‘But the worst is to come, sir. For he or his, sir, that night, said or did something to the lady, that was more than woman’s heart could bear: and the next morning she was found dead and cold, drowned in that weir-pool. And there the gentleman’s eldest son was drowned, and more than one Lavington beside. Miss Argemone’s only brother, that was the heir, was drowned there too, when he was a little one.’
‘I never heard that she had a brother.’
‘No, sir, no one talks of it. There are many things happen in the great house that you must go to the little house to hear of. But the country-folk believe, sir, that the nun’s curse holds true; and they say, that Whitford folks have been getting poorer and wickeder ever since that time, and will, till the Nun-pool runs up to Ashy, and the Lavingtons’ name goes out of Whitford Priors.’
Lancelot said nothing. A presentiment of evil hung over him. He was utterly down-hearted about Tregarva, about Argemone, about the poor. The truth was, he could not shake off the impression of the scene he had left, utterly disappointed and disgusted with the ‘revel.’ He had expected, as I said before, at least to hear something of pastoral sentiment, and of genial frolicsome humour; to see some innocent, simple enjoyment: but instead, what had he seen but vanity, jealousy, hoggish sensuality, dull vacuity? drudges struggling for one night to forget their drudgery. And yet withal, those songs, and the effect which they produced, showed that in these poor creatures, too, lay the germs of pathos, taste, melody, soft and noble affections. ‘What right have we,’ thought he, ‘to hinder their development? Art, poetry, music, science,—ay, even those athletic and graceful exercises on which we all pride ourselves, which we consider necessary to soften and refine ourselves, what God has given us a monopoly of them?—what is good for the rich man is good for the poor. Over-education? And what of that? What if the poor be raised above “their station”? What right have we to keep them down? How long have they been our born thralls in soul, as well as in body? What right have we to say that they shall know no higher recreation than the hogs, because, forsooth, if we raised them, they might refuse to work—for us? Are we to fix how far their minds may be developed? Has not God fixed it for us, when He gave them the same passions, talents, tastes, as our own?’
Tregarva’s meditations must have been running in a very different channel, for he suddenly burst out, after a long silence—
‘It’s a pity these fairs can’t be put down. They do a lot of harm; ruin all the young girls round, the Dissenters’ children especially, for they run utterly wild; their parents have no hold on them at all.’
‘They tell them that they are children of the devil,’ said Lancelot. ‘What wonder if the children take them at their word, and act accordingly?’
‘The parson here, sir, who is a God-fearing man enough, tried hard to put down this one, but the innkeepers were too strong for him.’
‘To take away their only amusement, in short. He had much better have set to work to amuse them himself.’
‘His business is to save souls, sir, and not to amuse them. I don’t see, sir, what Christian people want with such vanities.’