Part 49 (1/2)
The only reply which the vicar made to this speech was the utterance of a fervent blessing.
He now remembered with considerable satisfaction the cautious tendency of this reply, and, upon the whole, thought that there was no occasion to fatigue his spirits by making these young ladies a private visit to announce his change of condition, as in the case of Mrs. Simpson. He therefore turned from the widow's door, after the pause of a moment on her threshold, during which these thoughts were rapidly but healthily digested, leaving him, that is to say, neither loaded with remorse, nor fevered by anxiety.
Upon this occasion, for some reason or other, connected perhaps with that tranquillity of mind in his lady which it was so unquestionably his duty to guard, the Vicar of Wrexhill had not made use of his carriage and servants. He walked therefore back to the Park, and met Charles Mowbray coming through the lodge gates, as he entered them.
The young man touched his hat, and was walking on; but the vicar stopped him.
”Where are you going, my dear Charles?” said he. ”It is getting quite late; you will not have time for a walk before dinner--it is almost dark. You know my habits are those of great punctuality.”
”I shall never interfere with those habits, sir. It is probable that I may not return to dinner.”
”Indeed!--we shall be very sorry to lose you. Where are you going, then, my dear boy?”
Charles hesitated. His heart seemed to swell in his bosom at this questioning; and though, in fact, he had strolled out without any idea of absenting himself at dinner, something like a spirit of rebellion induced him to answer, ”To Sir Gilbert Harrington's, sir.”
”Good evening, then. Let me bespeak your ear for half an hour in my library to-morrow morning, between the hours of eleven and twelve.”
Charles bowed, but uttered not a word, and proceeded towards Oakley, inwardly muttering ”_his library_!”
He entered the mansion of his old friends without an apology, but stated the cause of his visit as it really was.
”I could not bear to be examined by him as to where I was going, and when I was coming; and rather to prove my independence, than for any other reason, I am come to you. Can you forgive this?”
”Ay, truly can we,” replied the old lady; ”and be sure to do the same next time, Charles. It makes me sick to think of this species of paternal admonis.h.i.+ng.”
”I am to be lectured for my impatience under it, as I suspect; for he bade me meet him in _his library_ to-morrow morning.”
”His library! Scoundrel!” exclaimed Sir Gilbert through his closed teeth.
”Shall I obey the mandate, Sir Gilbert?” said Charles. ”Or shall I take no notice of it?”
”The question seems an easy one to answer, Charles?” replied the baronet; ”and had I been to answer yesterday morning, I should have said without hesitation,--set fire to the library, and stifle him in it like a weazel as he is, rather than come at his call. But I have taken it into my head since, that our test game will be to keep things soft and smooth for a while. So wait upon him, Master Charles, in your father's library, and hear all he has got to say; and don't turn yourself out of the house; and don't spit upon him if you can help it. But I hope he won't sit in poor Mowbray's chair!”
In consequence of this counsel, Charles did wait upon the vicar in his father's library at the appointed hour, and took what comfort he could from perceiving that he was not seated in that lamented father's chair, but had ensconced himself in a newly-invented fauteuil of surpa.s.sing softness, which he had caused to be brought from the drawing-room for his especial comfort.
”You have not kept me waiting, and I commend you for it, my son. May he, in whom I trust, lead you in his own good time to be all that your pious mother can wish to see you. Sit down, Charles--pray sit down.”
Poor Charles!--the whole scene was purgatory to him; but his courage did not forsake him: and instead of running out of the room, as he felt terribly tempted to do, he sat down opposite to his stepfather, determined to hear every thing he had to say.
”I think, Charles, that the pious nature of your mother, awakened as it has of late been, must by this time be so sufficiently known to you all, as to prevent the possibility of your mistaking her motives for marrying the second father, in whose presence you are now placed. Her motives have been of the holiest kind, and never, probably, did any person perform a more acceptable service than she did when, placing her hand within mine before his altar, she resigned that power over her children, which maternal weakness rendered almost nugatory, to one who is too strong in the Lord to permit any human feelings or motives ever to make him swerve from that course which he is taught to believe the best. It would be a very s.h.i.+ning pleasure to me if your thankfulness for this most merciful dispensation were at this very moment to impel you to kneel down on one of these cus.h.i.+ons;--of such there are always sufficient, and to spare, in the dwellings of the chosen:--I wish, I say, that even now I could see you fall down before me to give thanks for having sent to you and to your sisters one of his own, as your guide and protector through the pitfalls of this life, and to usher you with favour into his presence in the life to come. I would willingly see you thus grateful for manifest mercies,--but I shall not insist upon it at this moment, for I know, Charles, how different have been the paths in which your teachers have hitherto led you.”
The vicar here paused; but as there was no point in his harangue to which Mowbray could have replied in the spirit which his friend had recommended to him, he resolutely kept silence.
”The time will come,” resumed the vicar, ”the time _shall_ come, when your knees, young man, shall be less stubborn. But it is time that I unfold to you the business upon which I wished to speak when I permitted your attendance in this apartment. You have been led, doubtless by the active machinations of the devil, to turn your sinful thoughts towards that profession which, beyond all others, has made Satan its patron and its saint. In one word, you have thought of going into the army; and it is to inform you that I shall not permit this dreadful sin to be committed by one of my family, that you are now before me. Open not your mouth, young man, in defence of the G.o.d-abandoned set to whom you would wish to belong: my ears must not be profaned by any words of such abhorrent tendency. Instead of speaking yourself, hear me. My will is, that you return to College, there to prepare yourself for ordination. I utter this command with a conscience void of offence; for though your awful deficiency in religion is well known to me, I have confidence in the Lord, and in the power he will give me to work a change: and moreover, I know to what bishop I shall lead you for ordination; thereby securing to myself the consolation of knowing that no human learning will enable you to be received within the pale that we are strengthening around us, and within which none shall be admitted (if we can help it) but the regenerate and adopted, or such as we of the evangelical church may choose to pledge ourselves shall become so. As to the manner and amount of your future income, I shall take the arrangement of it entirely into my own hands, reserving to myself the power of varying your allowance from time to time, as shall seem good. You may have a few days' holidays here if you wish it, in honour of your mother's marriage; after which I will give you ten pounds for your journey and other contingent expenses, and permit you to employ such tradesmen at Oxford as I shall point out, for such necessaries as it is proper I should furnish you with. Their bills must be forwarded to Mr. Corbold, who, for the present, I shall probably continue as my agent; and when I have duly examined them, they shall be paid. Your College expenses I shall also order to be transmitted to him, and through him to me.--I must now dismiss you, for I have letters to write.--Be careful in pa.s.sing these windows, if you please, not to approach them too closely. This room is a favourite apartment of mine, and I must not be interrupted or annoyed in it in any way. Remember this, if you please. Good morning.”
During the whole of this very trying interview Mowbray had not uttered a single word. He knew that if he opened his lips, the indignation that burned at his heart would burst forth with a vehemence he should no longer be able to control. He felt his heart throb, and every pulse so fiercely keeping time to it, that he was terrified at himself, and fearful lest the tide of pa.s.sion that worked thus fearfully within him should drive him to do, or even to say what he might repent, he hastened from the room, leaving Mr. Cartwright very comfortably persuaded that the eloquence which had been bestowed on him, if it sometimes failed in converting those who heard him to his doctrine, was of a nature well calculated to enforce his authority; a species of success which perhaps satisfied him better still.
The unfortunate Charles took refuge in Helen's dressing room from the storm that raged in his bosom. He longed to hear the gentle voice of his sister with as much eagerness as one panting in fever longs for a cool breeze or a refres.h.i.+ng stream; and when he entered the room and found it unoccupied, he felt as if that misfortune were greater than all which had fallen upon him before.
In a state of the most pitiable depression of spirits he seated himself most forlornly on a _chaise longue_ that stood in a recess as far as possible from the windows, and there, resting his head on the side of it, and covering his face with his hands, he remained for a considerable time perfectly immoveable, and quite as miserable as his worst enemy could wish.
At length the door opened, and a female entered. Charles sprang forward to meet her, and very narrowly escaped encircling Miss Torrington in his arms. She drew back, certainly, but hardly with so sudden a movement as that of Mowbray, who, colouring and stammering in extreme confusion, said as he retreated to his former place, ”I beg your pardon: I came here to look for Helen.”