Part 11 (2/2)

'Like the camellia, I suppose,' he replied; and taking his other crutch from Charlotte, he began determinedly to ascend without a.s.sistance, resolved to keep Philip a prisoner below him as long as he could, and enjoying the notion of chafing him by the delay. Certainly teasing Philip was a dear delight to Charles, though it was all on trust, as, if he succeeded, his cousin never betrayed his annoyance by look or sign.

About a quarter of an hour after, there was a knock at the dressing-room door. 'Come in,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up from her letter-writing, and Guy made his appearance, looking very downcast.

'I am come,' he said, 'to ask pardon for the disturbance I made just now. I was so foolish as to be irritated at Philip's manner, when he was giving me some good advice, and I am very sorry.'

'What has happened to your lip?' she exclaimed.

He put his handkerchief to it. 'Is it bleeding still? It is a trick of mine to bite my lip when I am vexed. It seems to help to keep down words. There! I have given myself a mark of this hateful outbreak.'

He looked very unhappy, more so, Mrs. Edmonstone thought, than the actual offence required. 'You have only failed in part,' she said. 'It was a victory to keep down words.'

'The feeling is the _thing_,' said Guy; 'besides, I showed it plainly enough, without speaking.'

'It is not easy to take advice from one so little your elder,' began Mrs. Edmonstone, but he interrupted her. 'It was not the advice. That was very good; I--' but he spoke with an effort,--'I am obliged to him. It was--no, I won't say what,' he added, his eyes kindling, then changing in a moment to a sorrowful, resolute tone, 'Yes, but I _will_, and then I shall make myself thoroughly ashamed. It was his veiled a.s.sumption of superiority, his contempt for all I have been taught.

Just as if he had not every right to despise me, with his talent and scholars.h.i.+p, after such egregious mistakes as I had made in the morning.

I gave him little reason to think highly of my attainments; but let him slight me as much as he pleases, he must not slight those who taught me.

It was not Mr. Potts' fault.'

Even the name could not spoil the spirited sound of the speech, and Mrs.

Edmonstone was full of sympathy. 'You must remember,' she said, 'that in the eyes of a man brought up at public school, nothing compensates for the want of the regular cla.s.sical education. I have no doubt it was very provoking.'

'I don't want to be excused, thank you,' said Guy. 'Oh I am grieved; for I thought the worst of my temper had been subdued. After all that has pa.s.sed--all I felt--I thought it impossible. Is there no hope for--'

He covered his face with his hands, then recovering and turning to Mrs.

Edmonstone, he said, 'It is encroaching too much on your kindness to come here and trouble you with my confessions.'

'No, no, indeed,' said she, earnestly. 'Remember how we agreed that you should come to me like one of my own children. And, indeed, I do not see why you need grieve in this despairing way, for you almost overcame the fit of anger; and perhaps you were off your guard because the trial came in an unexpected way?'

'It did, it did,' he said, eagerly; 'I don't, mind being told point blank that I am a dunce, but that Mr. Potts--nay, by implication--my grandfather should be set at nought in that cool--But here I am again!'

said he, checking himself in the midst of his vehemence; 'he did not mean that, of course. I have no one to blame but myself.'

'I am sure,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that if you always treat your failings in this way, you must subdue them at last.'

'It is all failing, and resolving, and failing again!' said Guy.

'Yes, but the failures become slighter and less frequent, and the end is victory.'

'The end victory!' repeated Guy, in a musing tone, as he stood leaning against the mantelshelf.

'Yes, to all who persevere and seek for help,' said Mrs Edmonstone; and he raised his eyes and fixed them on her with an earnest look that surprised her, for it was almost as if the hope came home to him as something new. At that moment, however, she was called away, and directly after a voice in the next room exclaimed, 'Are you there, Guy?

I want an arm!' while he for the first time perceived that Charles's door was ajar.

Charles thought all this a great fuss about nothing, indeed he was glad to find there was anyone who had no patience with Philip; and in his usual mischievous manner, totally reckless of the fearful evil of interfering with the influence for good which it was to be hoped that Philip might exert over Guy, he spoke thus: 'I begin to think the world must be more docile than I have been disposed to give it credit for. How a certain cousin of ours has escaped numerous delicate hints to mind his own business is to me one of the wonders of the world.'

'No one better deserves that his advice should be followed,' said Guy, with some constraint.

<script>