Herb of Grace | Page 8

I could sit for ever," he would say; "on
every subject he speaks well and wisely;" and once, when he was
strolling through Kensington Gardens with his sister-friend, Anna
Sheldon, he had electrified her by quoting a favourite passage from his
essay on friendship.
"Friendship requires that rare mean betwixt likeness and unlikeness that
piques each with the presence of power and of consent in the other
party. Let me be alone to the end of the world, rather than that my
friend should overstep, by a word or look, his real sympathy. I am
equally baulked by antagonism and by compliance. Let him not cease
an instant to be himself.... Better be a nettle in the side of your friend
than his echo."
Malcolm had uttered the last sentence in rather a tragic tone, but he was
somewhat offended when the girl laughed. "What an odd idea!" she
observed innocently. "I should strongly object to anything so stinging
as a nettle; perhaps it is because I am a woman that I should prefer the
echo;" but Malcolm, who had received a douche of cold water from this
feminine criticism, declined to be drawn into a discussion on the
subject.
"Women are so illogical," he muttered angrily, and Anna's heaven of
content was suddenly clouded. Malcolm's approval was vitally
necessary to her happiness--a chilling word from him had power to
spoil the fairest landscape and blot out the sunshine; nevertheless she
took her rebuff meekly and without retort.
A mere chance, an accident in the destinies of both men, had brought

about this acquaintance between Malcolm Herrick and Cedric
Templeton. The vice-president of Magdalene was an old friend of the
Herrick family, and was indeed distantly related to Mrs. Herrick; and
after Malcolm had taken his degree and left Lincoln, he often spent a
week or two with Dr. Medcalf. He was an old bachelor, and one of the
most sociable of men, and his rooms were the envy of his friends.
Malcolm was a great favourite with him, and was always welcome
when he could spare time to run down for a brief visit.
About two years before, he was spending a few days with his friend,
when one evening as he was strolling down Addison's Walk in the
gloaming, his attention was attracted by a young undergraduate. He
was seated on a bench with his head in his hands; but at the sound of
passing footsteps he moved slightly, and Malcolm caught sight of a
white boyish face and haggard eyes that looked at him a little wildly;
then he covered his face again. Malcolm walked on a few steps; his
kind heart was shocked at the lad's evident misery, but to his reserved
nature it was never easy to make the first advance; indeed, he often
remarked that he had rather a fellow-feeling with the Levite who passed
by on the other side.
"I daresay he was sorry for the poor traveller in his heart," he observed,
"but it takes a deal of moral courage to be a Good Samaritan; it is not
easy for a shy man, for example, to render first aid to a poor chap with
a fractured limb in the middle of a crowd of sympathising
bystanders--one's self-consciousness and British hatred of a scene seem
to choke one off."
So, true to his diffident nature, Malcolm walked to the other end of
Addison's Walk; then something seemed to drag at him, and he retraced
his steps slowly and reluctantly; finally, as though constrained by some
unseen power that overmastered his reserve, he sat down on the bench
and touched the youth lightly on the arm.
"You are in trouble, I fear; is there anything I can do to help you?"
The words were simple almost to bluntness, but they were none the
worse for that, for they rang true from a good heart.

Malcolm's voice was pleasant; when he chose, it could be both winning
and persuasive; to the lad sitting there in the Egyptian darkness of a
terrifying despair, it sounded honey-sweet. He put out a hot hand to his
new friend, and then broke into a fit of tears and sobs. "Oh, can you
help me?" he gasped out. "I wanted to drown or hang myself, sooner
than disgrace them; only I thought of Dinah and I couldn't do it;" and
then as he grew calmer a little judicious questioning and a few more
kind words brought out the whole story.
He had fallen into bad hands; two or three men older and richer than
himself had got hold of him for their own purposes, and had led him
into mischief. The culminating misfortune had happened the previous
evening, when they had induced him to play at cards; the stakes were
high, though