Mr. Claghorn's Daughter Part 10

The Reverend Arthur's face fell. Above all earthly things he dreaded sinners of the type of Achsah Claghorn. "The situation will be difficult," he murmured. "But truth will prevail," he added, more cheerily. "Truth must prevail."

Which a.s.surance made the girl uncomfortable, because she knew that his prayers and his labors would be directed against mere schism, whereas the case required the application of every spiritual engine at command.

So that she was not sorry that he left her, after presenting her with the little red book and urging her to read the same.

Stormpoint was not inaptly named. A huge crag jutting out into the sea, whose waves, ever darting against its granite sides, rolled off with a continuous m.u.f.fled bellow of baffled rage, which, when the storm was on, rose to a roar. A cabin had once stood on the bluff, which, tradition a.s.serted, had been the home of the first Eliphalet Claghorn, whose crumbling tomb, with its long and quaint inscription, was hard by.

The Reverend Eliphalet slept quiet in death, but the howl of the storm and the roar of the waves must have kept him awake on many a night in life. Even the stately castle erected by Joseph Claghorn's widow often trembled from the shock of the blast. The region about was strewn with huge boulders, evidences of some long-past upheaval of nature, while among the crags great trees had taken root. The landscape was majestic, but the wind-swept soil was barren, and the place had remained a waste.

Only a fortune, such as had been derived from the Great Serpent, could make the Point comfortable for habitation. But the task had been accomplished, and Stormpoint was the second wonder of Easthampton, the first being the wonderful chapel, St. Perpetua.

Paula gloried in Stormpoint. Not for its grandeur or the money it had cost, but because she loved the breeze and the sea and the partial isolation. Even now, as she ascended the bluff by a side path, rugged and steep, and commenced to smell the ocean and feel its damp upon her cheek, the Reverend Arthur Cameril seemed less like an early Father, and his lemon-colored kids less impressive.

On hearing her name called and looking up, she smiled more brightly and looked more beautiful than she had yet looked that day, though, from the moment she had emerged from her morning bath of salt water she had been beautiful. "Aha! Leonard, is that you?" she exclaimed.

"Where have you been?" asked Leonard, as he reached her side.

"At Miss Claghorn's. She sent for me."

Leonard's eyes opened wide. "Cousin Achsah sent for you! What for?"

"She will tell you."

"And you won't. Well, I must wait. What have you there?" taking the little red book from her hand. "'The Lives of the Hermits!' Oh, Paula; you had better read the 'Lives of the Laundresses'; these were a very dirty set."

"Leonard! How can you? A clergyman, a professor of theology!"

"Oh, I've no objection to them except that," he answered, "and I wouldn't mention their favorite vanity if they had not so reveled in it and plumed themselves upon it. Paula, Paula," he added, more seriously, "Father Cameril gave you that."

He was vexed, perhaps jealous of Father Cameril, though if so, he was unconscious, ascribing his vexation to a different source. He had a hearty contempt for the silly flummery, as he mentally described it, practised by Father Cameril, and he hated to know that Paula was enticed by it. She understood and was neither without enjoyment of his vexation nor resentment that he would not express it in words. She would have liked him to forbid the reading of the little book. It would have been a sign of steadfastness to disobey; it might have been a greater pleasure to obey.

"Well, read the book, if you can stomach it," he said. "I doubt if you will derive any benefit. I must be going. When you and Cousin Achsah take to plotting, I must investigate. Good-bye."

"Leonard, did you know that Natalie is in New York, that she has come to America to live?"

"Natalie in New York! Your news amazes me. She will come here, of course?"

"Not to Stormpoint," she answered regretfully. "To your cousin's, Miss Claghorn."

He looked his surprise. "To live there! That surely will never do."

"Oh, Leonard, I am so glad you agree with me. I tried to persuade Miss Claghorn to let her come to us. Think of it! Alone with those two old women and their quarrels. That gloomy house! It's dreadful!"

"It certainly will not do for Natalie," he observed, thoughtfully. "I wish, Paula, my cousin had consulted me rather than you."

"Why, Leonard! You don't suppose I did not urge all I could?"

"That's just it. Cousin Achsah is, of her kind, a very fine specimen, and I am her favorite and bound to respect and love her, as I do--but a nature like hers and one like yours are antagonistic."

"Then, since you respect and--and----"

"And love her, you think I don't respect and love you; but you know better, Paula."

She blushed at the snare the echo of his words had led her into. He was not so conscious. "As I remember Natalie," he said, "she was amiable and nice in all points--still she and my cousin----"

"They will be absolutely incomprehensible to each other," said Paula.

"Do try and have her consent to let Natalie come to Stormpoint."

"I will do what I can. Has Mrs. Joe invited her?"

"She will be only too glad as soon as she knows. But the matter has been placed in such a light by that tiresome Mr. Winter--but there, you will find out everything from your cousin. Do what you can."

"I will. What happy days they were, those days in Heidelberg."

The violet eyes were tender with reminiscence, the pretty mouth seductive. "They were the happiest of my life," she said.

"And of mine," echoed Leonard, as he walked off, having seen neither mouth nor eyes, but a vision of the past.

CHAPTER IX.

THE ADVANTAGES OF TREADING THE BORDERLAND OF VICE.

Among the diversions indulged in at Heidelberg, during the accidental reunion of the Claghorns, there had been one particularly affected by Professor and philosopher. The early education of these two had been identical; their later training had progressed on widely diverging lines. The Reverend Jared had continued in the path in which his footsteps had been placed in childhood, while Beverley had wandered far.

Yet, being by inheritance as nearly alike as may be two who, descended from a common ancestor, partake of marked ancestral traits, agreement between them in reference to a matter wherein their views clashed was impossible; which fact had sufficed to lend a charm to disputation.

A favorite theme of discussion had been discovered in the serious problems connected with the training of youth. The clergyman had a son who embodied his theories; the philosopher was the father of a daughter educated upon a plan of his own. Each was paternally satisfied with results so far, and each hoped for further development equally gratifying.

The philosopher preached from a text which may be briefly stated in the words of the proverb, which informs us that "Familiarity breeds contempt." He would apply this maxim to evil and use knowledge as the s.h.i.+eld of youth. Whereas the Professor, relying upon the truth contained in the adage, "Ignorance is bliss," and maintaining that modified bliss in this world and perfect bliss in the world to come are the proper objects of man's endeavor, logically contended that ignorance of evil, a thing in its nature sure to breed sorrow, was to be encouraged.

"The true way to appreciate the dangers which must inevitably beset youth is to become familiar with them. Distance lends enchantment. That closer inspection of vice which may be derived from acquaintance with its borderland, wherein the feet of the novice may be taught to tread warily, will result in indifference, if not disgust. As long as there is ignorance there will be curiosity, which is more dangerous than knowledge." Thus had spoken the philosopher. To which the Professor had replied: "Yet I will not a.s.sume that you wish your daughter to tread the borderland of vice?"

"Certainly I do; limiting her steps to the borderland of the vices to which she is to be exposed. I admit that a man cannot, as readily as a woman, take cognizance of such vices. It is my misfortune and my daughter's that her mother died at her birth; but I have endeavored to make her superior to the glaring defects of her s.e.x. She is not petty.

She yearns neither for bonnets nor beat.i.tudes. Without attempting, in the ignorance inseparable from my s.e.x, to instruct her in detail, I have always had in view the enlargement of her mind."

"By educating her as a Frenchwoman!"

"Pardon me, no. Much as I admire the French, I do not approve their system of female education, which, by the way, resembles the course you have pursued with your son. I do not question its frequent excellent results, nor can I question its failures. My daughter's schooling has been only partially French. Travel and indiscriminate reading--I have largely relied on these."

"I am willing to admit, Cousin, that the apparent results in those matters which you deem of most importance ought to be gratifying. It is no exaggeration to say that my young cousin is a charming girl. But her life has not been lived."

"No. Therefore, we cannot fairly speculate as to the outcome. Meanwhile, as far as my system has reached, it is gratifying, as you confess."

"The same can be said of mine."

"Doubtless. But has your son's life been lived? Thus far, you have as much reason for satisfaction as I have. I hope that you will never be compelled to admit that innocence, based on ignorance, is a weak barrier to oppose to the inevitable temptations which beset young men."