Chapter 14 - Page 2

McIntyre.
It would hardly be just, perhaps, to mention him in this connection.
But there is Robert. He used to take such an interest in his
profession. He was so keen about art. If you met him, the first words
he said were usually some reference to his plans, or the progress he was
making in his latest picture. He was ambitious, pushing, self-reliant.
Now he does nothing. I know for a fact that it is two months since he
put brush to canvas. He has turned from a student into an idler, and,
what is worse, I fear into a parasite. You will forgive me for speaking
so plainly?"

Raffles Haw said nothing, but he threw out his hands with a gesture of
pain.

"And then there is something to be said about the country folk," said
the vicar. "Your kindness has been, perhaps, a little indiscriminate
there. They don't seem to be as helpful or as self-reliant as they
used. There was old Blaxton, whose cowhouse roof was blown off the
other day. He used to be a man who was full of energy and resource.
Three months ago he would have got a ladder and had that roof on again
in two days' work. But now he must sit down, and wring his hands, and
write letters, because he knew that it would come to your ears, and that
you would make it good. There's old Ellary, too! Well, of course he
was always poor, but at least he did something, and so kept himself out
of mischief. Not a stroke will he do now, but smokes and talks scandal
from morning to night. And the worst of it is, that it not only hurts
those who have had your help, but it unsettles those who have not.
They all have an injured, surly feeling as if other folk were getting
what they had an equal right to. It has really come to such a pitch
that I thought it was a duty to speak to you about it. Well, it is a
new experience to me. I have often had to reprove my parishioners for
not being charitable enough, but it is very strange to find one who is
too charitable. It is a noble error."

"I thank you very much for letting me know about it," answered Raffles
Haw, as he shook the good old clergyman's hand. "I shall certainly
reconsider my conduct in that respect."

He kept a rigid and unmoved face until his visitor had gone, and then
retiring to his own little room, he threw himself upon the bed and burst
out sobbing with his face buried in the pillow. Of all men in England,
this, the richest, was on that day the most miserable. How could he
use this great power which he held? Every blessing which he tried to
give turned itself into a curse. His intentions were so good, and yet
the results were so terrible. It was as if he had some foul leprosy of
the mind which all caught who were exposed to his influence.
His