Volume I Part 5 (1/2)
”His sordid, selfish, counterpart--his _worthy_ son?”
George shook his head.
I looked inquiringly.
”A certain impetuous, wilful, wrong-headed boy, yclept Geoffrey Moncton.”
”Pis.h.!.+” I exclaimed, shrugging my shoulders: ”is this your friends.h.i.+p?”
”The best proof I can give you of it.”
I walked hastily to and fro, the narrow limits of the chamber, raising, at every step, a cloud of dust from folds of old, yellow parchment and musty rolls of paper, which had acc.u.mulated there for the last half century, and lay in a pile upon the floor. I was in no humour to listen to a lecture, particularly when my own faulty temper was to be the princ.i.p.al subject, and form the text. Harrison watched my movements for some time in silence, with a provokingly-amused air; not in the least discouraged by my wayward mood; but evidently ready for another attack.
”Prithee, Geoffrey, leave off raising that cloud of dust, disturbing the evil spirits which have long slumbered in yon forgotten pile of professional rubbish, and sit down quietly and listen to reason.”
I felt annoyed, and would not resume my place beside him, but, a.s.suming a very stately air, seated myself opposite to my tormentor on a huge iron chest, which was the only seat, save the bed, in the room; and then, fixing my eyes reproachfully upon him, I sat as stiff as a poker, without relaxing a muscle of my face.
He laughed outright.
”You are displeased with my bluntness, Geoffrey, and I am amused with your dignity. That solemn, proud face would become the Lord Chancellor of England.”
”Hold your tongue, you tormentor; I won't be laughed at in this absurd manner. What have I done to deserve such a sermon?”
”'Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, saith the preacher,' and surely, Geoffrey, your vanity exceeds all other vanity. I hint at a fault, and point it out for correction. You imagine yourself perfection, and are up in arms in a moment. Answer me, seriously: do you ever expect to settle in life?”
”I have dared to cherish the forlorn hope.”
”Forlorn as it is, you are taking the best method to destroy it.”
”What would you have me do?”
”Yield to circ.u.mstances.”
”Become a villain?” This was said with a very tragic air.
”May Heaven forbid! I should be sorry to see you so nearly resemble your uncle. But I would have you avoid uselessly offending him; for, by constantly inflaming his mind to anger, you may ruin your own prospects, and be driven in desperation to adopt measures for obtaining a living, scarcely less dishonourable than his own.”
”Go on,” I cried: ”it is all very well for you to talk in this philosophical strain. You have not been educated in the same bitter school with me; you have not known what it is to writhe beneath the oppressive authority of this cold, unfeeling man; you cannot understand the nature of my sufferings, or the painful humiliation I must daily endure.”
He took my hand affectionately.
”Geoffrey,” said he, ”how do you know all this? Yours is not a profession which allows men to jump at conclusions. What can you tell of my past or present trials. What if I should say, they had been far greater and worse to bear than your own?”
”Impossible!”
”All things that have reference to sorrow and trouble, in this world, are only too possible. But I will have patience with you, my poor friend; your heart is very sore. The deadly wounds in mine are partially healed; yet, my experience of life has been bought with bitter tears;--the loss of hope, health and self-respect. I am willing that you should profit by this; and, having made this confession, will you condescend to hear my lecture to an end?”
”Oh, tell me something more about yourself. I would rather listen to your sorrows, than have my faults paraded before me.”