“What was it you were saying about flowers, Jeanie? I was not minding,”
said Mrs. Butler, as she sat at her window watching the long heaving
roll of the sea, as it broke along the jagged and rugged shore, her
thoughts the while far beyond it.
“I was saying, ma'am, that the same man that came with the books t'
other day brought these roses, and asked very kindly how you were.”
“You mean the same gentleman, lassie, who left his card here!” said
the old lady, correcting that very Northern habit of Ignoring all
differences of condition.
“Well, I mind he was; for he had very white hands, and a big bright ring
on one of his fingers.”
“You told him how sorry I was not to be able to see him,--that these bad
headaches have left me unable to receive any one?”
“Na; I did n't say that,” said she, half doggedly.
“Well, and what did you say?”
“I just said, she's thinking too much about her son, who is away from
home, to find any pleasure in a strange face. He laughed a little quiet
laugh, and said, 'There is good sense in that, Jeanie, and I 'll wait
for a better moment.'”
“You should have given my message as I spoke it to you,” said the
mistress, severely.
“I 'm no sae blind that I canna see the differ between an aching head
and a heavy heart Ye 're just frettin', and there 's naething else the
matter wi' you. There he goes now, the same man,--the same gentleman,
I mean,” said she, with a faint scoff. “He aye goes back by the strand,
and climbs the white rocks opposite the Skerries.”
“Go and say that I 'll be happy to have a visit from him to-morrow,
Jeanie; and mind, put nothing of your own in it, lassie, but give my
words as I speak them.”
With a toss of her head Jeanie left the room, and soon after was seen
skipping lightly from rock to rock towards the beach beneath. To the old
lady's great surprise, however, Jeanie, instead of limiting herself to
the simple words of her message, appeared to be talking away earnestly
and fluently with the stranger; and, worse than all, she now saw that
he was coming back with her, and walking straight for the cottage. Mrs.
Butler had but time to change her cap and smooth down the braids of her
snow-white hair, when the key turned in the lock, and Jeanie ushered in
Mr. Norman Maitland. Nothing could be more respectful or in better taste
than Maitland's approach. He blended the greatest deference with an
evident desire to make her acquaintance, and almost at once relieved her
from what she so much dreaded,--the first meeting with a stranger.
“Are you of the Clairlaverock Maitlands, sir?” asked she, timidly.
“Very distantly, I believe, madam. We all claim Sir Peter as the head
of the family; but my own branch settled in India two generations back,
and, I shame to say, thought of everything but genealogy.”
“There was a great beauty, a Miss Hester Maitland. When I was a girl,
she married a lord, I think?”
“Yes, she married a Viscount Kinross, a sort of cousin of her own;
though I am little versed in family history. The truth is, madam,
younger sons who had to work their way in the world were more anxious to
bequeath habits of energy and activity to their children than ideas of
blazons and quarterings.”
The old lady sighed at this; but it was a sigh of relief. She had been
dreading not a little a meeting with one of those haughty Maitlands,
associated in her childhood's days with thoughts of wealth and power,
and that dominance that smacks of, if it does not mean, insolence; and
now she found one who was not ashamed to belong to a father who had
toiled for his support and worked hard for his livelihood. And yet it
was strange with what tenacity she clung to a topic that had its terrors
for her. She liked to talk of the family, and high connections, and
great marriages of all these people with whose names she was familiar as
a girl, but whom she had never known, if she had so much as seen.
“My poor husband, sir,--you may have heard of him,--Colonel Walter
Butler, knew all these things by heart. You had only to ask when did
so-and-so die, and who married such a one, and he 'd tell you as if out
of a book.”
“I have heard of Colonel Butler, madam. His fame as a soldier is
widespread in India; indeed, I had hoped to have made his son's
acquaintance when I came here; but I believe he is with his regiment.”
“No, sir, he's not in the service,” said she, flushing.
“Ah! a civilian, then. Well, madam, the Butlers have shown capacity in
all careers.”
“My poor boy has not had the chance given him as yet, Mr. Maitland.
We were too poor to think of a profession; and so, waiting and hoping,
though it 's not very clear for what, we let the time slip over; and
there he is a great grown man! as fine a young fellow as you ever looked
on, and as good as handsome; but yet he cannot do one hand's turn that
would give him bread; and yet, ask your friends at the Abbey if there's
a grace or gift of a gentleman he is not the master of.”
“I think I know how the Lyles speak of him, and what affection they bear
him.”
“Many would condemn me, sir,” cried she, warming with the one theme that
engaged her whole heart, “for having thrown my boy amongst those so
far above him in fortune, and given him habits and ways that his own
condition must deny him; but it was my pride to see him in the station
that his father held, and to know that he became it. I suppose there
are dangers in it, too,” said she, rather answering his grave look than
anything he had said. “I take it, sir, there are great temptations,
mayhap over-strong temptations, for young natures.”
Maitland moved his head slightly, to imply that he assented.
“And it's not unlikely the poor boy felt that himself; for when he came
home t' other night he looked scared and worn, and answered me shortly
and abruptly in a way he never does, and made me sit down on the
spot and write a letter for him to a great man who knew his father,
asking--it is hard to say what I asked, and what I could have expected.”
“Colonel Butler's son can scarcely want friends, madam,” said Maitland,
courteously.
“What the world calls friends are usually relatives, and we have but one
who could pretend to any sort of influence; and his treatment of my poor
husband debars us from all knowledge of him. He was an only brother, a
certain Sir Omerod Butler. You may, perhaps, have heard of him?”
“Formerly British Minister at Naples, I think?”
“The same, sir; a person, they tell me, of great abilities, but very
eccentric, and peculiar,--indeed, so his letters bespeak him.”
“You have corresponded with him then, madam?”
“No, sir, never; but he wrote constantly to my husband before our
marriage. They were at that time greatly attached to each other; and the
elder, Sir Omerod, was always planning and plotting for his brother's
advancement. He talked of him as if he was his son, rather than a
younger brother; in fact, there were eighteen years between them. Our
marriage broke up all this. The great man was shocked at the humble
connection, and poor Walter would not bear to have me slightingly spoken
of; but dear me, Mr. Maitland, how I am running on! To talk of such
things to you! I am really ashamed of myself! What will you think of
me?”
“Only what I have learned to think of you, madam, from all your
neighbors,--with sentiments of deep respect and sincere interest.”
“It is very good of you to say it, sir; and I wish Tony was back here to
know you and thank you for all your attention to his mother.”
“You are expecting him, then?” asked he.
“Well, sir, I am, and I am not. One letter is full of hope and
expectancy; by Thursday or Friday he 's to have some tidings about this
or that place; and then comes another, saying how Sir Harry counsels him
to go out and make friends with his uncle. All mammon, sir,--nothing but
mammon; just because this old man is very rich, and never was married.”
“I suspect you are in error there, madam. Sir Omerod was married at
least twenty years ago, when I first heard of him at Naples.”
She shook her head doubtfully, and said, “I have always been told the
reverse, sir. I know what you allude to, but I have reason to believe I
am right, and there is no Lady Butler.”
“It is curious enough, madam, that through a chance acquaintance on
a railroad train, I learned all about the lady he married. She was an
Italian.”
“It 's the same story I have heard myself, sir. We only differ about the
ending of it. She was a stage-player or a dancer.”
“No, madam; a very celebrated prima donna.”
“Ay,” said she, as though there was no discrepancy there. “I heard how
the old fool--for he was no young man then--got smitten with her voice
and her beauty, and made such a fuss about her, taking her here and
there in his state coach, and giving great entertainments for her at the
Embassy, where the arms of England were over the door; and I have
been told that the king heard of it, and wrote to Sir Omerod a fearful
letter, asking how he dared so to degrade the escutcheon of the great
nation he represented. Ah, you may smile, sir.” Maitland had, indeed,
smiled alike at her tale, and the energy with which she told it “You
may smile, sir; but it was no matter for laughter, I promise you. His
Majesty called on him to resign, and the great Sir Omerod, who would
n't know his own brother, because he married a minister's daughter, fell
from his high station for the sake of--I will not say any hard words;
but she was not certainly superior in station to myself, and I will make
no other comparison between us.” \
“I suspect you have been greatly misled about all this, madam,” said
Maitland, with a quiet, grave manner. “Sir Omerod--I heard it from my
travelling companion--took his retiring pension and quitted diplomacy
the very day he was entitled to it So far from desiring him to leave, it
is said that the Minister of the day pressed him to remain at his post.
He has the reputation of possessing no mean abilities, and certainly
enjoyed the confidence of the Court to which he was accredited.”
“I never heard so much good of him before; and to tell you the truth,
Mr. Maitland, if you had warned me that you were his friend, I 'd
scarcely have been so eager to make your acquaintance.”
“Remember, my dear madam, all I have been telling you reached myself as
hearsay.”
“Well, well,” said she, sighing. “He's not over-likely to trouble his
head about me, and I don't see why I am to fash myself for him. Are you
minded to stay much longer in this neighborhood, Mr. Maitland?” said
she, to change the topic.
“I fear not, madam. I have overstayed everything here but the kindness
of my hosts. I have affairs which call me abroad, and some two or
three engagements that I have run to the very last hour. Indeed, I will
confess to you, I delayed here to meet your son.”
“To meet Tony, sir?”
“Yes, madam. In my intercourse with the Lyles I have learned to know a
great deal about him; to hear traits of his fine generous nature,
his manly frankness, and his courage. These were the testimonies of
witnesses who differed widely from each other in age and temperament;
and yet they all concurred in saying he was a noble-hearted young
fellow, who richly deserved all the fortune that could befall him.”
“Oh dear, sir, these are sweet words to his poor mother's ears. He is
all that I have left me; and you cannot know how he makes up to me for
want of station and means, and the fifty other things that people who
are well-off look for. I do hope he 'll come back before you leave this.
I 'd like to let you see I 'm not over-boastful about him.”
“I have had a project in my head for some days back. Indeed, it was in
pursuance of it I have been so persevering in my attempts to see you,
madam. It occurred to me, from what Sir Arthur Lyle said of your son,
that he was just the person I have long been looking out for,--a man of
good name and good blood, fresh to the world, neither hackneyed, on
the one hand, nor awkwardly ignorant, on the other; well brought up and
high-principled,--a gentleman, in fact It has long been a plan of mine
to find one such as this, who, calling himself my secretary, would be
in reality my companion and my friend; who would be content to share
the fortunes of a somewhat wayward fellow for a year or two, till,
using what little influence I possess, I could find means of effectually
establishing him in life. Now, madam, I am very diffident about making
such a proposal to one in every respect my equal, and, I have no doubt,
more than my equal in some things; but if he were not my equal, there
would be an end to what I desire in the project. In fact, to make the
mere difference of age the question of superiority between us, is my
plan. We should live together precisely on the terms of equality. In
return for that knowledge of life I could impart to him,--what I know
of the world, not acquired altogether without some sharp experience,--he
would repay me by that hearty and genial freshness which is the wealth
of the young. Now, madam, I will not tire you with any more of my
speculations, purely selfish as they are; but will at once say, if, when
your son and I meet, this notion of mine is to his taste, all the minor
details of it shall not deter him. I know I am not offering a career,
but it is yet the first step that will fit him for one. A young fellow,
gifted as he is, will needs become, in a couple of years' intercourse
with what is pre-eminently society, a man of consummate tact and
ability. All that I know of life convinces me that the successful men
are the ready-witted men. Of course I intend to satisfy you with respect
to myself. You have a right to know the stability of the bank to whom
you are intrusting your deposit At all events, think over my plan, and
if nothing has already fallen to your son's hands in London, ask him to
come back here and talk it over with me. I can remain here for a week,
that is, if I can hope to meet him.” The old lady listened with all
attention and patience to this speech. She was pleased by the flattery
of it. It was flattery, indeed, to hear that consummately fine gentleman
declare that he was ready to accept Tony as his equal in all things,
and it was more than flattery to fancy her dear boy mingling in the
pleasures and fascinations of the great world, courted and admired, as
she could imagine he would be; but there were still drawbacks to all
these. The position was that of a dependant; and how would Tony figure
in such a post? He was the finest-tempered, most generous creature in
the world, where no attempt to overbear interfered; but any show of
offensive superiority would make a tiger of him.
“Well, well,” thought she, “it's not to be rejected all at once, and I
'll just talk it over with the minister.” “May I consult an old friend
and neighbor of mine, sir, before I speak to Tony himself?” said she,
timidly.
“By all means, madam; or, if you like it better, let me call on him, and
enter more fully into my plan than I have ventured to do with you.”
“No, thank you, sir. I 'll just talk the matter over with the doctor,
and I 'll see what he says to it all. This seems a very ungracious way
to meet your great kindness, sir; but I was thinking of what awhile
ago you called my deposit, and so it is,--it's all the wealth I
possess,--and even the thought of resigning it is more than I can bear.”
“I hope to convince you one of these days, madam, that you have not
invested unprofitably;” and with many courteous assurances that, decide
how she might, his desire to serve her should remain, he took his leave,
bequeathing, as he passed out, a glow of hope to the poor widow's heart,
not the less cheering that she could not freely justify nor even define
it.