Born in Exile (28 page)

'Well, if you really did it on your own account'——

Mr. Warricombe took the offered sheets and glanced at the first
of them.

'My only purpose,' said Godwin 'in calling again so soon was to
leave this with you.'

He made as though he would take his departure.

'You want to get home again? Wait at least till this shower is
over. I enjoy that pelting of spring rain against the window. In a
minute or two we shall have the laurels flashing in the sunshine,
as if they were hung with diamonds.'

They stood together looking out on to the garden. Presently
their talk returned to the German disquisition, which was directed
against the class of quasi-scientific authors attacked by Peak
himself in his
Critical
article. In the end Godwin sat down
and began to read the translation he had made, Mr. Warricombe
listening with a thoughtful smile. From time to time the reader
paused and offered a comment, endeavouring to show that the
arguments were merely plausible; his air was that of placid
security, and he seemed to enjoy the irony which often fell from
his lips. Martin frequently scrutinised him, and always with a look
of interest which betokened grave reflection.

'Here,' said Godwin at one point, 'he has a note citing a
passage from Reusch's book on
The Bible and Nature
. If I am
not mistaken, he misrepresents his author, though perhaps not
intentionally.'

'You know the book?'

'I have studied it carefully, but I don't possess it. I thought
I remembered this particular passage very well.'

'Is it a work of authority?'

'Yes; it is very important. Unfortunately, it hasn't yet been
translated. Rather bulky, but I shouldn't mind doing it myself if I
were sure of finding a publisher.'

'
The Bible and Nature
,' said Martin, musingly. 'What is
his scheme? How does he go to work?'

Godwin gave a brief but lucid description of the book, and Mr
Warricombe listened gravely. When there had been silence for some
moments, the latter spoke in a tone he had never yet used when
conversing with Peak. He allowed himself, for the first time, to
betray a troubled doubt on the subject under discussion.

'So he makes a stand at Darwinism as it affects man?'

Peak had yet no means of knowing at what point Martin himself
'made a stand'. Modes of reconcilement between scientific discovery
and religious tradition are so very numerous, and the geologist was
only now beginning to touch upon these topics with his young
acquaintance. That his mind was not perfectly at ease amid the
conflicts of the day, Godwin soon perceived, and by this time he
had clear assurance that Martin would willingly thrash out the
whole debate with anyone who seemed capable of supporting orthodox
tenets by reasoning not unacceptable to a man of broad views. The
negativist of course assumed from the first that Martin, however
respectable his knowledge, was far from possessing the scientific
mind, and each conversation had supplied him with proofs of this
defect; it was not at all in the modern spirit that the man of
threescore years pursued his geological and kindred researches, but
with the calm curiosity of a liberal intellect which has somehow
taken this direction instead of devoting itself to literary study.
At bottom, Godwin had no little sympathy with Mr. Warricombe; he
too, in spite of his militant instincts, dwelt by preference amid
purely human interests. He grasped with firm intelligence the modes
of thought which distinguish scientific men, but his nature did not
prompt him to a consistent application of them. Personal liking
enabled him to subdue the impulses of disrespect which, under other
circumstances, would have made it difficult for him to act with
perfection his present part. None the less, his task was one of
infinite delicacy. Martin Warricombe was not the man to unbosom
himself on trivial instigation. It must be a powerful influence
which would persuade him to reveal whatever self-questionings lay
beneath his genial good breeding and long-established acquiescence
in a practical philosophy. Godwin guarded himself against his eager
emotions; one false note, one syllable of indiscretion, and his
aims might be hopelessly defeated.

'Yes,' was his reply to the hesitating question. 'He argues
strenuously against the descent of man. If I understand him, he
regards the concession of this point as impossible.'

Martin was deep in thought. He held a paper-knife bent upon his
knee, and his smooth, delicate features wore an unquiet smile.

'Do you know Hebrew, Mr. Peak?'

The question came unexpectedly, and Godwin could not help a
momentary confusion, but he covered it with the tone of
self-reproach.

'I am ashamed to say that I am only now taking it up
seriously.'

'I don't think you need be ashamed,' said Martin,
good-naturedly. 'Even a mind as active as yours must postpone some
studies. Reusch, I suppose, is sound on that head?'

The inquiry struck Godwin as significant. So Mr. Warricombe
attached importance to the verbal interpretation of the Old
Testament.

'Distinctly an authority,' he replied. 'He devotes whole
chapters to a minute examination of the text.'

'If you had more leisure,' Martin began, deliberately, when he
had again reflected, 'I should be disposed to urge you to undertake
that translation.'

Peak appeared to meditate.

'Has the book been used by English writers?' the other
inquired.

'A good deal.—It was published in the sixties, but I read it in
a new edition dated a few years ago. Reusch has kept pace with the
men of science. It would be very interesting to compare the first
form of the book with the latest.'

'It would, very.'

Raising his head from the contemplative posture, Godwin
exclaimed, with a laugh of zeal:

'I think I must find time to translate him. At all events, I
might address a proposal to some likely publisher. Yet I don't know
how I should assure him of my competency.'

'Probably a specimen would be the surest testimony.'

'Yes. I might do a few chapters.'

Mr. Warricombe's lapse into silence and brevities intimated to
Godwin that it was time to take leave. He always quitted this room
with reluctance. Its air of luxurious culture affected his senses
deliciously, and he hoped that he might some day be permitted to
linger among the cabinets and the library shelves. There were so
many books he would have liked to take down, some with titles
familiar to him, others which kindled his curiosity when he chanced
to observe them. The library abounded in such works as only a
wealthy man can purchase, and Godwin, who had examined some of them
at the British Museum, was filled with the humaner kind of envy on
seeing them in Mr. Warricombe's possession. Those publications of
the Palaeontological Society, one volume of which (a part of
Davidson's superb work on the
Brachiopoda
) even now lay open
within sight—his hand trembled with a desire to touch them! And
those maps of the Geological Surveys, British and foreign, how he
would have enjoyed a day's poring over them!

He rose, but Martin seemed in no haste to bring the conversation
to an end.

'Have you read M'Naughten's much-discussed book?'

'Yes.'

'Did you see the savage attack in
The Critical
not long
ago?'

Godwin smiled, and made quiet answer:

'I should think it was the last word of scientific bitterness
and intolerance.'

'Scientific?' repeated Martin, doubtfully. 'I don't think the
writer was a man of science. I saw it somewhere attributed to
Huxley, but that was preposterous. To begin with, Huxley would have
signed his name; and, again, his English is better. The article
seemed to me to be stamped with literary rancour; it was written by
some man who envies M'Naughten's success.'

Peak kept silence. Martin's censure of the anonymous author's
style stung him to the quick, and he had much ado to command his
countenance.

'Still,' pursued the other, 'I felt that much of his satire was
only too well pointed. M'Naughten is suggestive; but one comes
across books of the same purpose which can have no result but to
injure their cause with all thinking people.'

'I have seen many such,' remarked Godwin.

Mr. Warricombe stepped to a bookcase and took down a small
volume.

'I wonder whether you know this book of Ampare's,
La Grace,
Rome, et Dante
? Delightful for odd moments!—There came into my
mind a passage here at the beginning, apropos of what we were
saying: "
Il faut souvent un vrai courage pour persister dans une
opinion juste en depit de ses defenseurs
."—Isn't that
capital?'

Peak received it with genuine appreciation; for once he was able
to laugh unfeignedly. The aphorism had so many applications from
his own point of view.

'Excellent!—I don't remember to have seen the book.'

'Take it, if you care to.'

This offer seemed a distinct advance in Mr. Warricombe's
friendliness. Godwin felt a thrill of encouragement.

'Then you will let me keep this translation for a day or two?'
Martin added, indicating the sheets of manuscript. 'I am greatly
obliged to you for enabling me to read the thing.'

They shook hands. Godwin had entertained a slight hope that he
might be asked to stay to luncheon; but it could not be much past
twelve o'clock, and on the whole there was every reason for feeling
satisfied with the results of his visit. Before long he would
probably receive another invitation to dine. So with light step he
went out into the hall, where Martin again shook hands with
him.

The sky had darkened over, and a shrilling of the wind sounded
through the garden foliage—fir, and cypress, and laurel. Just as
Godwin reached the gate, he was met by Miss Warricombe and Fanny,
who were returning from a walk. They wore the costume appropriate
to March weather in the country, close-fitting, defiant of gusts;
and their cheeks glowed with health. As he exchanged greetings with
them, Peak received a new impression of the sisters. He admired the
physical vigour which enabled them to take delight in such a day as
this, when girls of poorer blood and ignoble nurture would shrink
from the sky's showery tumult, and protect their surface elegance
by the fireside. Impossible for Sidwell and Fanny to be anything
but graceful, for at all times they were perfectly unaffected.

'There'll be another storm in a minute,' said the younger of
them, looking with interest to the quarter whence the wind came.
'How suddenly they burst! What a rush! And then in five minutes the
sky is clear again.'

Her eyes shone as she turned laughingly to Peak.

'You're not afraid of getting wet? Hadn't you better come under
cover?'

'Here it is!' exclaimed Sidwell, with quieter enjoyment. 'Take
shelter for a minute or two, Mr. Peak.'

They led the way to the portico, where Godwin stood with them
and watched the squall. A moment's downpour of furious rain was
followed by heavy hailstones, which drove horizontally before the
shrieking wind. The prospect had wrapped itself in grey gloom. At a
hundred yards' distance, scarcely an object could be distinguished;
the storm-cloud swooped so low that its skirts touched the branches
of tall elms, a streaming, rushing raggedness.

'Don't you enjoy that?' Fanny asked of Godwin.

'Indeed I do.'

'You should be on Dartmoor in such weather,' said Sidwell.
'Father and I were once caught in storms far worse than this—far
better, I ought to say, for I never knew anything so terrifically
grand.'

Already it was over. The gusts diminished in frequency and
force, the hail ceased, the core of blackness was passing over to
the eastern sky. Fanny ran out into the garden, and pointed
upward.

'Look where the sunlight is coming!'

An uncloaked patch of heaven shone with colour like that of the
girl's eyes—faint, limpid blue. Reminding himself that to tarry
longer in this company would be imprudent, Godwin bade the sisters
good-morning. The frank heartiness with which Fanny pressed his
hand sent him on his way exultant. Not too strong a word; for,
independently of his wider ambitions, he was moved and gratified by
the thought that kindly feeling towards him had sprung up in such a
heart as this. Nor did conscience so much as whisper a reproach.
With unreflecting ingenuousness he tasted the joy as if it were his
right. Thus long he had waited, through years of hungry manhood,
for the look, the tone, which were in harmony with his native
sensibilities. Fanny Warricombe was but an undeveloped girl, yet he
valued her friendship above the passionate attachment of any woman
bred on a lower social plane. Had it been possible, he would have
kissed her fingers with purest reverence.

When out of sight of the house, he paused to regard the sky
again. Its noontide splendour was dazzling; masses of rosy cloud
sailed swiftly from horizon to horizon, the azure deepening about
them. Yet before long the west would again send forth its turbulent
spirits, and so the girls might perhaps be led to think of him.

By night the weather grew more tranquil. There was a full moon,
and its radiance illumined the ever-changing face of heaven with
rare grandeur. Godwin could not shut himself up over his books; he
wandered far away into the country, and let his thoughts have
freedom.

He was learning to review with calmness the course by which he
had reached his now steadfast resolve. A revulsion such as he had
experienced after his first day of simulated orthodoxy, half a year
ago, could not be of lasting effect, for it was opposed to the
whole tenor of his mature thought. It spoilt his holiday, but had
no chance of persisting after his return to the atmosphere of
Rotherhithe. That he should have been capable of such emotion was,
he said to himself, in the just order of things; callousness in the
first stages of an undertaking which demanded gross hypocrisy would
signify an ignoble nature—a nature, indeed, which could never have
been submitted to trial of so strange a kind. But he had overcome
himself; that phase of difficulty was outlived, and henceforth he
saw only the material obstacles to be defied by his vindicated
will.