The Daughters of Danaus Part 16

On one occasion, when Hadria and the Professor went to call at Craw Gill, they found Miss Du Prel in the gloomiest of moods. Affection, love?--the very blood and bones of tragedy. Solitude, indifference?--its heart. And if for men the world was a delusion, for women it was a torture-chamber. Nature was dead against them.

"Why do you say that?" asked Hadria.

"Because of the blundering, merciless way she has made us; because of the needs that she has put into our hearts, and the preposterous payment that she demands for their fulfilment; because of the equally preposterous payment she exacts, if we elect to do without that which she teaches us to yearn for."

Professor Fortescue, admitting the dilemma, laid the blame on the stupidity of mankind.

The discussion was excited, for Valeria would not allow the guilt to be thus s.h.i.+fted. In vain the Professor urged that Nature offers a large choice to humanity, for the developing, balancing, annulling of its various forces of good and evil, and that it is only when the choice is made that heredity steps in and fixes it. This process simulates Necessity, or what we call Nature. "Heredity may be a powerful friend, or a bitter enemy, according as we treat her," he said.

"Then our s.e.x must have treated her very badly!" cried Miss Du Prel.

"Or _our_ s.e.x must have obliged yours to treat her badly, which comes to the same thing," said the Professor.

They had agreed to take a walk by the river, towards Ballochcoil. It was hoped that the fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne would cheer Miss Du Prel. The Professor led the conversation to her favourite topic: ancient Greek literature, but this only inspired her to quote the discouraging opinion of the _Medea_ of Euripedes.

The Professor laughed. "I see it is a really bad attack," he said. "I sympathize. I have these inconsolable moods myself, sometimes."

They came upon the Greek temple on the cliff-side, and paused there to rest, for a few minutes. It was too cold to linger long under the slender columns. They walked on, till they came in sight of the bare little church of Ballochcoil.

The Professor instinctively turned to compare the two buildings. "The contrast between them is so extraordinary!" he exclaimed.

Nothing could have been more eloquent of the difference in the modes of thought which they respectively represented.

"If only they had not made such fools of their women, I should like to have lived at Athens in the time of Pericles!" exclaimed Hadria.

"I," said Valeria, "would choose rather the Middle Ages, with their mysticism and their romance."

The discussion on this point continued till the church was reached. A psalm was being sung, in a harsh but devout fas.h.i.+on, by the congregation. The sound managed to find its way to the sweet outer air, though the ugly rectangular windows were all jealously closed against its beneficence.

The sky had become overcast, and a few drops of rain having given warning of a shower, it was thought advisable to take shelter in the porch, till it was over. The psalm was ground out slowly, and with apparent fervour, to the end.

Then the voice of the minister was heard wrestling in prayer.

The Professor looked grave and sad, as he stood listening. It was possible to hear almost all the prayer through the red baize door, and the words, hackneyed though they were, and almost absurd in their pious sing-song, had a naf impressiveness and, to the listener, an intense pathos.

The minister prayed for help and comfort for his congregation. There had been much sickness in the village during the summer, and many were in trouble. The good man put forth his pet.i.tion to the merciful and mighty Father, that strength might be given to the sufferers to bear all that was sent in chastis.e.m.e.nt, for they knew that nothing would be given beyond their ability to endure. He a.s.sured the great and mighty Lord that He had power to succour, and that His love was without end; he prayed that as His might and His glory were limitless, so might His mercy be to the miserable sinners who had offended Him.

Age after age, this same prayer, in different forms, had besieged the throne of heaven. Age after age, the spirit of man had sought for help, and mercy, and inspiration, in the Power that was felt, or imagined, behind the veil of mystery.

From the village at the foot of the hill, vague sounds floated up, and presently, among them and above them, could be heard the yelping and howling of a dog.

The minister, at the moment, was glorifying his Creator and his race at the same time, by addressing Him as "Thou who hast given unto us, Thy servants, dominion over the beasts of the field and over every living thing, that they may serve us and minister unto us----"

Again, and more loudly, came the cry of distress.

"I must go and see what is the matter," exclaimed the Professor. At the moment, the howling suddenly ceased, and he paused. The minister was still appealing to his G.o.d for mercy. "Out of the deep have I cried unto Thee, O Lord----," and then there was a general prayer, in which the voices of the congregation joined. Some more singing and praying took place, before the sound of a sudden rush and movement announced the conclusion of the service.

"We had better go," said Miss Du Prel.

They had no more than time to leave the porch, before the doors burst open, and the people streamed forth. A whiff of evil-smelling air issued from the building, at the same time. The dog was howling more piteously than ever. Someone complained of the disturbance that had been caused by the creature's cries, during wors.h.i.+p. The congregation continued to pour out, dividing into little groups to discuss the sermon or something of more mundane interest. An appearance of superhuman respectability pervaded the whole body. The important people, some of whom had their carriages waiting to drive them home, lingered a few moments, to exchange greetings, and to discuss sporting prospects or achievements.

Meanwhile, one of the creatures over whom G.o.d had given them dominion, was wailing in vain appeal.

"I can't stand this," cried the Professor, and he started off.

"I will come too," Hadria announced. Miss Du Prel said that she could not endure the sight of suffering, and would await their return.

And then occurred the incident that made this afternoon memorable to Hadria. In her last letter to her sister, she had said that she could not imagine the Professor contemptuous or angry. She had reason now to change her mind. His face was at once scornful and sad. For a moment, Hadria thought that he was displeased with her.

"I sometimes feel," he said, with a scornful bitterness that she had not suspected in him, "I sometimes feel that this precious humanity of ours that we are eternally wors.h.i.+pping and exalting, is but a mean, miserable thing, after all, not worth a moment's care or effort. One's sympathy is wasted. Look at these good people whining to their heavenly Father about their own hurts, craving for a pity of which they have not a spark themselves!--puffed up with their little lords.h.i.+p over the poor beasts that they do not hesitate to tear, and hurt, and torture, for their own pleasure, or their own benefit,--to whom they, in their turn, love to play the G.o.d. Cowards! And having used their G.o.dhead for purposes of cruelty, they fling themselves howling on their knees before their Almighty Deity and beg for mercy, which He too knows how to refuse!"

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Hadria. She drew a deep sigh of relief.

Without precisely realizing the fact, she had been gradually sinking into an unformulated conviction that human beings are, at heart, ruthless and hard, as soon as they are brought beyond the range of familiar moral claims, which have to be respected on pain of popular censure. Self-initiated pity was nowhere to be found. The merciless coldness of many excellent people (kind and tender, perhaps, within these accepted limits) had often chilled her to the heart, and prompted a miserable doubt of the eventual victory of good over evil in the world, which her father always insisted was ruled by mere brute force, and would be so ruled to the end of time. She had tried to find a wider, more generous, and less conventional standard in her oracle, Miss Du Prel, but to her bitter disappointment, that lady had shrugged her shoulders a little callously, as soon as she was asked to extend her sympathy outside the circle of chartered candidates for her merciful consideration. Hadria's hero-wors.h.i.+p had suffered a severe rebuff. Now, as the Professor spoke, it was as if a voice from heaven had bidden her believe and hope fearlessly in her race, and in its destiny.

"I had almost come to shrink a little from people," she said, "as from something cruel and savage, at heart, without a grain of real, untaught pity."

"There is only just enough to swear by," said the Professor sadly. "We are a lot of half-tamed savages, after all, but we may be thankful that a capacity for almost infinite development is within us."

"I wish to heaven we could get on a little faster," exclaimed Hadria.

The incident proved, in the end, a fortunate one for the homeless, and almost starving terrier, of plebeian lineage, whose wail of distress had summoned two friends to the rescue. The creature had been ill-treated by some boys, who found Sunday afternoon hang heavy on their hands. The Professor carried the injured animal across the fields and through the woods, to Dunaghee.

Here the wounds were dressed, and here the grateful creature found a new and blissful home. His devotion to the Professor was unbounded; he followed him everywhere.

Hadria's reverence and admiration rose to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. Her father laughed at her. "Just as if any decent fellow would not have done as much for a wounded brute!"

"There must have been a strange dearth of decent fellows in church that morning then."

It was not merely the action, but the feeling revealed by the Professor's words on that occasion, that had turned Hadria's sentiment towards him, into one of wors.h.i.+p.

Algitha warned her that even the Professor was human.

Hadria said she did not believe it, or rather she believed that he was inordinately, tenderly, superlatively human, and that he had gone many steps farther in that direction than the rest of his generation. He was dowered with instincts and perceptions belonging to some kinder, n.o.bler race than ours.

Miss Du Prel looked grave. She took occasion to mention that the Professor had never ceased to grieve for his wife, to whom he had been pa.s.sionately attached, and that he, almost alone among men, would never love any other woman.

"I admire him only the more for that," said Hadria.

"Don't let yourself care too much for him."

"Too much!"

"Don't fall in love with him, if I must be frank."

Hadria was silent. "If one _were_ to fall in love at all, I don't see how it would be possible to avoid his being the man," she p.r.o.nounced at last. "I defy any creature with the least vestige of a heart to remain indifferent to him." (Valeria coloured.) "Why there isn't a man, woman, child, or animal about the place who doesn't adore him; and what can _I_ do?"