"She is very clever; most appallingly so, and no one seems to see it but me."
[CHAPTER IX]
JOCKIE'S ARRIVAL
SIDNEY'S next letter from Randolph Neville was as follows:
"DEAR MISS URQUHART,
"The mail is just in, and yours with it. Ever so many thanks. You have inspired and braced me, for I can tell you one wants bracing in this awful hole, and I don't wonder at so many giving up. But I'm starting a few innovations, and am turning teetotaller, at small cost to myself, for I've never been inclined in the opposite direction, and it's digging your grave to drink in this climate. I'm rather keen on giving a hand up to a young chap out here. For six months after he came out, he went straight as a die, and then he began to go down; the forces against him were too strong. I met him when out riding about four days after my arrival. I had lost my bearings, and he put me straight, going out of his way considerably to do so. When I asked him to come back to dine with me, he first refused, then I pressed him, and he said with a little gulp:
"'I haven't dined in decent society for two years; no one will have me now.'
"'Well,' I said, 'I give you fair warning. I'm not going to have whiskies and sodas ad lib. I don't take anything myself, and only have a little light claret for my guests.'
"He wrung my hand.
"'For God's sake keep it up,' he cried, 'for it is my curse, and we're all tarred with the same brush in this hole.'
"He came, and I liked the boy, and I've taken him in hand. If you'll remember him in your prayers, I believe we'll set him on his feet again. He has grit, and purpose, and principles, but his will power has been weakened and deadened by alcohol and this climate.
"How I smelt the salt sea breezes and saw the leaves fly from off your high trees as I read your letter! I have some nice pictures stored in my memory of the time I was at Thanning Dale. Yes, I suppose I'm a builder of a sort, but just as some erections have to be overthrown to be rebuilt, so I realise that my work at present is to overturn rather than continue to build. And one gets no thanks for it: only abuse and ill-will.
"I have been wondering as I think over the problem of building whether I had better not take myself in hand as well as my small kingdom here. I expect you would tell me that there needs to be an overthrow in many an individual, for they have been piling bricks upon straw and stubble and sand, and until what Chuckles calls a satisfactory 'funation' be established, the building won't stand the stress of life.
"You see what a moral philosopher I am becoming. But I and my pipe have some long hours together when work is done, and if the heat is too great for much physical effort I don't mean to let my mental capacities rust for lack of using. I work out many a problem, I assure you, and my last one is how far does the Almighty go in working miracles nowadays? I seem to remember a saying: 'Is anything too hard for the Lord?' Can you tell me whence it comes?
"I am glad you have put your boat by. I should not like to think of you stranded again, as I found you that wet dark night; but we did have a very snug walk home, did we not? And you don't know how your words then have rung on, and are ringing still with an undying echo in my soul. We are getting Home, and the thought of all that will be ours when we get there makes us think lightly of the present.'
"So be it with me, I pray. Remember me to your father. I see you ask me to give you my setting. How can I do it? I am neither poet nor painter. I see hard brilliant skies of blue, mountains clad with thorns and cactuses, and evil beasts crouching in the thick jungles that are below them, some quaint relics of ancient heathen temples, and there are rather squalid settlements dumped down behind a stone fortress, with the inevitable bazaar and the noisy native quarters, and the European club, which is nothing more nor less than a very unsavoury drinking saloon. There are five miles of straight hard road, with parched turf by the side, and this is where I ride for my morning and evening exercise. We are too lethargic to play polo, or even tennis; there are not enough of us with healthy British blood in our veins to do so. Cards and billiards seem the only recreations that are popular. But I mean to start cricket or tennis if I can, more for the sake of young George Lockhart than myself.
"May I call myself your fellow builder—
"RANDOLPH NEVILLE."
"He's a good man," murmured Sidney as she folded her letter up. "I don't believe he would ever fail his friends. And I do like his remarks about building."
She thought over one of her buildings which had been overthrown, the one which had occupied the citadel of her heart, and though the smart and anguish of it had not yet left her, she dimly began to see the why and wherefore of its overthrow.
The foundations were not worthy.
She was thinking this out when a little later she walked over to the Rectory about some parish matters which she wished to lay before the Rector. He was an old man, but hale and hearty for his years, and lived with his housekeeper. Mrs. Lunn had been with him over twenty years, and was of the old-fashioned school. Sidney and she were great friends, and would have long talks together, comparing the past generation with the present. Mrs. Lunn considered that nothing ever came up to the "good old times that were gone."
The Rector was in the hall, preparing to go out. He took Sidney's hand with fervour.