Aunt Hilary fixed her honest eyes on the lad's face--the lad, so
little younger than herself, and yet who at tunes, when he let out
sayings such as this, seemed so awfully, so pitifully old; and she
felt thankful that, at all risks and costs, they had come to London
to be beside him, to help him, to save him, if he needed saving, as
women only can. For, after all, he was but a boy. And though as he
walked by her side, stalwart and manly, the thought smote her
painfully that many a young fellow of his age was the stay and bread
winner of some widowed mother or sister, nay even of wife and child,
still she repeated cheerfully. "What can one expect from him? He is
only a boy."
God help the women who, for those belonging to them--husbands,
fathers, brothers, lovers, sons--have ever so tenderly to apologize.
When they came in sight of St. Pancras's Church, Ascott said,
suddenly, "I think you'll knew your way now, Aunt Hilary."
"Certainly. Why?"
"Because--you wouldn't be vexed if I left you? I have an engagement;
some fellows that I dine with, out at Hampstead, or Richmond, or
Blackwell, every Sunday. Nothing wicked, I assure you. And you know
it's capital for one's health to get a Sunday in fresh air."
"Yes; but Aunt Johanna will be sorry to miss you."
"Will she? Oh, you'll smooth her down. Stay! Tell her I shall be back
to tea."
"We shall be having tea directly."
"I declare I had quite forgotten. Aunt Hilary, you must change your
hours. They don't suit me at all. No men can ever stand early
dinners. By, by! You are the very prettiest auntie. Be sure you get
home safe. Hollo, there! That's my omnibus."
He jumped on the top of it, and was off.
Aunt Hilary stood quite confounded, and with one of those strange
sinkings of the heart which had come over her several times this day.
It was not that Ascott showed any unkindness--that there was any
actual badness in his bright and handsome young face. Still there was
a want there--want of earnestness, steadfastness, truthfulness, a
something more discoverable as the lack of something else than as
aught in itself tangibly and perceptibly wrong. It made her sad; it
caused her to look forward to his future with an anxious heart. It
was so different from the kind of anxiety, and yet settled repose,
with which she thought of the only other man in whose future she felt
the smallest interest. Of Robert Lyon, she was certain that whatever
misfortune visited him he would bear it in the best way it could be
borne; whatever temptation assailed him he would fight against it as
a brave and good Christian should fight. But Ascott?
Ascott's life was as yet an unanswered query. She could but leave it
in Omnipotent hands.
So she found her way home, asking it once or twice of civil
policemen, and going a little distance round--dare I make this
romantic confession about so sensible and practical a little
woman?--that she might walk once up Burton Street and down again. But
nobody knew the fact, and it did nobody any harm.
Meantime at No 15 the afternoon had passed heavily enough. Miss
Selina had gone to lie down; she always did of Sundays, and
Elizabeth, after making her comfortable, by the little attentions the
lady always required, had descended to the dreary wash house, which
had been appropriated to herself, under the name of a "private
kitchen," in the which, after all the cleanings and improvements she
could achieve, sat like Marius among the rains of Carthage, and
sighed for the tidy bright house place at Stowbury. Already, from her
brief experience, she had decided that London people were horrid
shams, because they did not in the least care to have their kitchens
comfortable. She wondered how she should ever exist in this one, and
might have carried her sad and sullen face up stairs, if Miss Leaf
had not come down stairs, and glancing about with that ever gentle
smile of hers, said kindly, "Well, it is not very pleasant, but you
have made the best of it, Elizabeth. We must all put up with
something, you know. Now, as my eyes are not very good to-day,
suppose you come up and read me a chapter."
So, in the quiet parlor, the maid sat down opposite her mistress, and
read aloud out of that Book which says distinctly: "Servants, be
obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with
fear and trembling, in singleness of heart, as unto Christ: knowing,
that whatsoever good thing a man doeth, the same shall he receive of
the Lord, whether he be bond or free."
And yet says immediately after: "Ye masters, to the same things unto
them, forbearing threatening: knowing that your Master also is in
heaven; neither is there respect of persons with him."
And I think that Master whom Paul served, not in preaching only, but
also in practice, when he sent back the slave Onesimus to Philemon,
praying that he might be received, "no' now as a servant, but above a
servant, a brother beloved," that Divine Master must have looked
tenderly upon these two women--both women, though of such different
age and position, and taught them through His Spirit in His word, as
only He can teach.
The reading was disturbed by a carriage driving up to the door, and a
knock, a tremendously grand and forcible footman's knock, which made
Miss Leaf start in her easy chair.
"But it can't be visitors to us. We know nobody. Sit still,
Elizabeth."
It was a visitor, however, though by what ingenuity he found them out
remained, when they came to think of it, a great puzzle. A card was
sent in by the dirty servant of Mrs. Jones, speedily followed by a
stout, bald headed, round faced man--I suppose I ought to write
"gentleman"--in whom, though she had not seen him for years, Miss
Leaf found no difficulty in recognizing the grocer's prentice boy,
now Mr. Peter Ascott, of Russell Square.
She rose to receive him: there was always a stateliness in Miss
Leaf's reception of strangers; a slight formality belonging to her
own past generation, and to the time when the Leafs were a "county
family." Perhaps this extra dignity, graceful as it was, overpowered
the little man; or else, being a bachelor, he was unaccustomed to
ladies' society: but he grew red in the face, twiddled his hat, and
then cast a sharp inquisitive glance toward her.
"Miss Leaf, I presume, ma'am. The eldest?"
"I am the eldest Miss Leaf, and very glad to have an opportunity of
thanking you for your long kindness to my nephew. Elizabeth, give Mr.
Ascott a chair."
While doing so, and before her disappearance, Elizabeth took a rapid
observation of the visitor, whose name and history were perfectly
familiar to her. Most small towns have their hero, and Stowbury's was
Peter Ascott, the grocer's boy, the little fellow who had gone up to
London to seek his fortune, and had, strange to say, found it.
Whether by industry or luck--except that industry is luck, and luck
is only another word for industry--he had gradually risen to be a
large city merchant, a dry-salter I conclude it would be called, with
a handsome house, carriage, etc. He had never revisited his native
place, which indeed could not be expected of him, as he had no
relations, but, when asked, as was not seldom of course, he
subscribed liberally to its charities.
Altogether he was a decided hero in the place, and though people
really knew very little about him, the less they knew the more they
gossiped, holding him up to the rising generation as a modern Dick
Whittington, and reverencing him extremely as one who had shed glory
on his native town. Even Elizabeth had conceived a great idea of Mr.
Ascott. When she saw this little fat man, coarse and common looking
in spite of his good clothes and diamond ring, and in manner a
curious mixture of pomposity and awkwardness, she laughed to herself,
thinking what a very uninteresting individual it was about whom
Stowbury had told so many interesting stories. However, she went up
to inform Miss Selina, and prevent her making her appearance before
him in the usual Sunday dishabille in which she indulged when no
visitors were expected.
After his first awkwardness, Mr. Peter Ascott became quite at his
ease with Miss Leaf. He began to talk--not of Stowbury, that was
tacitly ignored by both--but of London, and then of "my house in
Russell Square," "my carriage," "my servants"--the inconvenience of
keeping coachmen who would drink, and footmen who would not clean the
plate properly; ending by what was a favorite moral axiom of his,
that "wealth and position are heavy responsibilities."
He himself seemed, however, not to have been quite overwhelmed by
them; he was fat and flourishing--with an acuteness and power in the
upper half of his face which accounted for his having attained his
present position. The lower half, somehow Miss Leaf did not like it,
she hardly knew why, though a physiognomist might have known. For
Peter Ascott had the underhanging, obstinate, sensual lip, the large
throat--bull-necked, as it has been called--indications of that
essentially animal nature which may be born with the nobleman as with
the clown; which no education can refine, and no talent, though it
may co-exist with it, can ever entirely remove. He reminded one,
perforce, of the rough old proverb; "You can't make a silk purse out
of a sow's ear."
Still, Mr. Ascott was not a bad man, though something deeper than his
glorious indifference to grammar, and his dropped h's--which, to
steal some one's joke, might have been swept up in bushels from Miss
Leaf's parlor--made it impossible for him ever to be, by any culture
whatever, a gentleman.
They talked of Ascott, as being the most convenient mutual subject;
and Miss Leaf expressed the gratitude which her nephew felt, and she
earnestly hoped would ever show, toward his kind godfather.
Mr. Ascott looked pleased.
"Um--yes, Ascott's not a bad fellow--believe he means well: but weak,
ma'am, I'm afraid he's weak. Knows nothing of business--has no
business habits whatever. However, we must make the best of him; I
don't repent any thing I've done for him."
"I hope not," said Miss Leaf, gravely.
And then there ensued an uncomfortable pause, which was happily
broken by the opening of the door, and the sweeping in of a large,
goodly figure.
"My sister, Mr. Ascott; my sister Selina."
The little stout man actually started, and, as he bowed, blushed up
to the eyes.
Miss Selina was, as I have stated, the beauty of the family, and had
once been an acknowledged Stowbury belle. Even now, though nigh upon
forty, when carefully and becomingly dressed, her tall figure, and
her well featured, fair complexioned, unwrinkled face, made her still
appear a very personable woman. At any rate, she was not faded
enough, nor the city magnate's heart cold enough to prevent a sudden
revival of the vision which--in what now seemed an almost
antediluvian stage of existence--had dazzled, Sunday after Sunday,
the eyes of the grocer's lad. If there is one pure spot in a man's
heart--oven the very worldliest of men--it is usually his boyish
first love.
So Peter Ascott looked hard at Miss Selina, then into his hat, then,
as good luck would have it, out of the window, where he caught sight
of his carriage and horses. These revived his spirits, and made him
recognize what he was--Mr. Ascott, of Russell Square, addressing
himself in the character of a benevolent patron to the Leaf family.
"Glad to see you, Miss. Long time since we met--neither of us so
young as we have been--but you do wear well, I must say."
Miss Selina drew back; she was within an inch of being highly
offended, when she too happened to catch a glimpse of the carriage
and horses. So she sat down and entered into conversation with him;
and when she liked, nobody could be more polite and agreeable than
Miss Selina. So it happened that the handsome equipage crawled round
and round the Crescent, or stood pawing the silent Sunday street
before No. 15, for very nearly an hour, even till Hilary came home.
It was vexatious to have to make excuses for Ascott: particularly as
his godfather said with a laugh, that "young fellows would be young
fellows," they needn't expect to see the lad till midnight, or till
to-morrow morning.
But though in this, and other things, he somewhat annoyed the ladies
from Stowbury, no one could say he was not civil to them--exceedingly
civil. He offered them Botanical Garden tickets--Zoological Garden
tickets; he even, after some meditation and knitting of his shaggy
grey eyebrows, bolted out with an invitation for the whole family to
dinner at Russell Square the following Sunday.
"I always give my dinners on Sunday. I've no time any other day,"
said he, when Miss Leaf gently hesitated. "Come or not, just as you
like."
Miss Selina, to whom the remark was chiefly addressed, bowed the most
gracious acceptance. The visitor took very little notice of Miss
Hilary. Probably, if asked, he would have described her as a small,
shabbily-dressed person, looking very like a governess. Indeed, the
fact of her governess-ship seemed suddenly to recur to him; he asked
her if she meant to set up another school, and being informed that
she rather wished private pupils, promised largely that she should
have the full benefit of his "patronage" among his friends. Then he
departed, leaving a message for Ascott to call next day, as he wished
to speak to him.
"For you must be aware, Miss Leaf, that though your nephew's
allowance is nothing--a mere drop in the bucket out of my large
income--still, when it comes year after year, and no chance of his
shifting for himself, the most benevolent man in the world feels
inclined to stop the supplies. Not that I shall do that--at least not
immediately: he is a fine young fellow, whom I'm rather proud to have
helped a step up the ladder, and I've a great respect"--here he bowed
to Miss Selina--"a great respect for your family. Still there must
come a time when I shall be obliged to shut up my purse-strings. You
understand, ma'am."
"I do," Miss Leaf answered, trying to speak with dignity, and yet
with patience, for she saw Hilary's face beginning to flame. "And I
trust, Mr. Ascott, my nephew will soon cease to be an expense to you.
It was your own voluntary kindness that brought it upon yourself, and
I hope you have not found, never will find, either him or us
ungrateful."
"Oh, as to that, ma'am, I don't look for gratitude. Still, if Ascott
does work his way into a good position--and he'll be the first of his
family that ever did, I reckon--but I beg your pardon, Miss Leaf.
Ladies, I'll bid you good day. Will your servant call my carriage?"
The instant he was gone Hilary burst forth--
"If I were Ascott, I'd rather starve in a garret, break stones in the
high road, or buy a broom and sweep a crossing, than I'd be dependent
on this man, this pompous, purse-proud, illiterate fool!"
"No, not a fool," reproved Johanna. "An acute, clear-headed, nor, I
think, bad-hearted man. Coarse and common, certainly; but if we were
to hate every thing coarse or common, we should find plenty to hate.
Besides, though he does his kindness in an unpleasant way, think how
very, very kind he has been to Ascott."
"Johanna, I think you would find a good word for the de'il himself,
as we used to say," cried Hilary, laughing. "Well, Selina; and what
is your opinion of our stout friend?"
Miss Selina, bridling a little, declared that she did not see so much
to complain of in Mr. Ascott. He was not educated, certainly, but he
was a most respectable person. And his calling upon them so soon was
most civil and attentive. She thought, considering his present
position, they should forget--indeed, as Christians they were bound
to forget--that he was once their grocer's boy, and go to dine with
him next Sunday.
"For my part, I shall go, though it is Sunday. I consider it quite a
religious duty--my duty towards my neighbor."
"Which is to love him as yourself. I am sure, Selina, I have no
objection. It would be a grand romantic wind-up to the story which
Stowbury used to tell--of how the 'prentice boy stared his eyes out
at the beautiful young lady; and you would get the advantage of 'my
house in Russell Square,' 'my carriage and servants,' and be able to
elevate your whole family. Do, now! set your cap at Peter Ascott."
Here Hilary, breaking out into one of her childish fits of
irrepressible laughter, was startled to see Selina's face in one
blaze of indignation.
"Hold your tongue, you silly chit, and don't chatter about things you
don't understand."
And she swept majestically out of the room.
"What have I done? Why she is really vexed. If I had thought she
would have taken it in earnest I would never have said a word. Who
would have thought it!"
But Miss Selina's fits of annoyance were so common that the sisters
rarely troubled themselves long on the matter. And when at tea-time
she came down in the best of spirits, they met her half-way, as they
always did, thankful for these brief calms in the family atmosphere,
which never lasted too long. It was a somewhat heavy evening. They
waited supper till after ten; and yet Ascott did not appear. Miss
Leaf read the chapter as usual; and Elizabeth was sent to bed, but
still no sign of the absentee.
"I will sit up for him. He cannot be many minutes new," said his Aunt
Hilary, and settled herself in the solitary parlor, which one candle
and no fire made as cheerless as could possibly be. There she waited
till midnight before the young man came in. Perhaps he was struck
with compunction by her weary white face--by her silent lighting of
his candle, for he made her a thousand apologies.
"'Pon my honor, Aunt Hilary, I'll never keep you up so late again.
Poor dear auntie, how tired she looks!" and he kissed her
affectionately. "But if you were a young fellow, and got among other
young fellows, and they over-persuaded you."
"You should learn to say, No."
"Ah"--with a sigh--"so I ought, if I were as good as my Aunt Hilary."