Part 20 (2/2)
”Thank you, dear aunt, but you have given me more praise than I deserve.
And now for the special hero, the counterpart of Amos.”
”My hero this time,” said Miss Huntingdon, ”is a very remarkable man, a most excellent clergyman, Mr Fletcher of Madeley. He had a very profligate nephew, a military man, who had been dismissed from the Sardinian service for base and ungentlemanly conduct, had engaged in two or three duels, and had wasted his means in vice and extravagance. One day this nephew waited on his uncle, General de Gons, and, presenting a loaded pistol, threatened to shoot him unless he would immediately advance him five hundred crowns. The general, though a brave man, well knew what a desperado he had to deal with, and gave a draft for the money, at the same time expostulating with him freely on his conduct.
The young madman rode off triumphantly with his ill-gotten cheque. In the evening, pa.s.sing the door of Mr Fletcher, he determined to call on him, and began by telling him how liberal General de Gons had been to him, and, as a proof, exhibited the draft. Mr Fletcher took it from his nephew, and looked at it with astonishment. Then, after some remarks, putting it into his pocket, he said, 'It strikes me, young man, that you possessed yourself of this note by some indirect method; and in honesty I cannot return it without my brother's knowledge and approbation.' The young man's pistol was immediately at his uncle's breast. 'My life,' said Mr Fletcher, with perfect calmness, 'is secure in the protection of an Almighty Power, nor will he suffer it to be the forfeit of my integrity and your rashness.'--This firmness staggered his nephew, who exclaimed, 'Why, Uncle de Gons, though an old soldier, was more afraid of death than you are.'--'Afraid of death!' cried Mr Fletcher. 'Do you think I have been twenty-five years the minister of the Lord of life, to be afraid of death now? No, sir; it is for _you_ to fear death. Look here, sir, the broad eye of Heaven is fixed upon us; tremble in the presence of your Maker, who can in a moment kill your body, and for ever punish your soul in h.e.l.l.'--The unhappy man turned pale, and trembled first with fear and then with rage. He still threatened his uncle with instant death. Mr Fletcher, however, gave no alarm and made no attempt to escape. He calmly conversed with his miserable nephew; and at last, when he saw that he was touched, addressed him like a father till he had fairly subdued him. But he would not return his brother's draft. However, he gave him some help himself, and having prayed with him, let him go.”
”Ay, dear aunt,” exclaimed Walter, ”that was a hero indeed.”
”Yes, Walter, a true moral hero; for, if you remember, moral courage is the bravery shown, not in acting from sudden impulse, nor from 'pluck,'
as you call it, nor from mere animal daring, but in deliberately resolving to do and doing as a matter of principle or duty what may cost us shame, or loss, or suffering, or even death. Such certainly was Mr Fletcher's courage. A sense of duty and the fear of G.o.d upheld him against all fear of man.”
”True, auntie,” acquiesced her nephew; ”and so it was with Amos.”
”Yes, just so, Walter. You tell me that when your unhappy brother-in- law pointed the pistol at Amos, your brother said with perfect calmness that he was in G.o.d's hands, and not in the hands of Mr Vivian. In thus acting from duty, and deliberately hazarding the loss of his own life rather than do what his conscience disapproved of, Amos exhibited, like Mr Fletcher, the most exalted moral courage.”
”Thank you, dear aunt; and I am so glad that I have been permitted to help my hero out of his trouble.”
On the third day after this conversation, the post brought the welcome news from Amos that he should bring his sister that afternoon to her old home, and that her children would follow in a day or two. Seven years had elapsed since the erring daughter had left sorrow and shame behind her in her home, by suddenly and clandestinely quitting it, to become, without the sanction of father or mother, the wife of a specious but profligate and needy adventurer. And now, sad and forsaken, she was returning to a home which had for a long time been closed against her.
Oh, with what a wild throbbing of heart did she gaze at the familiar sights which presented themselves to her on all sides, as she and Amos drove along the well-known roads, in through the great green gates, up the drive, and then, with a sudden pull up, to the front door. The next moment she had sprung on to the door-steps with an eager cry, and found herself clasped in her father's arms.
”My poor, poor child! welcome home again,” he murmured, with choking tears.
”O father! father!” she cried, ”it is too much happiness.” She could say no more.
Then she received the warm embrace of her aunt, who was saddened to mark the lines of care on that young face, which was all brightness the last time she had seen it. And then, as she raised herself up, and disengaged herself from those loving arms, her eyes fell on the old butler, who was twisting a large red pocket-handkerchief into a rope, in his vain efforts to restrain his emotions, which at last found vent in a long cadence of mingled sobs and exclamations. For a moment Julia Vivian hesitated, and then flung her arms round the neck of the old man, who made the hall ring with a shout of thanksgiving. Then, calming down, he said, half out loud, and half confidentially to himself, ”You know it was to be so, and so it is. We've got Miss Julia as was back among us again; and we don't mean to part with her never again no more.”
Oh, what a day of gladness was that to Amos Huntingdon! One half of the great purpose to which he had devoted his life was now accomplished.
The banished sister had been welcomed back by his father to her earthly home. And yet, how much still remained to be done! But, as he had worked on in faith and trust before, so he would continue trusting, watching, working, committing all to the wise guiding and overruling of that loving Father whose leading hand he had hitherto sought to follow, but never to outrun.
How bright were the faces which gathered round the dinner-table that evening!--though even then the cloud rested in a measure on every heart; for that poor worn face, and those wistful pitiful eyes, told of a deep and hidden sorrow, and of an abiding humiliation, which not even the pure love that now beamed on her from all sides could remove from the burdened spirit of the restored wanderer. Down in the kitchen, however, the rejoicing was unclouded, except that Harry mourned over his young mistress's faded beauty and sad looks, and occupied a considerable portion of his leisure time in punching an imaginary head, held firm under his left arm, and supposed by his fellow-servants to belong to Miss Julia's brute of a husband.
Dinner had been over rather more than an hour, when Walter, who had been absent for a short time from the drawing-room, returned, beckoned to Amos, and then, gently laying hold of his sister's hand, drew her towards the door. ”Come here, just for one minute,” he said, with a merry smile twinkling in his eyes. ”Father will spare you just for a minute;” and he conducted her out of the room. Oh, what a flood of joy came into her heart with that smile of Walter's. Years had pa.s.sed since she had rejoiced in its light. What would she have given could the frightful interval between this smile and the last she had seen before it have been wiped clean out! To her that interval had been one prolonged and gloomy frown. But now the three, Amos, Walter, and their sister, made their way downstairs. Oh, it was so like a bit of childish fun in days gone by! And now they arrived at the butler's pantry, the door of which was fast closed. Walter knocked. ”Come in,” said the old man. They entered; and all exclaimed at the sight which presented itself. On every available projection there was placed a portion of a candle, making in all some thirty or forty lights, which made the little room one brilliant blaze. On the wall opposite the door were the words, ”Welcome home again,” in large red and blue letters; and on another wall the words, ”Hip, hip, hooray!” in golden characters.
”O dear Harry!” cried his young mistress, her face glowing with such a smile as no one had seen on it yet since her return, ”how good and kind of you--just like your dear old self! how came you to think of it?”
”Well, Miss Julia,” was his reply, ”it's this way,--Master Walter and me talked about having a bonfire on the hill; but when we came to think it over, we decided as it wouldn't p'r'aps be altogether the right thing, for reasons as needn't be named on this here occasion. So I've been and got up a little bit of an illumination all of my own self. But don't you go for to suppose as these candles belongs to master. I'm not the man to use his goods this way without leave. It's a pound of the best composite as I bought out of my own wages, and you're heartily welcome to every one on 'em.”
”Thank you, dear Harry,” she said, holding out her hand to him; ”it is the sweetest of welcomes. I feel that it has done me good already; there is true love in every light.”
”Just so, miss,” said the old man, his face br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with happiness. ”And now, before we part, we must have a bit of toffee all round, as you was used to in old times.” So saying, he opened an old drawer, which seemed abundantly furnished with sundry kinds of sweets, and produced the toffee, which he pressed upon each of his three visitors. ”There,” he said in a tone of deep satisfaction, ”that's just as it should be; and now, Miss Julia,” he added, ”when you want any more, you know where to come for it.”
Few happier hearts were laid on a bed that night in England than the heart of old Harry the butler.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
TRUE SHAME VERSUS FALSE SHAME.
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