THE BROTHERS—A CONTRAST.
THE plans of the sisters for the coming winter were suddenly
interrupted by a visit from Harry.
"You know, dear Myra," he said, "that you told me to be open and candid
with you in all my affairs, and I need not conceal from you now what
would be for my advantage. Our people have some important business to
transact in India, and are sending out a staff of our best workmen.
They have offered to send me also, and I may be away two or three
years, or perhaps more. I know that at first I must be an expense to
you, sister, but—"
"Would you like to go, Harry? And do you feel sure of your fitness for
the duties you will undertake?"
"Yes, Myra, I 'should' like to go; and I can be fully qualified for all
I shall have to do before I reach the scene of action."
"Then, Harry, it is settled, and we will at once see about your outfit.
We shall miss you sadly, Harry, but we shall know that you are doing
your best in life for yourself and others."
Poor Florence was very near upsetting Harry's self-control with a flood
of tears, but she bravely drove them back, for she knew that sisters
should help and not hinder their brothers in life's battlefield, and
she bravely assisted Myra in making preparations for the Indian voyage.
In order to provide suitably for the outfit and voyage, Myra found
it necessary to obtain a sum of money by a reduction of her regular
income, but for such a purpose she had no hesitation in taking this
step.
Everything was ready, and Harry, full of gratitude and affection, was
at home for the final farewell. Leonard had been invited, and a holiday
obtained, that they might all be together for the last day or two.
"Now, Leonard, you see how it is," Harry said; "you are a great fellow
now, and our sisters will only have you to take care of them until I
come back. Of course I know that you can't be with them much, but you
can make them happy by getting on in your business, and making ready to
be their protector and friend whenever they need one. I know Myra has
some nice treats in store for you, though she does not talk about them
yet. Will you promise to be a comfort to her, Leonard?"
"I can't see why you don't stay and do it yourself, Harry, if you think
so much about her. Pray, why shouldn't I go out into the world to make
my fortune like you?"
"So you will, my dear fellow, when the right time comes. Myra is
not the sister to tie us to her apron-string. But you have your
apprenticeship to serve yet. You have not been six months at it, you
know, and I calculate that by the time you are ready for a start, I
shall be at home again. You like your work, I hope, Leonard?"
"I don't care much about it," replied Leonard. "I wish I was in
lodgings as you were: for I hate to be overlooked and fidgeted by Uncle
Haynes. He is so particular about keeping hours, and all that."
"Oh, never mind about that, Leonard, it is only right. I had to keep
proper hours, I assure you; and I see that if employers hear that
young men are not careful in those things, they begin to doubt them in
others."
"Do you think Myra pays Uncle Haynes for having me, Harry?" asked
Leonard thoughtfully.
"I never asked," replied Harry; "but you know Uncle Haynes is not rich,
and I think it is very likely she does, thinking it a little help to
him and very comfortable for you. She said that if you did not live
with him, she would move her home that you might still share it. Oh,
Leonard, I sometimes fear she is anxious about you; don't give her
cause for it, there's a dear, good brother."
The last evening came; the others had all retired, and Myra and Harry
were alone together.
"Dear Harry," said the loving sister, gazing at the fine manly face and
well-grown form of this brother of twenty years, "I want to ask you
one question before we part. You know I have not urged the subject of
religion upon you as perhaps I might have done—"
"Yes, you have, Myra," interrupted Harry; "you have lived religion
among us. We must have been dunces indeed if we could not see it and
feel it always. But if you mean you have not bored us with talking
about it, I agree. You have answered our questions and taught us God's
word in the letter, and quietly shown us its spirit in your own life.
That has been the best way, dear Myra."
"Well, dearest brother, if I have not erred in leaving you too much
unquestioned concerning your own personal interest in it, and as we
perhaps may not meet again on earth, shall we, dear Harry, shall we
meet in heaven?"
"Myra, it is not in me to talk about it, for I know how
good-for-nothing I am; but to comfort you, and myself too, I will say
that I do believe we shall."
"And how, why, on what do you ground that belief?"
"On nothing but the word and work of the Lord Jesus Christ. He said,—
"'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out'—"
replied Harry, reverently;
"'He suffered, the just for the unjust, to bring us to God.'"
"And having come to Him, and in Him found forgiveness and peace and a
Father's blessing, what then, my brother?"
"Then I am trying, poorly and feebly I know, but still trying, by the
help of His good Spirit, to show in action and practice whose I am and
whom I desire to serve. I have never forgotten, Myra, that it was the
religion of Jesus that brought you to us, kept you with us, and made
you all you are. From love to you I have done many a thing I didn't
like, and given up many a thing I did like; and if such can be the
influence of a dear sister, how much more that of a dear Saviour who
died for me?"
"God bless and keep you, my darling brother!" cried Myra. "This is the
happiest moment of my life. Oh, may you be stedfast, and triumph and
overcome in that dear Saviour's strength and name!"
Then they knelt together, and the sister commended her brother with
faltering voice and tearful eyes to Him whom he had chosen to be "the
guide of his youth."
"Only one thing more, Harry," she said, smiling through her tears as
they were parting for the night; "this for my last gift that you may
feel able to do anything you may wish without distressing yourself for
the expense." And she pressed some bank-notes into his hand and left
him.
Harry stood some time thinking; he was alone now, and needed no longer
to choke himself with repressed tears; they flowed for a little while
freely, and then he knelt and prayed. The notes lay on the table,
and when quite calm and peaceful again he looked at them, folded
them, and placed them in his pocket-book, where were also letters of
introduction, if he should need them, and one from Frank Somers to the
Rev. Ralph Penwald, in case he should ever meet with him, because,
as Frank said, he was so changed as to need identification. Then he
went to his room, where Leonard, in a bed in a recess of the same, lay
apparently fast asleep.
The next morning all was bustle and confusion in the household,
for Harry was obliged to go by an early train, and his luggage, he
laughingly declared, outdid that of any young lady with her far-famed
"bandboxes."
Leonard also took it into his head to add to the general commotion by
seizing a scrambling breakfast and going off to catch a still earlier
train that he might be at business before his master should need him in
the afternoon.
"All right, old fellow," said Harry, with a last grasp of his hand at
the door. "Don't forget our little talk yesterday, and write often, and
tell me everything."
Leonard nodded and bounded away, rather to the indignation of Elsie,
who thought he might have stayed to see Harry off first.
At last Harry was off too, and then all the sisters indulged in what
Peggy called "a good cry," and in which she and Janet bore their part
in the kitchen; for Harry was a favourite with most of those who had
anything to do with him, and as they said, "never gave trouble, and
always spoke like a gentleman to everybody."
Three days later a letter arrived, dated from the ship, and posted by
the last person who had come ashore when she was fairly under way.
All clustered round Myra to hear its contents, and she read with
animation until the concluding paragraph, when her bright face suddenly
changed, and she paused.
"Is anything wrong, dear Myra?" asked Florence. "What can be the
matter?"—seeing that Myra became very pale, and seemed thinking of
something very painful.
"Only a little affair between Harry and me, never mind it now; it is
vexatious and perplexing, that's all."
"Oh, I can go away if you don't want me to know," said Margaret
pettishly, gathering up her drawing materials; "as if I had not as much
interest in Harry and his doings as any of you."
"Stay, stay, Margaret; there is no reason why you should not know,
excepting that one does not talk about one's little gifts, you know.
Just read for yourselves."
And they read while Myra sat with her head leaning on her hand in deep
thought.
"You know, dear sister," so ran the paragraph in question, "that after
you gave me that generous present, I stayed downstairs some time. The
notes lay on the table, and before going to bed, I looked at them, took
the numbers, folded them together, and placed them in my pocket-book.
That, with my watch and purse, I put on to the little cedar tray on my
dressing-table, and the next morning put it, as the safest place, into
my breast-pocket. I never touched it again until, about eight hours
after I left you, I went to get some money changed; the twenty-pound
note was gone. What has become of it, I have no more notion than you
have. I was not careless of it, Myra; I know you must have denied
yourself for my sake, and every shilling you have given me is precious.
I have done all I can about it, and it will be stopped at the bank. I
would not let you know until I am out of the country, lest you should
try to replace it, but I feel that it is right to tell you now. Thanks
to your generosity, darling sister, I shall not want it, but why the
other notes did not go with it, I cannot imagine."
"Myra, what can we do?" said Florence, much disturbed.
"Let us go up and search the room, the bed, the drawers, everywhere,"
cried Margaret. "Come at once, Florence."
"Is it possible he can have left it on the table, and it has been
thrown away as waste paper?" suggested Elsie, with a troubled look.
"It is possible, dear Elsie," said Myra, "but I should not like any one
to mention it to the servants."
"Why not?" sharply asked Margaret.
"Because I am certain of their honesty. If either of them had seen it,
I am satisfied it would have been safely produced the next morning."
"Well, if we cannot find it, we must rest satisfied that Harry has
forgotten, or left his pocket-book somewhere, perhaps laid it down in
the railway-carriage, and somebody has helped himself. But come and let
us search the room," again urged Margaret.
And the room, with everything in it, was searched accordingly, but in
vain; and, by mutual consent, the subject dropped.
But from that day Myra was conscious of oppressive anxiety, and her
animated face began to look shaded with care.
Once more, the projected visit to the Continent was the subject of
delighted anticipation, and preparations were again in progress, when
another interruption indefinitely postponed it.
Mr. and Mrs. Haynes arrived late one evening; the pale and distressed
countenance of the husband sufficiently proving the cause of their
unpremeditated visit. Only too soon its object appeared.
"How are my cousins and Leonard?" Margaret asked anxiously, and
anticipating the same question on other lips.
"Your cousins are well, but 'where' is Leonard?" said Mr. Haynes. "Has
he not been here?"
"No. What do you mean? Oh, uncle!"
And every face turned white, and every heart beat with strange terror.
"He told us that he was coming here on Saturday to see you all
before leaving for the Continent. On Monday, he did not appear, and
on Tuesday, I was sent for to Mr. M—'s office, to hear that he had
absconded with money which he had been entrusted to carry to the bank.
Mr. M— had been to the bank, asked to see the entries there, and found
that two separate sums given to Leonard in sealed envelopes had never
been lodged there at all. Mr. M— said that if I were prepared to
return the money, or give security for its repayment, he would take no
further steps in the matter; but if not, the law must take its course.
Leonard must, however, be found, if possible; and whatever he has not
squandered must be recovered at once."
Margaret was the first to rally from this crushing shock. She tried to
show that there might be some mistake, that Leonard ought not to be
condemned unheard.
"Margaret, it is of no use to seek such hollow comfort," said Myra,
trying to be calm. "When we heard of the loss of Harry's note, I wrote
with loving earnestness to Leonard, beseeching him so to act that no
shadow of suspicion should ever fall upon him, and begging that if he
required at any time more money than his usual allowance, he would not
hesitate to tell me. I did not mention the twenty pounds at all, but he
replied as if I had accused him of dishonesty, and indignantly denied
anything I wished to lay to his charge. The letter was sufficient to
confirm my fears, but I wrote again enclosing a five-pound note, to
convince him of my sisterly interest and care. No acknowledgment has
come, and yet nearly a fortnight has passed since."
"And so you give him up coolly to his fate," cried Margaret
passionately, "but I will not. He shall have one sister at least to
stand by him, and believe he is innocent until he is proved guilty."
"My dear niece, the bare hope that he could clear himself would put new
life into us all. But we must find him. Is there any one about here,
do you think, who could tell us anything of his movements? We found
a piece of a letter in his room, but the signature is torn away. It
seems to be an account of some ship, and a pleasant captain who would
take—and there the paper is torn through, yet it may possibly supply
some clue."
Margaret's lip quivered, and her cheek changed from angry red to the
paleness of fear. She looked towards her sister.
"Can Dinah Jonson know anything?" she said. "I will go instantly and
ask her."
"Stay, Margaret," said Mr. Haynes; "nothing must be done rashly. Any
hint might drive him farther away. A detective is already at work, and
I must communicate with him first."
A detective! Seeking their brother! Tracing Leonard! Oh, how horribly
it sounded on every ear!
This officer was at hand; and after consultation with him, it was
agreed that the little party of anxious relatives should call and make
inquiries of Mrs. Jonson.
It was night, and the darkness suited Margaret well. She insisted on
being allowed to speak to Dinah herself, feeling sure that no one else
would be so likely to elicit the truth.
That individual was leaning over her counter, chatting with a neighbour
in her blandest fashion. Her speculation of a shop for sweets and
confectionery near the great school had answered extremely well, and
as she was not very much troubled with her husband's company, she was
entirely mistress of her little domain and all its proceeds.
Very much astonished she seemed to be when Margaret rushed to her, and,
seizing her by the arm, dragged her into the little room behind the
shop, and shut the door.
"Oh, Dinah, listen to me!" she cried. "Leonard has disappeared; do you
know anything about him? Tell me faithfully, Dinah. Is he gone away
with your husband?"
"My dear Miss Margaret, whatever ails you? How frightened you look! Sit
down, my dear, and tell me what you mean."
"Tell me where my brother is gone; is he with Mr. Jonson?" repeated
Margaret, seized with a suspicion that Mrs. Dinah was trying to gain
time.
"Dear me, Miss Maggie! How should I know where he is? I've never set
eyes on him since—let me see—since he came to say good-bye to Master
Harry."
"That is little more than a fortnight since. Well, you saw him then.
Did he tell you of anything he had in view? Any journey he wanted to
take?"
"Well, he were always asking about foreign parts, you know. But I can't
say that he's gone to see them."
"But you know whether your husband promised to take him abroad."
"Well, I really didn't mind their talk. All my business was that he
shouldn't get into disgrace at home by stopping too long. 'Master
Leonard,' says I—"
"Never mind that. Do you think he is gone to join Mr. Jonson anywhere?"
"Think! I really don't think anything about it. If he did, he's safe;
and if he didn't, why, he'll turn up when he's had his holiday; so
don't be fretting yourself, my dear."
"Oh, Dinah, Dinah, you distract me! He has taken some money not his
own, they say; and if we cannot save him, he will be for ever ruined
and disgraced."
"Oh, the wicked boy! Oh, the young vagabones!" exclaimed Mrs. Dinah, a
new light suddenly flashing across her mind. "Does he mean to charge my
husband with receiving stolen money?"
"Then he has paid his passage in your husband's ship, and you know it,
Dinah. Tell me the truth; my uncle and a police officer will be with us
in a few minutes."
But Mrs. Dinah was not often caught off her guard, and was again
herself.
"I really must give it up, Miss Margaret, for I can't understand what
you are at; so I'll see you home, and you go and be quiet, and don't
fear but the boy is safe enough."
"What is the name of the ship, Dinah?"
"Last time it was the 'Lady Anne.' This time it may be something else,
but I haven't heard yet. I think it was to be the 'Fairy,' or the 'Sea
Queen,' or some such name, but I never know for sure till they get
fixed with a ship, you see."
In the shop waited Mr. Haynes, who led his niece away, and Mrs. Dinah
was left to more skilful management.
———————