The Burning Mist. A novel

Front matter

THE BURNING MIST J The ' Unknown ' Authors Series OF ORIGINAL ONE VOL. NOVELS Crown 8vo. Cloth 2.6 each. Uniform with "The Burring Mist." The Burning Mist. By Garrett Leigh. On the Cards. By Mary Allen. The Minister's Man. By M. G. Fairbairn. Was He a Gentleman ? By Francis Geldart. Geraldine's Husband. By Mary Macleod. OTHERS IN PREPARATION. London: JarrolJ and Sons, io a d n, Warwick Lane. E.I burning mist A A Novel By GARRETT LEIGH "One night, he kissed My soul out, in a burning mist." Browning LONDON JARROLD AND SONS WARWICK LANE E.C. It is told in dainty tomes threefold, and in lyrics linked and long, From East, where the hearts are care-released, to West where the sorrows throng ; It is whispered low when the lovers go, in the dusky twilight shade, To a shrine of prayer, and the altar there is the brow of the sweetheartmaid.

It lies full deep when we weep or sleep, when we smile, when we sigh or moan ; It holds us fast when, the harvest past, we mourn the seed unsown : It knows no loss when, as chaff, they toss our gifts to the wailing wind ; It looks ahead to the lights that led — it casts the care behind. It is told in the slums, where sunshine comes but to mark an added gloom ; It is told in the wealth of youth and health — it is told in the fading bloom ; It is told at noon, though the light full-soon shall turn to a leaden-grey, It is breathed by hearts when the day departs and the life-tide ebbs away. 'Tis the rapture rife, though unseen, in life, 'tis a spell of subtle sway, And at meeting-time, sweet greeting-time, 'tis the light of nightless day ; 'Tis the life that knows as passion grows, that Love has stronger cords, To closer bind both heart and mind, than the pride of earth's rewards.

CONTENTS. CHAPTER p VGE Prologue ... ... ... ... 9 I. Out of the Mouths of Babes ... 17 II. The Architrave of the Charnel-House ... 28 III. The Song— the Silence ... ... 39 IV. A Word for the Beautiful Pagan ... 48 V. Vitæ Sacramenta ... ... 60 VI. The Mills Grind Slowly ... ... 71 VII. The Slough where the Mire is Deep 83 VIII. She Crossed My Path and I Walk Alone 92 IX. Without Footmarks of the Little Feet 106 X. Warp and Woof Contract ... ... 118 XI. A Little Lady Bountiful ... ... 131 XII. I Seek the Common Chord ... ... 143 XIII. Noumena and Phenomena ... 156 XIV. The Cross and the Brand of Cain ... 166 XV. And then the Dark .„ ... CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACE XVI. A Shadow and the Shining Sun ... 190 XVII. After the Thunder a Still Small Voice 201 XVIII. The Ruined Temple ... ... 213 XIX. A Will that Felt the Fleshly Screen ... 223 XX. In the House of Rimmon ... 231 XXI. Stepping-Stones of Dead Selves ... 242 XXII. The C Major of Life ... ...

Prologue

. There are, it seems to me, two histories which may be written of every life. The one is an outward, a superficial history — the man's relations to the world, his actions towards it, and his sayings of it. The other is an inward, a secret history — the man's thoughts (often alas ! contradictory to his words), his desires, hidden deep in his innermost heart, and the throbbings of his very soul. The former concerns life as a series of actions ; the latter concerns life as a series of motives. Of the first there may be a hundred his torians, each with a different story; for scribes are plentiful, and one by one they pick up the kaleidoscope of life and each describes the ever-varying colours as they are caught by the hurried glance. Of the other there can be but one historian. He is at one time

PROLOGUE.

. 10 author and hero, at another time villain and scribe — for what human heart is there in which the good is not indissolubly mixed with the evil, and what hero is there who has not through the heroism of which he may write, a streak of villainy of which only he himself is cognizant ? Here, with an honest pen and an humble heart, I lay bare the history of a soul, a story which no other pen can write, of which no other imagination can conceive, for it is the story of my own innermost life. The onlooker, however brilliant his power of portrayal, can never depict a chapter of the life of another ; however honest be the writer's aim, however diligent his study, the soul-history of another manifests itself as a series of deceptions ; for the river of life is ofttimes turbulent when the surface-waters are placid, and sometimes, though more rarely, it is calm and peaceful when eddies and swift currents are visible on the face of its stream. For twenty years have I been in this parish

PROLOGUE.

. 11 of Ballyshee as its clergyman. For twenty years have I ministered here in the Slieve Bloom Hills, where the days and months like the mountains, were sometimes purple and sometimes brown ; now radiant with joy in their purple pride, now sombre with sorrow in their dusky brown — far from the world of tragedies and warfares, of ecclesiastical battles and human struggles, meeting the simplest people, and teaching the simplest truths. Yet as my lips preached of purity and honesty, my heart was seared with foulness and fraud, and now I have the bitter reflection that whilst I tried, though with an unworthy hand to raise these pure souls to a nobler con ception of life, I was directing them towards an atmosphere which I myself had never breathed. Now I have a lesson to teach, a moral to give to the world.

I dare not stand in my pulpit and teach it there, but here to all men it shall be published, fervently yet simply, in the hope that others who have mocked at love and spurned God's priceless gift, will

PROLOGUE.

. 12 learn from one who learned the bitter lesson at the cost of a woman's soul. I had been settled here but a few weeks when I met Alice McGrath. She was the daughter of my churchwarden, a country gentleman, cultured and refined, whose bear ing manifested the Irish county pride, though he was not largely endowed with this world's goods. It was often my duty to call at Fortwilliam to discuss parish matters, such as the repainting of the church, the disposal of the poor fund, and the thousand and one trivial little duties which fall to the lot of a country rector and his warden. I never failed to see Alice, for as the elder daughter she undertook the management of a larsfe portion of her father's affairs, and as we sat in the little drawing-room she manifested the keenest interest in parish matters, whilst her young brain would frequently evolve sugges tions which proved invaluable. From the first I was interested in her, especially when I noticed that the brown eyes would open with an admiring attention to my slightest

PROLOGUE.

. 13 remark, and that the soft cheek would flush when I spoke directly to her. Agatha, her sister — a laughing, dark-eyed damsel — was of a different mould, yet her peculiar beauty seemed to heighten that of Alice ; indeed, as I look back through the haze of the departed years, I see the fairest of pictures — the two maidens seated side by side, with the sunlight falling on their faces, their loveliness forming by its vivid contrast, a vision that will never fade from my memory. Sometimes as I walked across the fields from the Finnboy road I would overtake her, and we would slowly saunter to Fortwilliam, each step seeming more laggard than its predecessor. We chatted on all subjects — from theology to art. Sometimes I hinted of other things, and her cheek wrould gently flush, whilst she would turn her head away and gaze absent-mindedly at the mountains.

How lovely it all seemed. The little river — the Brosnaigh — rippled with harmonic sweet ness, and the plashing of the wheel at Mr. Jackson's mill in the distance, seemed to

PROLOGUE.

. 14 be beating time for the music of the South Wind ; even the sun, which seems at all times to shine over the Slieve Bloom Hills with more than its usual capriciousness, came forth and cast its rays of benediction about us as we walked. Happiness was very close to me — the Rev. William Courthorpe, M.A. — yet as the cup was raised to my lips I dashed it down. For yreed of sain is a most subtle tempter, and greed of position and of fame is a thousand times more powerful ; but to me the two forces came unitedly, and I fell. And so I married another woman, laving down the love that was mine for the eold O that was another's, for a union which I thought would make me more powerful for good, but which alas ! sapped the very springs of honour and truth. God knows I have tried to love and to be faithful, but as the weary days passed into wearier nights, the task I had set myself grew daily more hope less. For man cannot cultivate love — where we desire it to grow it withers and decay?,

PROLOGUE.

. 15 and if by chance we force it, the plant is the frailest of hothouse exotics and withers when first it feels the dry air of jealousy and temptation. The wedding, I am told, was a fashionable spectacle, but I can only remember that throughout the ceremony a pair of mocking eyes were fixed upon me. I trembled at their gaze, for they read me through and through, branding me " Liar " and " Hypo crite." Sunday by Sunday have those eyes shone upon me from the choir gallery. When I raised my hands and pronounced the blessing of peace — a blessing to my own self denied — that voice was the first to sound "Amen" in my ears ; when I prayed the grand old prayers of our Church those eyes were between me and God ; they haunted me when I broke the bread and poured the wine ; they burned into my soul when J o-ave forth the text and tried to expound it ; and sometimes when the guileless people thought me eloquent, those mocking firelights

PROLOGUE.

. 16 were quivering in my sight, and I heard evil sprites shrieking " Liar! Liar! " in my ears. Years passed, and we spoke but little, not even a word beyond that which was absolutely unavoidable. She lived her old life, taught the Sunday School class, and led the choir. There seemed to be a tacit recognition on both sides of the barrier between us. She under stood it, and I — God help me! — I loved her through it all. Sometimes it happened that we were compelled to speak, and I saw the gentle flush, and the quiver of the lip, whilst my throat was husky and my eyes were moist, for it is a hard strucrgrle to live one life and oo love another ; and it is hard to think that although one may have cast aside God's precious cup, perhaps the draught is waiting, ready to be quaffed, although at the cost of a soul.

Chapter I

Out of the Mouths of Babes Babbler, commonly called Bab, was in high glee. Babbler, let me say, is my daughter — my only child in fact. She boasts of the name of Emily, which, however, is used but rarely, being, as she calls it, only a "copy book " name. For an obvious reason she was named " Babbler," shortened by frequent usage into " Bab." Bab was, I say, in high spirits, for her mother being away in Dublin, we adjourned to the verandah to enjoy what Bab calls a " snuggy." B There was nothing mysterious about this " snuggy." The scenery consisted of an old wicker chair for me, a rocking chair for Bab, and a Japanese table with the necessary articles for the brewing of the tea. Bab, having reached the age of ten, presided at the table, adopting a code of etiquette strictly according to her whim and caprice ; nevertheless she was a charming hostess, with a flow of language invariably entertaining, if sometimes lacking in respect for the wisdom of her elders.

" I've been thinking about your sermon, dad, about that story of a man who was digs'"? a hole, and I didn't like it a bit." " You mustn't say that about a Bible story, dear." "Oh, I didn't mean to say it was the story I hated, but he was a horrid man. I think he was wronoto cIIqt a hole." o o •Why, Bab?" I asked. " 'Cause he couldn't do anything with his money. All the other men made lots more for their Master, but he was too lazy." " Bab, my dear, we must not misunder stand these stories. There are some men in the world who have made money, and are always striving to make more. It would be ten thousand times better if they were to dig a hole, and hide their wealth, than to go on making more and more. It is this greed which is ruining the world, for when it gets O ' O hold of men they do not care if they oppress the poor, and shed blood, and waste precious lives so long as they add to their hoard.

Whether we have much money or little, there is always a clear duty before us as to how we should spend it for the good of all around us. That is why we should not dig a hole for it, dearest." " If I had lots and lots of money," she replied, " I should like to buy something and give it away. I don't mean to give the money, 'cause that's like Mr. Barry last Christ mas when he grave me five shillings and 1 o o did not know what to buy ; it was such a bother — money is horrid, anyway." " But, my dear girl, you needn't wait to have lots and lots. Can you not do good with your little ? " I asked. " Yes, I s'pose I can ; but it is so very' little that it makes me sad. I want lots of money to buy things for a great many people, and make them all happy." " Bab, dearest, that is the best you can do with money, for it is a very dangerous gift.

I think sometimes that it is bv gold that the J O Devil tempts us, and shews himself to us." "That's just what Miss McGrath was say ing — she told me she always shivered when she touched gold, she said it felt evil — I don't think I shiver when I touch it, dad " — and Bab laughed at her little witticism. o " Still, Bab, we should never forget that money brings a privilege as well as a responsibility, and as it gives us a chance of doing good we should not despise it. Perhaps Miss McGrath carries the principle too far." " Still, dad, she is always doing good, now isn't she ? " Bab asked the question quite saucily. " Yes, dearest, Miss McGrath is a thoroughly good woman, I believe." " She's most awfully good to me — she takes me to lovely places — she is taking me to Mr. Jackson's mill to-morrow, and she will let me ride on the circular saw."

" Gracious ! on the what ? " I asked. " Not the saw exactly, but there is a long bench which moves when they turn the water on, and it's jolly riding on it, and it isn't a bit dangerous — that's what you were thinking about, isn't it ? " " Yes, dear, I don't want any harm to come to you, but I think you are safe with Miss McGrath." " Oh, yes, she is very careful, and she tells me lovely stories about men who give their souls to the Devil for things." "What sort of things, Bab?" "To get to be big men, and to be selfish. I don't think she likes men, dad," she said, sharply. " Don't you ? " I queried. " No, 'cause all her stories about men are about bad men, leastways, I think they are bad." "Your experience of men is very wide, I imagine." "Well, dad, she told me yesterday about a bad man, and I have been thinking about it all the time, because she was very sad when she told it to me, and she seemed to be so sorry for him."

What was the story, young lady ? " " She said he had the wonderfullest talents, and was a very, very learned man, and I asked her did she like him, but she turned her head away, and forgot to answer, but " " You are not telling the story, Bab." "Well, this man gave up all his talents and his goodness for money. Like the man in the little yellow book — he sold his soul to the Devil. So I said he was a bad, bad man, and she was very cross ; have you ever seen her cross ? " " Never ! " I answered, emphatically. " She was cross this time, she said he was a real good man, the best man that ever lived, and that only the bestest " " ' Bestest,' Bab ? " " Best men like him who make big mistakes, that the Devil always sends a bigger — temptation, that's the word she said — to really good men, the common men are not worth it ; and I asked her wasn't it better to be just a simple man and not give yourself to the Devil, than to be very, very good, and then make a great mistake ; but she said 'No ! ' and she frightened me the way she shrieked it out.

" Go on, Bab." " Oh ! I nearly forgot. I asked her was he a real proper man, like my own dada ; she said he was like you in some ways, so I think he must have been good. Dad, I do enjoy a snuggy like this." "Yes, dearest, they are very cosy." " When will mamma come back ? " she suddenly asked. " I think she will come back next week," I replied. "I'm awfully afraid mamma will want me to go to school. I don't want to leave home, o dad." " But it may be better for you, dear." "Yes, but it would be so lonely, I should not have you, or mamma, or Miss McGrath. I think I learn more from Miss McGrath than if I went to that horrid High School." "Miss McGrath has a good influence upon you, I hope, but you have to be finished off we want you to be a little lady, Bab." Bab climbed on my knee, and placed her arm round my neck.

" Dear dad, don't let me go to school ; I don't want to leave Miss McGrath, and I love her so much. I think she is very fond of me because she looks at me like no one else does." " No one could help being fond of you, you are such a little coax." " But it is special with her, dad, and I told her I didn't want to go to Sandymount, 'cause it would be leaving her, and she grabbed me up and kissed me." " Bab, I am tired and it is growing dusk, ask Jane to light the lamp in the study." " Kiss me, dad — kiss me again, dad — we'll have another snuggy to-morrow," and Bab ran away to attend to the little household duty. Strange is the perversity of a woman's love. I, who thought myself despised, found myself loved, yea, loved through my very faithless ness. A woman, they say, kisses the hand that strikes the blow ; and the woman whose love I had so ignobly spurned, looked me through and through, seeing my weakness and pardoning it, although it had wrecked her own happiness.

No verdict or judgment, even from the mouth of the severest judge, no pricking of an ever-wakeful conscience could arouse such self-contempt as the thought that the woman whom I loved, whose trust unspoken though it had ever been, I had betrayed, still bore for me a love all the stronger because of my weakness. And it was my own ten-year-old child who had spoken the bitterest reproof. I resented Alice's action in telling her such a story ; surely the child will hear stories of real life in plenty, and why should she be prematurely burdened ? But the feeling of resentment was momentary, for the baby-lips understood not the scorn which cut my soul, and there soon sprang up a feeling of gratitude that I had heard the truth, even from the mouth of a babe. Cynics may sneer, but it is sweet to be loved.

Howe'er the world mock, there is a settled contentment in the knowledge that one heart sympathises with our sorrow, overlooks our weakness, forgives our falseness. It is none the less pleasant when it is illicit — - God help us ! — it is ten times more luring and enticing. The apple of the forbidden tree has had a traditional fascination for humanity, and when the command which made it illegal arises from our own misdoing, the temptation comes with a mightier force, the serpent whispers in our ears, and we eat. But the primeval sentence : " Thou shalt surely die," sounds in the distance, and we hear Nemesis shrieking with unquenchable thirst for a just vengeance. For when was illicit love unpunished ? Other sins seem to our partial sight to hz unvisited, but the sin against the law of love brings a sure reward not to us only but to the generations and the generations which follow.

We trespass on the by-fields of life, hand in hand, with an easy confident smile, forgetful of right or duty ; but One follows, with silent, ghostly tread, and when the confident smile becomes forced, and we would fain leave the by-fields and seek the honest road, he places his hand firmly upon our shoulder, we turn and look him in the face, — but it is only for a moment, for the time of his recompense has come, and wc meet our certain doom.

Chapter II

The Architrave of the Charnel-House. A few mornings after, Colonel Baxter was announced. He was the other churchwarden, a distant relation of my wife. He lived a couple of miles away, at Finnboy Castle, one of those lovely Norman priories that are dotted up and down the Midlands of Ireland. There was to me an uncommon depth in his character, a hidden something which I could never fathom. He professed a kind of Christianity, but he was untouched by its spirit, and it sometimes seems to me that Christianity has no greater enemy than the respectable adherent, whose heart is unhal lowed by its love, whose life is unsweetened by its fragrance. I had a suspicion of his deeper life — nay, I had more than a suspicion — but I was helpless, for there is no tyranny so great, so soul-destroying, as that wielded by the lord of an Irish county, especially Avhen his autocracy is united with a relation ship in marriage.

A third element was commingled in this unity of might, Baxter being Mr. McGrath's brother warden ; so to this threefold power I bowed, not without a qualm of conscience, and not without a chiding of my better self. We smoked and chatted in my little study, discussing very ordinary social subjects, for I troubled him as little as possible with parish matters. He asked carelessly after my wife, and somewhat more particularly for Babbler. "Bab," I said, "is gone with Miss McGrath for the afternoon, they intended rambling over to John Jackson's mill. I think Bab likes poking about the machinery, and dabbling her hands in the mill-stream, and bless me ! she couldn't be in better charge." " No, I don't think she could — I wonder why that Miss McGrath never married. She is a woman with a soul, if there be such a thing in this world."

THE BtJRNING MIST. 30 " I hope there are a good many in the world, Colonel. Men may hide and swamp their souls with mundane affairs and earthly cares, but a woman's soul is that part of her which lives ; a man talks and acts, and some times feels, a woman sometimes talks and acts, but she is all feeling." O "Especially such a woman as Miss McGrath, Courthorpe," he replied. " But why on earth hasn't some decent young fellow picked her up? " Don't know, unless she is not to be had for the picking," I replied. " P'raps so, p'raps so ; she does stick her head rather high, but that is what one grows O * O to expect from worthy women. They are like everything else of value, you must labour and strive to win them." " Exactly, but you must do more to win her. She is a good woman, Colonel, and a good woman deserves a good man."

"H'm, very likely, but do you know, Cour thorpe, I think if I had got hold of such a woman, I should be a different man now you may talk of self-made men — bah ! they are prigs, stuck up in their manufacturer's pride. Give me a woman-made man, he is sure to be a fine masculine chap — for women have a higher ideal of manhood than we have, but at the same time he will have a deep strain of tenderness and purity in his constitution. We overlook purity when we build ourselves, though it is the only cement which can hold the fabric of a man's life together." "You are a queer fellow, Baxter. If you placed your influence on the right side, that is the side of right, you would be a tremen dous power for good, but — forgive me, my friend — you are too much of the animal. A man's duties, a Christian's duties, do not end with looking smug, taking round a collection plate, and attending vestry meetings.

When you say a good woman's love would pull you ricdit, I can only ask whose fault is it that you have not a noble woman by your side?" " Mine, I suppose, although "Yes, like hundreds of men, you sigh for good women, but do your level best to make bad ones." "Pretty strong, William, isn't it?" he asked sneeringly. " I daresay you think so, but is it too strong? I speak not of my cloth, but of my manhood, to myself as much as to yourself. If you and I get a pure noble woman to love us, do we value it as we should value the most wonderful of God's gifts?" " Easy for you to preach ; you have one of the best women in the world as your wife, and you have Bab — God bless her ! — her prattle is enough to make any man happy." Baxter had dropped the sneer. " My dear fellow, I am not preaching, I am speaking as one man of the world should speak to another.

If preaching would pull you right, God knows how gladly I would preach to you." "What would pull me right? Perhaps you think, Courthorpe, that I ought to ask the statue to marry me, but I know she would scorn my offer ; I could never bear her con tempt, so that I am not fool enough to invite it. " There are plenty " I began, but he interrupted. " Oh, yes, that is a very old remark, I have heard it several times; but the fact that women are plentiful is of but little assistance to a man who is looking for a particular woman. I have a new housekeeper, for instance, a Miss Edith Wainwright, well educated, accom plished, and everything else, for she was brought up a lady. She has come down in the world, so I gave her the position, which is purely nominal, to oblige an old friend. I admire her, but I could never marry her, because I need to be purified, to be cast in the fire, burned, and refined."

" Ugly simile for marriage, Colonel, ' Fire,' ' I said. " I suppose it is, but it is a fairly truthful one after all. Marriage throws away the dross from a man, at least it should do so. Marriage is a failure when the dross remains, and I know no fire-torture worse than such a burning. I leave you now, I've bored you a long while, but your chat does me good. I c wish I were half the man you are, though manliness is not a strong quality in the average parson. Good-bye ! " Baxter's compliments were sometimes a little dubious, but I think I understood them. A few minutes after his departure I went to visit some sick parishioners, but his conversa sation was deeply impressed on my mind. Perhaps Alice would marry him, more unlikely things had happened, and she was, being a woman, a mass of strange contradictions.