Part 17 (1/2)

”Come to take your balance and leave me?” This was said half plaintively, half crossly.

”If you wish it, sir.”

”Not I. How is it to be?”

”Well, sir, I say to you what you said to me the other day, Stick to me, and I'll stick to you.”

”I'll stick to you.”

Bayne held up his hands piteously to them both.

”What sir?” faltered he, turning to Cheetham, ”after all your experience!” then to Henry, ”What, fight the Trades, after the lesson they have given you?”

”I'll fight them all the more for that,” said Henry, grinding his teeth; ”fight them till all is blue.”

”So will I. That for the Trades!”

”Heaven help you both!” groaned Bayne, and looked the picture of despair.

”You promised me shutters, with a detonator, sir.”

”Ay, but you objected.”

”That was before they blew me up.”

”Just so. Shutters shall be hung to-morrow; and the detonators I'll fix myself.”

”Thank you, sir. Would you mind engaging a watchman?”

”Hum? Not--if you will share the expense.”

”I'll pay one-third.”

”Why should I pay two thirds? It is not like shutters and Bramah locks: they are property. However, he'll be good against rattening; and you have lost a fortnight, and there are a good many orders. Give me a good day's work, and we won't quarrel over the watchman.” He then inquired, rather nervously, whether there was anything more.

”No, sir: we are agreed. And I'll give you good work, and full time.”

The die was cast, and now he must go home and face his mother. For the first time this many years he was half afraid to go near her. He dreaded remonstrances and tears: tears that he could not dry; remonstrances that would worry him, but could not shake him.

This young man, who had just screwed his physical courage up to defy the redoubtable Unions had a fit of moral cowardice, and was so reluctant to encounter the gentlest woman in England, that he dined at a chop-house, and then sauntered into a music hall, and did not get home till past ten, meaning to say a few kind, hurried words, then yawn, and slip to bed.

But, meantime, Mrs. Little's mind had not been idle. She had long divined a young rival in her son's heart, and many a little pang of jealousy had traversed her own. This morning, with a quickness which may seem remarkable to those who have not observed the watchful keenness of maternal love, she had seen that her rival had worked upon Henry to resign his declared intention of leaving Hillsborough. Then she felt her way, and, in a moment, she had found the younger woman was the stronger.

She a.s.sumed as a matter of course, that this girl was in love with Henry (who would not be in love with him?), and had hung, weeping, round his neck, when he called from Cairnhope to bid her farewell, and had made him promise to stay. This was the mother's theory; wrong, but rational.

Then came the question, What should she do? Fight against youth and nature? Fight, unlikely to succeed, sure to irritate and disturb. Risk any of that rare affection and confidence her son had always given her?

While her thoughts ran this way, seven o'clock came, and no Henry. Eight o'clock, and no Henry. ”Ah!” thought the mother, ”that one word of mine has had this effect already.”

She prepared an exquisite little supper. She made her own toilet with particular care; and, when all was ready, she sat down and comforted herself by reading his letters, and comparing his love with the cavalier behavior of so many sons in this island, the most unfilial country in Europe.

At half past ten Henry came up the stairs, not with the usual light elastic tread, but with slow, hesitating foot. Her quick ear caught that too, and her gentle bosom yearned. What, had she frightened him? He opened the door, and she rose to receive him all smiles. ”You are rather late, dear,” she said; ”but all the better. It has given me an excuse for reading your dear letters all over again; and I have a thousand questions to ask you about Cairnhope. But sit down first, and have your supper.”