The Making of Lawrence Westerton, etc

Front matter

THE MAKING OF LAWRENCE WESTERTON [See p. 195. " blessed, dreaded vision ! " THE MAKING OF AWRENCE WESTERTON BY F R E K E V I G G A R S WITH FRONTISPIECE " Not only to keep down the base in man" GEORGE ALLEN LONDON AND ORPINGTON 1893 {All rights reserved] To L. M. N. and G. T. N. BY U'AY OF ACKNOirLEDGMENT CONTENTS PAGE I. THE RAW MATERIAL I II. DORIS TREPINNOCK COMES ACROSS A VIPFR '9 III. COMPARISONS 35 IV. THE SQUIRE AND HIS HOME 46 V. THE PLEASANTNESS OF SUNSHINE .... 67 VI. A PURPOSE AND A PICNIC So VII. PUZZLES 98 VIII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER I15 IX. PUZZLES AGAIN 1 26 X. DIRECTION FOR THE PURPOSE . . . . I4I XI. A LETTER AND A CHECK . * . . . 163 XII. A MEETING 1 76 XIII. EXPLANATION I94 XIV. THE PURPOSE GLORIFIED 211 XV. INITIATION 223 XVI. ANOTHER PICNIC 236 XVII SETTLING TO IT 250 XVIII.

OF SELF-DENIAL, POWER, AN77 FAITH . . . 262 XIX. AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE CONTENTS TAGE XX. FALLEN AT LAST 29 1 XXI. ANOTHER MEETING 313 XXII. THE HAND TO THE FALLEN 327 XXIII. REVELATION 339 XXIV. LOOKING BACKWARDS AND FORWARDS . . . 349 XXV. REWARD PRELUDE She sat on a moss-grown throne in the withered arms of a fallen tree, Youth and Old Age together — Youth in its prime and Age long time fallen amid the heather — She sat there aloft and alone and gazed out over the sea, alone with a book and the dreams of youth and the summer weather, large-eyed with imagining, solemn with schemes for the use of the life to be called her own and all that she meant to be. From the west the dappled down of the soft clouds floated by o'er the blue of the glowing day, from the west fresh-gathered, and blown by its breath till they melted away in the haze of the eastern sky : and below and afar she could spy many-scattered over the deep the ships in their lazily heaving pride, with sail full-spread and glistening side, drifting on like swans asleep ; and nearer she marked the cormorant glide, and the seagull hover and skim, PRELUDE X the shoal, days and the dance of the breezes that dimpled as if it were daintily crimped in a bowl by a finger rubbed on the rim.

Silence — she heard but the muffled roll of the ocean-swell on the shore — Peace upon earth — in her own pure soul Peace ; and she read of " War." "War! And for such as I must all true battle be for ever! Mine to command, for I hold his life in my hand, to will hint to live or to die; and the pow'r is given to me to bid him be great and wise and brave, and he shall not fail : and my part is to serve and sway, for ever his slave in his house, but queen in his heart ! The best lie can image or highest crave, his purity, power, his peace, his praise, through clamour and warfare and happy for ever Queen of his heart!" Her eyes swept up to the blue, and she cried, "Is it true, is it true?" " What I would have him he shall be if I but deserve to have him so : — One great condition fixed for me, that I deserve to have him so."

Chapter I The Raw Material

It is hard to lose a devoted father. To one already destitute of other near relatives it is more than hard. To a son at the age of twenty it is perilous. He has outgrown adaptability to a stranger's guidance, but not the need for supplement to his own. To Lawrence Westerton his mother had been no more than the bright angel of his father's recollec tions. He was their only child. His father had married late in life; yet Lawrence was in his second year at Cambridge and entered at Lincoln's Inn for the Bar when he was left to stand alone. So had he stood some five or six years before you make his acquaintance. Mr. Clement Westerton had been a solicitor, of the firm of Westerton, Marshlands, & Newbody, if A you care to know, though it is not important ; and had, by the time he died, accumulated sufficient to leave Lawrence a capital representing some eigh teen or nineteen hundred a year — which is a suffi ciently dangerous sum too — and prospects from the kindness of the firm, to whom he was commended, if he showed himself decently capable.

Lawrence had been called some two or three years back, and had displayed the requisite capacity over the few briefs entrusted to him so far ; though indeed he was not particularly well fitted for the profession his father had chosen for him, being of a somewhat too contemplative and withal unaccom modating disposition. He had entered upon it, after finishing his time at Cambridge and taking an unob trusive degree, more out of regard for the old man's dying wishes than any great liking for it himself or expectation of more than very moderate success. He had loved his father with the love of mother less sons. His father had brought him up at home, lived with him, taught him and sympathised with him, and, above all, allowed himself to be sympa thised with by him, through every part of their daily life (outside the office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, of course), over every little incident in it and hobby grown out of it, till Lawrence and he had grown mutually dependent to an extent unfortunate for both, particularly the son.

His unusual bringing up and the continual com panionship of one so much older had naturally made him very different from those he met on being plunged into Cambridge, and formed in him views and habits with which they could not coincide, and at the same time a demand for sympathy of a sort they were unprepared to grant. The result had been that after making some attempts to gain their friendship by the only method he knew — namely, by pouring out his deepest sentiments on every sub ject under the sun, in the outspoken and confident manner to which he had been accustomed at home, attempts received with a want of intelligence and inability to blink the humorous easily misconstrued into want of sympathy by one who had never known what it was to be misunderstood or to feel ridiculous — Lawrence had relapsed into the opposite extreme of self-reserve upon most subjects, certainly all those dear to him ; and after his first term had been very cautious about admitting any one com pletely into his confidence.

Then his father died, and he was left to self sufficiency. The generality of men found him good fellow enough, easy to get on with up to a point ; and his physical powers and striking success at most games he took up, coupled with his unconventionality,won their respect at all events. He was one of the men with many acquaintances, but few friends : still, a few. He never dreamed of complaining, or even at tributing the inevitable result of his home-training to any want of care on his father's part ; nor, on the other hand, did he put himself out to remedy it. The difference was as obvious to himself as to any one, but he looked upon it with a kind of grimly loyal satisfaction : its advantages probably counter balanced its disadvantages, or, if they did not, he meant to imagine that they did — he was younger in some things, and older in others, than Qther men — there was a barrier between them, slight enough maybe, but he saw no cause for removing it him self or deferring to the opinions and prejudices of others, when his father had ordained matters thus.

He was content to have them so, and take things as they came. In this he was not loyal to selfishness ; but he had not then learnt that even the prejudices of others cannot be disregarded with impunity. And his consequent isolation reacted upon its causes and sank him a little deeper in his own peculiar grooves; while the self-reliance, not found wanting on his father's death, developed into a needless defiance of others, which he grew over-ready to display for the mere gratification of feeling his own strength, and indulging in that spirit of antagonism to which most young men with any force of character succumb, more or less, at one time or another. As a boy he had been old for his years ; as a man he was over-boyish. The death of his father and other circumstances had arrested his development for a time.

He resented new ideas. His knowledge of the world, and of women's society particularly, was extremely limited, though he had made up for that to a great extent by read ing everything he could lay hands upon. But, after all, there is no substitute for actual experience (as has indeed been obvious to many), and the very wideness and indiscriminate nature of his reading had rendered his views on most subjects formless and indefinite as yet. The poets, old and new, for their beauty and passion, rather than their teaching, formed his chiefest delight ; and his unabashed dis play of that same had caused as much amusement among his acquaintances in early Cambridge days as might have been expected. It amused him, too, to look back upon, though he hardly knew why. In fact, I have already said he was something of a dreamer — he would have said thinker, of course — and the indefinite nature of his thinking was especially apparent in his religion.

He was not a religious man, not wholly irreligious either ; but his antipathy to all form and convention had driven him into that formless religion which is practically an indolent sort of agnosticism, common to many young men, delight in youth and health and beauty, with a resolve to get as much into his own life as possible, and with a wild thankfulness to some great unapproachable power for it all ; while content to let the revelation of that power come to him as might or might not be, but with no actual seeking after it of himself. " Six hours in sleep ; in law's grave study six ; Four hours to prayer ; the rest on nature fix." So wrote Sir Edward Coke, or rather so some body rendered Sir Edward Coke's quotation. Then came another and wrote : " Seven hours to law, to soothing slumber seven, Ten to the world allot, and all to heaven."

An amendment Lawrence cordially approved (spite of the extra hour's law) without hesitating to con sider whether, as he was not a Sir William Jones, it might not be better to adopt the method which at all events was the more likely to prevent none being given to God at all. His father and he had been used to take long country rambles together, with knapsacks on their backs and sketch-books in their pockets ; and Lawrence looked back upon those expeditions as the most sacred part of his life. Since his father's death he had continued them alone, for no one could be admitted to his father's place there, certainly. They gave him intense enjoyment, for he could dream the whole day long, with the face of Nature alternately frowning and smiling upon him, but always inspiring him with the sense of some new majesty or beauty ; while it was never frivolous, as the face of his brother-men (those he knew) seemed over-prone to be.

His religion was wrapped up in them, and they were his services. Now I said or implied that Lawrence was possessed of physical powers, and I suppose I ought to pull him to pieces in the usual way. He was about medium height, and of no very handsome or striking appearance, though the set of his head on a pair of wonderful shoulders was cer tainly worth looking at. He had a remarkably good constitution, and that combination of strength and activity which denies a man a first place in putting the weight or running a hundred yards, and yet fits him for general purposes better than the singular ability to do either. He was a good all round man, and looked it. His eyes were deep-set and dark grey, and had a habit of neglecting to focus you. His brown hair was curly, his r.ose enough the reverse to escape cavil, or a dissertation of more than six chapters (though I am not confident) from the pen of the student of Slawkenbergius, supposing him alive and interested.

His mouth, visible out of deference to his pro fession, was smallish, and — well you could not call it weak now — it was naturally weak, but the last few years had tightened it, and lined the corners of it. If you could have seen it my attempts at describing his character would have been unnecessary. Those lines told a very great deal. His one particular beauty, from a feminine point of view, was the dimple in his chin ; and his chin itself was prominent, and saved the firmness of his mouth from appearing mere obstinacy. His general expression was of a self possession that had been cultivated, and was perhaps inclined to overdo itself in its endeavours not to be upset. His reserve, however, was suddenly thrown off sometimes in a most unexpected manner. He had come to the conclusion to keep his better side to himself, but out of regard for truth and a desire not to seem better than he was, together with a reckless contempt for the opinions of most people, he never hesitated at revealing the other side of his character : which resulted in his being generally considered morally worse than he was, considerably.

As was natural to a young man of unsettled opinions, left to stand alone suddenly in the world, with seemingly boundless health and capacity for enjoyment — money too not a little — its pleasures had proved exceedingly attractive ; and his Cambridge life had been disfigured by two or three infatuations, which he as yet hardly knew whether he regretted or not, but which he was at the time certainly too proud to attempt concealing. His reading saved him from becoming a sensualist, as it did afterwards from becoming a cynic, for it had awakened in him an intense chivalry for all women (inter alia) ; his inexperience, however, at the outset had allowed him to give his devotion to unworthy objects, youth and ardour of sentiment had allowed him to take what they offered, what many of the men he admired had taken, and more condoned the taking of.

His books had taught him of the sacredness of woman's mission and its possibilities for him ; but he was content to wait for that, for a time at least, not recognising the fact that revelation in regard to most things comes to him who fits himself to receive it. And till then these women he knew — well, they were pleasant enough accessories to his life, accessories rather apt to become necessaries ; but that he forgot. His acquaintances who found him good company for themselves, were, however, rather chary of introducing to their families a man whose openness upon the very subjects most men display a certain amount of reticence about, appeared to them to proceed either from ignorance of the usual restraints regarding them, or mere bravado. They were inclined to think the latter. But in either case he was undesirable from a social point of view ; they were unwilling to trust him ; they could not under stand him.

And all the evidence they had was damaging. So it came about that there was no admission for Lawrence into good society, through them at least ; a result he took in his philosophic way, slightly contemptuous, when he realised its cause, that men who were privately no better than he, or maybe worse, should regard him as less trust worthy for not being something of the hypocrite also. So he lived his own life at Cambridge, and in process of time was called to the Bar, and devoted himself to the law-books with the loyal energy his father's memory inspired. It was wearisome enough to be sure, and after a time his solitariness began to tell upon him ; and after a little longer time the shadow of a dread to creep over him, though he loathed himself for it, a dread that his father's memory would never, as he had imagined, be sufficient to make his life's work acceptable to him, or bind him worthily to it.

He had read about duty for duty's sake being its own reward, and that sort of thing, till he was sick of it; and found also that he could work well enough if he chose. He worked accordingly as well as he could, for duty's sake. The satisfaction derivable, however, he considered uncommonly disproportionate ; and as his heart went out of it the temptations around him began to take firmer hold upon him. There was nothing to keep him to it but a memory. And he realised the peril of income. A purposelessness seemed to be settling down upon his life, and he had no notion as to what he wanted to better it. He would have a spell of self-reproach, then another of steady grinding, then of discontent, and so round and on again ; the pur poselessness by recurrence becoming more impressed upon him as time went on.

He was having a very bad fit of it one morning in May (after a fortnight's uninterrupted study and worry over a certain abstract of title, which he had at length advised upon to his own satisfaction) as he sat in his chambers, that indefinite quantity signifying equally a fraction of an attic and a whole ground floor, with the clerk, of whom he enjoyed one undivided fifth, reading the newspaper the other side the wall. He wanted a holiday, he said to himself, as I am afraid he had got into the habit of saying rather oftener than a medical adviser would have thought justifiable. That was settled at once, with a fine disregard of the boundaries of the law sittings ; for Whitsuntide was not due for another week or so. The thing to do with these fits was to just ignore them, put them down to liver, &c, and make a bolt.

Query : Where to go ? He spread out a map of England, covered as to the home counties with fine red lines, representing the tracks of former rambles ; and contemplated it attentively. The home counties for once did not seem attractive. His eye travelled westwards ; he had been read ing Kingsley's life lately, and he thought of the West and Kingsley's tears. Why not go westward ? Have a complete change ? He had never been farther west than Oxford, for his father's business had kept them within easy reach of town, and the old roads were the dearest after his loss. Westward and Kingsley recalled, amongst other places, Holne and Dartmoor, and Dartmoor recalled Arthur Trepinnock — Arthur Trepinnock, who had been one of his few friends at Cambridge, and was dead. He was a year younger than Lawrence ; of the dare-devil sort, perhaps from too much hunting over the granite boulders of his home ; and they had been mutually attracted by similarity of dis position.

For Arthur had all Lawrence's reckless independence — though without the accompanying qualifications — and a trifle more too. Lawrence, by virtue of the authority derived from his being twelve months older, and the magnificent experience a whole year at Cambridge had given him — him of all men — had undertaken to guide this wild spirit in accordance with all the precedents gatherable from authors old and new ; with the result that he had been trusted, then laughed at, then sworn at and trusted again, as the queerest of all advisers ever heard of, and his advice followed or not, as the case might be, according to circumstances and Arthur's temper at the time. Arthur had all the passions of the ordinary human being, with money enough to stimulate them, and little control — none to speak of except Lawrence's, at what that was worth — passions for horses and all the poor beasts have brought with them, for wine or its modern substitutes, and the rest.

And the last had killed him. Lawrence felt partly responsible, owing to the position he had taken and had only abandoned when Arthur was sent down, and so passed out of his reach. But he might as well have tried to show Jack Mytton the way he should go ; which was a comfort of a sombre kind when realised. After that Arthur went abroad, and rapidly and unutter ably to the bad altogether ; and after six months of it had finished his career with a Colt at Monte Carlo, the finale being attended with the usual amount of mystery, which is no mystery after all ; except for the reasons which render Delilah, or the origin of evil, for ever unaccountable. Arthur had lost his mother early, like Lawrence, which might account for much ; but his father was still alive. Lawrence's thoughts passed on now to the remembrance of the hearty middle-aged gentle man whom he had once seen at Cambridge before this catastrophe, and who had taken a fancy to him as he did to all who interested themselves in his scamp of a son, making him promise, then and there, to go and see what Dartmoor and the fishing was like some day.

He had never fulfilled that promise yet, though he had always wished to see his friend's home; for he had hardly liked to run the risk of renewing the man's sorrow for his son by awakening the memories his presence would suggest. But he must have got over it by this time — it was all long enough ago now, Lawrence thought. And he did not intend to ask for hospitality or intrude in any way ; but he could not go without a word to the Squire either. He wrote a letter accordingly to Robert Trepin nock, Esq., J. P., and another one, with less difficulty, to the inn the guide-book recommended him to put up at, and went out to post them himself, for want of occupation. After that he studied the guide-book for a time ; settling down again to more law-books was out of the question. A restlessness had seized him.

He considered whether he should not go back to his lodgings and begin looking his things together : but that would not fill up two whole days. Besides David was there to see after them. Should he go to the tackle-maker's and buy some flies ? No, he would go and call on Violet Vane. Under all the circumstances I may as well intro duce Violet Vane to you at once ; an introduction for which I apologise. But she is a necessary part of my story, and if you are in doubt as to the desirability of going any further, I would, with deference, recall to your notice the name on the title-page, for reassurance. Violet Vane was very beautiful — there could be no doubt at all as to that — with the beauty of hothouse flowers, and the artificiality of culture and climate they suggest ; gracefully moulded, and delicately tinted, and as wondrously fashioned altogether, from the crown of her curl-covered head down to the arch of her dainty foot as — such women are : God help them, and us.

When her brown eyes had met Lawrence's six months ago, at an indiscriminate gathering, they had burnt into him in a moment and lighted a flame which had continued to fire him steadily ever since. Did Lawrence love her ? He would have said so. But Pelleas thought he loved Ettarre for a time. Well, you have pitied Pelleas, as who has not ? You need not pity Lawrence, or I should not have been writing this. And your scorn of him on this lady's account I must ignore ; for no human being can hope to escape scorn altogether, or perhaps is worthy to do so. Besides, he is my hero. I must leave him to take his chance with you without further argument. Did Violet Vane love Lawrence ? That is a far more difficult question, demanding insight into character and a large heart. I do not know whether she was capable of loving any one ; but she was capable of a good many things.

She could reverence Lawrence for the reverence he displayed towards her, and appreciate his motives for it ; which is not a little either. Like the rest, she had not understood him at all at first, this man with a courteousness on his lips that his eyes did not belie, who treated her with an attention and chivalrous consideration her experience of mankind in general had so far rendered her incredulous about, at least for herself. But then Lawrence had read a great deal and seen little of the world comparatively ; which has its own advantages in some respects too : in rendering contempt for any sort of woman impossible, for instance, and brutality, even of the "refined" order, detestable. He was not rich enough to make his admiration acceptable merely .on that account. To do her justice, Violet considered him, nevertheless, well worth the keeping, by all the arts she was mistress of.

Nor were they few ; for she was by no means unaccomplished, ill-educated, and had quite enough tact and wit into the bargain to render her attractive and fascinating in more ways than one. No better than she should be ? Who is ? Or as good ? Unfortunately, nets are none the less nets for being of the finest and most delicate ; they are all adapted for catching, and the material depends upon the game to be caught, and on that alone which was one of the things she understood very well indeed. When Lawrence came to see her that afternoon she saw he looked tired and wanted attention and comforting. So she gave him the daintiest of hands, which he straightway kissed, a stool at her feet to sit upon, the fold of her skirt across his knee to indicate her good favour, a cigarette to aid conversation or silence alternatively ; and ordered in coffee as something to look forward too.

She appreciated the demands of romance. Then she waited for the general atmosphere to tell upon him and make him expand. Lawrence grew contented, and expanded accordingly into the compliments her beauty and kindness excited, which set her smiling with graciousness and condescension ; then into general conversation and good humour, which she stimulated after the pretty method she could always rely upon for effect, until the charmingest coffee set imaginable was brought in, to give her something to pretend to busy herself over and make her look more beautiful than ever. Lawrence sipped his coffee and flowed on into all sorts of topics for an hour or more. At length he confessed that he was going to leave London and consequently the pleasure of her society for a time, &c. &c. ; upon which she grew inquisitive to learn what could be taking him away in May, and whither he was going ; and when he told her, wished him joy of the mists and bleak ness and his own society in so pointed a manner that of course he could not help asking her to come and pay him a visit there ; a request she, also of course, had to refuse at first, to turn it into a prayer ; and at last consented graciously to accede ■7 to it perhaps, for a day.

For she saw that he wanted to be alone, or guessed as much from her knowledge of his peculiarities ; and was too wise to give admirers the chance of tiring of her com pany. But she gave him a rose to keep until their next meeting, and kissed it for him first for supplement ary comfort ; and so sent him away, in the con dition the dietetics recommend as the best in which to have done dinner ; that is, with a desire that there should have been just a trifle more of it. The next day but one brought Lawrence his letters ; one from the inn to say that the best chamber was preparing, an unexpected compliment too early qualified by the remark that there would be no other visitors staying there ; the other from Mr. Trepinnock, of the hearty kind Lawrence had expected : why had he never been before ?

The moor was at its best : of course he might fish the whole river length : "you must give us an evening, and tell us all you remember about the poor dear lad." Who were "us?" thought Lawrence, till he read on to " Doris will be so delighted to see one who appreciated her brother as you did ; " and then he remembered Arthur's some times talking of a "little sister," an expression conveying about as much information, as to size and age, as "old boy" does in a young man's mouth. And so it came about that Lawrence went down to Dartmoor, where you will find him in the next B chapter, with Violet behind and Arthur's "little sister" before. Perhaps that is rather too explicit a statement. But this is not a story of surprises. I would have the general drift of it evident from the first.