that,--seeing you both is nothing but joy; it would make me well and
ready for anything. But--but _he_ has been here since I saw you
yesterday, Amos. He found out from my manner that something had
happened, and he made me tell that you had been here. And then he asked
if you had said anything about money; and, when I hesitated, he
threatened and threatened till he forced it out of me that my dear
father had sent me those notes. He went off again last night, and said
that he should like to meet you this morning, and that perhaps something
might be arranged to the satisfaction of all parties."
"Then you told him that I was coming again this morning?"
"Yes; he dragged it from me by his sharp and cruel questioning. But he
is not coming till twelve o'clock."
"And where is he now?"
"I cannot tell. He never lets me know where he is going to, or how long
he means to stay away."
"I will meet him here, then," said Amos; "perhaps we may now really come
to some understanding which will get us out of our difficulties."
"And what about me?" asked Walter. "I have come over here in the
character of a policeman in plain clothes to watch over my brother Amos,
and I don't want that precious blackguard--I beg your pardon, Julia, I
mean your husband--to have any more _tete-a-tetes_ with my charge unless
I am by. Can you hide me away in some corner where I can hear and see
all that is going on without being seen myself?"
"Would that be right?" asked his brother hesitatingly.
"Perfectly right," said Walter, "so long as _you_ are willing that I
should hear what passes between you. I'm not fond of acting the spy,
but this is simply taking reasonable precautions to prevent an honest
man being entrapped or injured by a rogue."
"Yes," said his sister, "I am afraid what you say is too true. I would
not answer for what Orlando might do at any time. So I think I can
place you where you can observe and hear what is going on without being
observed yourself."
Having said this, she led the way into another room on the opposite side
of the passage, which was usually occupied by the owner of the house,
but which she had this morning lent to her lodger for her use, as it was
rather larger than the one Mrs Vivian occupied, and more convenient for
the reception of a visitor. On the farther side of this apartment was a
door leading out to the back part of the house. It was seldom used now,
and a curtain hung before it, as the weather was cold and a strong
current of air came through it. In an upper panel of this door was a
small glass window, now disused, for some alterations had been made in
the back premises which blocked out the light. The panes of this window
had been pasted over and covered by paper similar in colour to the door,
so that the existence of any glass there would not have been suspected
by any ordinary observer.
When this door and its window had been shown to Walter, what he should
do flashed upon him at once. "May we take the landlady in a measure
into our confidence?" he asked.
"Yes," said his sister, "I am sure you may. She knows my trials and
troubles too well."
Amos having assented, Mrs Allison was called, and it was explained to
her that Walter wished to watch behind the door unobserved, and to be
able, if possible, to see as well as hear what was going on in the room
during the interview between his brother and brother-in-law. The good
woman, at once comprehending the situation, gave cheerful leave to
Walter to take his stand where he proposed, promising that no one should
interrupt; and then with her own hands scratched with an old pair of
scissors two small round holes in the paper which had been pasted on the
small window, such as would not attract the notice of any one in the
room, but through which Walter would be able to see everything that was
going on inside.
A few minutes before twelve he duly took his stand behind this disused
door. The curtain had previously been removed by the landlady, so that
any conversation in the room could be readily heard through the not over
tight-fitting woodwork. Anxiously did the young man wait for the coming
interview. He was not kept long in suspense. A loud ring at the front
door was followed by the sound of a heavy stalking tread. Mr Orlando
Vivian entered the other parlour, whither Amos and his sister had
retired, and saluted the former with an offhand, swaggering assumption
of politeness.
"Your servant, Mr Huntingdon," he said. Whose ever _servant_ he might
be, at that moment he was clearly the _slave_ of strong drink.
Amos bowed.
"I hope you find your sister well, Mr Huntingdon," he added; "it is
very kind of you to visit us in our humble dwelling."
The other replied that he did not find his sister looking as well as he
had hoped, but trusted that she might soon be better.
"The better for my absence, I suppose you mean," said his brother-in-law
sneeringly.
Amos made no reply.
"Well, sir," continued the wretched stroller, whose swaggering manner
was evidently merely assumed, "every man's house is his castle, and
therefore mine must be so too. I haven't much to offer you in the way
of welcome just now, but, before we part, I should like a word in
private with you.--Is the other room occupied?" he asked of his wife.
"No; Mrs Allison has put it at my service this morning."
"Then, Mr Huntingdon, will you be so good as to follow me?" Saying
which, he led the way to the other parlour, and, when they had entered,
locked the door, to the surprise and not particular satisfaction of
Amos, who gave just one glance at the little window, and thought he saw
two eyes peeping through the little holes.
"Pray be seated," said the player.
Amos accepted the invitation and sat.
"You have brought some money, I understand, from my father-in-law for
his daughter," began Mr Vivian abruptly.
"I have," said the other, after his questioner had waited a minute or so
for a reply.
"Would you have the goodness to hand it to me?" continued the player.
"I brought it," replied Amos, "for my sister's own private use and
benefit, and cannot therefore give it to you."
"Ah, indeed!" said the other sarcastically; "but you know, sir, that a
wife's goods belong to her husband, who, as I think the Bible has it, is
the head of the wife, so that what is hers is his, and indeed his more
than hers."
"Perhaps so, under ordinary circumstances," replied Amos; "but this is a
free gift from a father to a daughter, and I am sure no kind or
reasonable husband would wish to deprive her of it."
"Deprive, sir? No,--deprive is not the word. Husband and wife are one,
you know: the wife is the weaker vessel, and the husband the stronger;
and it is only right and natural that the stronger should have the
money, that he may use it for the benefit of the weaker."
"Mr Vivian," said Amos firmly, "all this, and you must know it, is mere
idle talk. I cannot give you the money."
"And I on my part say, sir," replied the other, "that I must have it. I
want it. I cannot do without it."
"I have told you my decision," said Amos.
"Indeed," said the other. "Then I am driven to an unpleasant line of
persuasion, though very reluctantly."
He rose, and Amos did the same.
"Do you see this?" he said, taking from his pocket a revolver.
"I do," said Amos.
"Should I be disposed to use this by way of compulsion, what would you
say?"
"That I am in God's hands and not in yours," replied Amos, looking
Vivian full in the face, who quailed before the calm, steady gaze of the
young man.
Neither spoke for half a minute; then the unhappy stroller stepped back,
and began to raise his right arm. The next instant the disused door was
dashed open, and Walter sprang upon his astounded brother-in-law with
the fury of a tiger. The pistol flew from Vivian's hand, and he fell to
the ground. Walter, who was full of vigour and activity, pinned him
down, and called to Amos to give him one of the bell ropes. With this,
being assisted by his brother, he pinioned the prostrate man so that he
was utterly helpless.
"Now," said Walter, "let us search the villain's pockets." He did so,
and discovered a second revolver. "What's to be done now?" he asked;
"shall we hand him over at once to the police?"
At this moment his sister, having heard the scuffle, tried the door.
Amos unlocked it. What a sight presented itself! "Oh, what does it all
mean?" she cried.
"Why, just this," exclaimed her brother. "This dastardly villain--I
must call him so--has been threatening to shoot Amos because he would
not give him the money that was sent by my father to you."
"Oh, misery! misery!" cried the unhappy wife, hiding her face with her
hands.
"Let me get up; untie the rope," wailed the unhappy Vivian, now utterly
crestfallen and abject. "I meant your brother no harm; I only intended
to frighten him. The pistols are neither of them loaded."
"It may be so," said Walter. "Well, get up," and he helped him to rise.
"Now sit down in that chair and listen to me. You've behaved like a
brute, and worse than a brute, to my poor sister; you have cruelly
trapped my dear noble brother, and would have murdered him if you had
dared. The simplest thing would just be to send for a policeman and
give you into his charge. But I don't want to do this for my poor
sister's sake and the family's sake. But now I've made up my mind--come
what may, disgrace or no disgrace, if you show your face amongst any of
us again, the constable shall have you, and you shall get your deserts.
We've got a home for our sister at the old place, and Amos has got a
home for the children. Now if, after I've set you free, you turn up
anywhere near us or the children, we'll make no more bones of the
matter; you shall get your deserts, and these will be the deserts of a
mean, cowardly, rascally wife-beater, to say the best of you."
Not a word of reply did the guilty man make to this speech. He writhed
in his chair, and looked utterly humbled and crushed.
When Walter--who had now, with the tacit consent of Amos, taken the
management of matters into his own hands--had examined the pistols,
which proved to be unloaded, he approached his brother-in-law once more,
and said, with less excitement, "Now, Mr Orlando Vivian, I am going to
release you, and you will have the goodness to take yourself out of this
town before you are an hour older, else you will have to take the
consequences." Having said this, he proceeded to unfasten the cord
which bound the degraded and spirit-broken wretch. When this had been
accomplished, the baffled stroller rose, and, with head hanging down,
and without a word uttered, left the house.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
BACK TO THE OLD HOME AGAIN.
"I shall remain here with poor Julia," said Amos to his brother, when
their unhappy sister, completely overcome by the terrible scene she had
just witnessed, had retired to her bedroom, where she was lovingly
tended by her kind landlady.
"And what is the next move for me?" asked Walter.
"Well," replied Amos, "you have done your part most nobly, and I am so
thankful now that you came. Not that I think that wretched man would
really have harmed me. He just wanted to frighten the money out of me;
but I believe, on finding me firm, and not to be frightened, he would
have dropped his pistol, and made some shuffling attempt to turn the
matter into a joke, and would then have tried to wheedle the money out
of me, when he saw that a show of violence would not do. Still, I am
truly glad that you were here, and that things have turned out as they
have done. I feel sure now that you have thoroughly humbled this
unprincipled scoundrel, and that he has slunk away like a whipped hound,
and I have every hope that he will not trouble poor Julia any more with
his odious presence. As he knows now that there are two of us keeping
watch, and must remember what you have said to him, I fully believe that
he will take himself off to a distance, if not go abroad, and that we
need not be afraid of his annoying us any more either here or at
Flixworth Manor."
"That's pretty much what I think too," replied his brother; "but what am
I to say at home?"
"Just what you like. But as to our dear sister, I want you to express
to my father her delight and gratitude when I gave her his love, and
told her that there was still a place for her in the old home. And then
would you find out from him or through our aunt how soon she may come
back to us? for I want to get her out of this place. When she is once
in her old home again she will be safe out of the clutches of her cruel
husband. I will wait here for an answer, which you can send me by post;
and, should that answer warrant poor Julia's return at once, I will see
all things got ready, and will bring her myself. And, should there be
anything in the way of her returning immediately, I can remove her for a
time to where her children are, as I shall be better able to keep my eye
upon her there."
"All right, Amos; I'm not afraid of leaving you here now, for I am as
fully persuaded as you are that Mr Vivian has had such a lesson as he
won't forget in a hurry, and that he will make himself pretty scarce for
some time to come. You shall hear from me by to-morrow's post.--Ah, but
there's another thing: am I to say anything about the children? for if
poor Julia is to come back we shall have to make room for the children
as well."
"Nay, dear Walter," said his brother, "I think it would be better to say
nothing about the children; they are safe and happy where they are. Let
us leave the matter to our dear father. When Julia has got her old
place in his house and heart back again, I feel sure that it will not be
long before he bids her himself send for the children. Don't you think
it will be better that it should come from himself?"
"Just so, Amos; you are right, as usual. Well, this is a capital ending
to a queer beginning. And what will old Harry say to see `Miss Julia as
was' turning up `Mistress Julia as is'? Oh, won't it be capital fun to
see him welcome her back!" So Walter set off on his homeward journey in
high spirits, and in due time reached his destination brimful of news
and excitement.
"All well, I hope?" asked his father, who, with his aunt, met him in the
hall on his arrival.
"Oh yes, father, it's all well, and a deal better than all well--it's
all best." Then the three gathered round the fire in Mr Huntingdon's
library, and Walter told his story. Deep was the emotion of Mr
Huntingdon and his sister, and deeper still their thankfulness, when
they heard of the happy conclusion of the terrible and exciting meeting
between Amos and his brother-in-law.
"And you did nobly and wisely yourself, my dear boy," said the squire.
"I believe you have given that wretched scoundrel his quietus so far as
we are concerned.--And what of your poor sister? Are we to expect her
soon?"
"That's what I've got to write to Amos about," replied his son. "As
soon as you are ready to receive her she will be only too thankful to
come."
"Let her come at once--write by this night's post," cried his father in
an agitated voice. "Poor dear child, I long to welcome her back again;
and I think, if I am not mistaken, that your aunt has been making some
quiet preparations, so that it will not be inconvenient to you, Kate,
for her to come at once, will it?"
"Not in the least," replied his sister; "I have been earnestly hoping
and praying for this."
"And what about the children?" said her brother; "we must make room for
them too, poor things. We can't keep the mother and her children
separate."
"Of course not, dear Walter," replied Miss Huntingdon; "we shall be
quite prepared to receive them also, though they are at present not with
their mother, but under Amos's charge."
"Ah, I remember," said her brother; "well, we can send for them too,
when the poor child herself has got here."
"Am I to write all that?" asked Walter.
"Oh, certainly," was the reply.
"Then hip, hip, hurrah forty-four thousand times! And now I will write
the letter; and then I'll have a fine bit of fun with Harry." So the
letter was written and duly posted that evening; and Walter, after he
had finished it, betook himself to the butler's pantry.
"Harry," he said to the worthy old servant, who, wash-leather in hand,
was burnishing the plate with all the solemnity of one engaged in some
very serious and responsible undertaking, "what do you think?"
"Well, Master Walter, I think a good many things."
"I daresay you do. But what do you think _now_?"
"Why, pretty much what I've been thinking of for the last half-hour; and
that ain't much to the purpose to any one but myself."
"Just so, Harry; well, I'm not going to offer you a penny for your
thoughts, but I'm sure you would give a good many pence for mine.
However, I'll make no charge on the present occasion, but will tell you
out at once--Miss Julia that was is coming back to us to her old home,
perhaps to-morrow or next day. My father has sent for her. Now, isn't
that stunning?"
It certainly looked so in Harry's case, for the old man dropped a large
silver fork on to the ground, and stood, with his mouth and eyes wide
open, staring at Walter, the very picture of amazement.
"All, I thought so," said Walter. "Well, Harry, it's true. Isn't that
good news?"
Yes; it was joy and gladness to the faithful old servant's heart. One
big tear after another rolled down his cheeks, and then he said in a low
voice, "The Lord be praised! I've prayed as it might come to this some
day; and so it has at last. And you're sure of it, Master Walter;
you're not a-cramming of me?"
"Nothing of the sort, Harry; I couldn't have the heart to do it. No, it
is perfectly true. And now, what shall we do? Shall we pile up a great
bonfire, and light it the same night she comes back? What do you say to
that?"
"I don't know, Master Walter, I don't know. Somehow or other it don't
seem to me quite suitable. I think master would hardly like it. You
see, it isn't as if she'd been and married a creditable person, or were
coming back after all had gone on straight and smooth like. There's
been faults on both sides, maybe; but it seems to me as we'd better do
our rejoicing in a quieter sort of way, and light the bonfires in our
hearts, and then we shan't give offence to nobody."
"Harry, I believe you're right," said Walter. "You're a regular old
brick, and nothing but it; thank you for your sensible advice."
When dinner was over, and Miss Huntingdon had retired for a few minutes
to her own room, she received a visit from Walter. "Auntie," he said,
"I am come for a lesson on moral courage, and for a little
encouragement. Now, you know all the circumstances of our grand scene
with that shocking scoundrel at Dufferly; so you must tell me who is
your special hero for moral courage in whose steps Amos trode on that
occasion."
"Yes, I can do that, my dear boy," replied his aunt; "but, first of all,
I must speak a word of congratulation and praise to another hero--my
dear nephew Walter."
"Nay, aunt," he replied, "I don't think there was much moral courage
about it in my case. My blood was up when I saw Amos's life threatened,
and I should have pitched into the cowardly wretch if he had been as
tall as a lighthouse and as big as an elephant."
"True, dear boy, that was natural courage principally; but there was
moral courage too in your whole conduct in the matter, in the steady
perseverance with which you went to be your brother's protector, come
what might and at all hazards."
"Thank you, dear aunt, but you have given me more praise than I deserve.
And now for the special hero, the counterpart of Amos."
"My hero this time," said Miss Huntingdon, "is a very remarkable man, a
most excellent clergyman, Mr Fletcher of Madeley. He had a very
profligate nephew, a military man, who had been dismissed from the
Sardinian service for base and ungentlemanly conduct, had engaged in two
or three duels, and had wasted his means in vice and extravagance. One
day this nephew waited on his uncle, General de Gons, and, presenting a
loaded pistol, threatened to shoot him unless he would immediately
advance him five hundred crowns. The general, though a brave man, well
knew what a desperado he had to deal with, and gave a draft for the
money, at the same time expostulating with him freely on his conduct.
The young madman rode off triumphantly with his ill-gotten cheque. In
the evening, passing the door of Mr Fletcher, he determined to call on
him, and began by telling him how liberal General de Gons had been to
him, and, as a proof, exhibited the draft. Mr Fletcher took it from
his nephew, and looked at it with astonishment. Then, after some
remarks, putting it into his pocket, he said, `It strikes me, young man,
that you possessed yourself of this note by some indirect method; and in
honesty I cannot return it without my brother's knowledge and
approbation.' The young man's pistol was immediately at his uncle's
breast. `My life,' said Mr Fletcher, with perfect calmness, `is secure
in the protection of an Almighty Power, nor will he suffer it to be the
forfeit of my integrity and your rashness.'--This firmness staggered his
nephew, who exclaimed, `Why, Uncle de Gons, though an old soldier, was
more afraid of death than you are.'--`Afraid of death!' cried Mr
Fletcher. `Do you think I have been twenty-five years the minister of
the Lord of life, to be afraid of death now? No, sir; it is for _you_
to fear death. Look here, sir, the broad eye of Heaven is fixed upon
us; tremble in the presence of your Maker, who can in a moment kill your
body, and for ever punish your soul in hell.'--The unhappy man turned
pale, and trembled first with fear and then with rage. He still
threatened his uncle with instant death. Mr Fletcher, however, gave no
alarm and made no attempt to escape. He calmly conversed with his
miserable nephew; and at last, when he saw that he was touched,
addressed him like a father till he had fairly subdued him. But he
would not return his brother's draft. However, he gave him some help
himself, and having prayed with him, let him go."
"Ay, dear aunt," exclaimed Walter, "that was a hero indeed."
"Yes, Walter, a true moral hero; for, if you remember, moral courage is
the bravery shown, not in acting from sudden impulse, nor from `pluck,'
as you call it, nor from mere animal daring, but in deliberately
resolving to do and doing as a matter of principle or duty what may cost
us shame, or loss, or suffering, or even death. Such certainly was Mr
Fletcher's courage. A sense of duty and the fear of God upheld him
against all fear of man."
"True, auntie," acquiesced her nephew; "and so it was with Amos."
"Yes, just so, Walter. You tell me that when your unhappy brother-in-
law pointed the pistol at Amos, your brother said with perfect calmness
that he was in God's hands, and not in the hands of Mr Vivian. In thus
acting from duty, and deliberately hazarding the loss of his own life
rather than do what his conscience disapproved of, Amos exhibited, like
Mr Fletcher, the most exalted moral courage."
"Thank you, dear aunt; and I am so glad that I have been permitted to
help my hero out of his trouble."
On the third day after this conversation, the post brought the welcome
news from Amos that he should bring his sister that afternoon to her old
home, and that her children would follow in a day or two. Seven years
had elapsed since the erring daughter had left sorrow and shame behind
her in her home, by suddenly and clandestinely quitting it, to become,
without the sanction of father or mother, the wife of a specious but
profligate and needy adventurer. And now, sad and forsaken, she was
returning to a home which had for a long time been closed against her.
Oh, with what a wild throbbing of heart did she gaze at the familiar
sights which presented themselves to her on all sides, as she and Amos
drove along the well-known roads, in through the great green gates, up
the drive, and then, with a sudden pull up, to the front door. The next
moment she had sprung on to the door-steps with an eager cry, and found
herself clasped in her father's arms.
"My poor, poor child! welcome home again," he murmured, with choking
tears.
"O father! father!" she cried, "it is too much happiness." She could
say no more.