Part 8 (2/2)

Now let those who have truly loved tell themselves how time went by in this Eden home for Richard and Marion. True, nothing strange or startling marked its pa.s.sage, only a delightful monotony of events usual and looked forward to. They rode, and read, and sang, they wandered about the house and garden, talking such divinity as only lovers understand. If there was company they kept much apart, and spoke little to each other, but every one present knew they were _really one_. For Love and Beauty create an atmosphere of ethereal union to which even those ossified by a material life are not quite insensible.

Lady Cramer indeed affected ignorance, but she was well aware of what was going on. She had antic.i.p.ated it and, because she knew her stepson's disposition so well, had planned this very intimacy, feeling certain it would easily dissipate the light, roving fancy of the young man. She had so often seen him fall desperately in love, and so often seen him fall coldly and wearily out of it, and that with women whom she considered vastly superior to Marion in every respect. When she asked Marion to Cramer Hall, she believed that one week's unchecked intercourse would find Richard called to Edinburgh or London on very important business.

When he received no such call she invited Marion to extend her visit for another week. In her opinion, it would be an incredible thing for Richard Cramer to live his life from morning to night for two weeks with the same girl and not utterly exhaust his fancy for her. At the end of two weeks, finding him still enraptured with ”the same girl,” she invited Marion for the third week, telling herself, as she did so: ”If he stands three weeks of this absurd entanglement, there will have to be some strong measures taken. In the first place I shall speak to the Minister.”

Now the Minister was much displeased at this second extension of his daughter's visit, and he wrote to her concerning it, saying, ”A third week's visit is most unusual. I am troubled and angry at your acceptance of it. You are imposing on Lady Cramer's kindness, and I do not think it was at her wish this third invitation was given. I hope it was not your doing. Come home, without fail, immediately on its termination.”

Acting on Mrs. Caird's advice, he had kept away from the Hall during Marion's visit. ”There are a lot of young people coming and going between Cramer Hall and the neighboring gentry,” she said, ”and they do not want the Minister's company unless it be to marry them. I know the Blair girls, with their brother, Sir Thomas, were there two or three days; and I heard the young people were walking quadrilles on the lawn, and playing billiards in the house. Moreover, Starkie was in the kitchen the other day, and he told Aileen that Lady Geraldine Gower--who is a perfect horsewoman--was putting Marion and her pony through their paces; and I am feared for such ways--he said also, that the Macauleys were with them, and Captain Jermayne from the Edinburgh garrison.”

”Marion ought not to be in such company.”

”Marion is good enough for any company.”

”That is allowed. I was thinking of her being led into temptation.”

”Think of yourself, Ian, you are in far greater temptation than Marion will ever have to face. Did you notice a book lying open on the small table in your study?”

”No.”

”I want you to notice it. I left it lying face downward purposely. If you lift it carefully, you will see that I have marked a few lines. Read them.”

”_Lines!_ Poetry, I suppose! Jessy, I have not time to read outside my present work.”

”They are directly inside of your work.”

”I wish you would drive over to Cramer, and say a few words of counsel to Marion.”

”I will not, Ian. Marion must learn how to counsel herself. She is now in a fine school to learn that lesson, and she will come home _dux_ of her cla.s.s when it is closed.”

He was turning toward his study as Mrs. Caird spoke, and he was closing the door as her last words reached him, ”Read what I have marked, Ian.”

He said to himself that he would not read it. Jessy required to be put a little more in her proper place. She had advised him too much lately, and he felt that she ought to wait until asked for her opinion on subjects belonging particularly to his profession. Her att.i.tude was subversive of all recognized authority.

So he looked at the book lying on the table, but did not lift it. He was the more determined not to read the marked ”lines” because Jessy had left the book face downward. She knew that this habit of hers seriously annoyed him, and that she had calculated on this annoyance making him lift the book and so in straightening the pages see the marked pa.s.sage.

He told himself that this was taking an unfair advantage of one of his most innocent peculiarities. He was resolved not to sanction it.

But the book lying on its face vexed and even troubled him. It might be a good book, the mental abode of some wise man, who had pressed his finest hopes and thoughts on its white leaves. He could neither read nor write with that fallen volume before him. For he was so used to listen with his eyes to the absent or dead who spoke to him in a low counterpoint that he could not avoid a feeling that he was treating a visitor, whether friend or foe, with great unkindness.

He rose and he sat down, then rose again, and, with a resolved att.i.tude, lifted his prostrate friend or enemy. One leaf was crumpled and, when he had smoothed it carefully out, he saw a pa.s.sage enclosed in strong pencil lines. So he walked to his desk and, taking a piece of rubber, erased with pains and caution the indexing marks, nor did he read one word of the message the book brought him until he had set it free to advise, or reprove, or comfort him, according to its tenor. Then the words that met his eyes, and never again left his memory, were the following:

”Let lore of all Theology Be to thy soul what it _can_ be; But know--the Power that fas.h.i.+ons man Measured not out thy little span For thee to take the meeting rod In turn, and so approve to G.o.d Thy science of Theometry.”

Many times over he read this message, and then he sat with the book in his hand, lost in thought.

But of the tenor of these thoughts he said nothing; yet Mrs. Caird was satisfied. If he had not read the lines, she knew he would have told her so, and, having read them, they could be left without discussion. He was in a less moody spirit all the rest of the week, and spoke to her several times of the hopeless discouragement involved in Comte's scheme of ”supreme religion,” a mere possibility of posthumous though unconscious ”incorporation with the _Grand etre_ himself,” said he.

”Well, we are not on holy ground with Comte, Ian, and we need not take off our shoes,” answered Mrs. Caird. ”This _Grand etre_, this Great Being, is made up of little beings--yourself and I for instance.”

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