Part 6 (1/2)

he said to himself; ”Noll shall stay only because it is his choice.

Never will I, by look or voice, influence him to share my life and loneliness. If he stays, and I love him as my own, just so surely will death s.n.a.t.c.h him away.”

But that the boy was a great comfort and delight to him he could not but confess to himself. He was surprised to find how, in those few short weeks, his cheery presence had won upon his heart. He watched him from the window as he walked on the sand below, searching for sea treasures, and could not endure the thought of having the boyish figure gone forever out of his sight. Neither could he think of the loneliness and silence which would settle down upon the old house when the gladsome voice and quick footsteps were gone, without a sigh.

Now it was a great pleasure to go out to the tea-table at evening and find Noll, fresh and ruddy from his ramble on the sh.o.r.e and rocks, awaiting him one side the table with his grave and yet merry face. How would it be when he was gone? It were a great deal better, Trafford thought, that the boy had never come to brighten the old house with suns.h.i.+ne for a brief s.p.a.ce, if now he went and left it darker and gloomier than before. And would he go? He should be left to choose for himself, the uncle thought, though the decision proved an unfavorable one.

CHAPTER VIII.

NOLL'S DECISION.

Noll stayed. The day on which the decision was to be made he came into the library, where Trafford sat, saying, gravely, ”Uncle Richard, to-day I was to choose, you know; and I would rather stay at Culm Rock and be your boy than to go back. May I?”

”May you?” exclaimed Trafford, on the impulse of the moment, while even his heavy heart was glad. ”How can you ask that? Oh, Noll! do you know what you are doing?”

”To be sure, Uncle Richard! I'm going to stay with you,” replied Noll, without any shadow of regret in his eyes.

”Ah, boy, I fear you will rue it,” said his uncle, shaking his head mournfully; ”remember, whatever befalls, that I did not bid you stay,--it was at your own risk.”

”Why, what do you mean?” Noll asked, with a puzzled face,--”what is to befall me, Uncle Richard?”

”I know not,--I know not,” Trafford answered; ”there may be nothing to harm you; yet death ever s.n.a.t.c.hes all that is dear to me, and I tremble for you, my boy.”

Noll looked grave and puzzled still. ”I don't understand, Uncle Richard,” he said.

”No; how can you?” his uncle said, after a pause. ”To _you_, death is only G.o.d's hand; to me, it--oh, Noll, I cannot tell you what it is! I don't wish to shock you, boy, but I'm a long way from where your father was when he penned me that calm note,--lying in the very arms of death at the moment.” Noll was silent. ”Yes,” continued Trafford, ”for me there is no brightness beyond the depths of the grave. All is dark,--dark! and so many of my friends have vanished in it,--so many have been lost to me there! Ah, my hope was all wrecked long ago!”

Noll looked up quickly, with, ”Papa lost to you, to me, Uncle Richard?

Oh, that is not true at all! Papa _lost_ to us?”

”Not to you, not to you, Noll, thank G.o.d!” Trafford replied; ”but to me,--yes! His faith he left to you,--I can see, I feel it; but I have none.”

Noll looked up to the sad-eyed, gloomy man, and fathomed the mystery of his sorrow at once. Who would not be forever sad with nothing beyond the grave but blank and darkness in which loved hearts were alway vanis.h.i.+ng?

”Oh, Uncle Richard,” said he, ”I'm sorry for you!”

”I don't deserve it,” Trafford said, with unusual tenderness. ”How can you love such a man as myself? Oh, my boy, I've been harsh with you, and cold and stern; go where you'll find some one that can care for you better than I!”

But Noll's face suddenly grew bright. ”I wouldn't do that,” he said, earnestly,--”never, Uncle Richard! Papa said I was to live with you and love you, and I _will_, unless you wish me to go. And if you do not, don't tell me to leave you again!”

”I will not, Noll,” Trafford said.

So it was all settled, at last, and Noll's heart--in spite of Uncle Richard's gloominess--was light and glad. He would stay and see if the man's sorrow and wretchedness could not be driven away, he thought; perhaps--who could tell?--he would lose his sternness, and become kind and regardful, and follow in the path which papa had trod. It all seemed very doubtful now, it was true, but such a thing _might_ be, after a time.

”Yes,” said Noll, as he thought of these things, ”I would much rather stay with you, Uncle Richard--always. And now shall we talk about studies?”

”True, we were to consider that matter,” said his uncle; ”yet I had little hope that you would stay, then. What do you study, Noll?”

”At Hastings I had arithmetic and geography and Latin. Then with papa I studied history, and a little--a very little, Uncle Richard--in mineralogy,--he liked that so, you know.”

”And what do you propose to do here?” asked his uncle.