_The Mother of our Hero dies._
De Lancaster having read the letter, inserted in our preceding chapter,
and for a few moments pondered on the contents of it, was about to put
it into his pocket, when his grandson eagerly requested that he would
allow him to keep possession of it--Of what use can it be to you?, said
the old gentleman.
It will remind me, John replied, that I owe the writer of it an answer.
And what sort of answer would you wish to give him?
Exactly such an one, as becomes your grandson.
And what is so becoming as forgiveness?
The writer does not seem to be of that opinion.
Who cares for his opinion, cried De Lancaster? An inconsiderate, rash,
intemperate boy--Let me rather recommend to you the opinion and example
of Pisistratus, who, when supreme in Athens, where every man’s life was
in his power, had the magnanimity to forgive the brutal insult of
Thrasippus, who, when heated with wine, after venting all the foulest
words his malice could suggest, turned upon Pisistratus, as he was
graciously soliciting him to resume his seat at the table, and vented
his filthy rheum in his face: here is a noble instance of forbearance
for you, my dear John: imitate Pisistratus!
Then I must be endowed with the power of Pisistratus, John replied,
before I can aspire to emulate his forbearance: you must also allow Sir
David Owen the plea of drunkenness and of course the loss of reason. If
under these circumstances I had the power of condemning him to death as
an atonement for his insolence, certainly I should not exercise that
power, as it could be no proof of an honourable spirit to revenge myself
upon a defenceless man? and when my word was to decide for life or
death, I should conceive no choice was left to me but to forgive. I can
honour Pisistratus very highly for his royal magnanimity, but I suspect,
my dear grandfather, I must wait till I am a king before I can save
myself from the imputation of cowardice by quoting his example. If I
could suppose myself too great to be dishonoured by an insult, I hope I
should be too generous to be gratified by revenging it.
Grandson, said the old man, (vainly endeavouring to repress his
feelings) I perceive you are too subtle to be caught by sophistry. You
distinguish rightly: the instance I adduced does not apply to the case
in question. Here is your letter; take it, but recollect that your
honour is not yet called upon to notice its contents. Mere malice only
merits your contempt; reserve your spirit for a worthier cause, and may
providence in its mercy grant you length of days! for if you, who seem
born to give the brightest lustre to a name of no mean note, should in
the blossom of your virtues prematurely fall, and I survive to mourn the
extinction of my hopes, and the loss of one so infinitely dear, what
will it avail me that the last sun, which went down in my horizon, threw
a gleam of light, that glittered as it sunk to rise no more?
A signal now given by Cecilia summoned our young hero into his mother’s
chamber. A life passed without pleasure was now about to close in a
death without pain. Though the power of speech was lost, her actions
indicated that she possessed her senses to the last. In her expiring
moments she had grasped the hand of her son so fast in her’s, that it
would have required a stronger effort than he was disposed to make for
disengaging it from her hold, and it was not till several sad minutes
had gone by, when the convulsive nerve relaxed, and the maternal
pressure was no longer felt.
John now withdrew from this melancholy scene, and, retiring to his
chamber, devoted himself for a while to solitary sorrow.
As the deceased had signified a wish to Cecilia, that her remains might
be deposited in the family vault at Glen Morgan, orders were given to
that effect. By what fit messenger to impart the mournful event to the
good old man, who had now lost his only child, was matter of debate till
the Reverend Mr. Wilson offered himself for that errand; this being
adjusted, he set out and was instructed to say that Mr. De Lancaster
with Cecilia, John and Colonel Wilson would accompany the hearse to the
place of burial. Poor old Morgan, now perfectly disabled by the gout,
received the intelligence, for which he was prepared, with becoming
resignation, and a fitter person than Edward Wilson to reconcile him to
that dispensation no where could be found--You see, sir, said the old
man to Wilson, the miserable state I am in, and can witness how
impossible it was for me to have paid the last sad duty of a father to
my dying child. I ought not, and I will not, lament that her exhausted
spirit is at length released, for I know too well that existence has
been burdensome to her, who is no more; but I must ever painfully
reflect, that there was a period in her life, when, had she been open
and sincere in her appeal, I think I was not capable of forcing her to
marry against her inclination: no, let me hope I never was that
tyrant--but alas! that time can never be recalled--She is dead, and he,
that was her choice, is dead, and I, that might, and would, have made
them happy, still languish at the end of life, only to mourn their loss.
Not so, said Wilson, not exactly so; I have a precious relique in my
care, that’s worth your living for.
That’s true, that’s true, cried Morgan. Whilst my grandson John
survives, De Lancaster and I, let death come when it will, may truly
say--_Non toti morimur_.
As the worthy old man emphatically dealt out this scrap of Latin, which
Seneca and his memory had supplied him with, the animation it inspired
was visible to Edward Wilson, who had kept his eyes upon him: one of
those faint fleeting smiles with which even pain and sorrow will at
times be seen to greet a cheering recollection, passed over his
countenance, as he dwelt upon the thought of his beloved grandson, and
Edward was not backward to prolong and heighten the consolatory impulse
by indulging him with various anecdotes to the honour of his pupil, and
fixing his attention on a pleasant topic, which is a secret in _the art
of healing_, that some practitioners either don’t seem to know, or are
not willing to make use of.
It was now in Morgan’s power to circulate his orders to his trusty
house-keeper and butler for the mansion to be prepared, and all things
needful to be put in readiness against the arrival of the family from
Kray Castle. Neither was it omitted to provide an apartment for the
young Amelia, who together with Mrs. Jennings was invited to be present
at the funeral of her patroness and friend.