Volume I Part 35 (1/2)
Captain Beebee touched his cap, and went back to Mr. Thorn, to whom he reported that the young Englishman was thoroughly impracticable, and that there was nothing to be gained by dealing with him; and the vexed conclusion of Thorn's own mind, in the end, was in favour of the wisdom of letting him alone.
In a very different mood, saddened and disgusted, Mr. Carleton shook himself free of Rossitur, and went and stood alone by the guards, looking out upon the sea. He did not at all regret his promise to his mother, nor wish to take other ground than that he had taken. Both the theory and the practice of duelling he heartily despised, and he was not weak enough to fancy that he had brought any discredit upon either his sense or his honour by refusing to comply with an unwarrantable and barbarous custom. And he valued mankind too little to be at all concerned about their judgment in the matter. His own opinion was at all times enough for him. But the miserable folly and puerility of such an altercation as that in which he had just been engaged, the poor display of human character, the little, low pa.s.sions which had been called up, even in himself, alike dest.i.tute of worthy cause and aim, and which had, perhaps, but just missed ending in the death of some, and the living death of others ? it all wrought to bring him back to his old wearying of human nature and despondent eyeing of the every-where jarrings, confusions, and discordances in the moral world. The fresh sea-breeze that swept by the s.h.i.+p, roughening the play of the waves, and brus.h.i.+ng his own cheek with its health-bearing wing, brought with. it a sad feeling of contrast. Free, and pure, and steadily directed, it sped on its way, to do its work. And, like it, all the rest of the natural world, faithful to the law of its Maker was stamped with the same signet of perfection. Only man, in all the universe, seemed to be at cross purposes with the end of his being. Only man, of all animate or inanimate things, lived an aimless, fruitless, broken life ? or fruitful only in evil.
How was this? and whence? and when would be the end? and would this confused ma.s.s of warring elements ever be at peace? would this disordered machinery ever work smoothly, without let or stop any more, and work out the beautiful. something for which sure it was designed? And could any hand but its first Maker mend the broken wheel, or supply the spring that was wanting?
Has not the Desire of all nations been often sought of eyes that were never taught where to look for Him?
Mr. Carleton was standing still by the guards, looking thoughtfully out to windward to meet the fresh breeze, as if the spirit of the wilderness were in it, and could teach him the truth that the spirit of the world knew not and had not to give, when he became sensible of something close beside him; and, looking down; met little Fleda's upturned face, with such a look of purity, freshness, and peace, it said as plainly as ever the dial-plate of a clock that _that_ little piece of machinery was working right. There was a sunlight upon it, too, of happy confidence and affection. Mr. Carleton's mind experienced a sudden revulsion. Fleda might see the reflection of her own light in his face as he helped her up to a stand where she could be more on a level with him, putting his arm round her to guard against any sudden roll of the s.h.i.+p.
”What makes you wear such a happy face?” said he, with an expression half envious, half regretful.
”I don't know!” said Fleda, innocently. ”You I suppose.”
He looked as bright as she did, for a minute.
”Were you ever angry, Elfie?”
”I don't know ” said Fleda. ” I don't know but I have.”
He smiled to see that, although evidently her memory could not bring the charge, her modesty would not deny it.
”Were you not angry yesterday with your cousin and that unmannerly friend of his?”
”No,” said Fleda, a shade crossing her face ? ”I was not _angry_ ?”
And as she spoke, her hand was softly put upon Mr. Carleton's, as if partly in the fear of what might have grown out of _his_ anger, and partly in thankfulness to him that he had rendered it unnecessary. There was a singular delicate timidity and tenderness in the action.
”I wish I had your secret, Elfie,” said Mr. Carleton, looking wistfully into the clear eyes that met his.
”What secret?” said Fleda, smiling.
”You say one can always do right ? is that the reason you are happy? ? because you follow that out?”
”No,” said Fleda, seriously. ”But I think it is a great deal pleasanter.”
”I have no doubt at all of that ? neither, I dare say, have the rest of the world; only, somehow, when it comes to the point, they find it is easier to do wrong. What's your secret, Elfie?”
”I haven't any secret,” said Fleda. But presently seeming to bethink herself, she added gently and gravely ?
”Aunt Miriam says ?
”What?”
”She says that when we love Jesus Christ, it is easy to please him.”
”And do you love him, Elfie?” Mr. Carleton asked, after a minute.
Her answer was a very quiet and sober ”yes.”
He doubted still whether she were not unconsciously using a form of speech, the spirit of which she did not quite realize.
That one might ”not see and yet believe,” he could understand; but for _affection_ to go forth towards an unseen object was another matter. His question was grave and acute.