and ward over the past. At last came the reward of this hard struggle; labour was no longer a painful effort. His father’s prediction was realised—he had acquired the will to learn, the key to his talent, and he had the intense gratification of finding that slowly but very surely he was attaining a sound knowledge of his profession.
Gradually the great object of his life grew to be law, not in the “warp” only, traversed with threads of lighter thought, but the “woof” was law as well.
Thus, hours of relaxation would be spent in following the argument in this and that case: he would form his own judgment, waiting anxiously to find whether it concurred with the judgment of the court. Sometimes he and the judge were unanimous; sometimes when they differed, there was an appeal to a higher tribunal, and once or twice, to his intense exultation, the joy of the successful suitor was scarcely greater; the judge’s judgment was reversed, and his view of the case affirmed.
But why did not business come? True, he had no connection, but he did know some few lawyers—they might have discovered his talent, that firm at least in whose office he was when he first came to town—yet those who knew him best sent him least business, and, since his “call,” they all seemed more or less to keep out of his way. Then he would be beset with heavy misgivings; perhaps, after all, he might be deceiving himself as to his power and talent; perhaps that hope—faith in future eminence—was a delusive dream; perhaps, notwithstanding the hard labour he had endured, mediocrity was to be his destiny.
Hard work by night, hard work by day, bent head, depressing doubt and fear, the unceasing wear of a gritty thought—law; it was too much, he had strange sensations in the head, so at last he was forced to consult a physician, who, with scarcely a question, read the case in his patient’s countenance, and gave the Switzerland prescription.
*****
Hot walking and hard to the top of the Brünig Pass. Well, the view was fine certainly; Charles Westby was forced to admit that, but it had been a deuce of a pull up hill, and, after all, this Switzerland did not seem to do him much good: he could not get rid of that feeling in his head, notwithstanding he had entirely given up reading as the Doctor ordered, so very likely it was not the fault of the books. Now, if he had been at chambers this vacation time, some business might, in the absence of other men, have been driven into his hands; besides all this, travelling cost a mint of money,—he could not afford pleasure yet,—in a few years perhaps, when he had made a name; directly he got to Interlachen he would turn back by Berne to Strasbourg, and home. Such thoughts as these presented themselves as he was descending into the Hasli valley with the giants of the Bernese range before his eyes.
A party on horseback consisting of two ladies and a gentleman with guides, porters, &c., had started in the morning rather earlier than Westby, and had kept about the same distance a-head of him throughout the day. About half way in the descent to Brienz he saw them stop suddenly, perhaps to enjoy the view, or rest; in a short time he came up with them. The whole party had dismounted; the gentleman, a middle-aged man, was sitting on the ground, evidently in pain, the two ladies knelt beside him; the guide and porters, a little apart, were holding a noisy consultation. The eldest lady addressed Westby—her husband had met with a terrible accident—her daughter, who was riding in front, had pulled up her horse rather suddenly; the horse had kicked out and struck her husband, who was riding close behind, severely below the knee; they feared the leg was broken—how should they ever be able to get to Brienz?
“I can’t understand these guides,” said the young lady, who was sadly agitated; “their French is full of German words. This delay is terrible for poor papa.”
Both ladies prayed anxiously of Westby not to leave them. Such a request was, of course, needless, and his hearty promise of all assistance that lay in his power, seemed a staff of comfort. It was evidently impossible for the poor gentleman to ride again on horseback, and for the porters to have carried him over such rough ground, without proper supports, would have added intolerably to the pain which arose from the slightest movement of the leg.
Westby proposed to hurry down to Brienz, and make the best arrangement that he could for a chaise-à-porteurs. They gratefully accepted his offer.
In about two hours Westby returned with the chaise-à-porteurs and the best appliances he could procure for supporting the leg. There was, unfortunately, no doctor resident at Brienz. Westby’s aid was invaluable; he saw with a quick eye what to do, and he had strength of arm to do it with great gentleness.
On inquiring at Brienz, Westby had found that the best medical advice of the district was to be obtained at Interlachen, and that it would be advisable, if the state of the accident allowed it, to proceed thither at once by water. Accordingly, when they arrived at Brienz, it was agreed, as the sufferer had borne the chaise-à-porteurs motion tolerably well, to go on directly to Interlachen; and a boat having been by the care of Westby carefully fitted up with pillows, they embarked on the lake.
How deeply they thanked him! The gentleman with painful effort, the elder lady from the depths of the heart, and that young girl—Ah! it was worth conferring an obligation to gain such heartfelt thanks—to see the expression in that young charming face, flushed with very intensity of feeling, and those blue eyes, looking full into his, with their earnest gaze of gratitude.
Well, that girl had a charming face, and if love had been the motive, deepest love could not have lent a more beautiful expression than the one he had witnessed; but fair faces were not his business yet; hard duty, money to add to his mother’s and sister’s pittance, that was his present business; so, sitting in that boat, the excitement of action being over, his thoughts flowed into their old channel, and Equity sat beside him, as the rowers
