Adela Cathcart, vol 1 | Page 4

in joy
about its central fire; no men and women upon it, to look up and
rejoice.
"But you always look on the bright side of things."
No one spoke aloud; I heard the objection in my mind. Could it come
from the mind of my friend--for so I already counted him--opposite to
me? There was no need for that supposition--I had heard the objection
too often in my ears. And now I answered it in set, though unspoken
form.
"Yes," I said, "I do; for I keep in the light as much as I can. Let the old
heathens count Darkness the womb of all things. I count Light the older,
from the tread of whose feet fell the first shadow--and that was
Darkness. Darkness exists but by the light, and for the light."
"But that is all mysticism. Look about you. The dark places of the earth
are the habitations of cruelty. Men and women blaspheme God and die.
How can this then be an hour for rejoicing?"
"They are in God's hands. Take from me my rejoicing, and I am
powerless to help them. It shall not destroy the whole bright holiday to

me, that my father has given my brother a beating. It will do him good.
He needed it somehow.--He is looking after them."
Could I have spoken some of these words aloud? For the eyes of the
clergyman were fixed upon me from his corner, as if he were trying to
put off his curiosity with the sop of a probable conjecture about me.
"I fear he would think me a heathen," I said to myself. "But if ever
there was humanity in a countenance, there it is."
It grew more and more pleasant to think of the bright fire and the
cheerful room that awaited me. Nor was the idea of the table, perhaps
already beginning to glitter with crystal and silver, altogether
uninteresting to me. For I was growing hungry.
But the speed at which we were now going was quite comforting. I
dropped into a reverie. I was roused from it by the sudden ceasing of
the fierce oscillation, which had for some time been threatening to
make a jelly of us. We were loose. In three minutes more we should be
at Purleybridge.
And in three minutes more, we were at Purleybridge--the only
passengers but one who arrived at the station that night. A servant was
waiting for me, and I followed him through the booking-office to the
carriage destined to bear me to The Swanspond, as my friend Colonel
Cathcart's house was called.
As I stepped into the carriage, I saw the clergyman walk by, with his
carpet-bag in his hand.
Now I knew Colonel Cathcart intimately enough to offer the use of his
carriage to my late companion; but at the moment I was about to
address him, the third passenger, of whom I had taken no particular
notice, came between us, and followed me into the carriage. This
occasioned a certain hesitation, with which I am only too easily
affected; the footman shut the door; I caught one glimpse of the
clergyman turning the corner of the station into a field-path; the horses
made a scramble; and away I rode to the Swanspond, feeling as selfish

as ten Pharisees. It is true, I had not spoken a word to him beyond
accepting his invitation to smoke with him; and yet I felt almost sure
that we should meet again, and that when we did, we should both be
glad of it. And now he was carrying a carpet-bag, and I was seated in a
carriage and pair!
It was far too dark for me to see what my new companion was like; but
when the light from the colonel's hall-door flashed upon us as we drew
up, I saw that he was a young man, with a certain expression in his face
which a first glance might have taken for fearlessness and power of
some sort, but which notwithstanding, I felt to be rather repellent than
otherwise. The moment the carriage-door was opened, he called the
servant by his name, saying,
"When the cart comes with the luggage, send mine up directly. Take
that now."
And he handed him his dressing-bag.
He spoke in a self-approving tone, and with a drawl which I will not
attempt to imitate, because I find all such imitation tends to caricature;
and I want to be believed. Besides, I find the production of caricature
has unfailingly a bad moral reaction upon myself. I daresay it is not so
with others, but with that I have nothing to do: it is one of my
weaknesses.
My worthy old friend, the colonel, met us in the hall--straight,
broad-shouldered, and tall, with a severe military expression