“Edward!” It was the low voice of his wife, and the soft touch of her hand, that startled the dreaming enthusiast from visions of wealth and power that dazzled him with their brilliancy.
“Come, Edward, it is growing late,” said his wife.
“How late?” he replied, looking up from the paper he had covered with various memoranda, and clusters of figures.
“It is past eleven o’clock.”
“That cannot be, Agnes. It is only a short time since I left the table.
“Full three hours. All have retired and are sleeping. Ah, my husband! I do not like this new direction your thoughts are taking. To me, there is in it a prophecy of evil to us all.”
“A mere superstitious impression, Agnes dear: nothing more, you may depend upon it. I am in the vigour of manhood. My mind is yet clear, strong, and suggestive—and my reason, I hope, more closely discriminating, as every man’s should be with each added year of his life. Shall I let all these powers slumber in disgraceful inactivity! No, Agnes, it cannot, must not be.”
Mr. Markland spoke with a fervid enthusiasm, that silenced his wife—confusing her thoughts, but in no way inspiring her with confidence. Hitherto, he had felt desirous of concealing from her the fact that he was really entering into new business responsibilities; but now, in his confident anticipations of success, he divulged a portion of the enlarged range of operations in which he was to be an active co-worker.
“We have enough, Edward,” was the almost mournfully-uttered reply of Mrs. Markland—”why, then, involve yourself in business cares? Large transactions like those bring anxious days and wakeful nights. They are connected with trouble, fatigue, disappointment, and, Edward! sometimes ruin!”
Very impressively were the last words spoken; but Mr. Markland answered almost lightly—
“None of your imagined drawbacks have any terror for me, Agnes. As for the ruin, I shall take good care not to invite that by any large risks or imprudent speculations. There are few dangers for wise and prudent men, in any business. It is the blind who fall into the ditch—the reckless who stumble. You may be very certain that your husband will not shut his eyes in walking along new paths, nor attempt the navigation of unaccustomed seas without the most reliable charts.”
To this, Mrs. Markland could answer nothing. But his words gave her no stronger confidence in the successful result of his schemes; for well assured was she, in her perceptive Christian philosophy, that man’s success in any pursuit was no accidental thing, nor always dependent on his own prudence; the ends he had in view oftener determining the result, than any merit or defect in the means employed. So, the weight of concern which this new direction of her husband’s active purpose had laid upon her heart, was in no way lightened by his confident assurances.
CHAPTER XVI.
MR. MARKLAND went to the city early on the next morning. Fanny had not made her appearance when he left. This fact, at any other time, would have excited his attention, and caused an earnest inquiry as to the cause of her absence from the morning meal. But now his thoughts were too intently fixed on other things. He had suddenly become an aeriel castle-builder, and all his mind was absorbed in contemplating the magnificent structures that were rising up at the creative touch of imagination.
Mr. Brainard, upon whom he called immediately upon his arrival in the city, was not so easily satisfied on the subject of Mr. Lyon’s alleged return to the city. He happened to know Mr. Willet, and, while he admitted that there was a general resemblance between the two men, did not consider it sufficiently striking to deceive any one as to the identity of either.
“But I was deceived,” confidently asserted Mr. Markland.
“That is not so remarkable under the circumstances,” was answered. “You had Lyon distinctly in your thought, from being most positively assured of his recent presence in your neighbourhood, and when a stranger, bearing some resemblance to him, suddenly came in sight, I do not wonder that you were on the instant deceived. I might have been.”
“I am sure of it. The likeness between the two men is remarkable.”
“But Willet has no hair mole on his cheek; and to that mark, you will remember, Lamar particularly testified.”
“The mark may only have been in his mind, and not on the face of the person he met. Believing it to be Mr. Lyon, he saw the hair mole, as well as the other peculiarities of his countenance.”
“No such explanations can satisfy me,” replied Mr. Brainard. “I have thought over the matter a great deal since I saw you, and my mind is pretty well made up to withdraw from this whole business while I am at liberty to do so, without pecuniary loss or any compromise of honour.”
“And let such a golden opportunity pass?” said Markland, in a voice husky with disappointment.
“If you will,” was calmly answered. “I am a firm believer in the ‘bird in the hand’ doctrine. There are a great many fine singers in the bush, but I want to see them safely caged before I neglect the door that shuts in the bird I possess already.”
“But you surely cannot be in earnest about withdrawing from this business,” said Markland.
“Very much in earnest. Since yesterday, I have turned the matter over in my mind constantly, and viewed it in many lights and from many positions; and my deliberate convictions are, that it is wisest for me to have nothing whatever to do with these splendid schemes; and if you will be governed by an old stager’s advice, resolve to act likewise.”
“When my hands are once fairly on the plough,” answered Mr. Markland, “I never look back. Before engaging in any new business, I thoroughly examine its promise, and carefully weigh all the probabilities of success or failure. After my decision is made, I never again review the ground over which I travelled in coming to a decision, but pass onward with faith and vigour in the accomplishment of all that I have undertaken. More men are ruined by vacillation than from any other cause.”
“My observation brings me to another conclusion,” quietly returned Mr. Brainard. The earnest enthusiasm of the one, and the immovable coolness of the other, were finely contrasted.
“And what is that?” inquired Mr. Markland.
“Why, that more men are ruined by a blind perseverance in going the wrong way, than from any other cause. Were we infallible in judgment, it might be well enough to govern ourselves in all important matters on the principle you indicate. But, as we are not, like wise navigators, we should daily make new observations, and daily examine our charts. The smallest deviation from a right line will make an immense error in the course of a long voyage.”
“Wise business men are in little danger of making errors,” said Markland, confidently.
“A great many sad mistakes are made daily,” returned Mr. Brainard.
“Not by wise men.”
“If a man’s projects succeed,” was rejoined, “we applaud his sound business judgment; if they fail, we see the cause of failure so plainly, that we are astonished at his want of forethought in not seeing it at the beginning. But, sir, there’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will. Success or failure, I am well convinced, do not always depend on the man himself.”