NOTHING SO OBSTINATE AS A YOUNG MAN'S HOPE; NOTHING SO ELOQUENT AS A
LOVER'S TONGUE.
Hitherto there had been no reference to Sophy. Not Sophy's lover, but
Charles Haughton's son had knelt to Waife and received the old man's
blessing. But Waife could not be long forgetful of his darling--nor his
anxiety on her account. The expression in his varying face changed
suddenly. Not half an hour before, Lionel Haughton was the last man in
the world to whom willingly he would have consigned his grandchild. Now,
of all men in the world Lionel Haughton would have been his choice. He
sighed heavily; he comprehended, by his own changed feelings, how tender
and profound an affection Lionel Haughton might inspire in a heart so
fresh as Sophy's, and so tenacious of the impressions it received. But
they were separated forever; she ought not even again to see him.
Uneasily Waife glanced towards the open window--rose involuntarily,
closed it, and drew down the blind.
"You must go now, young gentleman," said he, almost churlishly.
The quick lover's sense in Lionel divined why the blind Avas drawn, and
the dismissal so abruptly given.
"Give me your address," said Waife; "I will write about--that paper.
Don't now stay longer--pray--pray."
"Do not fear, sir. I am not lingering here with the wish to see--her!"
Waife looked down.
"Before I asked the servant to announce me I took the precaution to learn
that you were alone. But a few words more--hear them patiently. Have
you any proof that should satisfy Mr. Darrell's reason that your Sophy is
his daughter's child?"
"I have Jasper's assurance that she is; and the copy of the nurse's
attestation to the same effect. They satisfied me. I would not have
asked Mr. Darrell to be as easily contented; I could but have asked him
to inquire, and satisfy himself. But he would not even hear me."
"He will hear you now, and with respect."
"He will!" cried Waife, joyously. "And if he should inquire and if
Sophy should prove to be, as I have ever believed, his daughter's child,
would he not' own, and receive, and cherish her?"
"Alas, sir, do not let me pain you; but that is not my hope. If, indeed,
it should prove that your son deceived you--that Sophy is no way related
to him--if she should be the child of peasants, but of honest peasants--
why, sir, that is my hope, my last hope--for then I would kneel once more
at your feet, and implore your permission to win her affection and ask
her hand."
"What! Mr. Darrell would consent to your union with the child of
peasants, and not with his own grandchild?"
"Sir, sir, you rack me to the heart; but if you knew all, you would not
wonder to hear me say, 'I dare not ask Mr. Darrell to bless my union with
the daughter of Jasper Losely.'"
Waife suppressed a groan, and began to pace the room with disordered
steps,
"But," resumed Lionel, "go to Fawley yourself. Seek Darrell; compare the
reasons for your belief with his for rejecting it. At this moment his
pride is more subdued than I have ever known it. He will go calmly into
the investigation of facts; the truth will become clear. Sir--dear, dear
sir--I am not without a hope."
"A hope that the child I have so cherished should be nothing in the world
to me!"
"--Nothing to you! Is memory such a shadow?--is affection such a
weathercock? Has the love between you and Sophy been only the instinct
of kindred blood? Has it not been hallowed by all that makes Age and
Childhood so pure a blessing to each other, rooted in trials borne
together? Were you not the first who taught her in wanderings, in
privations, to see a Mother in Nature, and pray to a Father which is in
Heaven? Would all this be blotted out of your soul, if she were not the
child of that son whom it chills you to remember? Sir, if there be no
tie to replace the mere bond of kindred, why have you taken such vigilant
pains to separate a child from him whom you believe to be her father?"
Waife stood motionless and voiceless. This passionate appeal struck him
forcibly.
"And, sir," added Lionel, in a lower, sadder tone--"can I ask you, whose
later life has been one sublime self-sacrifice, whether you would rather
that you might call Sophy grandchild, and know her wretched, than know
her but as the infant angel whom Heaven sent to your side when bereaved
and desolate, and know also that she was happy? Oh, William Losely, pray
with me that Sophy may not be your grandchild. Her home will not be less
your home--her attachment will not less replace to you your lost son--and
on your knee her children may learn to lisp the same prayers that you
taught to her. Go to Darrell--go--go! and take me with you!"
"I will--I will," exclaimed Waife; and snatching at his hat and staff:
"Come--come! But Sophy should not learn that you have been here--that I
have gone away with you; it might set her thinking, dreaming, hoping--all
to end in greater sorrow." He bustled out of the room to caution the old
woman, and to write a few hasty lines to Sophy herself--assuring her, on
his most solemn honour, that he was not now flying from her to resume his
vagrant life--that, without fail, please Heaven, he would return that
night or the next day.
In a few minutes he reopened the room-door, beckoning silently to Lionel,
and then stole into the quiet lane with quick steps.