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XII

In pursuance of the plan I decided upon before I commenced this recital-one of the principal features of which is not to anticipate events, in order that the interest of the story should not be weakened-a gap is necessary here, which before the end is reached will be properly bridged over. All that I deem it requisite to state at this point is that within two years of the death of Lauretta's mother Gabriel Carew left Nerac, never again to set foot in the village. He came to England, bringing with him his wife and one child, named Mildred, after Lauretta's mother. As you will understand, I have only lately gathered my materials, and had no acquaintanceship whatever with Gabriel Carew and his family at the time of his return to his native country; and it may be as well to state now that there were sufficient grounds for Carew's abandonment of his design to settle permanently in Nerac. The place became more than lightly distasteful to him by reason of his falling into disfavour with the inhabitants of the village. Some kind of feeling grew silently against him, which found forcible expression in a general avoidance of his company. He strove in vain to overcome this strange antipathy, for which he could not account. Even Father Daniel took sides with his flock against Carew. What galled him most was that when he challenged those who were once his friends to state their reasons for withdrawing their friendship from him, he could elicit no satisfactory replies. Then befel an event which decided his course of action. Doctor Louis died. The loss of the good doctor's wife had suddenly aged him; the break in the happy life weighed him down, and he went to his rest contentedly, almost joyfully, to rejoin his beloved mate. Within a few weeks after his burial, Gabriel Carew shook the dust of Nerac from his feet, and departed from the pretty village with a bitter feeling in his heart towards the inhabitants. They would have been glad to demonstrate to Lauretta their affection and sorrow, but she stood by her husband, whom she devotedly loved, and with a sad and indignant persistence rejected their advances. Thus were the old ties broken, and her new life commenced in a foreign land.

Of the doings of Gabriel Carew for some years after his arrival in England I have but an imperfect record, but that is of no importance, as it has no immediate bearing upon my story. Sufficient to say that five years ago he and his wife and Mildred Carew took possession of Rosemullion, which had been long without a tenant. Great preparations were made for their taking up their residence in Rosemullion. The grounds and house were in sad dilapidation, no care having been taken of them for many years past, and a number of workmen were employed to set things in order. In an English neighbourhood such doings always excite curiosity, and when it became known that Gabriel Carew, the master of the property, was coming to reside amongst us, there was a fruitful wagging of tongues. I heard a great many things which not only surprised me, but created within me a lively interest in the gentleman who would soon be my near neighbour, my house being scarcely more than half a mile from the little estate of Rosemullion. It was some time, however, before I made the personal acquaintance of Gabriel Carew. Before that took place I found myself, vicariously, in association with him through my son, and your favourite, Reginald. I can see you in fancy, my dear Max, rubbing your hands and saying, "Ah, we are coming to the kernel at last!" Wait. You have the nut before you, but your imagination must be of a miraculous order to enable you to pronounce upon the exact nature of the fruit when the shell is removed.

Among our friends and acquaintances is a lady whose name it is not necessary to mention, who has a pleasant craze for bringing young people together through the medium of "small and early" dances. Reginald went to her hospitable house frequently on these occasions. For my own part, I am not given to these vanities, being, indeed, too old for them. Old fogeys like myself are in the way of boys and girls who are called together for an enjoyment which is their special privilege. Therefore I was content that Reginald should go alone to this lady's house.

From one of these visits he returned in an unusually excited mood. He had met and danced with a young lady who, I plainly saw, had taken his heart captive. I inquired her name. Miss Carew. To be exact, he told me her Christian name. Miss Mildred Carew. Of Rosemullion? Yes. Was she alone? No; her mother was with her-a most lovely lady, but of course not the equal of her daughter in beauty. An only child? Yes.

These were some of the questions put by me and answered by Reginald. In a very short time he had acquired an amazing amount of information respecting this young lady. He had seen nothing of her father.

He went again to the house of our hospitable friend, and again met and danced with Miss Carew, and came away more deeply than ever in love with her. My affection and my duty caused me to take quiet note of my son, whose welfare is very dear to me. With a thorough knowledge of his character, I knew that he was not in the habit of contracting light fancies. He has a very serious and earnest nature.

For the third time he visited our friend, and for the third time met Miss Carew. From what passed between us I resolved to see the young lady and her mother. I made the opportunity by going uninvited to the house of my kind-hearted friend upon the occasion of her next dance party. I could take that liberty; we had been friends for twenty years. I enlightened her confidentially as to my motive for visiting her, and she received my confidence in the frankest spirit, firing at me first, however, a gun of a very heavy weight.

"It would be an excellent match," she said.

"What!" I exclaimed. "Has it gone as far as that?"

She smiled, and replied, "Well, only in imagination."

I gave a sigh of relief. I had no wish that Reginald should seriously compromise himself with a young lady who was a total stranger to me. She renewed my uneasiness, however, by saying,

"Yes, only in imagination so far as an actual declaration is concerned. But, my dear sir, the young people have settled it for themselves, without consulting wiser and older heads than their own. It is the way of young people."

She spoke rather quizzically, as though playing with me for an idle gratification, and I told her as much. She instantly became serious, and assured me that had she not approved of the more than liking that Reginald and Miss Carew had for each other, she would have taken steps to keep them apart.

"Then the mischief is done," I said.

"If you deem it mischief," was her reply. "Yes, it is done. The pair are passionately in love with each other. But I am mistaken in my opinion of them if they are not to be trusted. They will do nothing in secret; when the affair becomes so serious as to render an open declaration inevitable, they will consult those nearest to them, to whom they owe a duty. In that respect I will answer for Mildred. You should be able to answer for Reginald. Now that your eyes are opened, invite his confidence. Speak to him frankly and lovingly, and he will conceal nothing from you. I repeat, it would be an excellent match. She is in every way worthy of him, and he is worthy of her. She is a lady; her mother is a lady, and the personification of sweetness, though I fancy sometimes she has a sorrow. But what human being is perfectly happy? And Mildred's father is a gentleman."

"Are you well acquainted with him?" I asked.

"No, not well acquainted. There are few who can say that of him. He is a man whose absolute friendship it would be hard to gain. All the more precious, therefore, to him who wins the prize. It might be worth your while to try, for Reginald's sake. Should his suit be accepted, an intimacy between you and Mr. Carew is inevitable. You will find him a man of rare acquirements. You have a leaning towards men and women who think for themselves, and who have a vein of originality. Mr. Carew being of this order, you will be naturally drawn to him. A not inconsequential item in the programme is that he is wealthy, and that Mildred is his only child. Mrs. Carew and Mildred have just entered the room. I must go to them; follow me in a moment or two, and I will introduce you."

I obeyed her instructions, and in a short time was made known to them.

XIII

I did not agree with Reginald's estimate of their beauty. He placed Mildred first, and her mother second. My judgment reversed this order. Mildred was truly a most beautiful girl, but Mrs. Carew's beauty was of a quality which, the moment I set eyes on her, impressed me more deeply than I had ever been in my life by the sight of a woman's face. It is not only that it is physically perfect, but that there is in it a spirituality which took my heart and my mind captive. It is as though the soul of a pure woman is there reflected-of a woman who, if she ruled the world, would banish from it suffering and injustice. She is the incarnation of sweetness and gentleness; and yet I could not avoid observing in her features the traces of a secret sorrow to which the lady of the house had referred. This indication of a grief nobly and patiently borne added to her beauty, and deepened the impression it produced upon me. I am not exaggerating when I say that, standing before her, I felt as if I were in the presence of an angel. Were I a painter, my ambition would be to fix upon canvas a faithful portrait of one so pure and lovely. I should call my picture Peace.

Her daughter differs from her in appearance. Her beauty is of another type-milder, more full of expression and variety; she has opposite moods which, as occasion serves, are brought into play in contradiction of each other. This may render her more captivating to a young man like Reginald, and were I as young as he I might also find a greater attraction in the daughter than in the mother. A sweet and beautiful girl, modest and graceful in all her movements, I was satisfied that Reginald had chosen well, and at the same time I was convinced that all the earnestness of his soul was engaged in the enterprise.

"I am happy," said Mrs. Carew to me, "to know Reginald's father."

"No less happy am I," was my rejoinder, "in making the acquaintance of a lady of whom I have heard so much."

"Reginald has spoken of me?"

"Of you and your daughter-continually, from the first evening on which he had the happiness of meeting you. It was for the purpose of obtaining an introduction to you that I came here to-night, an uninvited guest."

I felt that there must be no concealment in my intercourse with Mrs. Carew. To be honest and outspoken was the surest way of winning her friendship. Reginald and Mildred had wandered away, her hand upon his arm. Mrs. Carew's eyes followed them, tenderly and wistfully.

"We shall be very happy to see you at Rosemullion," she said; and I promised to pay her an early visit.

"Well?" said my hostess, when I left Mrs. Carew's side.

"I cannot but approve," I answered. "I have never met a sweeter lady. If the daughter's nature resembles her mother's, and Reginald is fortunate enough to win her, he will be a happy man."

My hostess smiled and nodded in satisfaction. An inveterate match-maker, she was always delighted at the success of her good-natured schemes.

On the following day I visited Mrs. Carew, and made the acquaintance of her husband, Gabriel Carew. I will not waste time by giving a description of him. What you have already read will have prepared you for his introduction in propria persona. Sufficient to say that I was favourably impressed, and that I had not been in his company five minutes before I discovered that the gentleman I was conversing with was a man of extraordinary erudition and mental compass. I was fortunate enough to win his favour; he showed me over his library-a collection made by himself, and which could only have been gathered by one of superior attainments. That my society was agreeable to her husband was a manifest pleasure to Mrs. Carew, and once during his temporary absence to obtain a book of which we had been conversing she expressed a hope that we should be often together.

"He is too much of a recluse," she said. "I have wished that he should mix in society more than he does-indeed, he sees very little of life-but he has a distaste for it."

I replied that the distaste of a man like Gabriel Carew to share in the frivolities of the age was to be easily understood. She answered wisely, "Surely a little innocent frivolity is not to be condemned. One may become too serious."

"Mr. Carew is a student?" I said.

"From his early youth," she replied, "he has been devoted to book-lore. His young life was lived here in seclusion, and it was not till after the death of his parents that he saw anything of the world."

Mr. Carew returned, and looked at us smilingly. He touched his wife's hand lightly, but slight as was the action, there was affection in it.

"I possess the gift of divination," he said. "You have been speaking of me?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Carew.

"And of my love of solitude," he continued. "But what is bred in the bone-you understand. There are inherited virtues and inherited vices. The question is, at what point does actual responsibility become a burden for which we can be justly called to account, and until that moment, to define its precise relation to committed acts? Is it your opinion that crime can be justified?"

"No," I said.

"Under no circumstances?"

"Under no circumstances."

"Early teaching, early habits, transmitted vices of the blood-are they not factors? A man is an entity-complete possessor of his own body and soul, which may be pure or hideous according to circumstances. But you make him arbitrarily accountable. Do not misunderstand me-I am simply theorising. Nothing of the argument applies to me except my love of solitude, which is harmless, and hurts no man. I have had experiences of the world, and have been misjudged. There was a time when I was angry, when I inwardly rebelled. I do so no longer. I am content. My wife, my child, my home, my lonely habits, make up the sum of a fairly happy life. Are you fond of tea?"

The light question, addressed to me in the midst of serious words, somewhat startled me. I answered, "Yes;" and upon a motion from her husband Mrs. Carew left the room to prepare the tea. Gabriel Carew explained.

"It is not ordered in this room because of a whim of mine. My wife has an apartment which is to me a sanctuary of rest, and there it is that we often sit and read and converse as we drink our tea. She is anxious about me, but there is really no cause for anxiety. She has an idea that solitude is affecting my health; she is mistaken; I was never stronger, never better." He broke off suddenly with the remark, "You are a physician?"

"It will be correct to say I was," I replied. "Many years ago I relinquished practice."

"So I have heard; and I have also learnt that you held a distinguished position. I have in my library your book treating of diseases of the mind, in which you avoid the common ground of demonstrable insanity. You speak there, if I remember aright, of inherited mental disease."

"I have devoted two chapters to the theme."

"And clearly confute," he pursued, "the statement you made just now that under no circumstances can crime be justified."

"I made that statement," I said, a little confused by this just challenge, "from a general standpoint."

"I speak from an individual standpoint," he remarked. "Which of the two is the more human? However, this is diverging somewhat. Can you tell me why, as twilight approaches, a change in my mood works mysteriously within me? I was gay-I become morose. I was cheerful-I am sad."

"Nerves," I said, "affected by external forces. That is the only answer I can at present give, knowing so little of you."

Twilight was upon us as we conversed, and I observed that his face was growing dark. With a strong, healthy, and decided motion he shook off the influence, and held out his hand to me.

"Know more of me," he said. "I have been informed of the mutual liking which has sprung up between my daughter Mildred and your son. We will speak of this seriously at a future time. Meanwhile, let your son visit us; my home is open to him and you. I have a horror of secrecies. We will shape our course in the light. Shall we strive to be friends?"

Apart from my inclination to be upon friendly terms with him-in the first instance born of my anxiety for Reginald's happiness-there was in Gabriel Carew's manner an irresistible charm, and I now desired his friendship for my own sake as well as for Reginald's. I met his advances cordially, and we spent a pleasant hour with Mrs. Carew and Mildred in the room which Carew had likened to a sanctuary. Its influence upon him was an influence for good. The gloom which had gathered on his face with the approach of night faded away, and was replaced by a cheerfulness which found vent in his speech. I was more than ever surprised at the vast stores of knowledge which he had acquired. There was not a subject started of which he was not master, and upon which he was not able to throw a new light, and when we parted it was with mutual expressions of esteem, and with a mutual wish that the intimacy thus auspiciously commenced should be allowed to ripen into a close and genuine friendship. What particularly struck me was the almost worshipping love Carew entertained for his wife. We were standing in the garden, when, with a tender, personal application of a theme we had broached, Carew said:

"You know the old legend of every human being being accompanied through life by two angels, one good and one bad each striving to obtain mastery over him. My good angel is a visible one, and it is ever by my side."

He placed his hand upon his wife's shoulder, and she raised her eyes to his. They gazed upon each other like lovers, and at that moment there was not upon either face a trace of gloom or sorrow.

"True love exists between those two," I thought, as I wended my way home. "The shadows that hover round them are but idle fancies. I rejoice that a daughter of these noble people has won my son's heart."

XIV

A general survey of the few months that followed will suffice. There are many small details which it would be pleasant to dwell upon, but these may be safely left to the imagination. They consist for the most part of the episodes which marked the progress of the love affair between Mildred and Reginald-who, without any distinct declaration from us, conducted themselves toward each other as an engaged couple. We elder people tacitly held back from entering into an express engagement, Mrs. Carew waiting, as it were, upon my movements and those of her husband. I am in a position to explain the reasons of my own backwardness in this important matter. Gabriel Carew's reasons must, for the present, be left to explain themselves. I need scarcely say that Reginald and Mildred were perfectly happy, being satisfied that they possessed our sanction to their love. No fault was theirs in this respect. If blame was due anywhere, we, their parents, were the persons upon whom it justly fell.

The hope of a binding friendship between myself and Mr. and Mrs. Carew was more than fulfilled. Not only did we become firm friends, but the closest confidential relations were established between us. So much so that I became acquainted with the history of the inner and outer lives of Gabriel Carew and his sweet wife. There was little to learn of Mrs. Carew's life which I had not already imagined; it was a record of innocence and sweetness. But what I learnt of Gabriel Carew afforded me food for grave reflection. So intimate were our relations, so perfect was the confidence he reposed in me, that he concealed nothing from me. His frankness won my admiration and greatly disturbed me. The recital of his youthful life, of his midnight wanderings, of his solitary musings, and afterwards of the death of his parents, of his entrance into Nerac, of his intimacy with the family of Doctor Louis, and of the tragic events that occurred in the peaceful village, made up the sum of the strangest record which had ever been imparted to me. I confess to being much affected by the fate of Eric and Emilius, and I asked Carew whether he had heard anything of Emilius of late years. His reply was that he had heard nothing, and that the unhappy man was probably dead.

"You have no doubt that he was guilty?" I asked.

"Not the slightest doubt," said Carew.

I was not so sure; the story had excited within me a singular sympathy for Emilius.

Now, in what I am about to say with respect to Gabriel Carew, I had, at that time, I admit, the slightest of grounds; and the powerful effect a certain suspicion had upon me was all the more singular because of the absence of reliable evidence. The study I had made for many years of the different forms in which insanity presents itself was very captivating to me, and in the course of my researches I unearthed some weird particulars, of which, were I a writer of fiction, I could make effective use. Gabriel Carew was an affectionate husband and father, a faithful mate to his wife, a wise counsellor to his daughter. He had not a vice which I could discover. He was neither a spendthrift nor a libertine. He drank in moderation, and he never gambled; indeed, he detested all games of chance. His views of men and manners were singularly correct, and denoted a well-balanced brain. It was only where his affections were concerned that he could be called in any way extravagant; but this would be accounted rather a virtue than a vice. His recreations were intellectual, and he sought pleasure and happiness only in his home and in association with books and his wife and child. What judgment would you, from a distance, pass upon such a man? What but that of entire approval? But I was in daily contact with him, and signs were visible to me which greatly disturbed me. To speak plainly, I doubted Gabriel Carew's perfect sanity!

This was a matter of most serious moment. If Carew were not sane, his disease, so far as I could judge, was of a harmless form. The proof of this lay in his affection for those of his blood, and-which, in evidence is, in my opinion, quite as strong-in his tenderness to animals and birds. But I have to a certainty established not only that insanity is hereditary, but that what is harmless in the parent may become destructive in the child. Mildred was Carew's daughter, and to all appearance as free from any touch of insanity as the most healthful of human beings. But the germ must be in her, to be transmitted to her children-to Reginald's children if he married her.

This consideration impelled me to secret action in the way of inquiry. It would have been, useless to appeal to Reginald, and to set before him the probable consequences of such an union. My counsel would have fallen upon idle ears. My duty, however, was clear. It was for me to protect him.

Instead of listening uninterruptedly to the confidences imparted to me by Carew, I prompted, probed and asked questions, and thus learnt much which might otherwise not have come to my knowledge. Considering the motive by which I was impelled, the investigation I was pursuing was of an exceedingly delicate nature, but to my surprise, Carew met-nay, anticipated-me with a most surprising frankness. He made no attempt to avoid the subject, and the interest he evinced in it seemed to exceed my own. He spoke much of himself-not in direct connection with hereditary insanity, but as though there was that in his life before the death of his parents which it would be a relief to him to clear up. He gave me a circumstantial account of all the incidents of those early years, taking pains to recall the most trifling detail bearing upon his youth.

"It is a strange pleasure to me," he said, "to be able to unbosom myself so freely. My wife is acquainted with much I have imparted to you. There was never any need to distress her by a relation of the morbid fancies which afflicted me when I was a boy, and which, perhaps, were the foundation of the profound melancholy which, after sunset, has lately crept upon me. Perhaps I am paying the penalty of old age."

I combated this view, pointing out that he was in the prime of life, with perhaps its most useful years before him. Throughout these discussions and confidences the names of Mildred and Reginald were not mentioned-I purposely avoided reference to them, but Carew did not appear to have any thought of them while we conversed. The one person who seemed to me able to furnish information from which I could weave a rational theory was Mrs. Fortress, the nurse who for a number of years attended Gabriel Carew's mother. I asked him if any correspondence had passed between them since she left Rosemullion, and he answered, "No," and that he had not seen or heard of her from that time. I then asked him if he had any idea where she was to be found, supposing her to be still living.

"In the last interview I had with her," he replied, "she gave me an address in Cornwall." He paused here, and I saw that he was weighing some matter in his mind. "I can find this address for you," he said presently, "if you desire it. Have you any curiosity to see her?"

"Yes," I said boldly, "if you have no objection."

Again he paused in thought. "I have no objection," he said. "She may reveal to you what she declined to reveal to me, and it may assist you in your inquiry."

I looked at him, startled by his last words. They were the first he had uttered which denoted that he suspected my motive in wooing and encouraging these conversations. The expression on his face was gentle and sad, and I thought it best to make no comment on his remark. The next day he gave me an address in Cornwall at which Mrs. Fortress had told him she was certain to be found during her lifetime. He gave me also a short note to her, in which he stated that I was his most intimate friend and adviser, and that he would be glad if she would communicate to me any information respecting his parents it was in her power to impart-intimating, at the same time, that I was prepared to pay handsomely for it. At Carew's request, I read this note in his presence, and at its conclusion he empowered me to pay for the information if I could not otherwise obtain it, naming as a limit a sum which I considered extravagantly liberal. I had already made preparations for a temporary absence from home, and before the end of the week I was in Cornwall, and face to face with Mrs. Fortress.