My words comforted the poor child, and I went away with the novel feeling of a good conscience. Frankly, I hate the sordid and unpleasant. I am honestly a sun-worshipper; I have small taste for arduous duty, and the quixotic is my abhorrence. My professional success is an accident, for Lord knows I had no impulse to contend and little ambition. But somewhere or other I have the rudiments of an austere conscience. It gives me no peace, and as I love a quiet life, I do its bidding with a grumble. Now I grumbled fiercely in spirit, but outwardly I was a model of virtuous cheerfulness.
But to find somebody to keep Ladlaw company—there was the rub. I racked my brains to think of a substitute. It must be a man of some education and not a mere servant, and it must be somebody in the parish of More; the conjunction seemed for the moment impossible. Then a brilliant idea struck me. There was the minister of Morebrig, the ugly village by the roadside. I remembered him on previous visits. He was a burly young man, with a high complexion and a drooping blonde moustache, who smoked cheap cigarettes incessantly, and spat. He had been what they call a “brilliant student,” and he was reported to be something of an orator, eagerly sought after by city congregations, but at present hiding his light under the bushel of Morebrig to allow him time to prepare some great theological work. Ladlaw had liked him in a half-amused and tolerant way, and he used to come sometimes to dine. His name was Bruce Oliphant, and he inhabited a dark manse at the outskirts of the village.
I had an hour before dinner, and I set out for Mr. Oliphant’s dwelling. I remember the curious dull village street, without colour or life, drab women looking out of dingy doorways, and a solitary child playing in the red mud. The manse stood at the back of the usual elder thicket, a little place with small windows and a weather-stained front door. A gaunt old servant ushered me into Mr. Oliphant’s study, where I found that young man smoking and reading a weekly paper. It was a room well stocked with books in the popular religious vein, and the Poets in gilt editions adorned his shelves. Mr. Oliphant greeted me with the nervous ease of one who would fain cultivate a good manner. The first sight of him sent my hopes down. He had a large calf-like face, mildly arrogant eyes, and a chin which fell sharply away beneath the eaves of his moustache. This was not one to do Ladlaw much good; indeed I questioned if I could ever make him understand, for the man before me had an impenetrable air of omniscience.
“I have come to ask you a great favour on behalf of the Ladlaws,” said I. “You are the only other gentleman in the parish of More, and it is your duty to help your neighbours.”
He bowed, with pleased eyes. “Anything,” he said. “I’ll be very glad.”
“I am staying there just now, you know, and as it happens I must go back to town by the night-train. I’ll only be gone a day, but you know that Ladlaw is a melancholy beggar and gets low-spirited. Now I want you to go up and stay at the House for a couple of nights while I am away.”
It was an odd request, and he stared at me. “Why, what’s wrong with Mr. Ladlaw?” he asked. “I should never have called him melancholy. Now, his lady is different. She always looks a little pale. Did she send you to ask me?” Mr. Oliphant was a stickler for the usages of polite society.
I sat down in a chair and took one of his cigarettes. “Now, look here, Oliphant,” I said. “You are a man of education and common-sense, and I am going to do you the honour to tell you a story which I would not tell to a stupid man. A stupid man would laugh at me. I hope you will see the gravity of the thing.”
I told him briefly the points in Ladlaw’s case. His eyes grew very round as I went on, and when I finished he laughed nervously. He was clearly impressed; but he was too ignorant and unimaginative to understand fully, and he had his credit as a representative of modern thought to support. “Oh, come now! You don’t mean all that; I never heard the like of it. You can’t expect me as a Christian man to believe in a Pagan spirit. I might as well believe in ghosts at once. What has the familiar of a heathen emperor to do with this parish?”
“Justinian was a Christian,” I said.
He looked puzzled. “It’s all preposterous. Meaning no disrespect to you, I must decline to believe it. My profession compels me to discourage such nonsense.”
“So does mine,” I said wearily. “Good Lord! man, do you think I came here to tell you a fairy tale? It’s the most terrible earnest. Now I want you to give me an answer, for I have very little time.”
He was still incredulous and inclined to argue. “Do you know if Mr. Ladlaw has been—eh—a strictly temperate man?” he asked.
With this my patience departed. I got up to go, with rude thoughts on the stupidity of the clergy. But Mr. Oliphant was far from a refusal. He had no objection to exchange the barren comfort of the manse for the comparative luxury of the House, and he had no distrust of his power to enliven. As he accompanied me to the door he explained his position. “You see, if they really want me I will come. Tell Mrs. Ladlaw that I shall be delighted. Mrs. Ladlaw is a lady for whom I have a great respect.”
“So have I,” I said crossly. “Very well. A trap
