"Well," said Despard, "that question answers itself. As a man is born, so he is; and if nature denies him taste or sensibility it makes no difference what is his profession."
Mrs. Thornton made no reply.
"My last journey," said Despard, "was about the Brandon case. I went to London first to see if something could not be done. I had been there before on the same errand, but without success. I was equally unsuccessful this time.
"I tried to find out about Potts, the man who had purchased the estate, but learned that it was necessary to go to the village of Brandon. I went there, and made inquiries. Without exception the people sympathized with the unfortunate family, and looked with detestation upon the man who had supplanted them.
"I heard that a young lady went there last year who was reputed to be his daughter. Every one said that she was extraordinarily beautiful, and looked like a lady. She stopped at the inn under the care of a gentleman who accompanied her, and went to the Hall. She has never come out of it since.
"The landlord told me that the gentleman was a pale, sad-looking man, with dark hair and beard. He seemed very devoted to the young lady, and parted with her in melancholy silence. His account of this young lady moved me very strangely. He was not at all a sentimental man, but a burly John Bull, which made his story all the more touching. It is strange, I must say, that one like her should go into that place and never be seen again. I do not know what to think of it, nor did any of those with whom I spoke in the village."
"Do you suppose that she really went there and never came back?"
"That is what they say."
"Then they must believe that she is kept there."
"Yes, so they do."
"Why do they not take some steps in the matter?"
"What can they do? She is his daughter. Some of the villagers who have been to the Hall at different times say that they heard her playing and singing."
"That does not sound like imprisonment."
"The caged bird sings."
"Then you think she is a prisoner?"
"I think it odd that she has never come out, not even to go to church."
"It is odd."
"This man Potts excited sufficient interest in my mind to lead me to make many inquiries. I found, throughout the county, that every body utterly despised him. They all thought that poor Ralph Brandon had been almost mad, and, by his madness had ruined his family. Every body believed that Potts had somehow deceived him, but no one could tell how.
They could not bring any direct proof against him.
"But I found out in Brandon the sad particulars of the final fate of the poor wife and her unfortunate children. They had been sent away or a.s.sisted away by this Potts to America, and had all died either on the way out or shortly after they had arrived, according to the villagers. I did not tell them what I knew, but left them to believe what they chose.
It seemed to me that they must have received this information from Potts himself; who alone in that poor community would have been able to trace the fortunes of the unhappy emigrants."
There was a long silence.
"I have done all that I could," said Despard, in a disconsolate tone, "and I suppose nothing now remains to be done. When we hear again from Paolo there may be some new information upon which we can act."
"And you can go back to your Byzantine poets."
"Yes, if you will a.s.sist me."
"You know I shall only be too happy."
"And I shall be eternally grateful. You see, as I told you before, there is a field of labor here for the lover of music which is like a new world. I will give you the grandest musical compositions that you have ever seen. I will let you have the old hymns of the saints who lived when Constantinople was the only civilized spot in Europe, and the Christians there were hurling back the Mohammedans. You shall sing the n.o.blest songs that you have ever seen."
"How--in Greek? You must teach me the alphabet then."
"No; I will translate them for you. The Greek hymns are all in rhythmical prose, like the _Te Deum_ and the _Gloria_. A literal translation can be sung as well as the originals. You will then enter into the mind and spirit of the ancient Eastern Church before the days of the schism.
"Yes," continued Despard, with an enthusiasm which he did not care to conceal, "we will go together at this sweet task, and we will sing the [Greek: cath castaen aemeran], which holds the same place in the Greek Church that the _Te Deum_ does in ours. We will chant together the Golden Canon of St. John Damascene--the Queen of Canons, the grandest song of "Christ is risen" that mortals ever composed. Your heart and mine will beat together with one feeling at the sublime choral strain.
We will sing the "Hymn of Victory." We will go together over the songs of St. Cosmas, St. Theophanes, and St. Theodore; St. Gregory, St.
Anatobus, and St. Andrew of Crete shall inspire us; and the thoughts that have kindled the hearts of martyrs at the stake shall exalt our souls to heaven. But I have more than this. I have some compositions of my own; poor ones, indeed, yet an effort in the right way. They are a collection of those hymns of the Primitive Church which are contained in the New Testament. I have tried to set them to music. They are: "Worthy is the Lamb," "Unto Him that loved us," "Great and marvelous are thy works," and the "Trisagion." Yes, we will go together at this lofty and heavenly work, and I shall be able to gain a new interpretation from your sympathy."
Despard spoke with a vehement enthusiasm that kindled his eyes with unusual l.u.s.tre and spread a glow over his pale face. He looked like some devotee under a sudden inspiration. Mrs. Thornton caught all his enthusiasm; her eyes brightened, and her face also flushed with excitement.
"Whenever you are ready to lead me into that new world of music," said she, "I am ready to follow."
"Are you willing to begin next Monday?"
"Yes. All my time is my own."
"Then I will come for you."
"Then I will be waiting for you. By-the-way, are you engaged for to-night?"
"No; why?"
"There is going to be a fete champetre. It is a ridiculous thing for the Holby people to do; but I have to go to play the patroness. Mr. Thornton does not want to go. Would you sacrifice yourself to my necessities, and allow me your escort?"
"Would a thirsty man be willing to accept a cooling draught?" said Despard, eagerly. "You open heaven before me, and ask me if I will enter."
His voice trembled, and he paused.
"You never forget yourself," said Mrs. Thornton, with slight agitation, looking away as she spoke.
"I will be back at any hour you say."
"You will do no such thing. Since you are here you must remain and dine, and then go with me. Do you suppose I would trust you? Why, if I let you go, you might keep me waiting a whole hour."
"Well, if your will is not law to me what is? Speak, and your servant obeys. To stay will only add to my happiness."
"Then let me make you happy by forcing you to stay."
Despard"s face showed his feelings, and to judge by its expression his language had not been extravagant.
The afternoon pa.s.sed quietly. Dinner was served up. Thornton came in, and greeted Despard with his usual abstraction, leaving his wife to do the agreeable. After dinner, as usual, he prepared for a nap, and Despard and Mrs. Thornton started for the fete.
It was to be in some gardens at the other end of Holby, along the sh.o.r.e.
The townspeople had recently formed a park there, and this was one of the preliminaries to its formal inauguration. The trees were hung with innumerable lamps of varied colors. There were bands of music, and triumphal arches, and gay festoons, and wreaths of flowers, and every thing that is usual at such a time.
On arriving, Despard a.s.sisted Mrs. Thornton from the carriage and offered his arm. She took it, but her hand rested so lightly on it that its touch was scarce perceptible. They walked around through the illuminated paths. Great crowds of people were there. All looked with respectful pleasure at Mrs. Thornton and the Rector.