AN OFFERRING TO THE MANES.
Three sides of Waife's cottage were within Lady Montfort's grounds; the
fourth side, with its more public, entrance, bordered the lane. Now, as
he thus sate, he was startled by a low timid ring at the door which
opened on the lane. Who could it be?--not Jasper! He began to tremble.
The ring was repeated. One woman-servant composed all his establishment.
He heard her opening the door--heard a low voice; it seemed a soft,
fresh, young voice. His room-door opened, and the woman, who of course
knew the visitor by sight and name, having often remarked him on the
grounds with Lady Montfort and Sophy, said, in a cheerful tone, as if
bringing good news, "Mr. Lionel Haughton."
Scarcely was the door closed--scarcely the young man in the room, before,
with all his delightful, passionate frankness, Lionel had clasped Waife's
reluctant hand in both his own, and, with tears in his eyes, and choking
in his voice, was pouring forth sentences so loosely knit together that
they seemed almost incoherent; now a burst of congratulation--now a
falter of condolence--now words that seemed to supplicate as for pardon
to an offence of his own--rapid transitions from enthusiasm to pity, from
joy to grief--variable, with the stormy April of a young, fresh, hearty
nature.
Taken so wholly by surprise, Waife, in vain attempting to appear cold and
distant, and only very vaguely comprehending what the unwelcome visitor
so confusedly expressed, at last found voice to interrupt the jet and
gush of Lionel's impetuous emotion, and said as drily as he could: "I am
really at a loss to conceive the cause of what appears to be meant as
congratulations to me and reproaches to yourself, Mr.--, Mr. Haugh--;"
his lips could not complete the distasteful name.
"My name shocks you--no wonder," said Lionel, deeply mortified, and
bowing down his head as he gently dropped the old man's hand.
"Reproaches to myself!--Ah, sir, I am here as Charles Haughton's son!"
"What!" exclaimed Waife, "you know? How could you know that Charles
Haughton--"
LIONEL (interrupting).--" I know. His own lips confessed his shame to
have so injured you."
WAIFE.--"Confessed to whom?"
LIONEL.--"To Alban Morley. Relieve me, my father's remorse was bitter;
it dies not in his grave, it lives in me. I have so longed to meet with
William Losely."
Waife seated himself in silence, shading his face with one hand while
with the other he made a slight gesture, as if to discourage or rebuke
farther allusion to ancient wrong. Lionel, in quick accents, but more
connected meaning, went on--
"I have just come from Mr. Darrell, where I and Colonel Morley (here
Lionel's countenance was darkly troubled) have been staying some days.
Two days ago I received this letter from George Morley, forwarded to me
from London. It says--let me read it: 'You will rejoice to learn that
our dear Waife'--pardon that name."
"I have no other--go on."
"'Is once more with his grandchild.'" (Here Lionel sighed heavily--sigh
like Sophy's.) "'You will rejoice yet more to learn that it has pleased
Heaven to allow me and another witness, who, some years ago, had been
misled into condemning Waife, to be enabled to bear incontrovertible
testimony to the complete innocence of my beloved friend; nay, more--
I say to you most solemnly, that in all which appeared to attest guilt,
there has been a virtue, which, if known to Mr. Darrell, would make him
bow in reverence to that old man. Tell Mr. Darrell so from me; and add,
that in saying it, I express my conviction of his own admiring sympathy
--for all that is noble and heroic.'"
"Too much-this is too, too much," stammered out Waife, restlessly turning
away; "but--but, you are folding up the letter. That is all?--he does
not say more? he does not mention any one else?--eh?--eh?"
"No, sir; that is all."
"Thank Heaven! He is an honourable man! Yet he has said more than he
ought--much more than he can prove, or than I--" he broke off, and
abruptly asked--"How did Mr. Darrell take these assertions? With an
incredulous laugh--eh?--'Why, the old rogue had pleaded guilty!'"
"Sir, Alban Morley was there to speak of the William Losely whom he had
known; to explain, from facts which he had collected at the time, of what
nature was the evidence not brought forward. The motive that induced you
to plead guilty I had long guessed; it flashed in an instant on Guy
Darrell; it was not mere guess with him! You ask me what he said? This:
'Grand nature! George is right! and I do bow my head in reverence!'"
"He said that?--Guy Darrell? On your honour, he said that?"
"Can you doubt it? Is he not a gentleman?" Waife was fairly overcome.
"But, sir," resumed Lionel, "I must not conceal from you, that though
George's letter and Alban Morley's comnninications sufficed to satisfy
Darrell, without further question, your old friend was naturally anxious
to learn a more full account, in the hope of legally substantiating your
innocence. He therefore despatched by the telegraph a request to his
nephew to come at once to Fawley. George arrived there yesterday. Do
not blame him, sir, that we share his secret."
"You do? Good heavens! And that lawyer will be barbarous enough to--but
no--he has an interest in not accusing of midnight robbery his danghter's
husband; Jasper's secret is safe with him. And Colonel Morley--surely
his cruel nephew will not suffer him to make me--me, with one foot in the
grave--a witness against my Lizzy's son!"
"Colonel Morley, at Darrell's suggestion, came with me to London; and if
he does not accompany me to you, it is because he is even now busied in
finding out your son, not to undo, but to complete the purpose of your
self-sacrifice. 'All other considerations,' said Guy Darrell, 'must be
merged in this one thought--that such a father shall not have been in
vain a martyr.' Colonel Morley is empowered to treat with your son on
any terms; but on this condition, that the rest of his life shall inflict
no farther pain, no farther fear on you. This is the sole use to which,
without your consent, we have presumed to put the secret we have learned.
Do you pardon George now?"
Waife's lips murmured inaudibly, but his face grew very bright; and as it
was raised upwards, Lionel's ear caught the whisper of a name--it was not
Jasper, it was "Lizzy."
"Ah! why," said Lionel, sadly, and after a short pause, "why was I not
permitted to be the one to attest your innocence--to clear your name?
I, who owed to you so vast an hereditary debt! And now--dear, dear Mr.
Losely--"
"Hush! Waife!--call me Waife still!--and always."
"Willingly! It is the name by which I have accustomed myself to love
you. Now, listen to me. I am dishonoured until at least the mere
pecuniary debt, due to you from my father, is paid. Hist! Hist!--Alban
Morley says so--Darrell says so. Darrell says, 'he cannot own me as
kinsman till that debt is cancelled.' Darrell lends me the means to do
it; he would share his kinsman's ignominy if he did not. Before I could
venture even to come hither, the sum due to you from my father was
repaid. I hastened to town yesterday evening--saw Mr. Darrell's lawyer.
I have taken a great liberty--I have invested this sum already in the
purchase of an annuity for you. Mr. Darrell's lawyer had a client who
was in immediate want of the sum due to you; and, not wishing permanently
to burthen his estate by mortgage, would give a larger interest by way of
annuity than the public offices would; excellent landed security. The
lawyer said it would be a pity to let the opportunity slip, so I ventured
to act for you. It was all settled this morning. The particulars are on
this paper, which I will leave with you. Of course the sum due to you is
not exactly the same as that which my father borrowed before I was born.
There is the interest--compound interest; nothing more. I don't
understand such matters; Darrell's lawyer made the calculation--it must
be right."
Waife had taken the paper, glanced at its contents, dropped it in
confusion, amaze. Those hundreds lent, swelled into all those thousands
returned! And all methodically computed--tersely--arithmetically-down to
fractions. So that every farthing seemed, and indeed was, his lawful
due. And that sum invested in an annuity of L500 a year--income which,
to poor Gentleman Waife, seemed a prince's revenue!
"It is quite a business-like computation, I tell you, sir; all done by a
lawyer. It is indeed," cried Lionel, dismayed at Waife's look and
gesture. "Compound interest will run up to what seems a large amount at
first; every child knows that. You can't deny Cocker and calculating
tables, and that sort of thing. William Losely, you cannot leave an
eternal load of disgrace on the head of Charles Haughton's son."
"Poor Charlie Haughton," murmured Waife. "And I was feeling bitter
against his memory--bitter against his son. How Heaven loves to teach us
the injustice that dwells in anger! But--but--this cannot be. I thank
Mr. Darrell humbly--I cannot take his money."
"It is not his money--it is mine; he only advances it to me. It costs
him really nothing, for he deducts the L500 a year from the allowance he
makes me. And I don't want such an absurd allowance as I had before
going out of the Guards into the line--I mean to be a soldier in good
earnest. Too much pocket-money spoils a soldier--only gets one into
scrapes. Alban Morley says the same. Darrell, too, says, 'Right; no
gold could buy a luxury--like the payment of a father's debt!' You
cannot grudge me that luxury--you dare not--why? because you are an
honest Man."
"Softly, softly, softly," said Waife. "Let me look at you. Don't talk
of money now--don't let us think of money! What a look of your father!
'Tis he, 'tis he whom I see before me. Charlie's sweet bright playful
eyes--that might have turned aside from the path of duty--a sheriff's
officer! Ah! and Charlie's happy laugh, too, at the slightest joke! But
THIS is not Charlie's--it is all your own (touching, with gentle finger,
Lionel's broad truthful brow). Poor Charlie, he was grieved--you are
right--I remember."
"Sir," said Lionel, who was now on one knee by Waife's chair--"sir, I
have never yet asked man for his blessing--not even Guy Darrell. Will
you put your hand on my head? and oh! that in the mystic world beyond us,
some angel may tell Charles Haughton that William Losely has blessed his
son!"
Solemnly, but with profound humility--one hand on the Bible beside him,
one on the young soldier's bended head--William Losely blessed Charles
Haughton's son--and; having done so, involuntarily his arms opened, and
blessing was followed by embrace.