Part 15 (2/2)

'Pleasant for those whom they concern!--That's rather a cold-blooded speech for you, Tregarva!'

The Cornishman looked up at him earnestly. His eyes were glittering--was it with tears?

'Don't fancy I don't feel for the poor young gentleman--G.o.d help him!--I've been through it all--or not through it, that's to say. I had a brother once, as fine a young fellow as ever handled pick, as kind-hearted as a woman, and as honest as the sun in Heaven.--But he would drink, sir;--that one temptation, he never could stand it.

And one day at the shaft's mouth, reaching after the kibble-chain-- maybe he was in liquor, maybe not--the Lord knows; but--'

'I didn't know him again, sir, when we picked him up, any more than- -' and the strong man shuddered from head to foot, and beat impatiently on the ground with his heavy heel, as if to crush down the rising horror.

'Where is he, sir?'

A long pause.

'Do you think I didn't ask that, sir, for years and years after, of G.o.d, and my own soul, and heaven and earth, and the things under the earth, too? For many a night did I go down that mine out of my turn, and sat for hours in that level, watching and watching, if perhaps the spirit of him might haunt about, and tell his poor brother one word of news--one way or the other--anything would have been a comfort--but the doubt I couldn't bear. And yet at last I learnt to bear it--and what's more, I learnt not to care for it.

It's a bold word--there's one who knows whether or not it is a true one.'

'Good Heavens!--and what then did you say to yourself?'

'I said this, sir--or rather, one came as I was on my knees, and said it to me--What's done you can't mend. What's left, you can.

Whatever has happened is G.o.d's concern now, and none but His. Do you see that as far as you can no such thing ever happen again, on the face of His earth. And from that day, sir, I gave myself up to that one thing, and will until I die, to save the poor young fellows like myself, who are left now-a-days to the Devil, body and soul, just when they are in the prime of their power to work for G.o.d.'

'Ah!' said Lancelot--'if poor Luke's spirit were but as strong as yours!'

'I strong?' answered he, with a sad smile; 'and so you think, sir.

But it's written, and it's true--”The heart knoweth its own bitterness.”'

'Then you absolutely refuse to try to fancy your--his present state?'

'Yes, sir, because if I did fancy it, that would be a certain sign I didn't know it. If we can't conceive what G.o.d has prepared for those that we know loved Him, how much less can we for them of whom we don't know whether they loved Him or not?'

'Well,' thought Lancelot to himself, 'I did not do so very wrong in trusting your intellect to cut through a sophism.'

'But what do you believe, Tregarva?'

'I believe this, sir--and your cousin will believe the same, if he will only give up, as I am sore afraid he will need to some day, sticking to arguments and doctrines about the Lord, and love and trust the Lord himself. I believe, sir, that the judge of all the earth will do right--and what's right can't be wrong, nor cruel either, else it would not be like Him who loved us to the death, that's all I know; and that's enough for me. To whom little is given, of him is little required. He that didn't know his Master's will, will be beaten with few stripes, and he that did know it, as I do, will be beaten with many, if he neglects it--and that latter, not the former, is my concern.'

'Well,' thought Lancelot to himself, 'this great heart has gone down to the root of the matter--the right and wrong of it. He, at least, has not forgotten G.o.d. Well, I would give up all the Teleologies and cosmogonies that I ever dreamt or read, just to believe what he believes--Heigho and well-a-day!--Paul! hist? I'll swear that was an otter!'

'I hope not, sir, I'm sure. I haven't seen the spraint of one here this two years.'

'There again--don't you see something move under that marl bank?'

Tregarva watched a moment, and then ran up to the spot, and throwing himself on his face on the edge, leant over, grappled something--and was instantly, to Lancelot's astonishment, grappled in his turn by a rough, lank, white dog, whose teeth, however, could not get through the velveteen sleeve.

'I'll give in, keeper! I'll give in. Doan't ye harm the dog! he's deaf as a post, you knows.'

'I won't harm him if you take him off, and come up quietly.'

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