeared before. And in spite of his better judgment, he longed to end the struggle that was going on within him, by asking her to be his wife.

It was the afternoon of the third day, Alec’s last day at home; and the four young people were sitting out of doors. Margaret was sewing something for her brother; Alec and Cameron were stretched on the grass, playing a game of chess. Blake was glancing over a newspaper, when, happening to look up, he saw Cameron looking at Margaret’s downcast face with such a tender, admiring gaze, that he dropped his eyes immediately, while a strange thrill passed through his heart. Cameron had no idea that he had been observed, for Alec’s eyes were fastened on the chess-board, while Blake was sitting in the background, apparently intent on his newspaper.

‘Check!’ cried Alec; and Cameron bent once more over the board.

Blake rose, and walked slowly away, across the empty stackyard. So he was not alone in his admiration of Margaret! Was he content that another should woo and win her? Passionately he told himself that he was not content. He wandered on for some minutes, not thinking where he was going, and after making a circuit returned to the farm.

Suddenly he came upon Margaret, sitting on a bench which overlooked the little flower-garden.

He sat down beside her, and was surprised to see that her eyes were filled with tears. She was the first to speak.

‘Mr. Blake,’ she said, ‘I wish to ask a great favour from you. I wish you to keep a watch over my brother in London. He will be quite among strangers; and he has seen very little of the world. I should think he might easily be led astray. Will you see him when you can, and do your best to warn him if he is in danger, to keep him from bad companions, and to encourage him when he is cast down, as I am sure he often will be?’

Her beautiful eyes, still laden with tears, were turned upon her companion.

‘I will, indeed,’ said Blake, ‘for your sake, as well as for his own.’

‘Thank you,’ said Margaret simply.

‘But I wish,’ he continued in a low voice, hardly conscious of what he said—‘I wish you would give me a better right to look after him—the right of a brother.’

She looked up hastily, not understanding his meaning. His face made it plain to her.

‘Dear Margaret,’ he began, gently laying hold of her hand.

But she started to her feet.

‘No, no, Mr. Blake,’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘That can never be.’

‘Never, Margaret? Why not? Why should you turn from me? You know me well, and I hope, at least, you don’t dislike me. If you can but learn to love me, how happy you would make me!’

‘No,’ she answered; ‘I don’t think I could make you happy. Your life has not been like mine. My ways, my thoughts are not like yours. You have tastes and habits which—oh, it is quite impossible!’

‘All that goes for nothing, Margaret. Tastes and habits are soon acquired. You would soon learn to love the world of art, the wider world I could lead you into;’ and again he tried to take her hand.

But again she drew it away.

‘I know I could make you happy,’ said Hubert.

‘But, Mr. Blake,’ she said in a low voice, ‘you are not a Christian.’

Hubert was silent. From a man he would have resented the imputation. Yet he knew that, in Margaret’s sense of the word, she only spoke the truth.

‘Not as you are, perhaps,’ he said at length; ‘but that need not part us. You will make me a Christian; you will teach me.’

Margaret shook her head sadly, and turned away.

‘Don’t go yet,’ cried Hubert, following her. ‘Answer me one question first. Do you love me? That is the only thing I care for.’

‘It is not the only thing,’ answered the girl. ‘I would never marry a man who was not a Christian.’

Hubert saw it was useless to argue.

‘Do you love me?’ he repeated.

Margaret looked up, her lovely face pale with emotion.

‘No,’ she answered.

‘Will you not try to love me?’

‘No, I cannot,’ she repeated in a lower tone.

‘Do, Margaret.’

‘No; please don’t ask me again.’

Her tone was firmer and clearer now, and Hubert saw that the case was decided.

‘If I come again—in six months, or a year?’

‘You would only distress me. I should only tell you again what I tell you to-night.’

‘Is that your final answer, Margaret?’

‘It is—my final answer.’

‘Then—good-bye. I will not forget my promise about your brother.’

He turned his back on the farm, and walked away by himself, not returning until it was time for the evening meal. He felt the disappointment keenly, all the more keenly that he had never anticipated a refusal. It was cruel to think that Margaret was sacrificing his happiness, and perhaps her own, to what he called her fanaticism. He was furious to think that she would never be his, that he might entreat her to the end of time, and she would never yield.

As for Margaret, she slipped into the house and was very little seen again that evening. No one ever knew what had passed between her and Hubert Blake. Not even to her own heart did Margaret answer the last question which he had pressed upon her.

That night she waited long behind the half-open door of her room, that she might waylay her brother as he came upstairs. At last the lights were put out, and she heard his footstep.

She came up to him with a half-articulate whisper, and threw her arms round his neck. Then she sobbed, as if her heart would break.

‘Don’t, Maggie. Don’t, dear old Maggie,’ whispered her brother as he kissed her.

‘Oh, Alec! you are going away. Perhaps I may never see you again; and I’ve been so cold and unkind! Oh, Alec, I don’t want to lose you: that was the reason of it. But I am so sorry! I would give anything—all I have in the world—if only I had behaved differently.’

‘It was my fault, Maggie, every bit as much as yours.’

‘No; no; no!’

‘Yes, it was. But never mind. What does it matter now? I know you love me, Maggie, and that’s all I care for.’

‘And you will write to me?’

‘Every week, Maggie.’

‘Whether you have anything to say or not?’

‘Whether I have anything to say or not. And I will come to see you at Christmas.’

‘Will you?’

‘I will, though it should only be for a day.’

‘Then I shall have something to look forward to. Oh, Alec, how good you are!’

And an hour passed before the brother and sister parted.

Next morning the good-byes were said in haste, but they were not so painful as Alec had anticipated. His father’s reserve broke down at the last; he embraced his son, and put an envelope into his hand containing fifty pounds in bank-notes.

‘Take it, lad,’ he said, as Alec would have put it back in his hand—‘take it; I can easily spare it. It’s hard to part with you; and I had hoped—but never mind that now. Fear God, Alec, and keep His commandments, for that is the whole duty of man.’

‘Oh, father!’ cried Alec; ‘I almost wish—if I had known——’

‘Come, my boy; it’s time you were gone. You will miss the coach.’

Another hurried embrace from Maggie, another shake of the hand from his father, and he was gone; and the father and daughter went back together to the silent and empty house.

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