Part 19 (1/2)
Lady Arctura and lord Forgue lived together like brother and sister, apparently without much in common, and still less of misunderstanding.
There would have been more chance of their taking a fancy to each other if they had not been brought up together; they were now little together, and never alone together.
Very few visitors came to the castle, and then only to call. Lord Morven seldom saw any one, his excuse being his health.
But lady Arctura was on terms of intimacy with Sophia Carmichael, the minister's daughter--to whom her father had communicated his dissatisfaction with the character of Donal, and poured out his indignation at his conduct. He ought to have left the parish at once!
whereas he had instead secured for himself the best, the only situation in it, without giving him a chance of warning his lords.h.i.+p! The more injustice her father spoke against him, the more Miss Carmichael condemned him; for she was a good daughter, and looked up to her father as the wisest and best man in the parish. Very naturally therefore she repeated his words to lady Arctura. She in her turn conveyed them to her uncle. He would not, however, pay much attention to them. The thing was done, he said. He had himself seen and talked with Donal, and liked him! The young man had himself told him of the clergyman's disapprobation! He would request him to avoid all reference to religious subjects! Therewith he dismissed the matter, and forgot all about it. Anything requiring an effort of the will, an arrangement of ideas, or thought as to mode, his lords.h.i.+p would not encounter. Nor was anything to him of such moment that he must do it at once. Lady Arctura did not again refer to the matter: her uncle was not one to take liberties with--least of all to press to action. But she continued painfully doubtful whether she was not neglecting her duty, trying to persuade herself that she was waiting only till she should have something definite to say of her own knowledge against him.
And now what was she to conclude from his reading the Apocrypha? The fact was not to be interpreted to his advantage: was he not reading what was not the Bible as if it were the Bible, and when he might have been reading the Bible itself? Besides, the Apocrypha came so near the Bible when it was not the Bible! it must be at least rather wicked! At the same time she could not drive from her mind the impressiveness both of the matter she had heard, and his manner of reading it: the strong sound of judgment and condemnation in it came home to her--she could not have told how or why, except generally because of her sins. She was one of those--not very few I think--who from conjunction of a lovely conscience with an ill-instructed mind, are doomed for a season to much suffering. She was largely different from her friend: the religious opinions of the latter--they were in reality rather metaphysical than religious, and bad either way--though she clung to them with all the tenacity of a creature with claws, occasioned her not an atom of mental discomposure: perhaps that was in part why she clung to them! they were as she would have them! She did not trouble herself about what G.o.d required of her, beyond holding the doctrine the holding of which guaranteed, as she thought, her future welfare. Conscience toward G.o.d had very little to do with her opinions, and her heart still less. Her head on the contrary, perhaps rather her memory, was considerably occupied with the matter; nothing she held had ever been by her regarded on its own merits--that is, on its individual claim to truth; if it had been handed down by her church, that was enough; to support it she would search out text after text, and press it into the service. Any meaning but that which the church of her fathers gave to a pa.s.sage must be of the devil, and every man opposed to the truth who saw in that meaning anything but truth! It was indeed impossible Miss Carmichael should see any meaning but that, even if she had looked for it; she was nowise qualified for discovering truth, not being herself true. What she saw and loved in the doctrines of her church was not the truth, but the a.s.sertion; and whoever questioned, not to say the doctrine, but even the proving of it by any particular pa.s.sage, was a dangerous person, and unsound. All the time her acceptance and defence of any doctrine made not the slightest difference to her life--as indeed how should it?
Such was the only friend lady Arctura had. But the conscience and heart of the younger woman were alive to a degree that boded ill either for the doctrine that stinted their growth, or the nature unable to cast it off. Miss Carmichael was a woman about six-and-twenty--and had been a woman, like too many Scotch girls, long before she was out of her teens--a human flower cut and dried--an unpleasant specimen, and by no means valuable from its scarcity. Self-sufficient, a.s.sured, with scarce shyness enough for modesty, handsome and hard, she was essentially a self-glorious Philistine; nor would she be anything better till something was sent to humble her, though what spiritual engine might be equal to the task was not for man to imagine. She was clever, but her cleverness made n.o.body happier; she had great confidence, but her confidence gave courage to no one, and took it from many; she had little fancy, and less imagination than any other I ever knew. The divine wonder was, that she had not yet driven the delicate, truth-loving Arctura mad. From her childhood she had had the ordering of all her opinions: whatever Sophy Carmichael said, lady Arctura never thought of questioning. A lie is indeed a thing in its nature unbelievable, but there is a false belief always ready to receive the false truth, and there is no end to the mischief the two can work. The awful punishment of untruth in the inward parts is that the man is given over to believe a lie.
Lady Arctura was in herself a gentle creature who shrank from either giving or receiving a rough touch; but she had an inherited pride, by herself unrecognized as such, which made her capable of hurting as well as being hurt. Next to the doctrines of the Scottish church, she respected her own family: it had in truth no other claim to respect than that its little good and much evil had been done before the eyes of a large part of many generations--whence she was born to think herself distinguished, and to imagine a claim for the acknowledgment of distinction upon all except those of greatly higher rank than her own.
This inborn arrogance was in some degree modified by respect for the writers of certain books--not one of whom was of any regard in the eyes of the thinkers of the age. Of any writers of power, beyond those of the Bible, either in this country or another, she knew nothing. Yet she had a real instinct for what was good in literature; and of the writers to whom I have referred she not only liked the worthiest best, but liked best their best things. I need hardly say they were all religious writers; for the keen conscience and obedient heart of the girl had made her very early turn herself towards the quarter where the sun ought to rise, the quarter where all night long gleams the auroral hope; but unhappily she had not gone direct to the heavenly well in earthly ground--the words of the Master himself. How could she? From very childhood her mind had been filled with traditionary utterances concerning the divine character and the divine plans--the merest inventions of men far more desirous of understanding what they were not required to understand, than of doing what they were required to do--whence their crude and false utterances concerning a G.o.d of their own fancy--in whom it was a good man's duty, in the name of any possible G.o.d, to disbelieve; and just because she was true, authority had immense power over her. The very sweetness of their nature forbids such to doubt the fitness of others.
She had besides had a governess of the orthodox type, a large proportion of whose teaching was of the worst heresy, for it was lies against him who is light, and in whom is no darkness at all; her doctrines were so many smoked gla.s.ses held up between the mind of her pupil and the glory of the living G.o.d; nor had she once directed her gaze to the very likeness of G.o.d, the face of Jesus Christ. Had Arctura set herself to understand him the knowledge of whom is eternal life, she would have believed none of these false reports of him, but she had not yet met with any one to help her to cast aside the doctrines of men, and go face to face with the Son of Man, the visible G.o.d. First lie of all, she had been taught that she must believe so and so before G.o.d would let her come near him or listen to her. The old cobbler could have taught her differently; but she would have thought it improper to hold conversation with such a man, even if she had known him for the best man in Auchars. She was in sore and sad earnest to believe as she was told she must believe; therefore instead of beginning to do what Jesus Christ said, she tried hard to imagine herself one of the chosen, tried hard to believe herself the chief of sinners. There was no one to tell her that it is only the man who sees something of the glory of G.o.d, the height and depth and breadth and length of his love and unselfishness, not a child dabbling in stupid doctrines, that can feel like St. Paul. She tried to feel that she deserved to be burned in h.e.l.l for ever and ever, and that it was boundlessly good of G.o.d--who made her so that she could not help being a sinner--to give her the least chance of escaping it. She tried to feel that, though she could not be saved without something which the G.o.d of perfect love could give her if he pleased, but might not please to give her, yet if she was not saved it would be all her own fault: and so ever the round of a great miserable treadmill of contradictions!
For a moment she would be able to say this or that she thought she ought to say; the next the feeling would be gone, and she as miserable as before. Her friend made no attempt to imbue her with her own calm indifference, nor could she have succeeded had she attempted it. But though she had never been troubled herself, and that because she had never been in earnest, she did not find it the less easy to take upon her the role of a spiritual adviser, and gave no end of counsel for the attainment of a.s.surance. She told her truly enough that all her trouble came of want of faith; but she showed her no one fit to believe in.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A CLASH.
All this time, Donal had never again seen the earl, neither had the latter shown any interest in Davie's progress. But lady Arctura was full of serious anxiety concerning him. Heavily prejudiced against the tutor, she dreaded his influence on the mind of her little cousin.
There was a small recess in the schoolroom--it had been a bay window, but from an architectural necessity arising from decay, it had, all except a narrow eastern light, been built up--and in this recess Donal was one day sitting with a book, while Davie was busy writing at the table in the middle of the room: it was past school-hours, but the weather did not invite them out of doors, and Donal had given Davie a poem to copy. Lady Arctura came into the room--she had never entered it before since Donal came--and thinking he was alone, began to talk to the boy. She spoke in so gentle a tone that Donal, busy with his book, did not for some time distinguish a word she said. He never suspected she was unaware of his presence. By degrees her voice grew a little louder, and by and by these words reached him:
”You know, Davie dear, every sin, whatever it is, deserves G.o.d's wrath and curse, both in this life and that which is to come; and if it had not been that Jesus Christ gave himself to turn away his anger and satisfy his justice by bearing the punishment for us, G.o.d would send us all to the place of misery for ever and ever. It is for his sake, not for ours, that he pardons us.”
She had not yet ceased when Donal rose in the wrath of love, and came out into the room.
”Lady Arctura,” he said, ”I dare not sit still and hear such false things uttered against the blessed G.o.d!”
Lady Arctura started in dire dismay, but in virtue of her breed and her pride recovered herself immediately, drew herself up, and said--
”Mr. Grant, you forget yourself!”
”I'm very willing to do that, my lady,” answered Donal, ”but I must not forget the honour of my G.o.d. If you were a heathen woman I might think whether the hour was come for enlightening you further, but to hear one who has had the Bible in her hands from her childhood say such things about the G.o.d who made her and sent his Son to save her, without answering a word for him, would be cowardly!”
”What do you know about such things? What gives you a right to speak?”
said lady Arctura.
Her pride-strength was already beginning to desert her.
”I had a Christian mother,” answered Donal, ”--have her yet, thank G.o.d!--who taught me to love nothing but the truth; I have studied the Bible from my childhood, often whole days together, when I was out with the cattle or the sheep; and I have tried to do what the Lords tells me, from nearly the earliest time I can remember. Therefore I am able to set to my seal that G.o.d is true--that he is light, and there is no darkness of unfairness or selfishness in him. I love G.o.d with my whole heart and soul, my lady.”
Arctura tried to say she too loved him so, but her conscience interfered, and she could not.