Home Influence Part 12

"Is your mother ill, my dear Mary? What can have happened to agitate you so painfully?" she inquired, as at the first sound of her voice the poor girl sprung toward her, and tried to say how very glad she was that she had come just then; but the words were inarticulate from sobs; and Mrs.

Hamilton, desiring Edward to amuse himself in the garden, made her sit down by her, and told her not to attempt to check her tears, but to let them have free vent a few minutes, and then to try and tell her what had occurred. It was a very sad tale for a child to tell, and as Mrs.

Hamilton's previous knowledge enabled her to gather more from it than Mary's broken narrative permitted, we will give it in our own words.

Mr. Greville had been at home for a month, a quarter of which time the good humor which some unusually successful bets had excited, lasted; but no longer. His amus.e.m.e.nt then consisted, as usual, in trying every method to annoy and irritate his wife, and in endeavoring to make his son exactly like himself. Young as the boy was--scarcely twelve--he took him to scenes of riot and feasting, which the society of some boon companions, unhappily near neighbors, permitted; and though Alfred's cheek became pale, his eye haggard, and his temper uneven, his initiation was fraught with such a new species of excitement and pleasure, that it rejoiced and encouraged his father in the same measure as it agonized his mother, and, for her sake, poor Mary.

That morning Alfred had declared his intention of visiting a large fair, which, with some races of but ill repute, from the bad company they collected, was to be held at a neighboring town, and told his father to prepare for a large demand on his cash, as he meant to try his hand at all the varieties of gaming which the scene presented. Mr. Greville laughed heartily at what he called the boy's right spirit, and promised him all he required; but there was a quivering on her mother's lip, a deadly paleness on her cheek, that spoke volumes of suffering to the heart of the observant Mary, who sat trembling beside her. Still Mrs.

Greville did not speak till her husband left the room; but then, as Alfred was about to follow him, she caught hold of his hand, and implored him, with such a tone and look of agony, only to listen to her, for her sake to give up his intended pleasure; that, almost frightened by an emotion which in his gentle mother he had scarcely ever seen, and suddenly remembering that he had lately been indeed most unkind and neglectful to her, he threw his arms round her neck, and promised with tears that if it gave her so much pain, he would not go; and so sincere was his feeling at the moment that, had there been no tempter near, he would, in all probability, have kept his word. But the moment Mr.

Greville heard from his son his change of intention and its cause, he so laughed at his ridiculous folly, so sneered at his want of spirit in preferring his mother's whims to his father's pleasures, that, as could not fail to be the case, every better feeling fled. This ought to have been enough; but it was too good an opportunity to vent his ill-temper on his wife, to be neglected. He sought her, where she was superintending Mary's lessons, and for nearly an hour poured upon her the most fearful abuse and cutting taunts, ending by declaring that all the good she had done by her saintly eloquence was to banish her son from her presence, whenever he left home, as in future Alfred should be his companion; and that he should begin that very day. Mrs. Greville neither moved nor spoke in reply; and the expression of her countenance was so sternly calm, that poor Mary felt as if she dared not give way to the emotion with which her heart was bursting.

Mr. Greville left the room, and they heard him peremptorily desire the housekeeper to put up some of Master Alfred's clothes. In a perfectly composed voice Mrs. Greville desired Mary to proceed with the exercise she was writing, and emulating her firmness, she tried to obey.

Fortunately her task was writing, for to have spoken or read aloud would, she felt, have been impossible. So full half an hour pa.s.sed, and then hasty footsteps were heard in the hall, and the joyous voice of Alfred exclaiming--

"Let me wish mamma and Mary good-by, papa."

"I have not another moment to spare," was the reply. "You have kept me long enough, and must be quicker next time; come along, my boy."

The rapid tread of horses' hoofs speedily followed the sullen clang with which the hall-door closed, and as rapidly faded away in the distance.

With an irresistible impulse, Mary raised her eyes to her mother's face; a bright red flush had risen to her temples, but her lips were perfectly colorless, and her hand tightly pressed her heart; but this only lasted a minute, for the next she had fallen quite senseless on the floor. Her poor child hung over her almost paralyzed with terror, and so long did the faint last, that she was conveyed to her own room, partially undressed, and laid on her bed before she at all recovered. A brief while she had clasped Mary to her bosom, as if in her was indeed her only earthly comfort, and then in a faint voice desired to be left quite alone. Mary had flung herself on the neck of the sympathizing Herbert Hamilton (who had arrived just in the confusion attendant on Mrs.

Greville's unusual illness), and wept there in all the uncontrolled violence of early sorrow.

Mrs. Hamilton remained some time with her afflicted friend, for so truly could she sympathize with her, that her society brought with it the only solace Mrs. Greville was capable of realizing from human companions.h.i.+p.

"It is not for myself I murmur," were the only words that in that painful interview might have even seemed like complaint; "but for my poor child. How is her fragile frame and gentle spirit to endure through trials such as these; oh, Emmeline, to lose both, and through their father!"

And difficult indeed did it seem to realize the cause of such a terrible dispensation; but happily for Mrs. Greville, she could still look up in love and trust, even when below all of comfort as of joy seemed departed; and in a few days she was enabled to resume her usual avocations, and, by an a.s.sumption of cheerfulness and constant employment, to restore some degree of peace and happiness to her child.

Neither Herbert nor Edward seemed inclined to converse on their walk home, and Mrs. Hamilton was so engrossed in thought for Mrs. Greville, that she did not feel disposed to speak either. Herbert was contrasting his father with Mary's, and with such a vivid sense of his own happier lot, that he felt almost oppressed with the thought, he was not, he never could be, grateful enough; for, what had he done to be so much more blessed? And when Mr. Hamilton, who, wondering at their long absence, had come out to meet them, put his arm affectionately round him, and asked him what could possibly make him look so pale and pensive, the boy's excited feelings completely overpowered him. He buried his face on his father's shoulder, and burst into tears; and then leaving his mother to explain it, for he felt quite sure she could, without his telling her, darted away and never stopped till he found himself in the sanctuary of his own room; and there he remained, trying to calm himself by earnest thought and almost unconscious prayer, till the dinner-bell summoned him to rejoin his family, which he did, quiet and gentle, but cheerful, as usual.

Edward did not forget the thoughts of the morning, but the struggles so to subdue his pride as to apologize to Robert, seemed very much more difficult when he was no longer hearing his aunt's earnest words; but he _did_ conquer himself, and the fond approving look, with which he was rewarded, gave him such a glowing feeling of pleasure, as almost to lessen the pain of his humiliation.

CHAPTER VI.

CECIL GRAHAME'S PHILOSOPHY.--AN ERROR AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.--A MYSTERY AND A CONFIDENCE.

A few days after the events of the last chapter, Mrs. Hamilton, accompanied by Percy, called at Moorlands. Cecil Grahame was playing in the garden, and Percy remained with him, his good-nature often making him a companion, though there was nearly six years' difference in their age.

"Are you going to T-- on Thursday, Percy? There will be such fine doings. Races and the county fair, and wild beasts and shows, and every thing delightful; of course, you will go?"

"I do not think it at all likely," replied young Hamilton.

"No!" repeated Cecil, much astonished. "Why, I was only saying the other day how much I should like to be as old as you are; it must be so delightful to be one's own master."

"I do not consider myself my own master yet, Cecil. Sometimes I wish I were; at others, I think I am much better as I am. And, as for this fair, Mr. Howard will be back to-morrow, so there is no chance of my going."

"Why is there no such thing as the possibility of a holiday, Percy?"

replied Cecil, with great glee; "or perhaps," he added, laughing, "your papa is like mine, and does not allow such freaks; thinks it wrong to go to such places, acting against morality, and such out of the way ideas."

"Are these Mr. Grahame's opinions?" inquired Percy, almost sternly.

"Why ye--yes--why do you look at me so, Percy? I am sure I said no harm; I only repeated what I have heard mamma say continually."

"That is not the very least excuse for your disrespect to your father; and if he think thus, I wonder you should talk of going to the races; you can not have his permission."

"Oh, but mamma has promised if I am a good boy till then and she can manage it, I shall go; for she can not see any harm in it. And as for waiting for papa's permission--if I did, I should never go any where. He is so unkind, that I am always afraid of speaking or even playing, when he is in the room."

"You are a silly boy, Cecil," replied young Hamilton; "Believe me, you do not know your best friend. I should be very sorry to feel thus toward my father."

"Oh! but yours and mine are very different sort of people. Your papa never punishes you, or refuses you his permission, when you wish particularly to do any thing, or go any where."

"If papa thinks my wishes foolish, or liable to lead me into error, he does refuse me without scruple, Cecil. And though I am old enough now, I hope, so to conduct myself as to avoid actual punishment: when I was as young as you are, papa very frequently punished me, both for my violence and pride."

"But then he was kind to you afterward. Now I should not so much mind papa's severity when I am naughty, if he would only be kind, or take some notice of me when I am good. But has Mr. Hamilton told you not to go to the races?"

"Not exactly: he has merely said he thinks it a day most unprofitably wasted; and that the gambling and excesses, always the attendant of races, are not fit scenes for young persons. Were I to take my horse and go, he would not, perhaps, be actually displeased, as I am old enough now, he says, in some things, to judge for myself; but I should be acting against his principles, which, just now, I am not inclined to do, for I am sure to suffer from it afterward."

"Well, all I can say, is, that when I am as old as you are, Percy, I shall certainly consider myself under no one. I hope I shall be at Eton by that time, and then we shall see if Cecil Grahame has not some spirit in him. I would not be tied down to Oakwood, and to Mr. Howard's humdrum lessons, as you are, Percy, for worlds."

"Take care that Cecil Grahame's spirit does not effervesce so much, as to make him, when at Eton, wish himself back at Moorlands," replied Percy, laughing heartily at his young companion's grotesque attempts at self-consequence, by placing his cap dandily on his head, flouris.h.i.+ng his cane, and trying to make himself look taller. Cecil took his laugh, however, in good part, and they continued in amicable conversation till Mrs. Hamilton summoned Percy to attend her home.

Our readers have, perhaps, discovered that Percy, this day was not quite as lively as usual. If they have not his mother did; for, strange to say, he walked by her side silent and dispirited. His thoughtlessness very often led him into error and its disagreeable consequences; and, fearing this had again been the case, she playfully inquired the cause of his most unusual abstraction. He colored, but evaded the question, and successfully roused himself to talk. His mother was not anxious, for she had such perfect confidence in him, that she know if he had committed error, he would redeem it, and that his own good feelings and high principles would prevent its recurrence.

It so happened, however, that young Hamilton, by a series of rather imprudent actions, had plunged himself into such a very unusual and disagreeable position, as not very well to know how to extricate himself from it, without a full confession to his father; which, daringly brave as in general he was, he felt almost as if he really had not the courage to make. One of Mr. Hamilton's most imperative commands was, that his sons should never incur a debt, and, to prevent the temptation, their monthly allowance was an ample one, and fully permitted any recreative indulgences they might desire.

Now Percy was rather inclined to extravagance, from thoughtlessness and a profuse generosity, which had often caused him such annoyance as to make him resolve again and again to follow his father's advice, and keep some accounts of his expenditure, as a slight check on himself. The admiration for beauty in the fine arts, which his mother had so sedulously cultivated, had had only one bad effect; and that was that his pa.s.sion for prints and paintings, and ill.u.s.trated and richly-bound volumes, sometimes carried him beyond bounds, and very often occasioned regret, that he had not examined the letter-press of such works, as well as their engravings and bindings. He had given orders to Mr. Harris, a large fancy stationer, librarian, and publisher of T--, to procure for him a set of engravings, whose very interesting subjects and beautiful workmans.h.i.+p, Mr. Grahame had so vividly described to him, that young Hamilton felt to do without them till his father or he himself should visit the metropolis, and so judge of their worth themselves, was quite impossible. The order was given without the least regard to price. They arrived at the end of the month, and the young gentleman, to his extreme astonishment, discovered that his month's allowance had been so expended, as not to leave him a half-quarter of the necessary sum. What to do he did not very well know. Mr. Harris had had great difficulty in procuring the prints, and of course he was bound in honor to take them.

If he waited till he could pay for them, he must sacrifice the whole of one month's allowance, and then how could he keep free from debt till the next? As for applying to his father, he shrank from it with actual pain. How could he ask his ever kind and indulgent parent to discharge a debt incurred by such a thoughtless act of unnecessary extravagance? Mr.

Harris made very light of it, declaring that, if Mr. Percy did not pay him for a twelvemonth, it was of no consequence; he would trust him for any sum or any time he liked. But to make no attempt to liquidate his debt was as impossible as to speak to his father. No, after a violent struggle with his pride, which did not at all like the idea of betraying his inability to pay the whole, or of asking a favor of Mr. Harris, he agreed to pay his debt by installments, and so in two or three months, at the very latest, discharge the whole.

One week afterward he received his month's allowance, and riding over directly to the town relieved his conscience of half its load. To have only half his usual sum, however, for monthly expenditure caused him so many checks and annoyances as to make him hate the very sight of the prints whose possession he had so coveted, but he looked forward to the next month to be free at least of Mr. Harris. The idea of disobedience to his father in incurring a debt at all, causing him more annoyance than all the rest.

Again the first day of the month came round, and putting the full sum required in his purse, he set off, but on his way encountered such a scene of distress, that every thought fled from his mind, except how to relieve it. He accompanied the miserable half-famished man to a hut in which lay a seemingly dying woman with a new-born babe, and two or three small half-starved, half-naked children--listened to their story, which was really one of truth and misfortune, not of whining deceit, poured the whole contents of his purse into their laps, and rode off to T--, to find not Mr. Harris but Mr. Maitland, and implore him to see what his skill would do for the poor woman. He encountered that gentleman at the outskirts of the town, told his story, and was so delighted at Mr.

Maitland's willing promise to go directly, and also to report the case to those who would relieve it, that he never thought of any thing else till he found himself directly opposite Mr. Harris's shop, and his bounding heart sunk suddenly down, as impelled by a weight of lead. The conviction flashed upon him that he had been giving away money which was actually not his own; and the deed which had been productive of so much internal happiness, now seemed to reproach and condemn him. He rode back without even seeking Mr. Harris, for what could he tell him as the reason of his non-payment? Certainly not his having given it away.

The first of May, which was his birthday, he had been long engaged to spend with some young men and lads who were to have a grand game of cricket, a jovial dinner, an adjournment to some evening amus.e.m.e.nt, and, to conclude the day, a gay supper, with glees and songs. Mr. Hamilton had rather wished Percy to leave the party after dinner, and had told him so, merely, however, as a preference, not a command, but giving him permission to use his own discretion. Percy knew there would be several expenses attendant on the day, but still he had promised so long to be one of the party, which all had declared would be nothing without him, and his own inclinations so urged him to join it, that it seemed to him utterly impossible to draw back, especially as he could give no excuse for doing so. How could he say that he could not afford it? when he was, or ought to have been, nearly the richest of the party; and what would his father think?

He went. The day was thoroughly delightful, and so exciting, that though he had started from home with the intention of leaving them after dinner, he could not resist the pleadings of his companions and his own wishes, and remained. At supper alone excitement and revelry seemed to have gained the upper hand, and Percy, though steady in entirely abstaining from all excess, was not quite so guarded as usual. A clergyman had lately appeared at T--, whose appearance, manners, and opinions had given more than usual food for gossip, and much uncharitableness. His cloth indeed ought to have protected him, but it rather increased the satire, sarcasm, and laughter which he excited. He was brought forward by the thoughtless youths of Percy's party, quizzed unmercifully, made the object of some clever caricatures and satires, and though young Hamilton at first kept aloof, he could not resist the contagion. He dashed off about half-a-dozen verses of such remarkably witty and clever point, that they were received with roars of applause, and an unanimous request for distribution; but this he positively refused, and put them up with one or two other poems of more innocent wit, in which he was fond of indulging, into his pocket.

The day closed, and the next morning brought with it so many regrets, and such a confused recollection of the very unusual excitement of the previous evening, that he was glad to dismiss the subject from his mind, and threw his satire, as he believed, into the fire. In fact, he was so absorbed with the disagreeable conviction that he could only pay Mr.

Harris a third of his remaining debt, trifling as in reality it was, that he thought of nothing else. Now Mr. Harris was the editor and publisher of rather a clever weekly paper, and Percy happened to be in his parlor waiting to speak to him, while he was paying a contribution.

"I wish my head were clever enough to get out of your debt in that comfortable way," he said, half laughing, as the gentleman left them together.

"I wish all my customers were as desirous of paying their large debts as you are your small ones," was Mr. Harris's reply. "But I have heard something of your clever verses, Mr. Percy; if you will let me see some, I really may be able to oblige you, as you seem so very anxious to have nothing more to do with me--"

"In the way of debt, not of purchases, Mr. Harris; and I a.s.sure you, I am not thinking so much about you, as of my own disobedience. I will lend you my papers, only you must give me your word not to publish them with my name."