There was
that in his lofty and simple purity which abashed and silently reproached
the sensual, bitter, disappointed man of the world. The angry pride of
the scornful man felt its own meanness in the grand presence of a simple
and humble Christian minister. And the very fact that all his habits had
led him to hold such a character in contempt, made him but the more
unreasonably resent the involuntary homage which its exhibition in Dr.
Danvers's person invariably extorted from him. He felt in this good man's
presence under a kind of irritating restraint; that he was in the
presence of one with whom he had, and could have, no sympathy whatever,
and yet one whom he could not help both admiring and respecting; and in
these conflicting feelings were involved certain gloomy and humbling
inferences about himself, which he hated, and almost feared to
contemplate. It was well, however, for the indulgence of Sir Wynston's conversational
propensities, that Dr. Danvers had happened to drop in; for Marston was
doggedly silent and sullen, and Mrs. Marston was herself scarcely more
disposed than he to maintain her part in a conversation; so that, had it
not been for the opportune arrival of the good clergyman, the supper must
have been dispatched with a very awkward and unsocial taciturnity. Marston thought, and, perhaps, not erroneously, that Sir Wynston
suspected something of the real state of affairs, and he was, therefore,
incensed to perceive, as he thought, in his manner, very evident
indications of his being in unusually good spirits. Thus disposed, the
party sat down to supper. "One of our number is missing," said Sir Wynston, affecting a slight
surprise, which, perhaps, he did not feel. "Mademoiselle de Barras--I trust she is well?" said Doctor Danvers,
looking towards Marston. "I suppose she is; I don't know," said Marston, drily. "Why! how should he know," said the baronet, gaily, but with something
almost imperceptibly sarcastic in his tone. "Our friend, Marston, is
privileged to be as ungallant as he pleases, except where he has the
happy privilege to owe allegiance; but I, a gay young bachelor of fifty,
am naturally curious. I really do trust that our charming French friend
is not unwell." He addressed his inquiry to Mrs. Marston, who, with some slight
confusion, replied:--

"No; nothing, at least, serious; merely a slight headache. I am sure she
will be quite well enough to come down to breakfast." "She is, indeed, a very charming and interesting young person," said
Doctor Danvers. "There is a certain simplicity about her which argues a
good and kind heart, and an open nature." "Very true, indeed, doctor," observed Berkley, with the same faint, but,
to Marston, exquisitely provoking approximation to sarcasm. "There is, as
you say, a very charming simplicity. Don't you think so, Marston?" Marston looked at him for a moment, but continued silent. "Poor mademoiselle!--she is, indeed, a most affectionate creature," said
Mrs. Marston, who felt called upon to say something. "Come, Marston, will you contribute nothing to the general fund of
approbation?" said Sir Wynston, who was gifted by nature with an amiable
talent for teasing, which he was fond of exercising in a quiet way. "We
have all, but you, said something handsome of our absent young friend." "I never praise anybody, Wynston; not even you," said Marston, with an
obvious sneer. "Well, well, I must comfort myself with the belief that your silence
covers a great deal of good-will, and, perhaps, a little admiration,
too," answered his cousin, significantly. "Comfort yourself in any honest way you will, my dear Wynston," retorted
Marston, with a degree of asperity, which, to all but the baronet
himself, was unaccountable. "You may be right, you may be wrong; on a
subject so unimportant it matters very little which; you are at perfect
liberty to practice delusions, if you will, upon yourself." "By-the-bye, Mr. Marston, is not your son about to come down here?" asked
Doctor Danvers, who perceived that the altercation was becoming, on
Marston's part, somewhat testy, if not positively rude. "Yes; I expect him in a few days," replied he, with a sudden gloom. "You have not seen him, Sir Wynston?" asked the clergyman. "I have that pleasure yet to come," said the baronet. "A pleasure it is, I do assure you," said Doctor Danvers, heartily. "He
is a handsome lad, with the heart of a hero--a fine, frank, generous lad,
and as merry as a lark." "Yes, yes," interrupted Marston; "he is well enough, and has done pretty
well at Cambridge. Doctor Danvers, take some wine." It was strange, but yet mournfully true, that the praises which the good
Doctor Danvers thus bestowed upon his son were bitter to the soul of the
unhappy Marston. They jarred upon his ear, and stung his heart; for his
conscience converted them into so many latent insults and humiliations
to himself. "Your wine is very good, Marston. I think your clarets are many degrees
better than any I can get," said Sir Wynston, sipping a glass of his
favorite wine. "You country gentlemen are sad selfish dogs; and, with all
your grumbling, manage to collect the best of whatever is worth having
about you." "We sometimes succeed in collecting a pleasant party," retorted Marston,
with ironical courtesy, "though we do not always command the means of
entertaining them quite as we would wish." It was the habit of Doctor Danvers, without respect of persons or
places, to propose, before taking his departure from whatever domestic
party he chanced to be thrown among for the evening, to read some verses
from that holy Book, on which his own hopes and peace were founded, and
to offer up a prayer for all to the throne of grace. Marston, although
he usually absented himself from such exercises, did not otherwise
discourage them; but upon the present occasion, starting from his gloomy
reverie, he himself was the first to remind the clergyman of his
customary observance. Evil thoughts loomed upon the mind of Marston,
like measureless black mists upon a cold, smooth sea. They rested, grew,
and darkened there; and no heaven-sent breath came silently to steal
them away. Under this dread shadow his mind lay waiting, like the deep,
before the Spirit of God moved upon its waters, passive and awful. Why
for the first time now did religion interest him? The unseen,
intangible, was even now at work within him. A dreadful power shook his
very heart and soul. There was some strange, ghastly wrestling going on
in his own immortal spirit, a struggle that made him faint, which he had
no power to determine. He looked upon the holy influence of the good
man's prayer--a prayer in which he could not join--with a dull,
superstitious hope that the words, inviting better influence, though
uttered by another, and with other objects, would, like a spell, chase
away the foul fiend that was busy with his soul.