A Rent In A Cloud

Florence, on her side, was, meanwhile, imparting to him that Loyd was not fairly appreciated by her aunt or her sister. They deemed him very honourable, very truthful, and very moral, but they did not think highly of his abilities, nor reckon much on his success in life. In fact, though the words themselves were spared her, they told her in a hundred modes that “she was throwing herself away;” and, strange as it may read, she liked to be told so, and heard with a sort of triumphant pride that she was going to make a sacrifice of herself and all her prospects – all for “poor Joseph.” To become the auditor of this reckoning required more adroitness than the other case; but Calvert was equal to it. He saw where to differ, where to agree with her. It was a contingency which admitted of a very dexterous flattery, rather insinuated, however, than openly declared; and it was thus he conveyed to her that he took the same view as the others. He knew Loyd was an excellent fellow, far too good and too moral for a mere scamp like himself to estimate. He was certain he would turn out respectable, esteemed, and all that. He would be sure to be a churchwarden, and might be a poor-law guardian; and his wife would be certain to shine in the same brightness attained by him. Then stopping, he would heave a low, faint sigh, and turn the conversation to something about her own attractions or graceful gifts. How enthusiastically the world of “society” would one day welcome them – and what a “success” awaited her whenever she was well enough to endure its fatigue. Now, though all these were only as so many fagots to the pile of her martyrdom, she delighted to listen to them, and never wearied of hearing Calvert exalt all the greatness of the sacrifice she was about to make, and how immeasurably she was above the lot to which she was going to consign herself.

It is the drip, drip, that eats away the rock, and iteration ever so faint, will cleave its way at last: so Florry, without in the slightest degree disparaging Loyd, grew at length to believe, as Calvert assured her, that “Master Joseph” was the luckiest dog that ever lived, and had carried off a prize immeasurably above his pretensions.

Miss Grainger, too, found a confessor in their guest: but it will spare the reader some time if I place before him a letter which Calvert wrote to one of his most intimate friends a short time after he had taken up his abode at the villa. The letter will also serve to connect some past events with the present now before us.

The epistle was addressed Algernon Drayton, Esq., Army and Navy Club, London, and ran thus:

“My dear Algy, – You are the prince of ‘our owncorrespondents,’ and I thank you, ‘imo corde,’ if that beLatin for it, for all you have done for me. I defy the wholeBar to make out, from your narrative, who killed who, inthat affair at Basle. I know, after the third reading of it,I fancied that I had been shot through the heart, and thentook post-horses for Zurich. It was and is a master-piece ofthe bewildering imbroglio style. Cultivate your great gifts, then, my friend. You will be a treasure to the court ofCresswell, and the most injured of men or the basest ofseducers will not be able at the end of a suit to say whichmust kneel down and ask pardon of the other. I suppose Iought to say I’m sorry for Barnard, but I can’t. No, Algy, Icannot. He was an arrant snob, and, if he had lived, he’dhave gone about telling the most absurd stories and gettingpeople to believe them, just on the faith of his stupidity.If there is a ridiculous charge in the world, it is that of‘firing before one’s time,’ which, to make the most of it, must be a matter of seconds, and involves, besides, aquestion as to the higher inflammability of one’s powder. Idon’t care who made mine, but I know it did its work well.I’m glad, however, that you did not deign to notice thatcontemptible allegation, and merely limited yourself to whatresulted. Your initials and the stars showered over theparagraph, are in the highest walk of legerdemain, and I canno more trace relatives to antecedents, than I can tell whathas become of the egg I saw Houdin smash in my hat.“I know, however, I mustn’t come back just yet There is thatshake-of-the-headiness abroad that makes one uncomfortable.Fortunately, this is no-sacrifice to me. My debts keep meout of London, just as effectually as my morals. Besidesthis, my dear Algy, I’m living in the very deepest ofclover, domesticated with a maiden aunt and two lovelynieces, in a villa on an Italian lake, my life and comfortsbeing the especial care of the triad. Imagine an infant-school occupied in the care of a young tiger of the spottedspecies, and you may, as the Yankees say, realise thesituation. But they seem to enjoy the peril of what they aredoing, or they don’t see it, I can’t tell which.“‘Gazetted out,’ you say; ‘Meno male,’ as they say here. Imight have been promoted, and so tempted to go back to thatland of Bores, Bearers, and Bungalores, and I am grateful tothe stumble that saves me from a fall. But you ask, what doI mean to do? and I own I do not see my way to anything.Time was when gentleman-riding, coach-driving, or billiards, were on a par with the learned professions; but, my dearDrayton, we have fallen upori a painfully enlightened age, and every fellow can do a little of everything.“You talk of my friends? You might as well talk of my Threeper Cents. If I had friends, it would be natural enough theyshould help me to emigrate as a means of seeing the last ofme; but I rather suspect that my relatives, who by a figureof speech represent the friends aforesaid, have a livelyfaith that some day or other the government will be at theexpense of my passage – that it would be quite superfluous inthem to provide for it.“You hint that I might marry, meaning thereby marry withmoney; and, to be sure, there’s Barnard’s widow with plentyof tin, and exactly in that stage of affliction thatsolicits consolation; for when the heart is open to sorrow,Love occasionally steps in before the door closes. Then, amore practical case. One of these girls here – the fortune isonly fifteen thousand – I think over the matter day andnight, and I verily believe I see it in the light ofwhatever may be the weather at the time: very darkly on therainy days; not so gloomy when the sky is blue and the airbalmy.“Do you remember that fellow that I stayed behind for atthe Cape, and thereby lost my passage, just to quarrel withHeadsworth? Well, a feeling of the same sort is temptingme sorely at this time. There is one of these girls, a poordelicate thing, very pretty and coquettish in her way, hastaken it into her wise head to prefer a stupid loutish sortof young sucking barrister to me, and treats me with aningenious blending of small compassion and soft pity toconsole my defeat. If you could ensure my being an afflictedwidower within a year, I’d marry her, just to show her thesort of edged tool she has been playing with. I’m often halfdriven to distraction by her impertinent commiseration. Itried to get into a row with the man, but he would not haveit. Don’t you hate the fellow that won’t quarrel with you, worse even than the odious wretch who won’t give you credit?“I might marry the sister, I suppose, to-morrow; but thatalone is a reason against it. Besides, she is terriblyhealthy; and though I have lost much faith in consumption, from cases I have watched in my own family, bad air and badtreatment will occasionally aid its march. Could you, fromsuch meagre data as these, help me with a word of advice?for I do like the advice of an unscrupulous dog-likeyourself – so sure to be practical Then there is no cantbetween men like us – we play ‘cartes sur table.’“The old maid who represents the head of this house has beenconfidentially sounding me as to an eligible investment forsome thousands which have fallen in from a redeemedmortgage. I could have said, ‘Send them to me, and you shallname the interest yourself;’ but I was modest, and did not.I bethought me, however, of a good friend, one Algy Drayton,a man of large landed property, but who always wants moneyfor drainage. Eh, Algy! Are your lips watering at theprospect? If so, let your ingenuity say what is to be thesecurity.“Before I forget it, ask Pearson if he has any more of thatlight Amontillado. It is the only thing ever sets me right, and I have been poorly of late. I know I must be out ofsorts, because all day yesterday I was wretched andmiserable at my misspent life and squandered abilities. Now,in my healthier moments, such thoughts never cross me. I’dhave been honest if Nature had dealt fairly with me; butthe younger son of a younger brother starts too heavilyweighted to win by anything but a ‘foul’ You understand thiswell, for we are in the same book. We each of us pawned ourmorality very early in life, and never were rich enough toredeem it. Apropos of pledges, is your wife alive? I lost abet about it some time ago, but I forget on which side. Ibacked my opinion.“Now, to sum up. Let me hear from you about all I havebeen asking; and, though I don’t opine it lies very much inyour way, send me any tidings you can pick up – to hisdisadvantage, of course – of Joseph Loyd, MiddleTemple. You know scores of attorneys who could trace him.Your hint about letter writing for the papers is not a badone. I suppose I could learn the trick, and do it atleast as well as some of the fellows whose lucubrations Iread. A political surmise, a spicy bit of scandal, asensation trial wound up with a few moral reflections uponhow much better we do the same sort of things at home. Isn’tthat the bone of it? Send me – don’t forget it – send me somenews of Rocksley. I want to hear how they take all that Ihave been doing of late for their happiness. I have half ofa letter written to Soph – a sort of mild condolence, blendedwith what the serious people call profitable reflections andsuggestive hints that her old affection will find its wayback to me one of these days, and that when the eventoccurs, her best course will be to declare it. I havereminded her, too, that I laid up a little love in her heartwhen we parted, just as shrewd people leave a small balanceat their bankers’ as a title to reopen their account at afuture day.“Give Guy’s people a hint that it’s only wasting postage-stamps to torment me with bills. I never break the envelopeof a dun’s letter, and I know them as instinctively as adetective does a swell-mobsman. What an imaginative racethese duns must be. I know of no fellow, for the highflights of fancy, to equal one’s tailor or bootmaker. As tothe search for the elixir vitae, it’s a dull realism afterthe attempts I have witnessed for years to get money out ofmyself.“But I must close this; here is Milly, whose taper fingershave been making cigarettes for me all the morning, come topropose a sail on the lake! – fact Algy! – and the wolf isgoing out with the lambs, just as prettily and as decorouslyas though his mother had been a ewe and cast ‘sheep’s eyes’at his father. Address me, Orta, simply, for I don’t wish itto be thought here that my stay is more than a day by daymatter. I have all my letters directed to the post-office.

“Yours, very cordially,

“Harry Calvert.”

The pleasant project thus passingly alluded to was not destined to fulfilment; for as Calvert with the two sisters were on their way to the lake, they were overtaken by Miss Grainger, who insisted on carrying away Calvert, to give her his advice upon a letter she had just received. Obeying with the best grace he could, and which really did not err on the score of extravagance, he accompanied the old lady back to the house, somewhat relieved, indeed, in mind, to learn that the letter she was about to show him in no way related to him nor his affairs.

“I have my scruples, Mr. Calvert, about asking your opinion in a case where I well know your sympathies are not in unison with our own; but your wise judgment and great knowledge of life are advantages I cannot bring myself to relinquish. I am well aware that whatever your feelings or your prejudices, they will not interfere with that good judgment.”

“Madam, you do me honour; but, I hope, no more than justice.”

“You know of Florry’s engagement to Mr. Loyd?” she asked, abruptly, as though eager to begin her recital; and he bowed. “Well, he left this so hurriedly about his father’s affairs, that he had no time to settle anything, or, indeed, explain anything. We knew nothing of his prospects or his means, and he just as little about my niece’s fortune. He had written, it is true, to his father, and got a most kind and affectionate answer, sanctioning the match, and expressing fervent wishes for his happiness – Why do you smile, Mr. Calvert?”

“I was only thinking of the beauty of that benevolence that costs nothing; few things are more graceful than a benediction – nothing so cheap.”

“That may be so. I have nothing to say to it,” she rejoined, in some irritation. “But old Mr. Loyd’s letter was very beautiful, and very touching. He reminded Joseph that he himself had married on the very scantiest of means, and that though his life had never been above the condition of a very poor vicar, the narrowness of his fortune had not barred his happiness. I’d like to read you a passage – ”

“Pray do not You have given me the key-note, and I feel as if I could score down the whole symphony.”

“You don’t believe him, then?”

“Heaven forfend! All I would say is, that between a man of his temperament and one of mine discussion is impossible; and if this be the letter on which you want my opinion, I frankly tell you I have none to give.”

“No, no! this is not the letter; here is the letter I wish you to read. It has only come by this morning’s post, and I want to have your judgment on it before I speak of it to the girls.”

Calvert drew the letter slowly from its envelope, and, with a sort of languid resignation, proceeded to read it As he reached the end of the first page, he said, “Why, it would need a lawyer of the Ecclesiastical Court to understand this. What’s all this entangled story about irregular induction, and the last incumbent, and the lay impropriator?”

“Oh, you needn’t have read that! It’s the poor old gentleman’s account of his calamity; how he has lost his vicarage, and is going down to a curacy in Cornwall. Here,” said she, pointing to another page, “here is where you are to begin; ‘I might have borne – ‘”

“Ah, yes!” said he, reading aloud; “‘I might have borne up better under this misfortune if it had not occurred at such a critical moment of my poor boy’s fate, for I am still uncertain what effect these tidings will have produced on you. I shall no longer have a home to offer the young people, when from reasons of health, or economy, or relaxation, they would like to have left the town and come down to rusticate with us. Neither will it be in my power to contribute – even in the humble shape I had once hoped – to their means of living. I am, in short, reduced to the very narrowest fortune, nor have I the most distant prospect of any better: so much for myself As for Joseph, he has been offered, through the friendly intervention of an old college companion, an appointment at the Calcutta Bar. It is not a lucrative nor an important post, but one which they say will certainly lead to advancement and future fortune. Had it not been for his hopes – hopes which had latterly constituted the very spring of his existence – such an opening as this would have been welcomed with all his heart; but now the offer comes clouded with all the doubts as to how you may be disposed to regard it. Will you consent to separate from the dear girl you have watched over with such loving solicitude for years? Will she herself consent to expatriation and the parting from her sister and yourself? These are the questions which torture his mind, and leave him no rest day or night! The poor fellow has tried to plead his cause in a letter – he has essayed a dozen times – but all in vain.

“My own selfishness shocks me,” he says, “when I read over what I have written, and see how completely I have forgotten everything but my own interests. If he remain at home, by industry and attention he may hope, in some six or seven years, to be in a position to marry; but six or seven years are a long period of life, and sure to have their share of vicissitudes and casualties. Whereas, by accepting this appointment, which will be nearly seven hundred a year, he could afford at once to support a wife, of course supposing her to submit willingly to the privations and wants of such straitened fortunes. I have offered to tell his story for him – that story he has no strength to tell himself – but I have not pledged to be his advocate; for, while I would lay down my life to secure his happiness, I cannot bring myself to urge, for his sake, what might be unfair or ungenerous to exact from another.

“‘Though my son’s account of your niece leaves us nothing more to ask or wish for in a daughter, I am writing in ignorance of many things I would like to know. Has she, for instance, the energy of character that would face a new life in a new and far away land? Has she courage – has she health for it? My wife is not pleased at my stating all these reasons for doubt; but I am determined you shall know the worst of our case from ourselves, and discover no blot we have not prepared you for.’” Calvert mattered something here, but too inaudibly to be heard, and went on reading: “‘When I think that poor Joe’s whole happiness will depend on what decision your next letter will bring, I have only to pray that it may be such as will conduce to the welfare of those we both love so dearly I cannot ask you to make what are called ‘sacrifices’ for us: but I entreat you let the consideration of affection weigh with you, not less than that of worldly interests, and also to believe that when one has to take a decision which is to influence a lifetime, it is as safe to take counsel from the heart as from the head – from the nature that is to feel, as from the intellect that is to plan.’

“I think I have read enough of this,” said Calvert, impatiently. “I know the old gent’s brief perfectly. It’s the old story: first gain a girl’s affections, and let her friends squabble, if they dare, about the settlements. He’s an artful old boy, that vicar! but I like him, on the whole, better than his son, for though he does plead in forma pauperis, he has the fairness to say so.”

“You are very severe, Mr. Calvert. I hope you are too severe,” said the old lady, in some agitation.

“And what answer are you going to give him?” asked he, curtly.

“That is exactly the point on which I want your advice; for though I know well you are no friend to young Loyd, I believe you to be our sincere well-wisher, and that your judgment will be guided by the honest feelings of regard for us.”

Without deigning to notice this speech, he arose and walked up and down the room apparently deep in thought He stopped at last, and said, abruptly, “I don’t presume to dictate to you in this business; but if I were the young lady’s guardian, and got such a letter as this, my reply would be a very brief one.”

“You’d refuse your consent?”

“Of course I would! Must your niece turn adventuress, and go off to Heaven knows where, with God knows whom? Must she link her fortunes to a man who confessedly cannot face the world at home, but must go to the end of the earth for a bare subsistence? What is there in this man himself, in his character, station, abilities, and promise, that are to recompense such devotion as this? And what will your own conscience say to the first letter from India, full of depression and sorrow, regrets shadowed forth, if not avowed openly, for the happy days when you were all together, and contrasts of that time, with the dreary dulness of an uncheered existence? I know something of India, and I can tell you it is a country where life is only endurable by splendour. Poverty in such a land is not merely privation, it is to live in derision and contempt. Everyone knows how many rupees you have per month, and you are measured by your means in everything. That seven hundred a year, which sounds plausibly enough, is something like two hundred at home, if so much. Of course you can override all these considerations, and, as the vicar says, ‘Let the heart take precedence of the head.’ My cold and worldly counsels will not stand comparison with his fine and generous sentiments, no more than I could make as good a figure in the pulpit as he could. But, perhaps, as a mere man of the world, I am his equal; though there are little significant hints in that very letter that show the old parson is very wide awake.”

“I never detected them,” said she, curtly.

“Perhaps not, but rely upon one thing. It was not such a letter as he would have addressed to a man. If I, for instance, had been the guardian instead of you, the whole tone of the epistle would have been very different.”

“Do you think so?”

“Think so! I know it I had not read ten lines till I said to myself, ‘This was meant for very different eyes from mine.’”

“If I thought that – ”

“Go on,” said he; “finish, and let me hear what you would say or do, when arrived at the conclusion I have come to.”

So far, however, from having come to any decision, she really did not see in the remotest distance anything to guide her to one.

“What would you advise me to do, Mr. Calvert?” said she, at last, and after a pause of some time.

“Refer him to me; say the point is too difficult for you; that while your feelings for your niece might overbear all other considerations, those very feelings might be the sources of error to you. You might, for instance, concede too much to the claim of affection; or, on the other hand, be too regardful of the mere worldly consideration. Not that, on second thoughts, I’d enter upon this to him, I’d simply say a friend in whom I repose the fullest confidence, has consented to represent me in this difficult matter. Not swayed as I am by the claims of affection, he will be able to give a calmer and more dispassionate judgment than I could. Write to Mr. Calvert, therefore, who is now here, and say what the mere business aspect of the matter suggests to you to urge. Write to him frankly, as to one who already is known to your son, and has lived on terms of intimacy with him. His reply will be mine.”

“Is not that a very cold and repelling answer to the good vicar’s letter?”

“I think not, and I suspect it will have one good effect The parson’s style will become natural at once, and you’ll see what a very different fashion he’ll write when the letter is addressed to me.”

“What will Florence say?”

“Nothing, if she knows nothing. And, of course, if you intend to take her into your counsels, you must please to omit me. I’m not going to legislate for a young lady’s future with herself to vote in the division!”

“But what’s to become of me, if you go away in the middle of the negotiation, and leave me to finish it?”

“I’ll not do so. I’ll pledge my word to see you through it. It will be far shorter than you suspect. The vicar will not play out his hand when he sees his adversary. You have nothing to do but write as I have told you; leave the rest to me.”

“Florence is sure to ask me what the vicar has written; she knows that I have had his letter.”

“Tell her it is a purely business letter; that his son having been offered a colonial appointment, he wishes to ascertain what your fortune his, and how circumstanced, before pledging himself further. Shock her a little about their worldliness, and leave the remainder to time.”

“But Joseph will write to her in the meanwhile and disabuse her of this.”

“Not completely. She’ll be annoyed that the news of the colonial place did not come first from himself; she’ll be piqued into something not very far from distrust; she’ll show some vexation when she writes; but don’t play the game before the cards are dealt. Wait, as I say – wait and see. Meanwhile, give me the vicar’s note, for I dread your showing it to Florry, and if she asks for it, say you sent it to Henderson – isn’t that your lawyer’s name? – in London, and told him to supply you with the means of replying to it.”

Like a fly in a cobweb, Miss Grainger saw herself entangled wherever she turned, and though perhaps in her secret heart she regretted having ever called Calvert to her counsels, the thing was now done and could not be undone.