Ednor Whitlock

Front matter

Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. MR. STRANGER'S SEALED PACKET By HUGH MacCOLL. " Several very clever books of this kind have been produced since the publication of Lord Lytton's 'Coming Race,' but there is not one of them which in point of wealth of invention, and the ingenuity with which the ideas are worked out, can be placed above the extraordinary story Mr. Hugh MacColl has written under the title * Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet." . . . The whole narrative has a basis of scientific possibility and reasonableness which is better managed than it ever has been by the first modern author who has made use of this device — M. Jules Verne ; and the peculiar appearance, social organism, and condition of the Marsians arc depicted with very considerable literary power and unflagging inventive faculty." — Scottish Leader.

" Mr. Stranger's adventures are well conceived and varied, very entertaining and exciting. ... A thoroughly readable book." — Athenæum. "Science, romance, and adventure are blended by a master-hand, so that there is not an uninteresting page in the book." — Educational Times. " When an eminent mathematician stoops to fiction, it is not always the wisest thing he can do to publish his story. But if lie can soar to giddy heights of imagination, while at the same time he sticks to his last, with the complete success that attends Mr. Hugh MacColTs introduction of 'the red planet Mars' into practical light literature, he owes it to his fellow-creatures to give them so novel and delightful a treat."— World. "Mr. MacColl's book is certainly clever, and should be popular."— Literary World. "Those who enjoy Jules Verne's romances will feel themselves spell-bound by 'Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet.'" — Glasgow Herald.

" The idea has been worked out with so much freshness and skill that the story can be recommended even to those whom a course of Jules Verne may have familiarized with this class of literature."— Wit and Wisdom. " We have to congratulate the author of this work upon his acquaintance with the Cosmos, exhibited in this account of an imaginary journey through inter planetary space. . . . Indeed, the work is as interesting to us as to the general reader, and as a means of disseminating scientific kuowledge may be eminently useful." — R. A. Grkgory, in Nature. " It is altogether a wonderful story, very cleverly told ; and Jules Verne and Rider Haggard must look to their laurels if Mr. MacColl is going to write any more boi >ks of this sort. ... So powerfully written as to enchain the reader's attention from the very first paragraph."— Whitehall Beview.

Chapter I

" THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW." * It is a trite remark that important crises in men's lives sometimes turn upon circumstances apparently trivial. It was so in the case of Ednor Whitlock, a young lad of eighteen. He had just posted a letter in the General Post Office of Wishport, and was stepping hriskly homeward with a light and buoyant heart, when a sudden heavy shower of rain forced him to seek shelter in the Wishport Free Library and Reading-room, which he happened to be passing at the time. That shower of rain, that entrance into the Wishport Free Library, were ever after imprinted on the young man's memory. Yet, to all appearance, no thing extraordinary took place. He saw several gentlemen of various ages and two elderly ladies sitting at a large oblong table in the middle of the room, quietly occupied in reading.

The two ladies and one or two of the gentle men just raised their eyes when they heard the door open, and gave him one brief, careless glance ; then they dropped them again, each upon his or her book, newspaper, or magazine, and resumed their reading. The majority did * The incident with which this story opens is not fiction at all, but a veritable occurrence of real. life. li not even favour him with this indifferent notice. They were all strangers to him even by name, though, as Wish port is but a small town, some of their faces were not wholly unfamiliar. Ednor Whitlock knew that everybody was free to go in there and read, but as he was alone, and had never been in before, he somehow experienced a little shyness. The fact that he saw no one in the room who was not considerably older than himself added to the feeling.

More as an excuse for his intrusion (as he almost con sidered it) than from any real desire to read, he took possession of the nearest empty chair and the nearest disengaged volume. This happened to be the Westminster Review, a magazine of whose very existence he had been till then ignorant. Opening it at random, his eye rested on an article entitled, " The Evidences of Christ's Resurrec tion." The subject interested him. From his child hood he had breathed a religious atmosphere. His father was a clergyman of the strictest orthodoxy, as well as zealous, energetic, and sincerely pious ; his mother shared her husband's views and feelings; and he himself, with the full approval of both parents, intended to take Holy Orders. It was natural, therefore, that the title on which he had lighted should excite his curiosity.

He had read Paley on the same subject, and had considered his arguments almost irrefragable. Almost, not quite ; one or two links in his chain of reasoning had seemed to him not wholly flawless. No doubt this new writer had noticed the defect, and had written this dissertation expressly to remove it. The article opened well, its st\le was attractive, and Ednor Whitlock, who really liked theological discussions, anticipated both pleasure and profit from its perusal. He had not proceeded far, however, when he felt somewhat puzzled, then astonished, then thoroughly staitled. The aim of the writer appeared to be — not "THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW." 3 to prove the resurrection of Christ, as he had inno cently supposed, but to cfeprove it. He looked back at the cover ; there was nothing disquieting in the name of the volume, The Westminster Review ; nor in its appear ance, which, colour apart, was not very different from that of the Edinburgh and the Quarterly, two reviews with which he was well acquainted.

Could he be mistaken ? Was it possible that the reviewer had resorted to the clever logical device of temporarily adopting some of the stock arguments of unbelievers in order the more effectively to round upon them afterwards by a crushing reduetio ad absurdum ? He resumed his reading. The interest increased ; it became all-absorbing. He read on and on, slowly, attentively, thoughtfully, paragraph after paragraph, page after page, till he reached the end. Then Ednor Whitlock sighed — a long, deep-drawn sigh — and looked up. Nobody appeared to have noticed him ; all were quietly occupied in reading, as when he entered. The rain had ceased, and the sun was shining brightly. Pale and agitated, he rose from his chair, and passed out into the street. The external world presented very much the same aspect as it had done an hour or two before ; but to him it looked different.

In that brief space of time a serious change had taken place in the subjective world within him, so that he saw everything as through a new medium. The arguments of the reviewer had upset all his religious convictions. The doctrine of the Resurrection had been the very corner stone of his faith ; that doctrine, he thought, had now been disproved, and with it fell the whole fabric of Christianity. Feelinolike a person in a dream, and unable to fully realize what had happened to him, Ednor Whitlock paced his way slowly and almost unconsciously homewards. He seemed to have suddenly undergone a species of transb migration, to have virtually passed into a new existence. Only two hours before, he had been living in a world over which an all-powerful, all-seeing, and all-loving God held undisputed sway ; he now found himself in a world pre sided over by a blind unfeeling deity called Nature, to whom the most virtuous deeds and the foulest crimes were alike indifferent.

How was he, with his habits of thought and his training, to adapt himself to the neces sities and requirements of these new and wholly un expected conditions? What would his father say if he knew ? What anguish would he not suffer ? And his mother and his sister — he had one sister two years older than himself — how woidd their tender, loving hearts bear the shock of such a dire calamity, as most assuredly they would consider it ? No, no, it must not be ; the dread secret must be locked up in his own breast ; he must bear his sorrow alone. When he reached home, Ednor avoided his parents and even his sister. He felt too troubled to meet their eyes with his customary frank and open look; so, on the excuse of having to work for his examination (he was going to try for a Cambridge entrance scholarship), he shut himself up in his room to think.

But the questions that occupied his brain were not those discussed in the mathematical book which lay open before him. They were questions which no cunningly-contrived figures, no ingenious combinations of symbols, could help him to answer. By a natural rebound his mind had sprung from an absolute faith in every dogma of the particular religion in which he had been brought up into an utter disbelief in all religion. The very existence of a God had become doubtful. Where were the proofs of it? He cast his glance through the open window. It was spring. The day was softly warm ; the birds were chirping gaily ; nature looked her loveliest. "THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW." 5 " No, not that," he said, with a shiver ; " at least, not yet. Atheism is an impossibMity. A God there surely is, though he may not be the God of the Christian."

Yielding to a sudden impulse, he threw himself upon his knees, clasped his hands, and in a voice of anguish exclaimed — " Oh, God help me ! " Then he buried his face in his hands on the chair beside him, and burst out sobbing. He was aroused by a familiar voice in his ear. " Ednor dear, what is it ? " — and a soft hand was laid upon his head. Looking up, he saw his sister bending over him. She had, in a playful mood, opened the door softly in order to surprise and startle him, and was surprised and startled herself instead. " What is it, Ednor dear ? " she repeated, kneeling down beside him, and gently drawing his face towards her. He disengaged himself from her embrace, and sprang quickly to his feet. She rose slowly after him, and regarded him with a troubled, anxious, inquiring look. He silently placed a chair for her, and they both sat down.

For a time he looked upon the ground as if afraid to meet her gaze ; while she, frightened and per plexed, never took her eyes off him. " Ethel," he said at last, " I am sorry you have seen me iu this state." "But, Ednor — dear brother — may I not know the cause ?" The kind words, the sisterly sympathy, the trembling voice touched him. " So far as I am able to tell you, you shall know it," he said, trying to look at her composedly. " It may be told in a few words. I don't think I am a fit person to be a clergyman. I have been turning the matter over in my own mind very seriously, and have at last come to the con clusion that it would be very wrong for the sake of worldly advantages to undertake duties and responsibilities for which I am not competent." " Is that the real cause of your distress ?

" " Yes." " And the only one ? Tell me truly." " It is the real cause, and the only one." But Ednor Whitlock was unused to deceit, and no actor. His manner belied his words, and his sister suspected that he was keeping something back. " But, Ednor," she said, " this is a very sudden change in your ideas. Why, it was only yesterday that you spoke in a quite different way. What has happened in the interval ? Come, my brother ; confide your trouble to me. You know my sympathy has never failed you yet. Who knows but that I may be able to help you ?" " Don't press me too hard with your questions," said her brother. " This is a matter in which you cannot help me, though, as I have done nothing wrong, I hope I shall still retain your sympathy, if not your approval." " But the suddenness of the change !

It is that that per plexes me, and makes me feel that something serious has happened. Do be candid with me, and tell me all." " I am candid with you. The fact is this : I have this very day read something which has altered my views." " Where ? And what was it ? " " I went into the Free Library to escape a shower of rain, took up a volume at random to pass the time, and was rather upset by what I read. There, you've got it all." " Not quite, Ednor. What was the book ? And what did it say ? " " I cannot tell you more ; it would not be right. Don't urge me, I entreat you." " THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW." 7 " Is that really the cause, and that alone ? " " That, and that alone, I assure you." He said this with such an earnest look and manner that she was convinced. " Well, since you do not wish me to know more, I will ask no more," she said ; " but don't you think you ought to lay your whole difficulties before father ?

I am sure he could remove them." " I do not share your confidence about that, and, at any rate, I am certain it would distress him, and through him our mother. No, Ethel ; don't ask me ; I cannot tell anybody : I have told you more than I ought." " But you will have to tell father of your newly-formed intention not to take orders." " By-and-by ; not yet. If I have the luck to get this scholarship, I can go to Cambridge without being bound to take Orders afterwards. Sooner or later I know I must tell father that I have conscientious scruples about the matter; but I need not explain their precise nature. These scruples I am sure he will respect, and will not force me into an uncongenial calling." " I am so sorry, Ednor. But I hope — I trusts — indeed, I believe that this is but a temporary cloud which will he fore long disperse.

I wish you could confide in me more fully. It cannot surely be that you have doubts as to the doctrines in which you have been brought up ? " " Yes, Ethel, I have." " The fundamental doctrines of our Church ? " " Yes." " But not of Christianity ? " Her brother was silent. " Oh, Ednor ! " She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and looked beseechingly into his face, while the tears sprang into her eyes. But her brother kept his look obstinately fixed upon the ground, and would say nothing to relieve her. Presently she withdrew her hand from his shoulder to wipe her eyes, upon which the brother looked up. " Don't be distressed, Ethel," he said gently, and trying to speak cheerfully. " I have really committed no sin ; I have done nothing wrong. The doubts came to me unbidden, and were not welcome.

I did not know the nature of the book when I began reading it. Come, my sister, cheer up ; the dark cloud, as you have yourself prophesied, may yet disperse, though it cannot do so immediately." "Ednor," she said, "you must tell father." "No, no, Ethel; don't ask me to do that. Neither father nor mother must know anything of this. Believe me, it would lead to endless misery. I may yet find some one to whom I can fully unbosom myself ; but it must not be my owm father. For mercy's sake, let this remain a secret between you and me ! " " As you like," she returned, sadly ; " but my heart misgives me sorely. I do not think you are acting wisely." " I think I am ; but time will show. It is under stood, then, that you never breathe a syllable of this to anybody ? You promise ? " " Yes." " Thank you, Ethel.

Now leave me ; I will plunge into my conic sections, and forget this for a time." " It will be best. Good-bye for the present then, and may God help you." She kissed him and went, carrying his trouble with her into the silence of her own room. Her brother was able to find relief in the morphia of his mathematics ; she had no such resource.

Chapter II. Misfortunes

If Ednor Whitlock had gone up to Cambridge to try for a scholarship it is not unlikely that he would have succeeded, for his mathematical abilities and knowledge were con siderably above the average ; but a heavy and unexpected calamity destroyed the project of a university career. His father, while ministering consolation at the sick bed of a poor old woman who had been struck down by typhus fever, caught the fell disease, and died from it after a few days' illness. His mother's death followed soon after. Worn out by anxiety and constant attendance upon her husband, she caught the infection, and in spite of the most devoted nursing, both by her son and daughter, passed away before their eyes. We will not dwell upon the distress of the brother and sister when they saw first their father and then their mother carried downstairs and out of their sight for ever ; nor upon the still more trying time which came after their mother's funeral, when their few sympathizing friends had left them, and they found themselves alone in the house, face to face.

Then it was, and not till then, that the full sense of their desolation burst upon them. For a moment they regarded each other in silence ; then, as if by one and the same impulse, they threw themselves into each other's arms, and gave vent to their grief without restraint. The next day was devoted by the brother and sister to looking into their father's and mother's affairs, and taking counsel as to their own future. No trace of a will could be found anywhere ; but they came upon a few stock certificates, all in the Three Per Cents, representing altogether an income of about £20 per annum, with a sum of about £60 in gold and Bank of England notes. Their mother's house-keeping book also showed them that fortunately they owed no money worth mentioning, as she was in the habit of settling her bills monthly.

They received several sympathizing letters, but — probably through fear of infection— no one— not even Mr. Pulting, who had officiated for their father during his illness — came to see them till the evening, when they were visited by the doctor, Dr. Maurice, who had attended their parents in their illness. After a few comforting words, and some directions about disinfecting, he asked them if there was anything he could do to help them. " I do not want to be curious," he said, " but it has struck me that you might stand in need of a friend, and if I can be of any service to you, I shall be delighted." " Most sincerely we thank you," said the sister. " We do want some friend to advise us." " Have you no relatives living ? " " We have some uncles, aunts, and cousins in Australia and Canada ; but they seldom write, and to us they are strangers."

" None of your kindred in England ? " " None that we know of." " It is very sad, very sad indeed," said the doctor. Then, after a pause, " May I, without being considered intrusive, ask you if you have formed any plans as to your future?" " Pray don't speak of intrusion, Dr. Maurice," said the brother ; "we feel really grateful for your sympathy and friendship. We have formed no plans as yet, and if you can help us in that way, you will confer a real obligation on us." " I know your father was not rich," returned the doctor ; " but I don't suppose you are left wholly penniless ?" Ednor unreservedly made him acquainted with their exact position. "I believe that your father meant you to enter the Church ; is it not so ?" MISFORTUNES. 1 1 " Yes ; but that is now out of the question." " Not at all, if your inclinations lie that way.

The Bishop, I am sure, would help you." " But my inclinations do not lie that way, and I cannot therefore appeal to the Bishop." t Dr. Maurice looked surprised. "Why," he said, "it is not so very long since your father told me that you wished to be a clergyman." "He told you truly; but my views have altered since then." Ednor Whitlock looked uncomfortable as he said these words, and his sister flushed a little. The doctor took note of this, though he had the tact and good feeling to appear unconscious. " I cannot say that I blame you," he replied. " The Church is not a profession to be entered into lightly. But what do you propose doing instead? And what do you think of doing, Miss Whitlock ? " " My brother and I have been talking of entering the teaching profession, if we can only find places ; but I am afraid it will be difficult, as we are so young and in experienced."

"I am not sure that it is not your best move under existing circumstances ; and though the difficulty of finding suitable places is considerable nowadays, it is not insurmountable. Your youth and inexperience are certainly against you, but there are some things also in your favour. Would you rather teach in a school or in a family ? " " Which would you advise ? " asked the sister. " For my part, I should decidedly prefer a school," said the brother. "Well, as regards yourself, I agree with you," said Dr. Maurice ; " and possibly a school might be better for your sister too ; though if she dropped into a good family she might be happier and have lighter work." " I don't fear hard work," said Ethel, stoutly. Dr. Maurice greeted this remark with an encouraging smile. " That's right, Miss Whitlock," he said ; " if you meet the difficulties of life in that spirit, you will find them much less formidable in reality than they are in appearance.

Now, let us decide as to our mode of action. There are three courses open to us : we may advertise ; we may reply to advertisements ; or we may have recourse to agents. Of these three, I should, all things considered, prefer the first. If you reply to an advertisement, your letter will be only one out of many — probably over two hundred — which the advertiser will receive, and the chances are that it will not be answered. You must be prepared for this to happen time after time, perhaps fifty times running, before your expenditure of paper, stamps, and labour produces any result. At last, an answer may come to your application ; you are asked for further particulars ; you hasten to give these by return of post, and — there is an end of the matter, you hear no more about the place. Then, as to agents, they charge a heavy percentage ; and though the generality of them are, I believe, honest and respectable, there are others with whom it is better to have nothing to do.

Taking all things into account, I would decidedly recommend advertising. What paper is that lying on the table ? " " It's the Guardian," said Ednor. " My father took it in regularly, and they still send it. We were, in fact, looking through the scholastic advertisements when you came." " Suppose we try it first," said the doctor ; " and if nothing comes of it, then we may try one of the dailies. Let us see ; how should we word the advertisement ? What do you think of this ? " He took out his pocket-book, and after inquiring their ages, wrote : — " The son and daughter of a clergyman, having just lost MISFORTUNES. 13 both their parents, seek engagements as teachers. Ages eighteen and twenty. Good references. Address E. E., The Rectory, Wishport," Having written this, he tore out the leaf and handed it to them.

They both thanked him, approved of the word ing of the advertisement, and agreed to send it to the Guardian without delay. After a little more conversation, Dr. Maurice took his leave of them and departed. The advertisement appeared in the Guardian on the following Wednesday, but nearly a week passed before they received an answer to it. They had quite despaired of receiving any, and were discussing the advisability of advertising in some other paper, when, on the following Tuesday, the postman brought a letter addressed — " Miss E. E., " The Rectory, " Wishport." Ethel quickly opened it and read as follows : — " Dear Miss E. E., " I sympathize much with you in your sad misfortune. I have a little school of young ladies at Blouville in France (un petit pensionnat de demoiselles), where it wants me an English governess to teach her tongue.

I have ten pensioners and eight externes. I am Protestante, as well as six of our pensioners ; the others are Catholics. We live in family, and I think you would be happy with us. I should give you forty francs (thirty two shillings) by month. There is a little Protestante church near of our pensionnat ; but the pastor is French, and preaches always in French. There is no English church. " Say to me, if you please, if you accept my offer. If you accept it, I will make you a visit at once, and I will make arrangements for lead you with me to France. i4 EDNOR WHITLOCK. "We recommence our classes the 22 September. " Yours truly, " Louise Lacour. " Address— Mademoiselle Lacour, Poste Restante, Folkestone." "I don't quite understand the letter," said Ednor. " Mademoiselle Lacour does not seem quite at home in English.

What does she mean by ' pensioners '?" " Boarders, I imagine, since I know pensionnat means a boarding-school. " I dare say you're right ; and, no doubt, ' externes ' means day-pupils — pupils external to the pensionnat. Well, what do you think of her offer ? Do you feel disposed to accept it ?" " Of course I do." " Thirty-two shillings a month is not a very brilliant salary." " My dear Ednor, at my age, and for a first place, I can hardly expect more. Besides, consider how advan tageously I shall be placed for learning French." That very morning Ethel wrote to Mademoiselle Lacour accepting her offer, but informing her more fully of their position, and acquainting her among other things with the nature of her parents' last illness, so that she might defer or altogether abandon her intended visit if she feared infection.

Two daj's after, she received a reply, thanking her for her candour, and proposing an interview in three weeks' time instead of immediately, as Mademoiselle Lacour had first thought. The afternoon post brought a very kind, sympathizing letter from the Bishop of the diocese, asking for information about their circumstances, and promising every assistance in his power. An hour or two after the arrival of this letter, they received an unexpected visit from the clergyman who had officiated in their father's place MISFORTUNES. 15 during his illness and since his death — the Rev. John Pulting. Fear of infection had kept the reverend gentle man from the house before, and he would not have called now if he had not received a letter from the Bishop expressly requesting him to do so. This letter placed Mr. Pulting in a painfid dilemma.

On the one hand was the Bishop's disapprobation and its probable consequences if he did not comply with his request ; on the other, the terrible typhus and its scarcely less probable consequences if he did. After a sharp though short struggle, his fear of the Bishop's displeasure, and its almost certain effect upon his worldly prospects, prevailed ; so he took a strong draught of whisky and water, as a protection against infection, and sallied forth at once to pay the dreaded visit. Since the thing must be done, he thought it best to do it quickly. He had very little to add, however, to what the Bishop had said himself in his letter ; he seemed nervous and ill at ease while he stayed, and departed as soon as he decently could — certainly in less than ten minutes. Ednor answered the Bishop's letter in his own and his sister's name, thanking him for his sympathy and offer of assistance, and giving him the required information about their circumstances.