CHANGE OF SCENE.
But various reasons combined to induce Falconer to postpone yet for a period their journey to the North.Not merely did his father require an unremitting watchfulness, which it would be difficult to keep up in his native place amongst old friends and acquaintances, but his health was more broken than he had at first supposed, and change of air and scene without excitement was most desirable.He was anxious too that the change his mother must see in him should be as little as possible attributable to other causes than those that years bring with them.To this was added that his own health had begun to suffer from the watching and anxiety he had gone through, and for his father's sake, as well as for the labour which yet lay before him, he would keep that as sound as he might.He wrote to his grandmother and explained the matter.She begged him to do as he thought best, for she was so happy that she did not care if she should never see Andrew in this world: it was enough to die in the hope of meeting him in the other.But she had no reason to fear that death was at hand; for, although much more frail, she felt as well as ever.
By this time Falconer had introduced me to his father.I found him in some things very like his son; in others, very different.His manners were more polished; his pleasure in pleasing much greater:
his humanity had blossomed too easily, and then run to seed.Alas, to no seed that could bear fruit! There was a weak expression about his mouth--a wavering interrogation: it was so different from the firmly-closed portals whence issued the golden speech of his son!
He had a sly, sidelong look at times, whether of doubt or cunning, I could not always determine.His eyes, unlike his son's, were of a light blue, and hazy both in texture and expression.His hands were long-fingered and tremulous.He gave your hand a sharp squeeze, and the same instant abandoned it with indifference.I soon began to discover in him a tendency to patronize any one who showed him a particle of respect as distinguished from common-place civility.
But under all outward appearances it seemed to me that there was a change going on: at least being very willing to believe it, I found nothing to render belief impossible.
He was very fond of the flute his son had given him, and on that sweetest and most expressionless of instruments he played exquisitely.
One evening when I called to see them, Falconer said,'We are going out of town for a few weeks, Gordon: will you go with us?'
'I am afraid I can't.'
'Why? You have no teaching at present, and your writing you can do as well in the country as in town.'
'That is true; but still I don't see how I can.I am too poor for one thing.'
'Between you and me that is nonsense.'
'Well, I withdraw that,' I said.'But there is so much to be done, specially as you will be away, and Miss St John is at the Lakes.'
'That is all very true; but you need a change.I have seen for some weeks that you are failing.Mind, it is our best work that He wants, not the dregs of our exhaustion.I hope you are not of the mind of our friend Mr.Watts, the curate of St.Gregory's.'
'I thought you had a high opinion of Mr.Watts,' I returned.
'So I have.I hope it is not necessary to agree with a man in everything before we can have a high opinion of him.'
'Of course not.But what is it you hope I am not of his opinion in?'
'He seems ambitious of killing himself with work--of wearing himself out in the service of his master--and as quickly as possible.Agood deal of that kind of thing is a mere holding of the axe to the grindstone, not a lifting of it up against thick trees.Only he won't be convinced till it comes to the helve.I met him the other day; he was looking as white as his surplice.I took upon me to read him a lecture on the holiness of holidays."I can't leave my poor," he said."Do you think God can't do without you?" I asked.
"Is he so weak that he cannot spare the help of a weary man? But Ithink he must prefer quality to quantity, and for healthy work you must be healthy yourself.How can you be the visible sign of the Christ-present amongst men, if you inhabit an exhausted, irritable brain? Go to God's infirmary and rest a while.Bring back health from the country to those that cannot go to it.If on the way it be transmuted into spiritual forms, so much the better.A little more of God will make up for a good deal less of you.'
'What did he say to that?'
'He said our Lord died doing the will of his Father.I told him--"Yes, when his time was come, not sooner.Besides, he often avoided both speech and action." "Yes," he answered, "but he could tell when, and we cannot." "Therefore," I rejoined, "you ought to accept your exhaustion as a token that your absence will be the best thing for your people.If there were no God, then perhaps you ought to work till you drop down dead--I don't know."'
'Is he gone yet?'
'No.He won't go.I couldn't persuade him.'
'When do you go?'
'To-morrow.'
'I shall be ready, if you really mean it.'
'That's an if worthy only of a courtier.There may be much virtue in an if, as Touchstone says, for the taking up of a quarrel; but that if is bad enough to breed one,' said Falconer, laughing.'Be at the Paddington Station at noon to-morrow.To tell the whole truth, I want you to help me with my father.'
This last was said at the door as he showed me out.
In the afternoon we were nearing Bristol.It was a lovely day in October.Andrew had been enjoying himself; but it was evidently rather the pleasure of travelling in a first-class carriage like a gentleman than any delight in the beauty of heaven and earth.The country was in the rich sombre dress of decay.