A Red Wallflower Part 43

'In good time!' he said. 'I a.s.sure you, mother, you are in no danger yet.'

'I thought this morning,' said his mother, hesitating,--'I was afraid, from what you said, that some Methodist, or some other Dissenter, might have got hold of you.'

Pitt was silent. The word struck him, and jarred a little. Was his mother not grazing the truth? And a vague notion rose in his mind, without actually taking shape, which just now he had not time to attend to, but which cast a shadow, like a young cloud. He was silent, and his mother after a little pause went on.

'Methodists and Dissenters are not much in Mr. Strahan's way, I am sure; and you would hardly be troubled by them at Oxford. How was it, Pitt? Where did you get these new notions?'

'Do they sound like Dissent, mother?'

'I do not know what they sound like. Not like you. I want to know what they mean, and how you came by them?'

He did not immediately answer.

'I have been thinking on this subject a good while,' he said slowly,--'a good while. You know, Mr. Strahan is a great antiquary, and very full of knowledge about London. He has taken pleasure in going about with me, and instructing me, and he is capital company; but at last I learned enough to go by myself sometimes, without him; and I used to ramble about through the places where he had taken me, to review and examine and ponder things at my leisure. I grew very fond of London. It is like an immense ill.u.s.trated book of history.

'One day I was wandering in one of the busy parts of the city, and turned aside out of the roar and the bustle into a little chapel, lying close to the roar but separate from it. I had been there before, and knew there were some fine marbles in the place; one especially, that I wanted to see again. I was alone that day, and could take my time; and I went in. It is the tomb of some old dignitary who lived several centuries ago. I do not know what he was in life; but in death, as this effigy represents him, it is something beautiful to look upon. I forget at this minute the name of the sculptor; his work I shall never forget.

It is wonderfully fine. The gravity, and the sweetness, and the ineffable repose of the figure, are beyond praise. I stood looking, studying, thinking, I cannot tell for how long--or rather feeling than thinking, at the moment. When I left the chapel and came out again into the glare and the rush and the confusion, then I began to think, mother. I went off to another quiet place, by the bank of the river, and sat down and thought. I can hardly tell you how. The image of that infinite repose I carried with me, and the rush of human life filled the streets I had just come through behind me, and I looked at the contrast of things. There, for ages already, that quiet; here, for a day or two, this driving and struggling. Even suppose it be successful struggling, what does it amount to?'

'It amounts to a good deal while you live,' said Mrs. Dallas.

'And after?'--

'And after too. A man's name, if he has struggled successfully, is held in remembrance--in honour.'

'What is that to him after he is gone?'

'My dear, you would not advocate a lazy life?--a life without effort?'

'No, mother. The question is, what shall the effort be for?'

Mrs. Dallas was in the greatest perplexity how to carry on this conversation. She looked down on the figure before her,--Pitt was still sitting at her feet, holding her two hands on either side of his head; and she could admire at her leisure the well-knit, energetic frame, every line of which showed power and life, and every motion of which indicated also the life and vigour of the spirit moving it. He was the very man to fight the battle of life with distinguished success--she had looked forward to his doing it, counted upon it, built her pride upon it; what did he mean now? Was all that power and energy and ability to be thrown away? Would he decline to fill the place in the world which she had hoped to see him fill, and which he could so well fill? Young people do have foolish fancies, and they pa.s.s over; but a fancy of this sort, just at Pitt's age, might be fatal. She was glad it was _herself_ and not his father who was his confidant, for Pitt, she well knew, was one neither to be bullied nor cajoled. But what should she say to him?

'My dear, I think it is duty,' she ventured at last. 'Everybody must be put here to do something.'

'What is he put here to do, mamma? That is the very question.'

Pitt was not excited, he showed no heat; he spoke in the quiet, calm tones of a person long familiar with the thoughts to which he gave utterance; indeed, alarmingly suggestive that he had made up his mind about them.

'Pitt, why do you not speak to a clergyman? He could set you right better than I can.'

'I have, mamma.'

'To what clergyman?'

'To Dr. Calcott of Oxford, and to Dr. Plympton, the rector of the church to which Uncle Strahan goes.'

'What did they say?'

'Dr. Calcott said I had been studying too hard, and wanted a little distraction; he thought I was morbid, and warned me against possible listening to Methodists. Said I was a good fellow, only it was a mistake to try to be _too_ good; the consequence would be a break-down.

Whether physical or moral, he did not say; I was left to apprehend both.'

'That is very much as I think myself, only not the fear of break-downs.

I see no signs of that in you, my boy. What did the other, Dr.--whom did you say?--what did he tell you?'

'Dr. Plympton. He said he did not understand what I would be at.'

'I agree with him too,' said Mrs. Dallas, laughing a little. Pitt did not laugh.

'I quoted some words to him out of the Bible, and he said he did not know what they meant.'

'I should think he ought to know.'

'So I thought. But he said it was for the Church to decide what they meant.'

Mrs. Dallas was greatly at a loss, and growing more and more uneasy.

Pitt went on in such a quiet, meditative way, not asking help of her, and, she fancied, not intending to ask it of anybody. Suddenly, however, he lifted his head and turned himself far enough round to enable him to look in her face.

'Mother,' said he, 'what do you think those words mean in one of the psalms,--"Thou hast made me exceeding glad with thy countenance"?'

'Are they in the Psalms? I do not know.'

'You have read them a thousand times! In the psalter translation the wording is a little different, but it comes to the same thing.'

'I never knew what they meant, my boy. There are a great many things in the Bible that we cannot understand.'

'But is this one of them? "Exceeding glad--_with thy countenance_."

David knew what he meant.'

'The Psalmist was inspired. Of course he understood a great many things which we do not.'

'We ought to understand some things that he did not, I should think.

But this is a bit of personal experience--not abstruse teaching. David was "exceeding glad"--and what made him glad? that I want to know.'

Pitt's thoughts were busy with the innocent letter he had once received, in which a young and unlearned girl had given precisely the same testimony as the inspired royal singer. Precisely the same. And surely what Esther had found, another could find, and he might find.

But while he was musing, Mrs. Dallas grew more and more uneasy. She knew better than to try the force of persuasion upon her son. It would not avail; and Mrs. Dallas was a proud woman, too proud to ask what would not be granted, or to resist forcefully what she might not resist successfully. She never withstood her husband's plans, or asked him to change them, except in cases when she knew her opposition could be made effective; so it did not at all follow that she was pleased where she made no effort to hinder. It was the same in the case of her son, though rarely proved until now. In the consciousness of her want of power she was tempted to be a little vexed.

'My dear,' she said, 'what you say sounds to me very like Methodist talk! They say the Methodists are spreading dreadfully.'

Pitt was silent, and then made a departure.

'How often I have wanted just the touch of these hands!' he said, giving those he held a little squeeze. 'Mother, there is nothing in all the world like them.'

CHAPTER XXIV.

_DISAPPOINTMENT_.