"You will trace him! There's a dear Anne!" exclaimed Rosamond.
"I will write to them at home; Alick knows a good many hunters, and could put Miles into the way of making inquiries, if he touches at Natal on his way home."
"Miles will do all he can," said Julius; "he was almost broken-hearted when he found how Archie had gone. I think he was even more his hero than Raymond when we were boys, because he was more enterprising; and my mother always thought Archie's baffled passion for the sea reacted upon Miles."
"He will do it! He will find him, if he is the Miles I take him for! How old was he-Archie, I mean?"
"A year older than Raymond; but he always seemed much younger, he was so full of life and animation-so unguarded, poor fellow! He used to play tricks with imitating hand-writing; and these, of course, were brought up against him."
"Thirty-four! Not a bit too old for the other end of the romance!"
"Take care, Rosie. Don't say a word to Jenny till we know more. She must not be unsettled only to be disappointed."
"Do you think she would thank you for that, you cold-blooded animal?"
"I don't know; but I think the suspense would be far more trying than the quiet resigned calm that has settled down on her. Besides, you must remember that even if Archie were found, the mystery has never been cleared up."
"You don't think that would make any difference to Jenny?"
"It makes all the difference to her father; and Jenny will never be a disobedient daughter."
"Oh! but it will-it must be cleared! I know it will! It is faithless to think that injustice is not always set right!"
"Not always here," said Julius, sadly. "See, there's the Backsworth race-ground, the great focus of the evil."
"Were racing debts thought to have any part in the disaster?"
"That I can't tell; but it was those races that brought George Proudfoot under the Vivian influence; and in the absence of all of us, poor Archie, when left to himself after his mother's death, had become enough mixed up in their amusements to give a handle to those who thought him unsteady."
"As if any one must be unsteady who goes to the races!" cried Rosamond. "You were so liberal about balls, I did expect one little good word for races; instead of which, you are declaring a poor wretch who goes to them capable of embezzling two thousand pounds, and I dare say Anne agrees with you!"
"Now, did I ever say so, Anne?"
"You looked at the course with pious horror, and said it justified the suspicion!" persisted Rosamond.
"That's better," said Julius; "though I never even said it justified the suspicion, any more than I said that balls might not easily be overdone, especially by some people."
"But you don't defend races?" said Anne.
"No; I think the mischief they do is more extensive, and has less mitigation than is the case with any other public amusement."
"H'm!" said Rosamond. "Many a merry day have I had on the top of the regimental drag; so perhaps there's nothing of which you would not suspect me."
"I'll tell you what I more than suspect you of," said Julius, "of wearing a gay bonnet to be a bait and a sanction to crowds of young girls, to whom the place was one of temptation, though not to you."
"Oh, there would be no end to it if one thought of such things."
"Or the young men who-"
"Well," broke in Rosamond, "it was always said that our young officers got into much less mischief than where there was a straight-laced colonel, who didn't go along with them to give them a tone."
"That I quite believe. I remember, too, the intense and breathless sense of excitement in the hush and suspense of the multitude, and the sweeping by of the animals-"
"Then you've been!" cried his wife.
"As a boy, yes."
"Not since you were old enough to think it over?" said Anne eagerly.
"No. It seemed to me that the amount of genuine interest in the sport and the animals was infinitesimal compared with the fictitious excitement worked up by betting."
"And what's the harm of betting when you've got the money?"
"And when you haven't?"
"That's another question."
"Do you approve it at the best?"
"It's a man's own concern."
"That's arguing against your better sense."
"Can't be helped, with two such solemn companions! There would be no bearing you if I didn't take you down sometimes, when you get so didactic, and talk of fictitious excitement, indeed! And now you are going to Rood House, what will you be coming back?"
Rood House stood about two miles on the further side of Backsworth. It was an ancient almshouse, of which the mastership had been wisely given to Dr. Easterby, one of the deepest theological scholars, holiest men, and bravest champions of the Church, although he was too frail in health to do much, save with his pen, and in council with the numerous individuals who resorted to him from far and wide, and felt the beautiful old fragment of a monastic building where he dwelt a true court of peace and refreshment, whence they came forth, aided by prayer and counsel, for their own share of the combat.
Julius Charnock had, happily for himself, found his way thither when his character and opinions were in process of formation, and had ever since looked to Rood House for guidance and sympathy. To be only fourteen miles distant had seemed to him one great perfection of Compton Poynsett; but of course he had found visits there a far more possible thing to an unoccupied holiday son of the great house than to a busy parish priest, so that this opportunity was very valuable to him.
And so it proved; not so much for the details as for the spirit in which he was aided in looking at everything, from the mighty questions which prove the life of the Church by the vehement emotion they occasion, down to the difficulties of theory and practice that harassed himself-not named, perhaps, but still greatly unravelled.
Those perpetual questions, that have to be worked out again and again by each generation, were before him in dealing with his parish; and among them stood in his case the deeper aspects of the question that had come forward on the drive, namely, the lawfulness and expedience of amusement.
Granting the necessity of pastimes and recreation for most persons, specially the young, there opened the doubtful, because ever- varying, question of the kind and the quantity to be promoted or sanctioned, lest restraint should lead to reaction, and lest abstinence should change from purity and spirituality to moroseness or hypocrisy. And if Julius found one end of the scale represented by his wife and his junior curate, his sister-in-law and his senior curate were at the other. Yet the old recluse was far more inclined to toleration than he had been in principle himself, though the spur of the occasion had led him to relaxations towards others in the individual cases brought before him, when he had thought opposition would do more harm than the indulgence. His conscience had been uneasy at this divergence, till he could discuss the subject.
The higher the aspiration of the soul, the less, of course, would be the craving for diversion, the greater the shrinking from those evil accompaniments that soon mar the most innocent delights. Some spirits are austere in their purity, like Anne; some so fervent in zeal, as to heed nothing by the way, like Mr. Bindon; but most are in an advanced stage of childhood, and need play and pleasure almost as much as air or food; and these instincts require wholesome gratification, under such approval as may make the enjoyment bright and innocent; and yet there should be such subduing of their excess, such training in discipline, as shall save them from frivolity and from passing the line of evil, prevent the craving from growing to a passion, and where it has so grown, tone it back to the limits of obedience and safety.
Alas! perhaps there lay the domestic difficulty of which Julius could not speak; yet, as if answering the thought, Dr. Easterby said, "After all, charity is the true self-acting balance to many a sweet untaught nature. Self-denials which spring out of love are a great safeguard, because they are almost sure to be both humble and unconscious."