CHAPTER XXIV

.

THE PHYSICIAN'S DISCOVERY.

"Let a man contend to the uttermost For his life's set prize, be it what it will." --ROBERT BROWNING.

Primrose was not wrong in her conjecture that some great conflict of soul had been secretly undergone by Percival Vere during the year which had elapsed since their first meeting and the dawning of that happy friendship which had made the year to herself so full of new gladness and sunshine. That it could not have been a season of uninterrupted gladness to him was plainly evident from the new lines of care which the months had left on his countenance, and which, at her first meeting again with him, she had at once noted with sorrow and wonder.

The chaplain had indeed undergone long and wearisome struggles of heart since those sunny weeks at Glyn Melen a year since, when he had only too fully realised his love for his fair young companion, together with the glad, dawning hope that one day it might not prove in vain. It was not until they had parted, and he was once more face to face with the serious work of life, that a painful doubt took possession of him as to his right to enjoy the prospect of so blissful a future as seemed possibly within his reach. He had voluntarily entered upon a special career, which he dared not forego for any alluring prospect of domestic ease and happiness. Come what might of sorrow and self-denial, the work to which he had vowed himself must be accomplished without faltering. The question was, whether it could be better, or less well accomplished, side by side with such a companion as her to whom he had given his heart? If less well, she must be renounced and his work must be done, at whatever sacrifice, alone and unaided. But no, if he had judged her rightly, then surely she would but spur him on to greater endeavour, and the more truly and worthily help him to realise that high ideal of life ever kept before him, and, as he knew, none the less ever aimed at by herself. Yet even so--that his work would indeed at her side be better and more nobly done,--dare he bind her to himself at such a price--to share sorrow-bringing labours, obloquy and ridicule perchance from the world at large, and at home either the knowledge with him of the dread curse, which might too sorely hurt her tender soul, or the perpetual hiding of it on his part from her, which might on the other hand too grievously try her wifely faith and trust in him? Ought a man, with so many possibilities of future suffering for the woman he loved, ask her to share his life and his fortunes? Ought he not rather to leave her to the almost undoubted certainty of some other happier marriage, and himself tread alone, as he had already ever contemplated, save in some few wild moments, his path of self-denial and pain? Often was this question considered in all its aspects, and wrestled with during many a sleepless night by the chaplain during those autumn weeks which followed his sojourn with Lady Bryn Afon and Primrose at Glyn Melen, and as oft was it laid aside in sore perplexity, to be fought out again in some calmer moment. But a new and unexpected burden of thought was to be grappled with before Percival's heart might rest; for while in the midst of his first conflict, the startling revelation of the true relation borne by Lady Bryn Afon to her fair young companion was revealed to him by the former, bringing with it a fresh weight of wearisome struggle. Then, his pride up in arms at the thought, that by now seeking Primrose for the true and God-given helpmeet of his life, he might appear to her in the abhorred light of a fortune-seeker, he wished in fierce impatience that he had already confessed his love while she was still, as he had believed, the humble attendant of his patroness! Then, dismissing this thought as one which did wrong to her pure and beautiful nature, a new torturing thought presented itself. This knowledge of her birth must needs involve him in new responsibilities of conscience, for in its light the curse upon her doomed house stood forth between herself and him like a grim, mocking shadow of darkness, waving him back from her with outstretched arm, defying his advance in the path of earthly bliss, and reminding him of fresh sufferings of soul to be faced and battled with ere he could see the right. Had he but been ignorant of its nature, he often cried passionately to himself in this new bitterness of spirit, then he could have bravely ignored it, defied its unknown power, and only the more eagerly claimed his right to protect for ever her he loved from its horrid toils! But he, alone of all men, save Rhiwallon the physician, cognisant of the curse in all its deadly evil, and vowed from boyhood to its removal, did such power ever lie in his hand, dared not hastily act against his own light and knowledge. Already had the "sins of the fathers been visited upon the children unto the third and fourth generation," and better than that her tender heart should hereafter break for the evil deeds or woful sufferings of her own children--better, far better that he should never in this world behold her fair face more! Better that he should wound her now by his seeming faithlessness, and, by never renewing that friendship, which six months ago had surely given secret promise of a yet sweeter fulfilment, allow her ever henceforth to think of him as a man but like others, well content to amuse himself for a few passing moments with so fair a flower, and ready enough ere long to leave her to droop alone, while he sought out some new blossom. But Percival, in the steadfastness of his heart, and his innate love of absolute truth in all things, could ill brook the intolerable pain of letting himself be so judged by her, and even yet more weary was this second burden of agonised thought than his first struggle. Moreover, he must bear its weight alone, for he dared not trust in Lady Bryn Afon's repeated asseverations of belief in her daughter's complete immunity from the inherited evil. Was she not as a woman naturally guided by love rather than by reason, and as a mother, ready to believe aught that was for a beloved daughter's good? His bosom friend, Master Jeremy Taylor, who now, entered upon the duties of his chaplaincy with Archbishop Laud, was near at hand, and a constant visitor in Lord Bryn Afon's town-house, was ever as faithful and sympathising a companion as Percival could desire, and withal a man of wondrously deep learning and wisdom for one so young, yet of the particular matter relating to the curse, of which Percival had himself made minute study from his boyhood, he was not qualified to judge impartially, having thereon only such general opinions as all good men must have, but never having given to the subject that detailed and scrutinising attention which must of necessity bias the honest decision of Percival Vere, as to whether or no he might unselfishly and without sin seek Shanno Bryn Afon for his wife. The pain of these conscientious scruples was only intensified for a time by his chance discovery one day from certain light remarks let fall by the earl, that it had for some time past been a cherished wish of his own to see his beloved chaplain and his wife's beautiful young companion--whom he little imagined to be his own daughter--united in marriage. The very ease with which he might win his coveted prize made the possible duty of sacrificing it to a higher purpose only the more unendurable to contemplate, but the chaplain was too true a man not to face it boldly, wince as he might under the pain.

At length, like a sudden flash of light across the darkness of his troubled thoughts, came the recollection of the marvellous medicinal skill and wisdom of Rhiwallon, the survivor of the far-famed brothers of Glyn Helen, and of that secret remedy for the ills caused by the curse, which he had for years been labouring to perfect, and which, in his treatment of the unhappy earl had already, as Percival knew, often proved of wondrous efficacy in mitigating his sufferings.

Here was one of far superior age and wisdom to himself, skilled far beyond his own youthful knowledge in all depths of medical lore, and in particular of that one matter in which so much was involved, a man possessing the accumulated wisdom of a long line of illustrious and skilled ancestors, and devoting his life to the further development of the marvellous cure, the secret of which had been bequeathed to him in an imperfect state by his father, and by which he hoped one day to wholly conquer and subdue the dread evil which had for centuries reigned over the House of Bryn Afon, and to which his own lost love had fallen a prey in her turn. Unable longer to endure his struggle of mind alone and unaided, the young chaplain eagerly sought out the physician one evening, finding him in his laboratory, deeply engrossed in the secrets of his art, his black eyebrows fiercely knit in thought, and his piercing eyes eagerly scrutinising a liquid contained in a small phial, which he was holding up to the light, and over which he was smiling to himself a grim smile of satisfaction and pride.

"It is perfected at last, I verily believe, Percival!" he exclaimed, as the chaplain entered. "And in the use I have hitherto made of the wondrous herb, I have not been so very far wrong! At least, I may say with assurance, it has not failed for good, and my doubts of its efficacy have been over-conscientious! With this new preparation I am, notwithstanding, more fully satisfied. Ah, Percival, who shall say what measure of good you and I may in our time be permitted to effect for the doomed house we serve? You, with your spiritual, and I with my physical forces--we may indeed ere we die see the removal of the curse! But you look weary unto death, my friend, and surely need my prescriptions for yourself?" "You can give me no better prescription than the certain knowledge of the efficacy of your great discovery," said Percival. "Rhiwallon, had I a kingdom, I would give it you for such good assurance! I love the daughter of this doomed race, and I would verily give you ten thousand kingdoms, were they mine to give, an you could swear to me that I might seek to wed her without sin in the sight of God!"

"So," said the Black Horseman, his fierce black eyes glittering with what looked very like a sudden rush of unshed tears, "you love fair Shanno--the fair maid of Gwynnon? You loved her some months since, if I mistake not? Rhiwallon's eyes are keen, and are wont to take secret note of hidden things. Poor boy! And your love then has made you suffer? Think you it is perchance not returned?" The chaplain's face flushed, and his eager eyes fell with a sudden, proud humility veiled beneath their long lashes.

"I have not yet sought to know whether it is returned or not," he answered steadily. "And it were too great presumption to speak openly of the glad hope my heart doth cherish. Let it suffice, Rhiwallon, that I love her! But a few weeks since did I pray and hope ere long to come to the honest conviction that I might honourably and fearlessly, in the sight of God and man, seek to win her for the helpmeet of my life; but now, with the knowledge of her parentage, lately made known to me by her mother, has come a new torment, which you alone can set at rest, if rest may come. If not--well--I shall not be the first whose heart has been crushed within him by the weight of the cruel curse!" And involuntarily his glance travelled towards the picture on the wall opposite Rhiwallon's chair, on which the Black Horseman's own eyes were fixed with an expression of infinite pain--a portrait of the fair, golden-haired Lady Gwendolen--Shanno's beautiful girl-aunt, and almost exact image.

"Nay, you will not be the first," said the physician dreamily, and he sat for some minutes lost in thought, while Percival Vere waited with a sinking heart for his next words. They came abruptly.

"What do you then seek to know of me, Percival?" he asked, suddenly turning his eyes full upon the young man's face.

"I seek to know," said Percival steadily, and meeting boldly the eagle glance of the physician, "whether, as an honest and true physician, you can assure me that in her whom I love the curse has truly, as her mother affirms, lost its power, and become, through the means used to preserve her from its toils, wholly dead? On your answer to that question depends my course of action----"

"And also your life's happiness--and hers?" said Rhiwallon sharply.

"Mine own, truly," answered the chaplain sadly. "Would to God her own may not be as yet wholly in my keeping!"

"It is more in your keeping, my young friend, than you wot of, I trow," said the Black Horseman; "but enough of that--it is the maiden's own part to make such confession--not mine. And what," he suddenly demanded fiercely, breaking off abruptly in his speech, "what will you do, Percival, an I tell you that the ill lurks as surely in fair Shanno's veins as in those of all her forefathers?" The chaplain's face blanched to a deadly whiteness, and he clutched the arm of his chair convulsively. "I shall renounce my cherished dream," he answered steadily, looking the Black Horseman full in the face, "and live and die in her service, but unwed!" "And break your heart, forsooth?" said the physician, his keen, glittering eyes still fixed on Percival, as though he would read into his inmost soul. "My heart is in God's keeping," answered the young man bravely, "and must be strong for His service whate'er may betide. I must live to fulfil my appointed tasks for Him, and to bear the sorrows of her I vainly love, if such blessing may be vouchsafed me. If the worst befall, our love will not be in vain hereafter." "It shall not be in vain in this present world!" cried Rhiwallon, his eyes flashing strange fire, and his thin nervous fingers working restlessly. "Percival, I too love your fair Primrose--not as you love her, nor as I loved _her_"--and he waved his hand towards the sweet face of Lady Gwendolen--"but as I should love my own dear daughter, had I such. And loving her from her cradle for the likeness she bore to yon ill-starred girl, I vowed to save her, an it were possible, from the doom which might in her turn await her. You know already from her unhappy mother's lips how I alone shared with her the secret of the child's existence, and how it has been my lot and my privilege to watch over her these many years past in her lowly home by the riverside, where from time to time, in my appointed visits, I took much secret as well as open note of her fair growth and health of mind and body. You see this liquid I hold in my hand? Its secret was bequeathed to me by my father, who, believing it to be in its perfected state an infallible remedy for the evils suffered by the House of Bryn Afon, charged me earnestly to spare no pains in its further development, but to devote myself especially to the study of the marvellous properties of the secret herb of which it is compounded, and so to perfect and fulfil in beneficent action for this unhappy family his own dawning knowledge. My spare time has been devoted to this study, and hour after hour I have sat in my laboratory, deeply engrossed in my experiments, which, many years since, I had good reason to believe rewarded with success, although it is but this very night that has witnessed my last crowning endeavour! Well--your fair Primrose has long been under a course of this my famous elixir, her guardian having from her infancy administered it to her mixed with portions of her daily food, at my orders, conjoined with those of her mother. And this powerful antidote to the evil we sought to avert from her, combined with her innocent and healthful life and perfect ignorance of the curse, together with her careful up-bringing apart from her doomed family, have, I doubt not for a moment, secured to her a perfect immunity from the sufferings of her race; and I fully concur in the belief her mother has already expressed to you, that she is wholly free from the blight of her forefathers. You have, I know well, made much study of this particular ill in all its bearings, and I commend your bold and unselfish hesitation to take a step which might be fraught with ill for yet more future generations; but I have made yet deeper study than you, Percival, as befits my greater years, and I bid you lay aside all doubt and fear, and seek in all honest confidence and truth to fulfil your life and hers in the way appointed by Heaven for your greater mutual happiness.

"I have already held conversation upon this matter with Lady Bryn Afon--a liberty you will perchance think? but I love you both as my children, and have long since noted your growing secret affection one for the other--and I have assured her that in the marriage of Shanno with such an one as yourself, who have surely been chosen by Heaven, with special purpose, to be her life's protector and saviour from the doom of her race, doth verily lie the fair young girl's best and surest happiness."

"Think you indeed that I may honestly so regard my love for her," interrupted Percival eagerly, "as indeed the means, graciously vouchsafed me in answer to my earnest prayers, by which the salvation of herself and her house from the fate of many generations may be accomplished? If I might verily believe such a high privilege to be accorded me by a merciful God, it would indeed be a rich reward for the petty denials of self and the ridicule and obloquy which in my weak moments have seemed hard to endure in that special path I have long felt myself called to tread!" "Such is my large hope for you, Percival," answered the physician. "Heaven grant that you may win your fair bride, and behold in your children's children the fruits of your own labours and mine for the noble House of Bryn Afon! Nay, prithee trouble not thyself to speak, nor e'en to think a thankful thought towards me! Whate'er I may have accomplished for the salvation of your love has been done for the sake of mine own!" And once again the Black Horseman's keen flashing eyes darkened with a mist of tears, as he gazed at the portrait on the wall, and his grey head was bowed for a moment upon his hand. Percival sprang from his seat, and boy-like, despite his reverend attire, flung his arms round his old friend's neck, and with a son's love and reverence kissed him on the forehead. "Heaven bless you for ever, Rhiwallon!" he murmured passionately; then, with sudden longing to be alone with God and his new-found happiness, he quitted the laboratory.

The physician sat long, deep in thought, his face leaning on one hand, the other tightly closed around his precious phial, which he clutched once or twice convulsively. "Too late, too late!" he muttered in heart-broken accents. "But I have saved another in your stead, my Gwendolen--my poor lost love--victim of my boyish inexperience! A few years later, and perchance I had saved you!" Once more he held the phial to the light, and following his first look of pride and triumph, as he gazed upon it, came a sudden expression of strange irresolution and doubt. But it passed quickly, and he exclaimed fiercely; "Another fair young girl shall not be sacrificed! And Percival Vere shall not bear a life-long woe such as I have borne! May God forgive me if I have lied to him!"

##