Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies Page 3

  His father was right. The beautiful September dawn was breaking over theplacid sea before Morris brushed the night dew from his hair and cloak,and went in by the abbot's door.

  What was he thinking of all the time? He scarcely knew. One by one,like little clouds in the summer sky, fancies arose in his mind to sailslowly across its depth and vanish upon an inconclusive and shadowyhorizon. Of course, he thought about his instruments; these were neverabsent from his heart. His instinct flew back to them as an oasis, as anisland of rest in the wilderness of this father's thorny and depressingconversation. The instruments were disappointing, it is true, atpresent; but, at any rate, they did not dwell gloomily upon impendingruin or suggest that it was his duty to get married. They remainedsilent, distressingly silent indeed.

  Well, as the question of marriage had been started, he might as wellface it out; that is, argue it in his mind, reduce it to its principles,follow it to its issues in a reasonable and scientific manner. What werethe facts? His family, which, by tradition, was reported to be Danishin its origin, had owned this property for several hundred years, thoughhow they came to own it remained a matter of dispute. Some said theAbbey and its lands were granted to a man of the name of Monk by HenryVIII., of course for a consideration. Others held, and evidence existedin favour of this view, that on the dissolution of the monastery theabbot of the day, a shrewd man of easy principles, managed to possesshimself of the Chapter House and further extensive hereditaments, ofcourse with the connivance of the Commissioners, and, providing himselfwith a wife, to exchange a spiritual for a temporal dignity. At leastthis remained certain, that from the time of Elizabeth onwards Morris'sforefathers had been settled in the old Abbey house at Monksland; thatthe first of them about whom they really knew anything was named Monk,and that Monk was still the family name.

  Now they were all dead and gone, and their history, which wasundistinguished, does not matter. To come to the present day. His fathersucceeded to a diminished and encumbered estate; indeed, had it not beenfor the fortune of his mother, a Miss Porson and one of a middle classand business, but rather wealthy family, the property must have beensold years before. That fortune, however, had long ago been absorbed--orso he gathered--for his father, a brilliant and fashionable armyofficer, was not the man to stint himself or to nurse a crippledproperty. Indeed, it was wonderful to Morris how, without any particularchange in their style of living, which, if unpretentious, was not cheap,in these bad times they had managed to keep afloat at all.

  Unworldly as Morris might be, he could easily guess why his fatherwished that he should marry, and marry well. It was that he mightbolster up the fortunes of a shattered family. Also--and this touchedhim, this commanded his sympathy--he was the last of his race. Ifhe died without issue the ancient name of Monk became extinct, aconsummation from which his father shrank with something like horror.

  The Colonel was a selfish man--Morris could not conceal it, even fromhimself--one who had always thought of his own comfort and conveniencefirst. Yet, either from idleness or pride, to advance these he hadnever stooped to scheme. Where the welfare of his family was concerned,however, as his son knew, he was a schemer. That desire was the onereal and substantial thing in a somewhat superficial, egotistic, andfinessing character.

  Morris saw it all as he leaned there upon the railing, staring at themist-draped sea, more clearly, indeed, than he had ever seen it before.He understood, moreover, what an unsatisfactory son he must be to a manlike his father--if it had tried, Providence could hardly have furnishedhim with offspring more unsuitable. The Colonel had wished him to enterthe Diplomatic Service, or the Army, or at least to get himself calledto the Bar; but although a really brilliant University career andhis family influence would have given him advantages in any of theseprofessions, he had declined them all. So, following his natural bent,he became an electrician, and now, abandoning the practical side ofthat modest calling, he was an experimental physicist, full of deep butunremunerative lore, and--an unsuccessful inventor. Certainly he owedsomething to his family, and if his father wished that he should marry,well, marry he must, as a matter of duty, if for no other reason. Afterall, the thing was not pressing; for it it came to the point, what womanwas likely to accept him? All he had done to-night was to settlethe general principles in his own mind. When it became necessary--ifever--he could deal with the details.

  And yet this sort of marriage which was proposed to him, was it not anunholy business? He cared little for women, having no weakness that way,probably because of the energy which other young men gave to the pursuitof them was in his case absorbed by intense and brain-exhausting study.Therefore he was not a man who if left to himself, would marry, as somany do, merely in order to be married; indeed, the idea to him wasalmost repulsive. Had he been a woman-hater, he might have accepted itmore easily, for then to him one would have been as the other. But thetrouble was that he knew and felt that a time might come when in hiseyes one woman would be different from all others, a being who spoke notto his physical nature only, if at all, but to the core within him. Andif that happened, what then?

  Look, the sun was rising. On the eastern sky of a sudden two goldendoors had opened in the canopy of night, and in and out of them seemedto pass glittering, swift-winged things, as souls might tread the Gateof Heaven. Look, too, at the little clouds that in an unending streamfloated out of the gloom--travellers pressed onwards by a breath ofdestiny. They were leaden-hued, all of them, black, indeed, at times,until they caught the radiance, and for a while became like the pennonsof an angel's wings. Then one by one the glory overtook and embracedthem, and they melted into it to be seen no more.

  What did the sight suggest to him? That it was worth while, perhaps,to be a mere drift of cloud, storm-driven and rain-laden in the bitterNight of Life, if the Morning of Deliverance brought such transformationon its wings. That beyond some such gates as these, gates that at times,greatly daring, he longed to tread, lay the answer to many a mystery.Amongst other things, perhaps, there he would learn the meaning of truemarriage, and why it is denied to most dwellers of the earth. Withouta union of the spirit was there indeed any marriage as it should beunderstood? And who in this world could hope to find his fellow spirit?

  See, the sun had risen, the golden gates were shut. He had beendreaming, and was chilled to the bone. Wretchedness, mental and bodily,took hold of him. Well, often enough such is the fate of those whodream; those who turn from their needful, daily tasks to shape an angelout of this world's clay, trusting to some unknown god to give it lifeand spirit.