CHAPTER VIII
THE TEMPTATION
One morning, about six weeks after the funeral, I was sitting at theharpsichord, picking out an anthem of my own composition. The theme wasone of thanksgiving and praise, and my heart was lifted to the level ofthe words. All around was peace and tranquillity: on the river bankoutside Alice walked up and down carrying our child, now nearly a yearand a half old: the boy crowed and laughed: the mother would have beensinging, but she would not disturb me at work. Can mortal man desiregreater happiness than to have the work of his own choice; the wife whois to him the only woman in the world: a strong and lovely child: and asufficiency earned by his own work? As for my chance of ever gettingthat huge fortune by my cousin's death, I can safely aver that I neverso much as thought of it. We never spoke of it: we put it out of ourminds altogether.
I heard steps outside: steps which disturbed me: I turned my head. Itwas Mr. Probus the attorney. He stood hat in hand before Alice.
'Mr. William's wife I believe,' he was saying. 'And his child? A lovelyboy indeed, Madam. I bring you news--nothing less in short than afortune--a fortune--for this lovely boy.'
'Indeed, Sir? Are you a friend of my husband?'
'A better friend, I warrant, Madam, than many who call him friend.'
'He is within, Sir. Will you honour our poor cottage?' He stood in theopen door.
'Mr. Will,' he said, 'I have your permission to enter?'
At sight of him the whole of the anthem vanished: harmony, melody, solo,chorus. It was as if someone was singing false: as if all were singingfalse. I put down my pen. 'Sir,' I said, 'I know not if there is anybusiness of mine which can concern you.'
'Dear Sir,' he tried to make his grating voice mellifluous: he tried tosmile pleasantly. 'Do not, pray, treat me as if I was an adviser of thewill by which your father deprived you of your inheritance.'
'I do not say that you were. Nevertheless, I cannot understand whatbusiness you have with me.'
'I come from your cousin. You have never, I fear, regarded your cousinwith kindly feelings'--this was indeed reversing the position--'but ofthat we will not speak. I come at the present moment as a messenger ofpeace--a messenger of peace. There is Scripture in praise of themessenger of peace. I forget it at the moment: but you will know it.Your good lady will certainly know it.' Alice, who had followed him,placed a chair for him and stood beside him. 'I bear the olive-branchlike the turtle-dove,' he continued, smiling. 'I bring you good tidingsof peace and wealth. They should go together, wealth and peace.'
'Pray, Sir, proceed with your good tidings.'
Alice laid her hand on my shoulder. 'Husband,' she said, 'it would be nogood tidings which would deprive us of the happiness which we now enjoy.Think well before you agree to anything that this gentleman, or yourcousin, may offer.' So she left us, and carried the boy out again intothe fresh air.
'Now, Sir, we are alone.'
He looked about him curiously. 'A pretty room,' he said, 'but small. Onewould take it for the cottage of a fisherman. I believe there are someof these people in the neighbourhood. The prospect either over the riveror over the marsh is agreeable: the trees are pleasant in the summer.The Dog and Duck, which is, I believe, easily accessible, is a cheerfulplace, and the company is polite and refined, especially that of theladies. No one, however, would think that a son of the great Sir PeterHalliday, ex-Lord Mayor and Alderman, West India Merchant, was living inthis humble place.'
'Your good tidings, Sir?'
'At the same time the position has its drawbacks. You are almost withinthe Rules. And though not yourself a prisoner, you are in the company ofprisoners.'
'Again, Sir, your good tidings?'
'I come to them. Scelerisque Probus is my motto. Probus, attorney atlaw, trusted by all. Now, Sir, you shall hear what your cousin proposes.Listen to me for a moment. You can hardly get on, I imagine, even in sosmall a way as this appears to be, under fifty pounds a year.'
'It would be difficult.'
'And in your profession, improperly hard and unjustly despised, it isdifficult, I believe, to make much more.'
'It is difficult to make much more.'
'Ha! As your cousin said: "They must be pinched--this unfortunatecouple--pinched at times."'
'Did my cousin say that?'
'Assuredly. He was thinking especially of your good lady, whom heremarked at the funeral. Well, your cousin will change all that. A heartof gold, Mr. William, all pure gold'--I coughed, doubtfully--'concealed,I admit, by a reserved nature which often goes with our best and mosttruly pious men, especially in the City of London. I do assure you, aheart of gold.'
He played his part badly. His cunning eyes, his harsh voice, the wordsof praise so out of keeping with his appearance and manner--as if such aman with such a face could be in sympathy with hearts of gold--struck anote of warning. Besides, Matthew with a heart of gold?
'Well, Sir,' I interrupted him, 'what have you come to say?'
'In plain words, then, this. Mr. Matthew has discovered a way of servingyou. Now, my dear Sir, I pray your attention.' He leaned back andcrossed his legs. 'Your father showed a certain relenting--a dispositionto consider you as still a member of the family by that provision as tosurvival which you doubtless remember.'
'So I interpret that clause in the will.'
'And with this view has put you in as the possible heir to the moneywhich is now accumulating in the hands of trustees. Mr. Matthew, now apartner in the business, will, it is assumed, provide for his heirs outof the business. On his death your father's fortune will come to you ifyou are living. If you die first it will go to your cousin. In thelatter event there will be no question of your son getting aught.'
'So I understand.'
'Your cousin, therefore, argues in this way. First, he is only a year ortwo older than yourself: next, he is in full possession of his healthand strength. There is nothing to prevent his living to eighty: Ibelieve a great-grandmother of his, not yours, lived to ninety-six. Itis very likely that he may reach as great an age. You will allow that.'
'Perhaps.'
'Why then, we are agreed. As for you, musicians, I am told, seldom getpast forty: they gradually waste away and--and wither like the blastedsprig in July. Oh! you will certainly leave this world atforty--enviable person!--would that I could have done so!--you willexchange your fiddle for a harp--the superior instrument--and yourthree-cornered hat for a crown--the external sign of promotion--longbefore your cousin has been passed the Chair.'
'All this is very likely, Mr. Probus. Yet----'
'I am coming to my proposal. What Mr. Matthew says is this. "My cousinis cut out of the will. It is not for me to dispute my uncle's decision.Still, what he wants just now is ready money--a supplement--asupplement--to what he earns."'
'Well?' For he stopped here and looked about the room with an air ofcontempt.
'A pleasant room,' he said, going back, 'but is it the room which yourfather's son should have for a lodging? Rush-bottomed chairs: nocarpet ... dear me, Mr. William, it is well to be a philosopher.However, we shall change all that.'
I waited for him to go on without further interruption.
'In a word, Sir, I am the happy ambassador--privileged if ever there wasone--charged to bring about reconciliation and cousinly friendship.'Again he overdid it. 'Your cousin sent me, in a word, to propose thatyou should sell him your chances of inheritance. That is why I am here.I say, Mr. William, that you may if you please sell him your chance ofthe inheritance. He proposes to offer you L3,000 down--L3,000, Isay--the enormous sum of three--thousand--pounds--for your bare chanceof succeeding. Well, Sir? What do you say to this amazing, thisastounding piece of generosity?'
I said nothing. Only suddenly there returned to my mind the words I hadoverheard in the outer counting-house.
'We will make him sell his reversion.'
What connection had these words with me? There was no proof of anyconnection: no proof except that jumping of the wits which wants nopro
of.
'With L3,000,' Mr. Probus continued, 'you can take a more convenientresidence of your own--here, or elsewhere: near the Dog and Duck, orfurther removed: you can live where you please: with the interest, whichwould amount to L150 a year at least, and what you make by your honestlabour, you will be, for one of your profession, rich. It will be anoble inheritance for your children. Why, Sir, you are a made man!'
He threw himself back in his chair and puffed his cheeks with thesatisfaction that naturally follows on the making of a man.
I was tempted: I saw before me a life of comparative ease: with L150 ayear there would be little or no anxiety for the future.
Mr. Probus perceived that I was wavering. He pulled a paper out of hispocket--he slapped it on the table and unrolled it: he looked about forink and pen.
'You agree?' he asked with an unholy joy lighting up his eyes.'Why--there--I knew you would! I told Mr. Matthew that you would. Happyman! Three thousand pounds! And all your own! And all for nothing! Whereis the ink? Because, Sir--I can be your witness--that cousin of yours,I may now tell you, is stronger than any bull--sign here, then,Sir--here--he will live for ever.'
His eagerness, which he could not conceal, to obtain my signaturestartled me. Again I remembered the words:
'We will make him sell his reversion.'
'Stop, Mr. Probus,' I said. 'Not so quick, if you please.'
'Not so quick! Why, dear Sir, you have acceded. You have acceded. Whereis the ink?'
'Not at all.'
'If you would like better terms I might raise it another fifty pounds.'
'Not even another fifty will persuade me.' At that moment I heard Alicesinging,
'The Lord my pasture shall prepare, And lead me with a shepherd's care.'
The Lord--not Mr. Probus. I took the words for a warning.
'We shall not want any ink,' I said, 'nor any witness. Because I shallnot sign.'
'Not sign? Not sign? But Mr. William--Sir--surely--have a care--such anoffer is not made every day. You will never again receive such anoffer.'
'Hark ye, Mr. Probus. By that clause in his will my father signified hisdesire, although he would punish me for giving up the City--to show thathe was not implacable and that if it be Heaven's will that I shouldsurvive my cousin I should then receive his forgiveness and once more beconsidered as one of the family. Sir, I will not, for any offer that youmay make, act against my father's wish. I am to wait, God knows I desirenot the death of my cousin--I wait: it is my father's sentence upon me.I shall obey my father. He forgives me after a term of years--long orshort--I know not. He forgives me by that clause. I am not cursed withmy father's resentment.'
'Oh! He talks like a madman. With L3,000 waiting for him to pick up!'
'I repeat, Sir. In this matter I shall leave the event to Providence, inobedience to my father's wishes. Inform my cousin, if you please, of myresolution.'
More he said, because he was one of those tenacious and obstinatepersons who will not take 'No,' for an answer. Besides, as I learnedafterwards, he was most deeply concerned in the success of his mission.He passed from the stage of entreaty to that of remonstrance and finallyto that of wrath.
'Sir,' he said, 'I perceive that you are one of those crack-brained andconceited persons who will not allow anyone to do them good: you throwaway every chance that offers, you stand in your own light, you bringruin upon your family.'
'Very well,' I said, 'very well indeed.'
'I waste my words upon you.'
'Why then waste more?'
'You are unworthy of the name you bear. You are only fit for thebeggarly trade you follow. Well, Sir, when misery and starvation fallupon you and yours, remember what you have thrown away.'
I laughed. His cunning face became twisted with passion.
'Sir,' he said, 'all this talk is beside the mark. There are ways. Donot think that we are without ways and means.' Then he swore a greatround oath. 'We shall find a way, somehow, to bring you to reason.'
'Well Mr. _Integer Vitae scelerisque Probus_,' I said. 'If youcontemplate rascality you will have to change your motto.'
He smoothed out his face instantly, and repressed the outward signs ofwrath. 'Mr. Will,' he said, 'forgive this burst of honest indignation.You will do, of course, what you think fit. Sir, I wish you a return tobetter sense. I think I may promise you'--he paused and clapped hisforefinger to his nose, 'I am sure that I can so far trespass on theforbearance of your cousin as to promise that this offer shall be keptopen for three weeks. Any day within the next three weeks you shall findat my office the paper ready for your signature. After that time thechance will be gone--gone--gone for ever,' he threw the chance acrossthe river with a theatrical gesture and walked away.
What did it mean? Why did Matthew want to buy my share? We might bothlive for forty years or even more. Neither could touch that money tillthe other's death. He might desire my early death in which case allwould be his. But to buy my share--it meant that if I died first hewould have paid a needless sum of money for it: and that if he diedfirst it would not be in his power to enjoy that wealth. I asked Ramageon the Sunday why Matthew wanted it. He said that merchants sometimesdesire credit and that perhaps it would strengthen Matthew if it wereknown that this great sum of money would be added to his estate whenevereither his cousin or he himself should die. And with this explanation Imust be content. There was another possibility but that I learnedafterwards.
'We will make him sell his reversion.' What was the meaning of thosewords? Perhaps they did not apply to me. But I was sure that they did.Like a woman I was certain that they did: and for a woman'sreason--which is none.
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