Part 13 (1/2)
”So he stated; but in what manner was he insolent to you?”
”Insolent!--told me that he acted from conscientious motives, which was as much as to say that I did not.”
”Was his language very offensive?”
”No, not his language--that was respectful enough; but it was the very respect which made it insolent. So I told him that as he could not, from scruples of conscience, join me in privateering, of course his scruples of conscience could not allow him to keep the books, and I dismissed him.”
”Do you mean to say, my dear father, that he, in a respectful manner, declined entering into partners.h.i.+p from these scruples which you mention; that he gave you no other offence than expressing his opinion, and declining your offer?”
”And what would you have more?” replied Mr Trevannion.
”I wish to know where was the insult, the ingrat.i.tude, on his part which you complain of?”
”Simply in refusing the offer. He ought to have felt grateful, and he was not; and he had no right to give such reasons as he did; for the reasons were condemning my actions. But you women cannot understand these things.”
”I rather think, my dear father, that we cannot; for I cannot perceive either the insult or the ingrat.i.tude which you complain of, and such I think will be your own opinion when you have had time to reflect, and are more cool. Mr Elrington expressed nothing more to-day, when he stated his dislike to privateering from conscientious motives, than he did after his return from his confinement in the Tower, when he gave up the command of the privateer on those very grounds; and then, when still warm with grat.i.tude to him for his self-devotion, you did not consider it an insult, but, on the contrary, took him still nearer to you into your own house. Why, then, should you consider it an insult now?
Neither can I see any ingrat.i.tude. You made him an offer, the value of which, in a worldly point of view, he could not but appreciate, and he declined it from conscientious motives; declined it, as you acknowledge, respectfully; proving that he was ready to sacrifice his worldly interests to what he considered his duty as a Christian. When Mr Elrington told me that you had dismissed him, I felt so certain that he must have been guilty of some unpardonable conduct towards you to have induced you to have resorted to such a step, that I did not credit him when he a.s.serted the contrary. I could not believe, as a daughter, anything so much to the prejudice of my own father, and so much at variance with his general conduct. I now feel that I have been most unjust to Mr Elrington, and conducted myself towards him in a way which I bitterly regret, and hope by some means to be able to express my contrition for--”
”Amy--Amy,” said Mr Trevannion, severely, ”are you blinded by regard for this young man, that you side against your own father? Am I to understand that you have given your affections without my sanction or approval?”
”No, Sir,” replied Miss Trevannion; ”that I do respect and regard Mr Elrington is true, and I cannot do otherwise for his many good qualities and his devotion towards you; but if you would ask me if I love him, I reply that such a thought has not yet entered my head. Without a knowledge of who he is, or his family, and without your approval, I should never think of yielding up my affections in so hasty a manner; but I may say more: these affections have never been solicited by Mr Elrington. He has always behaved towards me with that respect, which, as the daughter of his patron, I have had a right to expect; but in no instance has he ever signified to me that he had any preference in my favour. Having a.s.sured you of this, my dear father, I cannot but say that I consider that he has, in this instance, not only been treated with injustice by you, but also by me.”
”Say no more,” replied Mr Trevannion. As he said this, I heard footsteps in the pa.s.sage, and was about to retreat to my own room; but, as the party came without a light, I remained. It was the porter, who knocked at the sitting-room door, and was requested to come in by Mr Trevannion.
”If you please, Sir, Mr Elrington is gone out, I believe, and I found this packet directed to you on the table of the inner room, and also this bag of money, which I suppose you forgot to put away before you left.”
”Very well, Humphrey, leave them on the table.”
The man did so, and quitted the room, not perceiving me in the dark as he pa.s.sed through the ante-room.
”He has not taken the money,” observed Mr Trevannion. ”He might have done so, as he ought to be paid for his services.”
”I presume, my dear father, that his feelings were too much hurt by what pa.s.sed,” said Miss Trevannion. ”There are obligations which cannot be repaid with gold.”
”These, I perceive, are the keys of the safe; I did not think that he would have gone away this night.”
I now considered it high time to quit the ante-room, where I had been irresistibly detained by the conversation which took place. I hastened to my own chamber, determined that I would leave the house the next morning before any one was stirring. I gained it in the dark, but, having the means of striking a light, I did so, and packed up all my clothes ready for my departure. I had just fastened down my valise, when I perceived a light on the further end of the long corridor which led to my apartment. Thinking it might be Mr Trevannion, and not wis.h.i.+ng to see him, I blew out my own light and retreated to a small dressing-room, within my chamber, communicating by a gla.s.s door. The light evidently approached, and at last I perceived the party was entering my room, the door of which was wide open. It was Miss Trevannion who entered, and, turning round with her chamber-light in her hand, appeared to survey the apartment with a mournful air. She perceived my valise, and her eyes were fixed upon it for some time; at last she walked up to the dressing-table, and, sitting on the stool before it, leant down her head upon her hands and wept.
”Alas!” thought I, ”if those tears were but for me; but it is not so-- she has been excited, and her tears have come to her relief.”
After a time she raised her head from the table, and said, ”How unjust have I been--and I shall see him no more!--if I could but beg his pardon, I should be more happy. Poor fellow!--what must he have felt at my harsh bearing. Oh! My father, I could not have believed it. And what did I say?--that I had no feeling for--well, I thought so at the time, but now--I am not quite sure that I was correct, though he--well, it's better that he's gone--but I cannot bear that he should have gone as he has done. How his opinion of me must have changed! That is what vexes me--” and again she bent her head down on the table and wept.
In a moment she again rose, and took her candle in her hand. Perceiving on the dressing-table a small gold ring which I had taken off my finger the day before, and had forgotten, she took it up and examined it.
After a little while she laid her light down on the table, and put the ring upon her finger.
”I will keep it till I see him again,” murmured she; and then taking her light she walked slowly out of the room.
The knowledge I had gained by this unintentional eaves-dropping on my part, was the source of much reflection; and as I lay on the bed without taking off my clothes, it occupied my thoughts till the day began to break. That I still retained the good opinion of Miss Trevannion was certain, and the mortification I had endured at our final interview was now wholly removed. It was her duty to suppose her parent not in fault till the contrary was proved. She had known her father for years--me she had only known for a short time--and never before had she known him guilty of injustice. But her expressions and her behaviour in my room-- was it possible that she was partial to me, more partial than she had a.s.serted to her father when she was questioned?--and her taking away the ring!