Part 10 (1/2)
The Parson waited a second and then, with a tiny pang of disappointment, went on:
”It is to be all right; everything is to be as it was before. I know you feel that is impossible, but it will hurt less and less with time, believe me. Character is what counts in the long run, Ishmael. And I have seen--I can't tell you how proudly--that you have character, that it has made its mark here. That shows in the way this affair has been taken. So pull yourself together; tell yourself how little it all really matters, and you'll find it is so.”
A wave of affection for his friend went over Ishmael as he listened to the words that really fitted his case so little and were so kindly spoken. He felt in a flat muddle, unaware whether he wished he did feel all he was expected to or glad he did not; but one good thing the Parson's words accomplished. They purged him of the artificial standpoint of the afternoon. It was impossible for one as naturally direct as Ishmael to be in contact with so much of singleness of purpose as the Parson's and not be ashamed of his own impulses towards theatrical vision. He turned his head away to hide his emotion, which the Parson took to spring from the news he had imparted and welcomed with relief. He took the boy's hand and pressed it, a thing rare for him, who was so sensitive of others' wishes he generally left physical expression to them in the first place.
”Shall we be getting back?” he said, after a moment.
As they were walking over the moor a gleam of sun shone out, wavered, then strengthened, and before a soft breeze the mist began to vanish, only clinging here and there in the pockets of the moor like fine white wool rubbed off the backs of phantom sheep. For a while they strode in silence; then the Parson said:
”By the way, you know old Mr. Eliot's daughter, don't you? Tring told me she went to the dancing cla.s.ses.”
”Yes.... Why?” Ishmael asked in sudden alarm.
If it had all come out--to have a girl mixed up in this story of his--the ignominy of it! The next moment with his relief mingled a contrition for his selfish impulse when Boase replied: ”She's not well, apparently. Her father made Carron have a look at her; he's no faith in Harvey. Seems she's been doing too much for her strength--walking too far. She appears to think nothing of ten to fifteen miles.”
”There's nothing wrong, really wrong, is there?”
”Oh, no, only they think change of air will be good for her and more rest. She's to go on a long visit to some relations in France. I don't know what she'll think of the change, a girl like that. She's a splendid creature.”
”Have you met her?” asked Ishmael in surprise.
”Why, yes. Her father seemed to think she was a little hysterical and asked me to see if she would talk to me....”
”More talking ...” thought Ishmael.
”I don't think her at all hysterical. It seemed to me more physical. In fact, I suggested Mr. Carron. But I think there's nothing like a thorough change. Her father'll miss her, I fear, though.”
Ishmael had a sly chuckle as he thought of others who would do likewise, and, catching a twinkle in the Parson's eye, it occurred to him for the first time that day that perhaps all the subtlety of the race was not confined to those of the age of himself and Killigrew. He grew a little hot; then the Parson began to speak on another theme, and he thought no more of Hilaria. He was to think of her less and less as the months during which she never came back to St. Renny went by, and he did not guess how he was to hear of her again.
”About your confirmation,” the Parson was saying. ”This affair will make no difference. There is no real reason why it should be put off. Dr.
Tring quite agrees with me. You are in the same mind about it, eh?”
Ishmael, who was feeling more and more as though the past week had been a grisly burden that was slipping off him like a bad dream, acquiesced in a rush of eager thankfulness. The complications of life were beginning to unfold in front of him, and both by training and heredity he turned to the things that bore relation elsewhere but in this life for a solution.
”I want to be decent ...” was all he said gruffly, but with a something so youthful in manner and sentiment that Boase had a yearning over him as in the days when he had been a little boy.
”Let me say one thing to you, Ishmael. I have said it before, but when you were less able to understand. You will meet people--men--who will tell you no man can keep altogether a rigid straightness in matters that, as you know, I hold important. You will meet women who will condone this view and tell you that they do not expect it, that men are 'different,' and that they would not even have it otherwise. Do not believe them. It may be true of some men, though, if they were brought up with other ideals, it would not be true of nearly as many as it is now. But it will not, I think, be true of you, which is all you are concerned with. Your very position should make you more scrupulous than most men. You have had a shock, I know, but has it yet occurred to you to think over the effect your father's conduct has had on those other lives--your brothers' and your sister's?”
”No,” confessed Ishmael.
”Try. You are not fond of Archelaus, I know, and there is no reason why you should be. But try and see his point of view. He has the attachment to Cloom that you have--not the same kind; he would never have felt it a trust or something to be made better for its own sake, but he does feel he has a right to it, and that is a hard thing to bear. Ishmael, all this misery, the reason why your brothers have not been brought up as you have, with the same advantages, which now they can never gain all their lives long, the reason why Va.s.sie, who is clever and pretty, will have a difficulty in getting a husband worthy of her, is because your father lived according to the law of the flesh instead of the spirit.
Never place any child of yours in that position.”
”I never will, I promise. But, I say, you know, Da Boase”--the childhood name slipped out unawares--”I don't think I care about that sort of thing--girls and all that. Not like Killigrew.”
The Parson hid a smile. ”You will not ripen as early as Killigrew, in all probability,” he said, ”but one does not have a temper such as yours without other pa.s.sions. There is another thing. Men of the world--Killigrew, when he is a little older--will tell you that it is possible and right to gratify those pa.s.sions at less cost than the embroilment your father made about him. Casual intercourse where no such question arises.... Do not listen to that either. If it is possible for you to be one of those who carry an undimmed banner, do. People often talk as though purity were negative, whereas it is very actual. Keep it as a beautiful thing that once lost is gone for ever at whatever gain of experience or even understanding.”