The Essential George Gissing Collection. George Gissing

against whatever troubles. He could no longer accept and disregard, in a spirit of cheerful faith, those difficulties science was perpetually throwing in his way. The old smile of kindly tolerance had still its twofold meaning, but it was more evidently a disguise of indecision, and not seldom touched with sadness. Martin's life was still one of postponed debate, but he could not regard the day when conclusions would be demanded of him as indefinitely remote. Desiring to dwell in the familiar temporary abode, his structure of incongruities and facile reconcilements, he found it no longer weather-proof. The times were shaking his position with earthquake after earthquake. His sons (for he suspected that Louis was hardly less emancipated than Buckland) stood far aloof from him, and must in private feel contemptuous of his old-fashioned beliefs. In Sidwell, however, he had a companion more and more indispensable, and he could not imagine that _her_ faith would ever give way before the invading spirit of agnosticism. Happily she was no mere pietist. Though he did not quite understand her attitude towards Christianity, he felt assured that Sidwell had thought deeply and earnestly of religion in all its aspects, and it was a solace to know that she found no difficulty in recognising the large claims of science. For all this, he could not deliberately seek her confidence, or invite her to a discussion of religious subjects. Some day, no doubt, a talk of that kind would begin naturally between them, and so strong was his instinctive faith in Sidwell that he looked forward to this future communing as to a certain hope of peace.

      That a figure such as Godwin Peak, a young man of vigorous intellect, preparing to devote his life to the old religion, should excite Mr. Warricombe's interest was of course to be anticipated; and it seemed probable enough that Peak, exerting all the force of his character and aided by circumstances, might before long convert this advantage to a means of ascendency over the less self-reliant nature. But here was no instance of a dotard becoming the easy prey of a scientific Tartufe. Martin's intellect had suffered no decay. His hale features and dignified bearing expressed the mind which was ripened by sixty years of pleasurable activity, and which was learning to regard with steadier view the problems it had hitherto shirked. He could not change the direction nature had given to his thoughts, and prepossession would in some degree obscure his judgment where the merits and trustworthiness of a man in Peak's circumstances called for scrutiny; but self-respect guarded him against vulgar artifices, and a fine sensibility made it improbable that he would become the victim of any man in whom base motives predominated.

      Left to his own impulses, he would still have proceeded with all caution in his offers of friendly services to Peak. A letter of carefully-worded admonition, which he received from his son, apprising him of Peak's resolve to transfer himself to Exeter, scarcely affected his behaviour when the young man appeared. It was but natural--he argued--that Buckland should look askance on a case of 'conversion'; for his own part, he understood that such a step might be prompted by interest, but he found it difficult to believe that to a man in Peak's position, the Church would offer temptation thus coercive. Nor could he discern in the candidate for a curacy any mark of dishonourable purpose. Faults, no doubt, were observable, among them a tendency to spiritual pride--which seemed (Martin could admit) an argument for, rather than against, his sincerity. The progress of acquaintance decidedly confirmed his favourable impressions; they were supported by the remarks of those among his friends to whom Peak presently became known.

      It was not until Whitsuntide of the next year, when the student had been living nearly five months at Exeter, that Buckland again came down to visit his relatives. On the evening of his arrival, chancing to be alone with Sidwell, he asked her if Peak had been to the house lately.

      'Not many days ago,' replied his sister, 'he lunched with us, and then sat with father for some time.'

      'Does he come often?'

      'Not very often. He is translating a German book which interests father very much.'

      'Oh, what book?'

      'I don't know. Father has only mentioned it in that way.'

      They were in a little room sacred to the two girls, very daintily furnished and fragrant of sweet-brier, which Sidwell loved so much that, when the season allowed it, she often wore a little spray of it at her girdle. Buckland opened a book on the table, and, on seeing the title, exclaimed with a disparaging laugh:

      'I can't get out of the way of this fellow M'Naughten! Wherever I go, there he lies about on the tables and chairs. I should have thought he was thoroughly smashed by an article that came out in _The Critical_ last year.'

      Sidwell smiled, evidently in no way offended.

      'That article could "smash" nobody,' she made answer. 'It was too violent; it overshot the mark.'

      'Not a bit of it!--So you read it, eh? You're beginning to read, are you?'

      'In my humble way, Buckland.'

      'M'Naughten, among other things. Humble enough, that, I admit.'

      'I am not a great admirer of M'Naughten,' returned his sister, with a look of amusement.

      'No? I congratulate you.--I wonder what Peak thinks of the book?'

      'I really don't know.'

      'Then let me ask another question. What do you think of Peak?'

      Sidwell regarded him with quiet reflectiveness.

      'I feel,' she said, 'that I don't know him very well yet. He is certainly interesting.'

      'Yes, he is. Does he impress you as the kind of man likely to make a good clergyman?'

      'I don't see any reason why he should not.'

      Her brother mused, with wrinkles of dissatisfaction on his brow.

      'Father gets to like him, you say?'

      'Yes, I think father likes him.'

      'Well, I suppose it's all right.'

      'All right?'

      'It's the most astounding thing that ever came under my observation,' exclaimed Buckland, walking away and then returning.

      'That Mr. Peak should be studying for the Church?'

      'Yes.'

      'But do reflect more modestly!' urged Sidwell, with something that was not quite archness, though as near it as her habits of tone and feature would allow. 'Why should you refuse to admit an error in your own way of looking at things? Wouldn't it be better to take this as a proof that intellect isn't necessarily at war with Christianity?'

      'I never stated it so broadly as that,' returned her brother, with impatience. 'But I should certainly have maintained that _Peak's_ intellect was necessarily in that position.'

      'And you see how wrong you would have been,' remarked the girl, softly.

      'Well--I don't know.'

      'You don't know?'

      'I mean that I can't acknowledge what I can't understand.'

      'Then do try to understand, Buckland!--Have you ever put aside your prejudice for a moment to inquire what our religion really means? Not once, I think--at all events, not since you reached years of discretion.'

      'Allow me to inform you that I studied the question thoroughly at Cambridge.'

      'Yes, yes; but that was in your boyhood.'

      'And when does manhood begin?'

      'At different times in different persons. In your case it was late.'

      Buckland laughed. He was considering a rejoinder, when they were interrupted by the appearance of Fanny, who asked at once:

      'Shall you go to see Mr. Peak this evening, Buckland?'

      'I'm in no hurry,' was the abrupt reply.

      The