The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER VII.

  THE CHESS-PLAYER'S BATTLE.

  'Dost thou believe, he said, that Grace Itself can reach this grief? With a feeble voice and a woeful eye-- "Lord, I believe," was the sinner's reply, "Help Thou mine unbelief."' _Southey._

  By the beginning of the Christmas holidays, Fernando Travis was ableto lie on a couch in Mr. Audley's sitting-room. His recovery was eventardier than had been expected, partly from the shock, and partly fromthe want of vigour of the tropical constitution: and he still seemed tobe a great way from walking, though there was no reason to fear thatthe power would not return. His father wrote, preparing for a journeyto Oregon, and seemed perfectly satisfied, and he was becoming verymuch at home with his host.

  He was much interested in that which he was learning from Mr. Audley,and imbibing from the young Underwoods. The wandering life he hadhitherto led, without any tenderness save from the poor old negro,without time to make friends, and often exposed to the perception ofsome of the darkest sides of human life, in the terrible lawlessnessof the Mexican frontier, had hitherto made him dull, dreary, andindifferent, with little perception that there could be anythingbetter; but first the kindness and then the faith he saw at Bexley, hadawakened new perceptions and sensations. His whole soul was openingto perceive what the love of God and man might be; and the sense ofa great void, and longing to have it satisfied, seemed to fill himwith a constant craving for the revelation of that inner world, whoseexistence had just dawned upon him.

  After a little hesitation, Mr. Audley decided on reading with Geraldinein his presence after he had come into the sitting-room, explainingto her how he thought it might be helpful. She did not much like it,but acquiesced: she used to hop in with her sweet smile, shy greeting,and hand extended to the invalid, who used to lie looking at herthrough his long eyelashes, and listening to her low voice reading oranswering, as if she were no earthly creature; but the two were far toomuch in awe of one another to go any further; and he got on much betterwith Wilmet, when she looked in on him now and then with cheery voiceand good-natured care.

  Then Fulbert and Robina came home; and the former was half suspicious,half jealous, of Lance's preoccupation with what he chose to denominate'a black Yankee nigger.' He avoided the room himself, and kept Lancefrom it as much as was in his power; and one day Lance appeared witha black eye, of which he concealed the cause so entirely, that Felix,always afraid of his _gamin_ tendencies, entreated Fulbert, as afriend, to ease his mind by telling him it was not given in a streetrow.

  'I did it,' said Fulbert; 'he was so cocky about his Yankee that Icould not stand it.'

  'Why shouldn't he be kind to a poor sick fellow?'

  'He has no business to be always bothering about Fernandohere--Fernando there--Fernando for ever. I shall have him coming up toschool a regular spoon, and just not know what to do with him.'

  'Well, Fulbert, I think if you had a broken leg you'd wish some oneto speak to you. At any rate, I can't have Lance bullied for his goodnature; I was very near doing it myself once, but I was shamed out ofit.'

  'Were you--were you, indeed?' cried Fulbert, delighted at thisconfession of human nature; and Felix could not help laughing. And thatlaugh did much to bring him down from the don to the brother. At anyrate, Fulbert ceased his persecution in aught but word.

  Robina, always Lance's companion, followed him devotedly, and only hungabout the stairs forlorn when he went to Fernando without her; or ifadmitted, she was quite content to sit serenely happy in her belovedLance's presence, expecting neither notice nor amusement, only watchingtheir occupation of playing at draughts. Sometimes, however, Lancewould fall to playing with her, and they would roll on the floor, atumbling mass of legs, arms, and laughter, to the intense diversion ofFernando, to whom little girls were beings of an unknown order.

  So came on Christmas, with the anniversaries so sweet and so sad, andthe eve of holly-dressing, when a bundle of bright sprays was leftby some kind friend at No. 8, and Lance and Bobbie were vehement tointroduce Fernando to English holly and English decking.

  Geraldine suggested that they had better wait for either Mr. Audleyor Wilmet to come in, but for this they had no patience, and ran downwith their arms full of the branches, and their tongues going with thedescription of the night's carols, singing them with their sweet youngvoices as they moved about the room. Fernando knew now what Christmasmeant, but the joy and exhilaration of the two children seemed to himstrange for such a bygone event. He asked them if they would have anytreat.

  'Oh no! except, perhaps, Mr. Audley said he should drink tea one day,'said Robina. And then she broke out again, 'Hark! the herald angels,'like a little silver bell.

  Suddenly there was a cry of dismay. She had been standing on a chairover the mantelpiece, sticking holly into the ornaments, behind andunder which, in true man's fashion, a good many papers and letters hadaccumulated. One of these papers--by some unlucky movement--fell, andby a sudden waft of air floated irrevocably into the hottest place inthe fire.

  'O dear! oh dear!' wailed Robina.

  'That's a pretty go,' cried Lancelot.

  'That comes of your open fires,' observed Fernando.

  'What was it?' asked Lance.

  'I don't know. I think it was a list of names! Oh! how vexed he'll be,and Wilmet; for she told me never to get on a chair over the fender,and I forgot.' Bobbie's round face was puckering for a cry.

  'No, no, don't cry, Bob; I told you to get up, and I'll say so,' saidLance, smothering her in his arms after the wont of consoling brothers.

  'I dare say he'll not miss it,' said Fernando good-naturedly; 'he veryseldom meddles with those things.'

  Bobbie's great round grey eyes came out over Lance's shoulder, andflashed amazement and wrath at him. 'I'm not going to tell stories,'she said stoutly.

  'No,' said Lance, equally scandalized; 'I thought you had learntbetter, Fernando.'

  Robina, be it observed, was ignorant of Fernando's untaught state.

  'I only said you could hold your tongue,' was of course Fernando'srejoinder.

  'That's just as bad,' was the little girl's response.

  'But, Lance, you held your tongue about your black eye.'

  'That's my affair, and _nobody else's_,' said Lance, flushing up andlooking cross at the allusion.

  'And Fulbert told!' added Robina.

  'Will they punish you?' asked Fernando.

  'I think Wilmet will, because it was disobedience! I don't think she'lllet me have any butter at tea,' Bobbie nearly sobbed. 'Mr. Audley won'tpunish! But he'll look--' and she quite cried now.

  'And do you like that better than not telling?' said Fernando, stillcurious.

  She looked up, amazed again. 'I must! I don't like it! But I couldn'tever have a happy Christmas if I didn't tell! I wish they would comethat I might have it over.'

  The street door opened at the moment, and Mr. Audley and Wilmet came intogether from Lady Price's convocation of the parish staff. Fernandoheard the sobbing confession in the passage, and Lance's assurancethat he had been art and part in the disobedience, and Wilmet gravelyblaming the child, and Mr. Audley telling her not to think so muchabout the loss as the transgression; and then the door was shut, and heheard no more, till Mr. Audley came in, examined the chimney-piece, andperformed the elegy of the list in a long low whistle.

  'Is much harm done?' Fernando asked.

  'Not much; only I must go and get another list made out, and I amafraid I shall not be able to come in again before church.'

  'I hope they have not punished her.'

  'Wilmet recommended not taking the prize prayer-book to church, andshe acquiesced with tears in her eyes. A good child's repentance is abeautiful thing--

  "O happy in repentance' school So early taught and tried."'

  These last words were said to himself as he picked up his variousgoods, and added, 'I must get some tea at the Rectory. I am sorry toleave you,
but I hope one of them will come down.'

  They did not, except that they peeped in for a moment to wish himgood-night, and regretted that they had not known him to be alone.

  As Felix was going out to begin the Christmas Feast in the darkness ofmorning, he looked in as he usually did, since Mr. Audley, sleeping outof the house, never came in till after early church. The nurse, whostill slept in the room, was gone to dress; there was only a flickeringnight-light, and the room looked very desolate and forlorn, still moreso the voice that called out to him, 'Felix! oh, Felix! is that you?'

  'Yes. A happy Christmas to you,' said Felix.

  'Happy--!' there was a sort of groan.

  'Why, what's the matter? have you had a bad night? Aren't you so well?'

  'I don't know. Come here; I must speak to you.'

  Felix was, as usual, in a great haste, but the tone startled him.

  'Felix, I can't stand this any longer. I must let you know what afrightful, intolerable wretch I've been. I tried to teach Lance to bet.'

  'Fernando!' He was so choked with indignation, he could not say more.

  'He wouldn't do it. Not after he understood it. It seems he tried itwith another little boy at school, and one of the bigger ones boxed hisears and rowed him.'

  'Ay; Bruce promised me to look after him.'

  'So he refused. He told me he was on his honour to you not to stay if Idid anything your father would have disapproved. He did leave me once,when I would not leave off.'

  'But how could you?'

  'I was so bored--so intolerably dull--and it is the only thing on earththat one cares to do.'

  'But Lance had nothing to stake.'

  'I could lend him! Ah! you don't know what betting is; why, we alldo it--women, boys and all!' His voice became excited, and Felix inconsternation broke in--

  'When did you do this?'

  'Oh! weeks ago. Before I was out of bed. When I found my dice in mypurse; but I have not tried it since, with him!'

  'With whom, then?'

  'Why--don't fall on him--with Fulbert. He knew what it meant. Now,Felix, don't come on him for it. Come on me as much as you please. I'vebeen a traitor to you. I see it now.'

  'Anything but that!' sighed Felix, too much appalled for immediateforgiving, dejected as was the voice that spoke to him.

  'Yes, yes, I know! I see. The worst thing I could do,' said Fernando,turning his face in on the pillow, in so broken-hearted a manner thatFelix's kindness and generosity were roused.

  'Stay, don't be so downcast,' he said. 'There's no harm done withLance, and you being so sorry will undo it with Fulbert! I do thank youfor telling me, _really_, only it upset me at first.'

  'Upset! Yes, you'll be more so when you hear the rest,' said Fernando,raising his head again. 'Do you know who set that inn on fire?'

  'Nobody does.'

  'Well, I did.'

  'Nonsense! You've had a bad night! You don't know what you aretalking about,' said Felix, anxiously laying hold of one of the hothands--perceiving that his own Christmas Day must begin with mercy, notsacrifice, and beginning to hope the first self-accusation was alsodelirious.

  'Tell me. Didn't the fire begin in the ball-room? Somebody told me so.'

  'Yes, the waiter saw it there.'

  'Then I did it; I threw the end of a cigar among the flummery in thegrate,' cried Fernando, falling back from the attitude into which hehad raised himself, with a gesture of despair.

  'Nobody can blame you.'

  'Stay. It was after father and uncle had gone! I was smoking at thewindow of our room, and the landlord came in and ordered me not,because some ladies in the next room objected. He told me I might comedown to the coffee-room; but I had never heard of such meddling, and Ijawed him well; but he made me give in somehow. Only when I saw thatbig ball-room all along the side of the building, I just took a turn init with my cigar to spite him. Poor Diego came up and begged me not,but you know the way one does with a nigger. Oh!'

  Felix did not know; but the voice broke down in such misery and horror,that his soul seemed to sink within him. 'Have you had this on yourmind all this time?' he asked kindly.

  'No, no. It didn't come to me. I think I've been a block or a stone.The dear faithful fellow, that loved me as no one ever did. I've beenfeeling the kiss he gave me at the window all to-night. And then I'vebeen falling--falling--falling in his black arms--down--down to hellitself. Not that he is there; but I murdered him, you know--and someone else besides, wasn't there?'

  'This is like delirium, really, Fernando,' said Felix, putting his armsround him to lay him down, as he raised himself on his elbow. 'I mustcall some one if you seem so ill.'

  'I wish it was illness,' said Fernando with a shudder. 'Oh! don'tgo--don't let me go--if you can bear to touch me--when you know all!'

  'There can't be any worse to know. You had better not talk.'

  'I must! I must tell you all I really am; though you will never letyour brothers come near me, or the little angels--your sisters. I'dnot have dared look at them myself if I had known it, but things neverseemed so to me before.'

  Felix shivered at the thought of what he was to hear, but he gavehimself up to listen kindly, and to his relief he gathered from theincoherent words that there was no great stain of crime, as he hadfeared; but that the boy had come to open his eyes to the evils of thelife in which he had shared according to his age, and saw them in theirfoulness, and with an agonised sense of shame and pollution. Felixcould not help asking whether this had long dwelt on his thoughts.

  'No,' he said, 'that's the wonder! I thought myself a nice,gentlemanly, honourable fellow. Oh!' with a groan. 'Fancy that! I neverthought of recollecting these things, or what they have made me. Only,somehow, when those children seemed so shocked at my advising themto hold their tongues about their bit of mischief--I thought firstwhat fools you all were to be so scrupulous; and then I recollectedthe lots of things I have concealed, till I began to think, Is thishonour--would it seem so to Lance--or Felix? And then came down on methe thought of what you believe, of God seeing it all, and laying it upagainst one for judgment; and I _know_--I _know_ it is true!' and therecame another heavy groan, and the great eyes shone in the twilight interror.

  'If you know that is true,' said Felix, steadfastly and tenderly, 'youknow something else too. You know Whom He sent into the world for ourpardon for these things.'

  There was a tightening of the grasp as if in acquiescence and comfort;but the nurse came back to tidy the room, and still Fernando clung toFelix, and would not let him go. She opened the shutters, and thenboth she and Felix were dismayed to see how ill and spent her patientlooked; for she had slept soundly through his night of silent anguishand remorse--misery that, as Felix saw by his face, was pressing on himstill with intolerable weight.

  By the time the woman had finished Mr. Audley came in, and seeing atonce that Felix's absence was accounted for by Fernando's appearance,he stepped up at once to the bed, full of solicitude. Felix hardly knewwhether to reply or escape; but Fernando's heart was too full for hiswords not to come at once.

  'No, I am not worse, but I see it all now.--Tell him, Felix; I cannotsay it again.'

  'Fernando thinks--' Felix found he could hardly speak the wordseither--'Fernando is afraid that it was an accident of his own--'

  'Don't say an accident. It was passion and spite,' broke in Fernando.

  'That caused the fire at the Fortinbras Arms,' Felix was obliged tofinish.

  'Not on purpose!' exclaimed Mr. Audley.

  'Almost as much as if it had been,' said Fernando. 'I smoked to spitethe landlord for interfering, and threw away the end too angry toheed where. There!' he added grimly; 'Felix won't tell me how many Imurdered besides my poor old black. How many?'

  'Do not speak in that way, my poor boy,' said Mr. Audley. 'At least,this is better than the weight you have had on your mind so long.'

  'How many?' repeated Fernando.

  'Two more lives were lost,' said Mr. Audley gently
, 'Mr. Jones'sbaby and its nurse. But you must not use harder words than are just,Fernando. It was a terrible result, but consequences do not make theevil.'

  He made a kind of murmur; then turning round, uneasily said, 'That isnot all; I have seen myself, Mr. Audley.'

  Mr. Audley looked at Felix, who spoke with some difficulty andperplexity. 'He has been very unhappy all night. He thinks things wrongthat he never thought about before.'

  Mr. Audley felt exceedingly hopeful at those words; but he was alarmedat the physical effect on his patient, and felt that the presentexcitement was mischievous. 'I understand in part,' he said. 'But itseems to me that he is too restless and uncomfortable to think orunderstand now. It may be that he may yet see the joy of to-day; but nomore talk now. Have you had your breakfast?'

  He shook his head, but Felix had to go away, and breakfast and dressingrestored Fernando to a more tranquil state. He slept, too, wearied out,when he was placed on his couch; while Felix was at Christmas service,singing, as he had never sung before,--

  'Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.'

  Oh! was the poor young stranger seeing the way to that reconciliation?and when Lancelot's sweet clear young notes rose up in all theirpurity, and the rosy honest face looked upwards with an expressionelevated by the music, Felix could not help thinking that the boy hadverily sung those words of truth and hope into the poor dark lonelyheart. Kindness, steadfastness, truth, in that merry-hearted childhad been doing their work; and when Lance marched away with the otherlesser choristers, the elder brother felt as if the younger had beenthe more worthy to 'draw near in faith.'

  Fernando was more like himself when Felix came in, but he was a gooddeal shaken, and listened to the conventional Christmas greeting likemockery, shrinking from the sisters, when they looked in on him, withwhat they thought a fresh access of shyness, but which was a feeling ofterrible shame beside the innocence he ascribed to them.

  'I wish I could help that poor boy,' sighed Wilmet. 'He does look sovery miserable!'

  And Geraldine's eyes swam in tears as she thought of the lonelinessof his Christmas, and without that Christmas joy that even hermother's dulled spirit could feel--the joy that bore them through therecollections of this time last year.

  Lance's desire to cheer took the more material form of acting asFernando's special waiter at the consumption of the turkey, which Mr.Audley had insisted on having from home, and eating in company with therest, to whom it was a 'new experience,' being only a faint remembranceeven to Felix and Wilmet; but Fernando had no appetite, and even thesight of his little friend gave him a pang.

  'Do you want any one to stay with you?' asked Lance. 'If Cherry _would_do--for Felix said he would take Fulbert and me out for a jolly longwalk, to see the icicles at Bold's Hatch.'

  'No, I want no one. You are better without me.'

  'I'll stay if you _do_ want it,' said Lance, very reluctantly. 'Idon't like your not having one bit of Christmas. Shall I sing you oneChristmas hymn before I go?' And Lance broke into the 'Herald Angels'again.

  'Mild He lays His glory by, Born that man no more may die; Born to raise the sons of earth, Born to give them second birth.'

  Fernando's face was bathed in tears; he held out his arms, and tolittle Lance's great amazement, somewhat to his vexation, he held himfast and kissed him.

  'What did you do that for?' he asked in a gruff astonished voice.

  'Never mind!' said Fernando. 'Only I think I see what this day can be!Now go.'

  Presently Mr. Audley came softly in. The lad's face was turned in tohis cushion, his handkerchief over it; and as the young priest stoodwatching him, what could be done but pray for the poor struggling soul?At last he turned round, and looked up.

  'I saw it again,' he said with a sigh.

  'Saw what?'

  'What you all mean. It touched me, and seemed true and real when Lancewas singing. What was it--"Born to save the sons of earth"? Oh! butsuch as I am, and at my age, too!'

  And with a few words from Mr. Audley, there came such a disburtheningof self-accusation as before to Felix. It seemed as if the terribleeffects of his wilfulness at the inn--horrified as he was at them--wereless oppressive to his conscience than his treachery to his host in hisendeavour to gamble with the little boys. He had found a pair of dicein his purse when looking for the price of a Bible, and the sight hadawakened the vehement hereditary Mexican passion for betting, the baneof his mother's race. His father, as a clever man of the world, hatedand prohibited the practice; but Fernando had what could easily becomea frenzy for that excitement of the lazy south, and even while he hadseen it in its consequences, the intense craving for the amusement hadmastered him more than once, when loathing the dulness and wearinessof his confinement, and shrinking from the doctrines he feared toaccept. He knew it was dishonourable--yet he had given way; and hefelt like one utterly stained, unpardonable, hopeless: but there wasless exaggeration in his state of mind than in the early morning; andwhen Mr. Audley dwelt on the Hope of sinners, his eyes glistened andbrightened; and at the further words that held out to him the assurancethat all these sins might be washed away, and he himself enabled tobegin a new life, his looks shone responsively; but he shook his headsoon--'It went away from him,' he said; poor boy! 'it was too great andgood to be true.'

  Then Mr. Audley put prayer before him as a means of clinging evenblindly to the Cross that he was barely beginning to grasp, and theboy promised. He would do anything they would, could he but hope to befreed from the horrible weight of sense of hopeless pollution that hadcome upon him.

  For some days he did not seem able to read anything but the Gospels andthe Baptismal Service; and at length, after a long silence, he said,'Mr. Audley, if your sermon is finished, can you listen to me? May I bebaptized?'

  Then indeed the Curate's heart bounded, but he had to keep himselfrestrained. The father's consent he had secured beforehand, but hethought Fernando ought to write to him; and it was also needful toconsult the Rector as to the length of actual preparation and probation.

  Then, when the question came, 'Can I indeed be like Felix and Lancelot'the reply had to be cautious. 'You will be as entirely pardoned, asentirely belonging to the holiness within and without, as they; buthow far you will have the consciousness, I cannot tell; and it is veryprobable that your temptations may be harder. Guilt may be forgiven,while habits retain their power; and they have been guarded, taughtself-restraint, and had an example before them in their father, such asvery few have been blessed with.'

  Fernando sighed long and sadly, and said, 'Then you do not think itwill make much difference.'

  'The difference between life and death! But you must expect to have tobelieve rather than _feel_. But go on, and it will all be clear.'

  The Rector was at first anxious to wait for definite sanction fromthe father; but as Mr. Audley was sure of the permission he hadreceived, and no letter could be had for several months, he agreed toexamine the lad, and write to the Bishop--a new Bishop, who had beenappointed within the last year, and who was coming in the spring for aConfirmation.

  Mr. Bevan was really delighted with the catechumen, and wrote warmly ofhim. The reply was, that if the Baptism could take place the day beforethe Confirmation, which was to be in a month's time, the Bishop himselfwould like to be present, and the youth could be confirmed the nextday. There was much that was convenient in this, for it gave time forFernando to make progress in moving about. He had made a start withinthe last week or two, was trying to use crutches, and had been out onfine days in a chair; and once or twice Lady Price had taken him fora drive, though she had never thought of doing so by Geraldine. Thedoctor said that change of air would probably quite restore his health;and he had only to wait to be a little less dependent before he was togo to a tutor, an old friend of the Audley family.

  Everything promised well; but one wet afternoon, in the interim betweenthe end of Lance's and that of Fulbert's holidays, Mr. Audley, wh
ilecoming down from a visit to Mrs. Underwood, fancied he heard an ominousrattle, and opening the door suddenly, found Fernando and Fulberteagerly throwing the dice and with several shillings before them.

  Both started violently as he entered, and Fulbert put his arm and handround as if to hide the whole affair; while Fernando tried to lookcomposed.

  All that the Curate said in his surprise was one sharp sentence.'Fernando Travis, if you are to renounce the devil, you will have tobegin by throwing those dice into the fire.'

  Fernando's eyes looked furious, and he swept the dice and the moneyinto his pocket--all but three shillings. Fulbert stole out of the roomquietly. No doubt these were his winnings, which he did not dare totouch.

  Mr. Audley took up a book and waited, fully expecting that sorrow wouldfollow; but Fernando did not speak; and when at length he did on someindifferent matter, it was in his ordinary tone. Well, there must bepatience. No doubt repentance would come at night! No; the eveningpassed on, and Fernando was ready for all their usual occupations.Perhaps it would come with Felix, or in the dawn after a troublednight. Alas! no. And moreover, Felix, to whom it was necessary tospeak, was exceedingly angry and vexed, and utterly incredulous ofthere being any good in the character that could be so fickle, if notdeceitful and hypocritical. His own resolute temper had no power ofcomprehending the unmanliness of erring against the better will; hewas absolutely incapable of understanding the horrible lassitude andcraving for excitement that must have tempted Fernando, and he washard and even ashamed of himself for having ever believed in the lad'ssincerity.

  This anger too made him speak with such a threatening tone to Fulbert,as to rouse the doggedness of the boy's nature. All that could be gotout of Fulbert was that 'his going there was all Felix's doing,' and hewould not manifest any sign of regret, such as would be any securityagainst his introducing the practice among the clergy orphans, orcontinuing it all his life. He was not a boy given to confidences, andneither Wilmet nor Cherry could get him beyond his glum declarationthat it was Felix's fault, he only wanted to keep out of the fellow'sway. They could only take comfort in believing that he was reallyashamed, and that he suffered enough within to be a warning against thevice itself.

  As to Fernando, he made no sign, he went on as if nothing had happened;and nothing was observable about him, but that he showed himselfintensely weary of his present mode of life, put on at times themanners that were either those of the Spanish Don or of the IndianCacique, and seemed to shrink from the prospect of the English tutor.Yet he continued his preparation for baptism, and Mr. Bevan wassatisfied with him; but Mr. Audley was perplexed and unhappy over thereserve that had sprung up between them, and could not decide whetherto make another attempt or leave the lad to himself.

  One afternoon, only ten days from the time fixed for the Bishop'svisit, Mr. Audley returned from a clerical meeting to find anunexpected visitor in the room--namely, Alfred Travis, Fernando'suncle, a more Americanized and rougher person than his brother. He roseas he entered. 'Good morning, Mr. Audley; you have taken good care ofyour charge. He is fit to start with me to-morrow. See a surgeon intown--then to Liverpool--'

  'Indeed!' Mr. Audley caught a deprecating look from Fernando. 'Do youcome from his father?'

  'Well--yes and no. His father is still in the Oregon; but he and I havealways been one--and opening the boy's letters, and finding him readyto move, I thought, as I had business in England, I'd come and fetchhim, and just settle any claim the fellow at yonder hotel may havecheek enough to set up, since Fernan was green enough to let it out.'

  'May I ask if you have any authority from his father?'

  'Authority! Bless you! William will be glad to see his boy; we don't goby authority between brothers.'

  'Because,' continued Mr. Audley, 'I heard from your brother that hewished Fernando to remain with me to receive an English education.'

  'All sentiment and stuff! He knew better before we had sailed! AnEnglish squire in this wretched old country, forsooth! when the newrepublic is before him! No, no, Mr. Audley, I'll be open with you. Isaw what you were up to when I got your letter, and Fernan--Got hislesson very well, he had. And when I came down, a friend in London gaveme another hint. It won't do, I can assure you. That style of thing isall very well for you spruce parsons of good family, as you call it inthe old country; but we are not going to have a rising young fellowlike this, with a prospect of what would buy out all your squires andbaronets in the old country, beslobbered and befooled with a lot ofPuseyite cant. You've had your turn of him; it is time he should comeand be a man again.'

  Mr. Audley was dizzy with consternation. Fernando was no child. He wasfull sixteen, and he was so far recovered that his health formed noreason for detaining him. If he chose to go with his uncle, he _must_.If not--what then? He looked at Fernando, who sat uneasily.

  'You hear what your uncle says?' he asked.

  'I told him,' said Fernando, 'I must wait for a fortnight.' He spokewith eyes cast down, but not irresolutely.

  His uncle broke out--He knew what that meant; it was only that he mightbe flattered by the Bishop and all the ladies, and made a greater foolof than ever. No, no, he must be out again by May, and he should justhave time to take Fernan to one of the gay boarding-houses at Saratoga,and leave him there to enjoy himself.

  'I have letters from my father,' said Fernando, looking up to Mr.Audley, 'before he went to Oregon. He said nothing.'

  'Do you wish to stay?' said Mr. Audley, feeling that all depended onthat, and trying to hide the whirl of anxiety and disappointment hefelt.

  The answer was not what he expected. Fernando sat upright in his chair,looked up to him and then at his uncle, and said low but resolutely, 'Iwill stay.'

  'Then you shall stay,' said Mr. Audley.

  'You have worked upon him, I see, Sir, with your old-world prejudicedsuperstition,' said Alfred Travis, evidently under the delusion that hewas keeping his temper. 'A proper fool my brother was to leave him toyou. But you do it at your peril. I shall see if there's power even inthis old country to keep a boy from his own relations. You'll see meagain, Fernan. You had better make ready.'

  The words were not unaccompanied with expletives such as had never beenpersonally uttered to Charles Audley before, and that brought the hotcolour to his cheek. When he looked round, Fernando's face was coveredwith his hands. 'Oh! Mr. Audley,' he cried, as his uncle hastily shutthe door, 'is he going to send for the police?'

  'I do not believe he can do any such thing,' said Mr. Audley, seeingthat Fernando was in great nervous agitation. 'I have authority fromyour father, he has none; and you are old enough to make your owndecision. You really mean and wish to stay?' he added.

  'I told him so from the first,' said Fernando.

  'Then he has no power to force you away.'

  Fernando was silent. Then he said, 'If I could have gone after myBaptism.'

  'Would you have wished that?' said Mr. Audley, somewhat disappointed.

  The tears were now on the long black lashes.

  'Oh, don't think me ungrateful, or-- But this English life does comeover me as intolerably dull and slow. No life nor go in it. SometimesI feel sick of it; and going back to books and all, after what Ihave been used to. If my uncle could wait for my Baptism, or,' morehesitating, 'if I could be baptized at once. Men do lead Christianlives out there. I would try to keep from evil, Mr. Audley. I see yourface! Is this another temptation of the devil?'

  'I think it is an attempt of his,' said Mr. Audley, sadly. 'Even hereyou have not been able to abstain entirely from giving way to your oldpassion, when you had little temptation, and felt your honour bound.What will it be when you have comparatively no restraint?'

  'I am resolved not to go unbaptized,' said Fernando. 'I said so fromthe first, but he will not wait! Yet if my father sends for me, I mustgo.'

  'Then it will be your duty, and you will have more right to look forhelp. Besides, a summons from your father could not come for three orfour months, and in that
time you would have had time to gain somethingin Christian practice and training.'

  'Oh, there is the bell! Must you go, Mr. Audley? He will come back!'

  'I wish I could stay, but Smith is gone to Dearport, and I do not knowwhether the Rector is in. Besides, this must be your own doing, Fernan,not mine. I shall pray for you, that you well know. Pray for yourself,for this is a real crisis of life. God bless you, my dear boy.' He laidhis hand on the head, and Fernando looked up gratefully, then said,'You never did that before. May Lance come to me, if he has not gone?'

  'I will call him,' said Mr. Audley, seeing that he really dreaded beingalone. The little boy was on the stairs with something in his hand. 'Goin to Fernan,' he was told; 'he wants you. What have you got there?'

  'This queer drawing. Cherry found it in an old portfolio, and has beencopying it.'

  It was Retzsch's outline of the chess-player, and it almost startledMr. Audley by its appropriateness. He went out to Evensong, and neverwas more glad to get back to reinforce the feeble garrison.

  Lance opened the front door to him. 'I'm so glad you are come!' hesaid. 'Mr. Bruce is there.'

  'Not the uncle?'

  'No, only Mr. Bruce.'

  Mr. Bruce was a lawyer, and a very respectable man, in whom Mr. Audleyfelt confidence. He rose at the clergyman's entrance, and asked tospeak to him in another room, so he was taken into the little backdining-room, and began--'This is a very unpleasant business, Mr.Audley; this gentleman is very much annoyed, and persuaded that he hasa right to carry off his nephew; but as I told him, it all turns uponthe father's expressions. Have you any written authority from him?'

  Mr. Audley had more than one letter, thanking him, and expressing fullsatisfaction in the proposed arrangements for Fernando; and this Mr.Bruce thought was full justification, together with the youth's owndecided wishes. The words were likewise clear, by which William Travishad given consent to his son's Baptism, but there was no witness ofthem. Mr. Bruce explained that Alfred Travis, who seemed to regardFernando as the common property of the brothers, had come to him inwhat he gently termed 'a great state of excitement,' complaining ofa Puseyite plot. He had evidently taken umbrage at the tone of theletters he had opened for his brother, and had been further prejudicedby some Dearport timber-merchant he had met at Liverpool, who had toldhim how the parson had got hold of his nephew, and related a farrago ofgossip about St. Oswald's. He was furious at the opposition, and couldnot understand that law in the old country was powerless in this case,because he was neither father nor guardian. In fact he seemed to bemaster of his brother; and Mr. Bruce told Mr. Audley that it was quiteto be considered whether though law was on his side now, the fathermight not be brought over to the brother's side, be very angry at thedetention of the boy, and refuse the payment, which, while he was inAmerica, could not be forced from him. Of that Mr. Audley could happilyafford to run the risk; and Mr. Bruce said he had also set before theyoung gentleman that he might have to suffer much displeasure fromhis father for his present refusal, although his right to make it wasincontestable. To this Fernando had likewise made up his mind; and Mr.Bruce, who had never seen him before, thought he looked utterly unfitfor a long journey and sea voyage, so that the uncle had taken nothingby his application to the law.

  Fernando was flushed and panting, but more resolute, for resentment atthe attempt at force had come to back him up, and rouse the spirit ofresistance. Not half an hour had elapsed before there was another ringat the door. The uncle and lawyer were come together now. It was tomake a last offer to Fernando; Mr. Alfred Travis offered to take him upto London the next day, and there to have advice as to the safety ofthe voyage, in the meantime letting him be baptized, if nothing elsewould satisfy him, but by some London clergyman--not one of the Bexleyset whom the uncle regarded with such aversion.

  Fernando drew himself up, and stood, leaning on the end of the sofa.'Thank you, uncle,' he said, 'I cannot. I am obeying my father now, andI will not leave those to whom he trusted me.'

  There followed a volley of abuse of his English obstinacy and Spanishpride and canting conceit, which made Mr. Bruce stand aghast, andFernando look up with burning cheeks and eyes glowing like hot coals;but with the Indian impassibility he did not speak till Alfred Travishad threatened him not only with his father's displeasure, but withbeing cast off by both, and left to his English friends' charity.

  'My father will not!' said Fernando. 'If he sends for me I will come.'But there his strength suddenly collapsed, and he was forced to sitdown and lean back.

  'Well, Fernan,' said his uncle, suddenly withdrawing his attempt whenhe found it vain, 'you seem hardly in marching order, so I'm off by thenight train; but if you change your mind in the next week, write tome at Peter Brown's--you know--and I'll run down. I will save you thecoming out by yourself. Good-bye.'

  Mr. Bruce tarried one moment to aver that he was unprepared for hisclient's violence, and that he thought the nephew had done quite right.

  The door was shut, and Mr. Audley came back holding out his hand, butFernando did not take it. He was occupied in supporting himself bythe furniture from the sofa to the fire-place, where, holding by themantelpiece with one hand, he took his dice from his pocket with theother, and threw them into the reddest depth. Then he held the hand toMr. Audley, who wrung it, and said, 'It has been a hard fight, my boy.'

  Fernando laid his weary head on his shoulder, and said, 'If my fatheris not poisoned against me!'

  'Do not fear that, Fernando. You are where he left you. You have givenup something for the sake of your new Lord and Master; you will havehis armour another time.'

  Fernando let himself be helped to sit down, and sighed. He wasthoroughly worn out, and his victory was not such as to enliven hisspirits. He took up the drawing that lay on the table, and gazed on itin a sort of dreamy fascination.

  'You have checked him this time,' said Mr. Audley.

  'Here or there, I will never bet again,' said Fernan solemnly. 'Godhelp me to keep the resolution! It is the one thing that I care for,and I know I should have begun the first day I was away from you.'

  'I think that with those tastes you cannot make too strong a resolutionagainst it,' said Mr. Audley.

  Their dinner was brought in, but Fernando had no appetite. He soonreturned to his chess-player, and seemed to be playing over the game,but he was too much tired for talk, and soon went to bed; where aftera short sleep feverishness set in, bringing something approaching todelirium. The nurse had gone a fortnight previously; but as he wasstill too helpless to have no one within call, Felix slept on the bedin the corner of the room.

  When he came down the opening of the door was greeted by 'Don't let himcome! Is Mr. Audley there?'

  'Yes, he is not gone.'

  Then he knew Felix, but soon began again to talk of the game at chess,evidently mixing up his uncle with the personage with the long feather.

  'He has been checked once. I've taken one piece of his. He is gone now.Will he come back after my Baptism? No; I shall go to him.'

  This lasted till past midnight, when, as they were deliberatingwhether to send for Mr. Rugg, he fell soundly asleep, and awoke in themorning depressed, but composed and peaceful; and this state of thingscontinued. The encounter with his uncle, and the deliberate choice, hadapparently given some shock to his nerves; and whenever night recurred,there came two or three hours of misery, and apparently of temptationand terror. It took different forms. Sometimes it was half insleep--the acting over again of one or two horrible scenes that he hadpartly witnessed in the Southern States, when an emancipator had beenhunted down, and the slaves who had listened to him savagely punished.In spite of his Spanish blood, the horror had been ineffaceable;and his imagination connected it with the crowd of terrors that hadrevealed themselves to his awakened conscience. He seemed to think thatif he lost in the awful game of life, he should be handed over to thatterrible slave-master; and there were times when Diego's fate, and hisown lapses, so fastened on his mind, as to make hi
m despair of everbeing allowed to quit that slave-master's dominions; and that againjoined with alarm lest his uncle should return and claim him.

  Sometimes, likewise, the old wandering life, with the flashes ofrollicking mirth and excitement, rather glimpsed at and looked forwardto than really tasted, would become so alluring a contrast to the flatand tasteless--nay, as it seemed to him, tedious and toilsome--futuresketched out for him; and the restraints and constant watchfulness ofa Christian's life appeared so distressing a bondage, that his soulseemed to revolt against it, and he would talk of following his uncleat once to London while yet it was time, and writing to him the nextmorning. This state was sure to be followed by a passion of remorse,and sheer delirious terror lest he should be given up to the enemy,who seemed now to assume to his fancy the form of his uncle. A greatdeal was no doubt delirious, and this betrayed the struggles which hehad been for weeks fighting out in silence and apparent impassiveness;but it was impossible not to feel that therewith was manifested thewrestling with the Prince of Darkness, ere his subject should escapefrom his territory, and claim the ransom of his manumission. Mr.Audley--after the second night--would not let Felix remain, but tookthe watch entirely on himself, and fought the battle with the foeby prayer and psalm. Sleep used to come before morning; and by dayFernando was himself again, very subdued and quiet, and, in fact,having lost a good deal of ground as to health.

  Strange to say, the greatest pleasure he had at this time was sittingin the upstairs parlour. The custom had begun in consequence of hisnervous shuddering at being left alone lest his uncle should return,and Felix and Geraldine had then proposed taking him to their mother,who was rather interested than annoyed by his presence, and indeedall her gentle motherly instinct was drawn out by his feebleness andlameness; she talked to him kindly and quite rationally, and he waswonderfully impressed and soothed by her tenderness. It was so utterlyunlike anything he had ever even seen, that he watched her with a sortof awe; while Cherry worked, read aloud, or drew, and felt proud ofbeing able to fetch what was beyond the capacity of her little errandboy, Bernard.

  The children, too, entertained him; he was a little afraid of Bernard'sroughness, but delighted in watching him, and he and little Stellawere intensely admiring friends. She always knew him, cooed at him,and preferred the gold of his watch-chain to all things in nature orart. Then when Wilmet, Angela, and Lance came home, and family chatterbegan, the weary anxious brain rested; and even in that room, so sadto most eyes, Fernando began to realise what Christian peace andcheerfulness could be.