Part 45 (1/2)

Mrs Trevor had grasped her arm. ”What is Flo doing?” she said, stopping, as the pretty little spaniel trotted up to the boy's reclining figure, and began snuffing about it, and then broke into a quick short bark of pleasure, and fawned and frisked about him, and leapt upon him, joyously wagging his tail.

The boy rose with the dew wet from the flowers upon his hair;--he saw the dog, and at once began playfully to fondle it, and hold its little silken head between his hands; but as yet he had not caught sight of the Trevors.

”It is--O good heavens it is Eric,” cried Mrs Trevor, as she flew towards him. Another moment and he was in her arms, silent, speechless, with long arrears of pent-up emotion.

”Oh, my Eric, our poor, lost, wandering Eric--come home; you are forgiven, more than forgiven, my own darling boy. Yes, I knew that my prayers would be answered; this is as though we received you from the dead.” And the n.o.ble lady wept upon his neck, and Eric, his heart shaken with acc.u.mulated feelings, clung to her and wept.

Deeply did that loving household rejoice to receive back their lost child. At once they procured him a proper dress and a warm bath, and tended him with every gentle office of female ministering hands. And in the evening, when he told them his story in a broken voice of penitence and remorse, their love came to him like a sweet balsam, and he rested by them, ”seated, and clothed, and in his right mind.”

The pretty little room, fragrant with sweet flowers from the greenhouse, was decorated with all the refinement of womanly taste, and its gla.s.s doors opened on the pleasant garden. It was long, long since Eric had seen anything like it, and he had never hoped to see it again. ”Oh, dearest aunty,” he murmured, as he rested his weary head upon her lap, while he sat on a low stool at her feet, ”O aunty, you will never know how different this is from the foul horrible hold of the _Stormy Petrel_, and its detestable inmates.”

When Eric was dressed once more as a gentleman, and once more fed on nouris.h.i.+ng and wholesome food, and was able to move once more about the garden by f.a.n.n.y's side, he began to recover his old appearance, and the soft bloom came back to his cheek again, and the light to his blue eye.

But still his health gave most serious cause for apprehension; weeks of semi-starvation, bad air, sickness, and neglect, followed by two nights of exposure and wet, had at last undermined the remarkable strength of his const.i.tution, and the Trevors soon became aware of the painful fact that he was sinking to the grave, and had come home only to die.

Above all, there seemed to be some great load at his heart which he could not remove; a sense of shame, the memory of his disgrace at Roslyn, and of the dark suspicion that rested on his name. He avoided the subject, and they were too kind to force it on him, especially as he had taken away the bitterest part of their trial in remembering it, by explaining to them that he was far from being so wicked in the matter of the theft as they had at first been (how slowly and reluctantly!) almost forced to believe.

”Have you ever heard--oh, how shall I put it?--have you ever heard, aunty, how things went on at Roslyn after I ran away?” he asked one evening, with evident effort.

”No, love, I have not. After they had sent home your things, I heard no more; only two most kind and excellent letters--one from Dr Rowlands, and one from your friend Mr Rose--informed me of what had happened about you.”

”Oh, have they sent home my things?” he asked eagerly. ”There are very few among them that I care about; but there is just one--”

”I guessed it, my Eric, and, but that I feared to agitate you, should have given it you before;” and she drew out of a drawer the little likeness of Vernon's sweet childish face.

Eric gazed at it till the sobs shook him, and tears blinded his eyes.

”Do not weep, my boy,” said Mrs Trevor, kissing his forehead. ”Dear little Verny, remember, is in a land where G.o.d Himself wipes away all tears from off all eyes.”

”Is there anything else you would like?” asked f.a.n.n.y, to divert his painful thoughts. ”I will get you anything in a moment.”

”Yes, f.a.n.n.y dear, there is the medal I got for saving Russell's life, and one or two things which he gave me;--ah, poor Edwin, you never knew him!”

He told her what to fetch, and when she brought them it seemed to give him great pleasure to recall his friends to mind by name, and speak of them--especially of Montagu and Wildney.

”I have a plan to please you, Eric,” said Mrs Trevor. ”Shall I ask Montagu and Wildney here? we have plenty of room for them.”

”Oh, thank you,” he said, with the utmost eagerness. ”Thank you, dearest aunt.” Then suddenly his countenance fell. ”Stop--shall we?-- yes, yes, I am going to die soon, I know; let me see them before I die.”

The Trevors did not know that he was aware of the precarious tenure of his life, but they listened to him in silence, and did not contradict him; and Mrs Trevor wrote to both the boys (whose directions Eric knew), telling them what had happened, and begging them, simply for his sake, to come and stay with her for a time. She hinted clearly that it might be the last opportunity they would ever have of seeing him.

Wildney and Montagu accepted the invitation and they arrived together at Fairholm on one of the early autumn evenings. They both greeted Eric with the utmost affection; and he seemed never tired of pressing their hands, and looking at them again. Yet every now and then a memory of sadness would pa.s.s over his face, like a dark ripple on the clear surface of a lake.

”Tell me, Monty,” he said one evening, ”all about what happened after I left Roslyn.”

”Gladly, Eric; now that your name is cleared, there is--”

”My name cleared!” said Eric, leaning forward eagerly. ”Did you say that?”

”Yes, Eric. Didn't you know, then, that the thief had been discovered?”