“But I do. Mrs. O’Reilly has just been telling me.”
“What did she tell you?” he asked with some curiosity.
“Why, she has found out that he is really a Nihilist—just think of a Nihilist going about loose like this, and playing tennis at the rectory and all the good houses! And not only that, but she says he is altogether a dangerous, unprincipled man with a dreadful temper. You can’t think how unhappy she is about poor Gertrude, and so am I, for we were at school together and have always been friends.”
“I am very sorry to hear about it,” said Mr. Blackthorne, “but I don’t see that anything can be done. You see, one does not like to interfere in these sort of things. It seems officious rather, and meddlesome.”
“Yes, that is the worst of it,” she replied, with a sigh. “I suppose we can do nothing. Still, it has been a great relief just to tell you about it and get it off my mind. I suppose we can only hope that something may put a stop to it all—we must just leave it to chance.”
This sentiment amused me not a little. Leave it to chance indeed! Had she not caused me to grow stronger and larger by every word she uttered? And had not the conversation revealed to me Mr. Blackthorn’s one vulnerable part? I knew well enough that I should be able to dominate his thoughts as I had done hers. Finding me burdensome, she had passed me on to somebody else with additions that vastly increased my working powers, and then she talked of leaving it to chance! The way in which mortals practise pious frauds on themselves is really delightful! And yet Lena Houghton was a good sort of girl, and had from her childhood repeated the catechism words which proclaim that, “My duty to my neighbour is to love him as myself . . . To keep my tongue from evil-speaking, lying, and slandering.” What is more, she took great pains to teach these words to a big class of Sunday School children, and went, rain or shine, to spend two hours each Sunday in a stuffy school-room for that purpose. It was strange that she should be so ready to believe evil of her neighbour, and so eager to spread the story. But my progenitor is clever, and doubtless knows very well, whom to select as his tools.
By this time they had reached a comfortable-looking, red-brick house with white stone facings, and in the discussion of the arrangements for the choir treat I was entirely forgotten.
MY THIRD STAGE
Alas! such is our weakness, that we often more readily believe and speak of another that which is evil than that which is good. But perfect men do not easily give credit to every report; because they know man’s weakness, which is very prone to evil, and very subject to fail in words.
Thomas À Kempis.
All through that evening, and through the first part of the succeeding day, I was crowded out of the curate’s mind by a host of thoughts with which I had nothing in common; and though I hovered about him as he taught in the school, and visited several sick people, and argued with an habitual drunkard, and worked at his Sunday sermon, a Power, which I felt but did not understand, baffled all my attempts to gain an entrance and attract his notice. I made a desperate attack on him after lunch as he sat smoking and enjoying a well-earned rest, but it was of no avail. I followed him to a large garden-party later on, but to my great annoyance he went about talking to every one in the pleasantest way imaginable, though I perceived that he was longing to play tennis instead.