Adam, not knowing exactly what to do, lifted his hat in apology and
hurried on to Lesser Hill. CHAPTER VIII--SURVIVALS


At breakfast Sir Nathaniel noticed that Adam was put out about something,
but he said nothing. The lesson of silence is better remembered in age
than in youth. When they were both in the study, where Sir Nathaniel
followed him, Adam at once began to tell his companion of what had
happened. Sir Nathaniel looked graver and graver as the narration
proceeded, and when Adam had stopped he remained silent for several
minutes, before speaking. "This is very grave. I have not formed any opinion yet; but it seems to
me at first impression that this is worse than anything I had expected." "Why, sir?" said Adam. "Is the killing of a mongoose--no matter by
whom--so serious a thing as all that?" His companion smoked on quietly for quite another few minutes before he
spoke. "When I have properly thought it over I may moderate my opinion, but in
the meantime it seems to me that there is something dreadful behind all
this--something that may affect all our lives--that may mean the issue of
life or death to any of us." Adam sat up quickly. "Do tell me, sir, what is in your mind--if, of course, you have no
objection, or do not think it better to withhold it." "I have no objection, Adam--in fact, if I had, I should have to overcome
it. I fear there can be no more reserved thoughts between us." "Indeed, sir, that sounds serious, worse than serious!" "Adam, I greatly fear that the time has come for us--for you and me, at
all events--to speak out plainly to one another. Does not there seem
something very mysterious about this?" "I have thought so, sir, all along. The only difficulty one has is what
one is to think and where to begin." "Let us begin with what you have told me. First take the conduct of the
mongoose. He was quiet, even friendly and affectionate with you. He
only attacked the snakes, which is, after all, his business in life." "That is so!" "Then we must try to find some reason why he attacked Lady Arabella." "May it not be that a mongoose may have merely the instinct to attack,
that nature does not allow or provide him with the fine reasoning powers
to discriminate who he is to attack?" "Of course that may be so. But, on the other hand, should we not satisfy
ourselves why he does wish to attack anything? If for centuries, this
particular animal is known to attack only one kind of other animal, are
we not justified in assuming that when one of them attacks a hitherto
unclassed animal, he recognises in that animal some quality which it has
in common with the hereditary enemy?" "That is a good argument, sir," Adam went on, "but a dangerous one. If
we followed it out, it would lead us to believe that Lady Arabella is a
snake." "We must be sure, before going to such an end, that there is no point as
yet unconsidered which would account for the unknown thing which puzzles
us." "In what way?" "Well, suppose the instinct works on some physical basis--for instance,
smell. If there were anything in recent juxtaposition to the attacked
which would carry the scent, surely that would supply the missing cause." "Of course!" Adam spoke with conviction. "Now, from what you tell me, the negro had just come from the direction
of Diana's Grove, carrying the dead snakes which the mongoose had killed
the previous morning. Might not the scent have been carried that way?" "Of course it might, and probably was. I never thought of that. Is
there any possible way of guessing approximately how long a scent will
remain? You see, this is a natural scent, and may derive from a place
where it has been effective for thousands of years. Then, does a scent
of any kind carry with it any form or quality of another kind, either
good or evil? I ask you because one ancient name of the house lived in
by the lady who was attacked by the mongoose was 'The Lair of the White
Worm.' If any of these things be so, our difficulties have multiplied
indefinitely. They may even change in kind. We may get into moral
entanglements; before we know it, we may be in the midst of a struggle
between good and evil." Sir Nathaniel smiled gravely. "With regard to the first question--so far as I know, there are no fixed
periods for which a scent may be active--I think we may take it that that
period does not run into thousands of years. As to whether any moral
change accompanies a physical one, I can only say that I have met no
proof of the fact. At the same time, we must remember that 'good' and
'evil' are terms so wide as to take in the whole scheme of creation, and
all that is implied by them and by their mutual action and reaction. Generally, I would say that in the scheme of a First Cause anything is
possible. So long as the inherent forces or tendencies of any one thing
are veiled from us we must expect mystery." "There is one other question on which I should like to ask your opinion. Suppose that there are any permanent forces appertaining to the past,
what we may call 'survivals,' do these belong to good as well as to evil? For instance, if the scent of the primaeval monster can so remain in
proportion to the original strength, can the same be true of things of
good import?" Sir Nathaniel thought for a while before he answered. "We must be careful not to confuse the physical and the moral. I can see
that already you have switched on the moral entirely, so perhaps we had
better follow it up first. On the side of the moral, we have certain
justification for belief in the utterances of revealed religion. For
instance, 'the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much'
is altogether for good. We have nothing of a similar kind on the side of
evil. But if we accept this dictum we need have no more fear of
'mysteries': these become thenceforth merely obstacles." Adam suddenly changed to another phase of the subject. "And now, sir, may I turn for a few minutes to purely practical things,
or rather to matters of historical fact?" Sir Nathaniel bowed acquiescence. "We have already spoken of the history, so far as it is known, of some of
the places round us--'Castra Regis,' 'Diana's Grove,' and 'The Lair of
the White Worm.' I would like to ask if there is anything not
necessarily of evil import about any of the places?" "Which?" asked Sir Nathaniel shrewdly. "Well, for instance, this house and Mercy Farm?" "Here we turn," said Sir Nathaniel, "to the other side, the light side of
things. Let us take Mercy Farm first. When Augustine was sent by Pope
Gregory to Christianise England, in the time of the Romans, he was
received and protected by Ethelbert, King of Kent, whose wife, daughter
of Charibert, King of Paris, was a Christian, and did much for Augustine. She founded a nunnery in memory of Columba, which was named _Sedes
misericordioe_, the House of Mercy, and, as the region was Mercian, the
two names became involved. As Columba is the Latin for dove, the dove
became a sort of signification of the nunnery.