A Son of Perdition: An Occult Romance
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"No!" said her father sharply and uneasily, for his body still tingled with the memory of Don Pablo's reproof. "I shan't submit him to the ordeal of enduring so dull a set of people."
"Complimentary to us all," said Alice dryly, then regretted the retort; "I am sure you wish to make things pleasant for Douglas."
"Of course! I wish him to stay here as long as he likes," said Enistor, with an emphasis which she could not quite understand. "See that everything is all right, my dear. I want the dinner-party to be a success."
Rather amazed at the way in which her usually selfish father sacrificed himself, Alice consulted the housekeeper, and made all preparations for this rare festivity. When the evening came, the parson and his wife duly arrived and at their heels followed Hardwick, who had willingly accepted the chance of an evening in the company of Alice, whom he loved as a sister, and Montrose, who appealed to him as an unusually agreeable and decent fellow. The Squire welcomed his guests cordially, and took Mrs. Sparrow in to dinner. She was a faded, colourless woman with a washed-out appearance, markedly accentuated by the gauzy grey dress she wore. Alice in a delicate pink frock, which set off her evasive beauty to great advantage, looked like a fresh sunrise beside a wet, misty autumn day. Douglas could not keep his eyes off her and Hardwick was equally pressing in his attentions.
"But you must not over-tax your strength, Julian," said Alice, when she found herself at the dinner-table between the artist and Mr. Sparrow, who had escorted her thereto.
"Oh, I am all right now," replied Hardwick, "no better and no worse than I ever was. You were surprised when your father told you?"
"I was greatly grieved, Julian. And it seems so strange that a big man such as you are should be so delicate. You should see a doctor."
"I have seen several, but they can do me no good," said the artist sadly. "In every way I am healthy, so there is nothing to cure. All I lack is what they cannot give me, and that is a new supply of life-force."
"If it is vitality you want, Hardwick," said Montrose, speaking across the table, "you should consult Dr. Eberstein, who is coming down shortly to Perchton. He is wonderful in many ways and I am certain he would do you good."
"He cannot breathe more breath of life into a man than what that man already has," said Mr. Sparrow, in a tone of sad rebuke. "God alone is able to do that."
"Therefore," murmured Mrs. Sparrow, in an equally sad tone, "you should pray for strength, Mr. Hardwick. We are told to do so."
"I thought that was spiritual strength?"
"And what more do you want?" replied the lady, forgetting the exact point under discussion. "Let us watch and pray lest we fall into temptation."
"My dear!" murmured the vicar in an undertone, for he felt that this conversation was too professional for the occasion.
"Quite so," said Mrs. Sparrow, taking the hint, and did not open her mouth for some time save to eat and drink. All the same she watched for an opportunity to lead the conversation towards such religious topics as she and her husband were interested in. This was to be done with a view of surprising the Squire with the extent of her husband's knowledge. Now she had managed to enter the big house, she did not intend to go out again in a hurry. Enistor was a valuable parishioner, and if he could be brought to defer to Mr. Sparrow much could be done with him and with his money.
The table looked charming with its snow-white napery, on which glittered crystal and silver, while the dinner-service was a thing of beauty. The scarlet and golden autumn leaves which decorated the board, the mellow light of the many wax candles, the well-cooked food and the delicious wines, all impressed the vicar's wife greatly. She even felt a little angry that such a heathen as the Squire surely was should possess these luxuries, while Mr. Sparrow – capable of being a bishop in her opinion – was content with unlovely surroundings and plain viands, prepared in anything but an inviting way by their one servant. No, not content – that was the wrong word to use. He put up with ascetic living, while the wicked – meaning Mr. Enistor – lived on the fat of the land. It was enough to shake the faith of a Christian lady in the fairness of things. And truth to tell, Mrs. Sparrow, in spite of her anxious faith, frequently doubted if the world was governed justly. She and her husband did all that the Bible told them to do in the way of living uprightly and unselfishly, therefore they should certainly long before this have sat under their own fig-tree, possessing beeves and lands according to the promise. As it was, they were as poor as rats, or rather as church mice, which seemed to be the more ecclesiastical comparison. Clearly there was something wrong somewhere in the way in which mundane matters were ordered.
Meantime, the Squire had started Mr. Sparrow on archæology, as the best way of keeping him off theology, and the parson was talking eagerly about a certain red granite heart, inscribed with weird signs, which he had dug up on the hill where the Roman camp was to be seen. "Near the cottage of that Spanish gentleman," he explained precisely.
"I know," said Enistor; and indeed he knew the hill very well in a way of which Mr. Sparrow would scarcely have approved.
"There is a Druidical altar there," went on the clergyman eagerly, "and I have no doubt many dreadful sacrifices took place there in the old days. This heart – which I shall be delighted to show you if you call at the vicarage, Mr. Enistor – no doubt had to do with the terrible rites."
"Earlier than that," put in Montrose unexpectedly, "the heart was the symbol of the Atlantean race, as the cross is the symbol of the Aryan. The hieroglyphics on it mean doubtless the sacred word 'Tau.' Aum is the sacred word of our present people."
"Tau! Aum! Atlantean!" echoed Sparrow, much perplexed. "What do you mean?"
"It would take too long to explain, sir. Dr. Eberstein, who told me about these things, is the best person to consult."
"I wish to consult no one," said the parson, drawing himself up. "I believe the heart to be a symbol of the Druids."
"A symbol of Atlantis rather," insisted Montrose; "this very land on which we are was part of the great continent of Atlantis."
"A mere fable, sir. You are thinking of the myth which Plato mentions."
"It is no myth, but an actual truth, Mr. Sparrow. Atlantis did exist and was overwhelmed by that flood you will find mentioned in the Bible."
"Absurd! The name of Atlantis is not mentioned in Holy Scripture. There is no proof that what Plato says is true."
"This much proof, that as far back as archæologists can go the civilisation of Egypt was in full swing. Where did that civilisation come from?"
"It grew up in the Valley of the Nile."
"Certainly, but the beginnings were brought to the Valley of the Nile by a highly civilised race. Remember it was the Egyptian priests who told Plato about Atlantis. They knew, because Egypt was a colony of that mighty continent. There was another colony in Central America, and you will find the vast ruins of its cities described in a book by Désiré Charnay. The civilisation of Mexico and Peru destroyed by the Spaniards was the last remains of the splendour of the Atlanteans."
"Where did you hear all this, Mr. Montrose?" asked the Squire quickly.
"From Dr. Eberstein. You can ask him for yourself when he comes down."
"I should like to meet him," said Mr. Sparrow primly, "but I do not think that I shall agree with a single word he says."
"Then why ask him?" asked Montrose, very naturally.
"To confute him, sir. What we know of the early world is all contained in Genesis. There is no mention of Atlantis there, although there is of Egypt."
"What about the chronology of the Bible? It has been proved, Mr. Sparrow – and you as an archæologist must admit this – that the civilisation of Egypt extends further back than the date given in Genesis as the beginning of the world. What do you say to that?"
"I could say a great deal," retorted the parson, whose archæological knowledge was always struggling with his religious beliefs; "but this is not the time or the place to say more. When Dr. Eberstein, who is your authority for these startling statements, arrives I shall be happy to thresh the matter out with him. It will be an intellectual pleasure. I get few opportunities of that sort down here."
"That is very probable," said Hardwick, nodding; "your parishioners are a good sort, but not very learned."
"They have no need to be learned, Mr. Hardwick. Let them fulfil their daily task, and be satisfied with the position in which they have been placed."
"If they take your advice," said the Squire dryly, "there will be no chance of their rising in the world."
"Why should they try to rise?" demanded Mrs. Sparrow, coming to her husband's aid.
"Well, my dear lady, it is said that the common or garden millionaire usually starts his pile with the proverbial halfpenny. If he accepted your husband's ruling, he would never attempt to rise."
"It is divinely ordained that some people must be high and some low."
"Rather hard on the low people. I think every one should be dissatisfied, myself: that is the only thing that makes for progress."
"Did you promulgate this extraordinary doctrine in the village, Mr. Enistor?"
"No!" replied the Squire, glancing at the parson, who spoke. "Why?"
"Because some of my parishioners are very dissatisfied indeed. Mrs. Trevel was hard up last winter, and prayed for money. She did not get it, and told me that she did not intend to pray any more, as it seemed useless."
"And what explanation did you give her?" asked Alice anxiously.
"I was horrified at her impiety, Miss Enistor, as any right-minded person would be."
"Of course," murmured Montrose ironically, "how dare she ask for money when she was hard up."
Mr. Sparrow took no notice of him. "I told her that God thought she required discipline and that she must not complain."
"Why should she require discipline rather than a millionaire?" asked Julian.
"She may have more original sin in her," said Mr. Sparrow, floundering in a bog and getting quite out of his depth.
"Well," said Montrose grimly, "if according to your teaching, Mr. Sparrow, we all start as brand-new souls, given a set of circumstances over which we have no control at the outset, and with the same goal of heaven or hell at the end, it seems to me that every one ought to start at scratch."
"Not at all," said the parson, doggedly illogical, "some are rich and some are poor; some are clever and some are stupid; some are ill and some are well. It is all divinely ordained."
"But so unfair," urged Julian, seeing the absurdity of the speech.
"What, sir, shall the clay say to the potter what it wants to be?"
"I really don't see why the clay shouldn't," put in Mr. Enistor, who liked to see the parson driven into a corner, "especially when the clay has nerves."
"All is divinely ordained," repeated Mr. Sparrow piously, "we must not murmur. I regard Mrs. Trevel as a most impious person for daring to rebel when her prayers are not answered."
"I told her that," said his wife, "and she only laughed."
"Bitterly, I expect," murmured Montrose; "poor soul, I shall give her some money in the morning."
"No, don't," said Mr. Sparrow. "It will only confirm her in disbelief."
"On the contrary it will restore her faith," remarked the Squire coolly, "as it will show that her prayers are answered after all."
Mr. Sparrow had nothing to say after this, although he greatly longed to preach a sermon to those present. But not being in the pulpit he feared lest his statements should be contradicted by these ribald people. Therefore he wisely held his tongue on religious subjects for the rest of the evening. On the way home, however, he made one scathing remark to his wife.
"They are all atheists, Jane. Just the kind I expected to find under the roof of a man who does not come to church."
CHAPTER XIV
PREPARATION
On the morning of the third day after the dinner, Montrose received a letter from Dr. Eberstein saying that he was arriving in Perchton that same evening. At once the young man decided to see his friend at the watering-place and stay there for the night. He was anxious to tell the doctor how Enistor's character had been misunderstood, and what an agreeable man he was to live with. Also he asked the Squire if he could bring back Eberstein for a few hours' visit, to which Enistor heartily agreed. The schemer was looking forward to meeting the man – if he was simply a man and not something greater – whom Narvaez called "The Adversary." Confident of receiving support from Don Pablo, the Squire was anxious to come to grips with the opposing power that wished to thwart his plans. The suspense of the delay in any decided action being taken chafed Enistor considerably, and he wished to arrive at the desired conclusion as swiftly as possible. Narvaez advised waiting and Enistor rejected the advice. He had not the inexhaustible patience of his master.
Alice suggested that as Hardwick was going on that day to Perchton to consult a doctor about his health, Douglas should accompany him. The artist as usual had borrowed his rich friend's motor-car, and when a message was sent to him, replied that he would be delighted to have Montrose with him. To avoid the necessity of the car climbing the hill to Tremore, Douglas went down to Polwellin with a medium-sized bag, containing what necessaries he required for his night's absence. Alice walked with him, and they left the bag at Hardwick's lodgings, where the car was to arrive some time during the afternoon. It was already long after midday, and having to get rid of an hour of waiting, the girl proposed that they should call on Dame Trevel.
"You said you would help her, Douglas," she reminded him.
"Of course. I should have seen her on the morning after the dinner, when I told Mr. Sparrow that I would give her money. It was wrong of me not to keep my promise. The vicar will think that I am like every one else, and say much but do little."
"I don't think the vicar will think anything about the matter," said Alice candidly. "Mrs. Trevel is a heretic in his eyes!"
"Simply because she won't believe blindly against her better reason. There is a great want of logic about priestly authority. With the teachers of exoteric knowledge it is 'Obey or be damned!' which is something like the reported motto of the French Revolution: 'Be my brother, or I'll kill you.'"
"But Mr. Sparrow is a good man, Douglas."
"I admitted long ago that he was a good man, my dear. But a good man with a limited understanding can do more harm than a bad man. There are other ways of teaching a child than by boxing his ears until he is stupid with pain."
"I don't think Dame Trevel would like to be called a child," said Alice, with an amused laugh.
"My dear, the majority of human beings are children. The longer I live, the more I see that. I am a child myself in many ways, although, as Eberstein is widening my limitations, I am beginning to grow up. Children," Montrose spoke half to himself and half to his companion, "what else? Instead of cake and toys, we want gold and lands, and power and pleasure. Whether we deserve them or not we clamour for them, just like a child. We become cross when things don't go as we wish them, and slap the bad naughty table that has hurt baby in the shape of anything which impedes our getting what we desire. Good Lord, how can any man be angry with another man, when he knows that his enemy is but a child? But to know that one must be more than a child oneself."
"Do you call me a child?" asked Alice, pouting.
At the very door of Dame Trevel's cottage Montrose bent to kiss her. "A very charming child, who shall never be put into the corner by me."
"You talk as though you were the only wise man in existence."
"Yes!" assented Montrose, laughing. "I speak as though I were the judge of the earth instead of being a denizen. La Rochefoucauld says that. Go in, Alice, and let us get our interview over. We haven't overmuch time."
Mrs. Trevel received her visitors in a clean little room, poorly furnished but fairly comfortable. She was a gaunt old creature, London born and London bred, so she did not speak in the Cornish way. But indeed, thanks to the authority of school-boards, the local dialects are fast disappearing, and the girl idly remembered at the moment how ordinary was the wording of Rose Penwin and her fisherman-lover. The sight of Dame Trevel seated in her big chair suggested the names, as the absence of the West Country shibboleth in her speech suggested the thought of the younger generation whose dialect had been, so to speak, wiped out. The old woman was glad, as usual, to see her nursling and highly approved of the handsome young man who was to marry her, as all Polwellin knew by this time.
"I hope it will be all sunshine with you two," said Mrs. Trevel, when her visitors were seated. "And that you'll live to see your children's children playing about your knees, my dears."
"With Alice beside me it is bound to be sunshine," replied Douglas heartily. "She is an angel."
"Ah, my young sir, men always call women so before marriage; but what do they call them afterwards?"
"That depends mainly on the woman, I fancy," said Montrose dryly. "A wife can make her husband whatever she chooses."
"A silk purse out of a sow's ear," retorted Miss Enistor saucily. "But Douglas and I understand one another, nurse, and there will be no cause for quarrels."
"I wish I could say the same about my lad and the girl he has set his heart on marrying," sighed Dame Trevel, laying down her knitting and removing her spectacles. "It's more her fault than his, though. Rose is a flighty piece."
"She won't listen to reason," said Alice, shaking her head wisely.
"Does any woman ever listen to reason?" inquired Montrose with a shrug.
"From a man she won't; but from a woman she will. Don't be cynical. But I have talked to Rose without success," ended Alice, turning to her nurse.
"So have I, my dearie, and then she told me to mind my own business; as if it wasn't my business to see that my lad got a decent wife."
"There's no real harm in Rose," cried Alice hastily.
"I'm not saying there is. But why she should take jewels from that foreign gentleman and make Job wild, I don't understand."
"Women are fond of jewels," suggested Douglas.
"And why not if they get them in the right way?" snapped Mrs. Trevel ungraciously. "But Rose is to marry my lad, and he don't want her visiting that old gentleman and taking presents."
"Old is the word, nurse," said Alice swiftly. "Job can't be jealous."
"But he is, and his jealousy is dangerous, just as his father's was before him, dearie. And the foreign gentleman puzzles me," added the old woman, taking up her knitting again. "They did say he was to marry you, my love – by your father's wish, I swear, and never by your own will. December and May. Ha! A pretty match that would be."
"I marry Douglas and no one else, nurse, whatever my father may say or do."
"He's a dour gentleman is the Squire," said Mrs. Trevel, shaking her head, "and not pleasant to cross. He never treated your mother well, and she faded like a delicate flower blown upon by cold winds. To me, dearie, he behaves cruel in the way of rent, for all my bringing you up."
"He doesn't mean to," said Alice, distressed, and driven to defending her father, although she knew only too well his high-handed methods with tenants who could not or would not pay.
"Out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh," quoted Mrs. Trevel in a sour way. "If he doesn't mean it, why does he do it?"
"Do what?"
"Says he'll turn me out bag and baggage if I don't pay the rent," cried the old woman excitedly. "How can I when the fishing's been bad and Job can't earn enough to keep things going? I make a trifle by my knitting, but that won't boil the pot. And winter's approaching too. Oh, what's to be done?"
Montrose glanced at Alice and handed a piece of paper to the speaker. "Pay the rent with that, and use what is over to buy food and coal."
Mrs. Trevel grasped the banknote, with a vivid spot of colour on each faded cheek, and could scarcely speak in her excitement. "What is it: oh, what is it?"
"The answer to your prayer," said Alice, rising and looking solemn.
"My prayer! Why, it's a fifty-pound note. Oh, sir, I can't take such a large sum of money from you."
"It is not from me," said Montrose hastily. "I am merely the instrument. God sends the money because you asked Him to help you."
The tears fell down the worn old face. "And I told the passon as it wasn't no use praying," she moaned regretfully.
"Well, you see it is. He takes His own time and means, but in the end every petition receives the answer He deems best. Thank Him, Mrs. Trevel."
"I thank Him, and I thank you too, sir. Bless you, how the sight of this money do set my mind at rest. If it wasn't for Job and the contrary ways of that silly girl I'd be as happy as an angel."
"Pray for Job and Rose," advised Alice gently.
"Well, it do seem worth it, dearie. If He sends me this, He may turn Rose into a reasonable girl, which she isn't at present." Mrs. Trevel was about to put away her treasure-trove when she hesitated. "Should I take it, Miss Alice?"
"Yes. Of course you must take it. Mr. Montrose is rich and can well afford to give it to you."
"And the riches I have," said Douglas quietly, "are but given to me as a steward of Christ to dispense according to His will."
He did not say this priggishly, although to an ordinary man of the world such a way of regarding wealth would seem priggish. Nine people out of ten would have considered the speech as one made for effect, but Alice was the tenth and knew the absolutely impersonal way in which her lover looked at the money. With joyful tears Dame Trevel showered blessings on the young couple when they left her house, and was a happy woman for the rest of the day. Even the prospect of Rose's behaviour rousing Job's jealousy to the extent of leading to serious trouble ceased to cause her anxiety for the moment. Angels had come and left their gifts behind them. The old woman resolved to go to the vicarage and confess with penitent tears that she had been wrong to doubt the efficacy of prayer.
"Do you really regard yourself as Christ's steward?" asked Alice, when the two were on their way to Julian's lodgings, more from curiosity than because she doubted.
"Yes. I thought you knew me well enough to believe so, darling. Of course when you are my wife I shall use the money to make us both comfortable, and we shall have even the luxuries of life. But we must share our good fortune with less fortunate people."
"Why not sell all we have and give it to the poor?"
"I suppose there comes a stage when one does that," mused Montrose, more to himself than to the girl. "But I have not yet reached that point. I know what poverty is in its most sordid aspect, and I don't wish to undergo the experience again. The most I can do is to share – " he paused, then went on in a doubtful manner: "I expect the Blessed One knew that the young man who had great possessions, to whom He said that, was a miser. He was perfect in all ways, but he loved money."
"The Bible doesn't say so," insisted Alice quickly.
"I am reading between the lines, dear. And if Christ gives any one wealth to administer as a steward, what would be the use of the steward nullifying his office by getting rid at one sweep of what he has to administer? It's a hard saying in any case, Alice. I must ask Eberstein what he thinks about the matter. Besides, my dear – " he hesitated and closed his lips.
"Well?" asked the girl, curiously.
"Nothing," answered Douglas, as Alice had answered on a previous occasion, but there was a puzzled and rather pained look in his eyes as he spoke the word.
The car was already standing at the door of Julian's lodgings and Julian himself was already in the vehicle. While Montrose bundled in beside him, Alice stared at the artist and laughed at his healthy looks, for he seemed to have entirely recovered from his experience on the moors.