For a few moments the two men looked hard at each other.
"And what then?" Laurence demanded. Armstrong raised his hands, almost as in repudiation of his own thought.
"The Lord only knows," he said. "As the poet says, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.' But I, being a practical man, do not concern myself with such, Mr. Rivers. I would not learn more of hidden matters than is strictly necessary to salvation. If it is the intention of the Deity that further revelation of laws, either natural or spiritual, should be granted us, such revelation will, without doubt, come at the time appointed. And so I, personally, would not force the hand of Providence or be over forward in pushing myself into its secret counsels."
He paused, regarding the younger man with much friendliness and some anxiety. But Laurence did not speak. He merely smiled, holding out his hand.
"Aweel, good night to you then, Mr. Rivers," the agent said, taking the outstretched hand and holding it awhile.—"I must repeat, I am glad to carry away so favourable an impression of our first meeting. But, as a word at parting having in mind the tendencies of your family constitution, I would earnestly commend to you those canny virtues, moderation and temperance, in all your undertakings.—I will be resident here for the coming week, or longer should a more protracted stay be incumbent on me, in the interests of your affairs or your uncle's. My sons are good, steady lads, and will mind our northern business for me—a business not unprosperous or decreasing. And so you can notify me at any time should you feel an inclination to acquaint yourself further with the workings of this estate, or other items of poor Mr. Rivers's by no means inconsiderable property."
XV
For some minutes Laurence remained in the same position before the library fireplace, while the rush and wail of the storm without offered marked contrast to the silence and close warmth reigning within. He knew all the facts of the case now, as far as they were attainable by tradition. They proved to be very simple; but, as he reflected, the simplicity of the symbol by no means invalidates the profound character of the mystery of which it may be the outward and visible sign. Nay, the very simplicity, the tender, human pathos, of this story of love and sorrow, only engaged his heart and provoked his enterprise the more. Counsels of self-saving moderation he waved aside with a smile. Of danger, material, moral, or spiritual, he was defiant. With the Veil of Isis there, visibly confronting him and inviting—in gentlest, most confiding fashion—his hand to lift it, would it not be unpardonably poor-spirited, callous, and unfaithful to draw back?
But Virginia? Laurence moved impatiently from his place. He wished to goodness Armstrong had not referred to Virginia, or rather to that circumscription of his personal liberty which Virginia presented—to his marriage, in short! He was very fond of her. Of course, he was very fond of her—not for a moment did he doubt that. But must it be a matter of primary duty and honour that he should relinquish the part of hero in this piece—this noble and enthralling piece, which made vibrant his whole being, and stirred the finest of him into activity—simply because Virginia's name did not happen to be in the bill? Marriage came perilously near a disaster if it clipped your wings as much as all that! And he would, indeed, be a bigoted moralist who should maintain that no circumstances can be so extraordinary, no opportunities of knowledge or spiritual advancement so rare, that they justify a neglect of conventional rules of conduct, or permit the relegation of ordinary obligations—for a time at least—to the second place!
Thus did the young man argue—ambition, chivalry, and those hereditary tendencies towards a rather violent reduction of theory to practice against which he had so lately been warned, all conspiring to one result. And so, at last, his head erect, and—though he knew it not—that air of assured conquest about him which had sat so charmingly upon his namesake—perhaps his rival—the Laurence Rivers of the Cosway miniature, he swung down the still, crimson-carpeted corridor, pulled the stiff tapestry curtain forward, passed behind it, and entered the room beyond. He laughed a little to himself, he was all of a white heat, he would be as the Gods, working miracles, righting wrong, conquering death.