Part 35 (2/2)
”What mean you?” said the ruffian, sternly.
”Mean? Why, just exactly what I say, Mr. Vaudelier! Don't start! I know you as well as you know yourself.”
Vernon bit his lips; he was confounded at hearing his name uttered,--a name which had not greeted his ears for many years. His pa.s.sion was disarmed before the rude but cutting speech of the woodman, whose knowledge of human nature, bred in the woods as he had been, was remarkable. There are men in the world, supposed to be entirely intractable, who, when rightly approached, prove as gentle as lambs.
There is no evil without its antidote, however deeply it may be hid from the knowledge of man; and there is no man so vile that he cannot be reformed. The image of G.o.d, marred and disfigured as it may be, exists in every man, as the faultless statue exists in the rough block of marble; from which, when the fas.h.i.+oning hand, aided by the magic of genius, touches it, the imago of beauty shall come forth. So, when man, in whom always exists the elements of the highest character, shall be approached by the true reformer,--the highest and truest genius,--the bright ideal shall a.s.sume the actual form.
The woodman had touched a chord in the heart of the gambler which vibrated at his touch. It was not the words, but the genuine sympathy with which they were laden, that overcame the indifference of the vicious man. Perceiving his advantage, the woodman followed it up, repeatedly disarming the bolt of pa.s.sion, which was poised in the mind of his auditor.
”Your father,” said Jerry, ”is a good man, and you mought go round the world without finding a better.”
”Very true!” replied Vernon, moved to a degree he was unwilling to acknowledge.
”Now, if you jest turn over a new leaf in the book of life, and try to fotch out right in the end, I believe the old man would cry quits on the old score.”
”Send those men away, captain! I will not attempt to escape.”
Jerry complied, and the watchers took their departure.
”Where is my father?”
”Close by, stranger. May be you'd like to see him?”
”On no account!”
”That's a good sign, anyhow,” muttered Jerry. ”You will have to see him, I am afraid. You are under his ruff.”
Vernon, completely overcome, staggered to a chair, and covered his face with his hands.
”Not so bad a boy as one mought suppose,” soliloquized Jerry, as he went to the door, and requested the servant to summon Dr. Vaudelier. ”The fellow has fed on husks long enough, and, as the scripter says, he is goin' to rise and go to his dad.”
”Do not let my father see me,--anything, rather than that!” exclaimed Vernon, rising, and grasping the woodman's arm. ”I am a great villain!”
”That's very true, stranger; but you have got into the sc.r.a.pe, and the best thing you can do is to get out on't.”
”How can I!”
”Be an honest man.”
”I fear I never can be that.”
”Try it! There is something left of you.”
At this moment Dr. Vaudelier entered the room. His aspect was stern and forbidding, and the son buried his face in his hands after the first glance at him.
”Jerome,” said he, ”you will bring my gray hairs with sorrow down to the grave.”
”Easy with him, doctor, easy! He is a little touched, and, if you manage him right, you can fotch him over. He is under conviction now. Don't let on yet!”
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