When Mrs. Martin and Captain Elliott arrived at Kelso, they went directly
to Mr. Lamont's. They were received in his study, by himself and his wife;
and William was immediately summoned to attend them. He was playing at
_golf_ (a game something resembling cricket) on the school green, and
came in glowing with health, and the exercise he had been taking; his
colour, perhaps, a little heightened by the pleasure he felt in seeing his
mother. Mr. Lamont, wishing to give him an agreeable surprise, had not
mentioned Captain Elliott. When William entered the room, his uncle was
perfectly astonished at his appearance. He was tall and proportionably
stout for his age; his features almost too regular and delicate for a boy;
with large sparkling eyes, which spoke the greatest delight and affection
for his mother. Altogether, Captain Elliott thought he had never seen so
fine a creature; and could not help conceiving, in his own mind, that what
had been told him of his nephew's disposition must have been greatly
exaggerated.
When William had kissed his mother, almost a dozen times, he suddenly
turned round, and said, "but, where is my dear father? I thought he was
here also:" and, looking in his mother's face, with a transient blush,
"would he not even come and see me?" "My dear," answered his mother, "your
father will be here to-morrow, or next day; he is gone to Melrose, with
your sister. It would have been too far for her to ride all this long way
round, and so he will place her in safety first, and then join us here;
but you take no notice of this gentleman, who has kindly brought me to see
you." "I am sure," said William, "I am very much obliged to you, Sir, and
beg your pardon for being so rude as not to speak to you before; but,
really I was so delighted with seeing mamma, and thinking about papa, that
I did not remember there was any one else in the room." "Oh, your apology
quite gains my forgiveness, William; but now, that you have found me out,
let us shake hands and become friends. You have few warmer ones, I assure
you, than I am inclined to become: who do you think I am, that have come
so far to see you?" William looked some time at him. There was a
particular expression in Captain Elliot's face, when he smiled, which
strongly resembled that of his sister. William caught it, as he was
considering; and instantly sprung forward to him. "It is my own uncle
Elliot, I am sure." Charmed by such an artless, affectionate recognition,
his uncle pressed him to his breast with feelings of the warmest
affection; and from that moment an attachment, as strong as it was lasting
(for it was broken only by death) took a firm hold of both their minds.
William, during the two years he had spent with his grandmother, had been
in the constant habit of listening to the praises of this her only son. He
was the best, the bravest of men; and there was no wonder that he should
have been the principal subject of conversation between the good old lady
and a grandson whom she so much wished to resemble him. It was, therefore,
the first object of William's ambition, to see this wonderful uncle; and
no sooner were his wishes accomplished, than he determined to leave no
means untried to be allowed never to quit him.
He pretty well knew that both his parents would oppose his going to sea,
but he hoped, by a private application to his uncle, to get him round to
his side of the question; and, in short, he had resolved to gain his point
by some means or other. When Mr. Martin joined them at Kelso, he found
William and his uncle on the best terms possible. He was a very clever
boy, had read a great deal for his age, and, as he possessed a happy turn
for sketching from nature, he had drawn several of the beautiful scenes
near the junction of the Tweed and Tiviot. The venerable abbey of Kelso,
too, though not so light and elegant a structure as that of Melrose, had
also furnished exercise for his pencil; and he presented his uncle with a
very well executed drawing of this ancient pile. These little attentions,
together with the constant good humour and propriety of behaviour which
William was careful to maintain in the presence of a relation whom he so
much wished to please, did not fail of their intended effect. Captain
Elliott was absolutely charmed with his nephew, and was almost affronted
that neither father nor mother could be prevailed on to alter their
determination, of not taking William to Melrose. Mr. Lamont was decided in
his opinion; and therefore they justly thought, that, in fairness to him,
they ought not to yield. They however extended their stay at Kelso to a
day longer than was at first intended.
That day William and his uncle set out on a walk by themselves, Mr. and
Mrs. Martin being engaged to pay some visits with Mr. and Mrs. Lamont.
They were no sooner out of the town, than William ventured to make his
wishes known to his uncle, of going to sea with him. Captain Elliott was
too much attached to his sister and her worthy husband, to listen a moment
to this proposal. He combated all his nephew's arguments with the greatest
possible gentleness. William, however, remained perfectly unconvinced; and
finding that he could make no impression upon his uncle by any arguments
he could use, he thought it best to pursue the conversation no further,
resolving in his own mind to gain his point in another way. Indeed, he
felt it politic to change the subject, as his passionate temper was within
a hair's breadth of displaying itself; and he was well aware that _that_
would not tend to accelerate his wishes. He therefore began talking on
different subjects, and managed matters so well, that his uncle, who had
observed his heightened colour, and was prepared for a gust of passion,
was quite convinced he had now gained a command over the only failing he
had ever heard he possessed. When they returned home, Captain Elliott took
an opportunity of congratulating his parents on what he had observed, but
he did not mention the subject which had given him an opportunity of
noticing the improvement.
On taking leave the next morning, his uncle shook hands with William,
saying he should expect him to be a constant correspondent. "Oh,
certainly," answered William; "but, that is well thought of--pray give me
your address in London, for I shall have plenty of time to write to you in
the vacation; and since I must remain here, it will be the greatest
amusement I can have."--"I am glad, then," answered Captain Elliott, "that
I thought of it; here is my address," giving him his card, "and here is
likewise something to buy paper and pens (slipping a guinea into his
hand). The oftener I hear from you the better I shall be pleased."
After spending a very happy fortnight at Melrose, old Mrs. Elliott's
visitors were obliged to take their leave, Captain Elliott being to join
his ship by the middle of September. Helen found the journey home more
pleasant than her first excursion across the hills; but when she came in
sight of her native dale, she exclaimed "Oh, my dear papa, there is
nothing after all like our own dear home, in the whole world!" Her father
smiled, and said, "Long may you think so, my sweet child. Had I the power
of choosing for you, I should wish you never to leave it; but as that is
not the case, you should accustom your mind to contemplate the possibility
of a change, and always remember, that the foundation of happiness in this
world, is to reconcile our minds to the events which the great Author of
our being thinks fit to bring to pass, and endeavour to be contented in
whatever situation we may be placed."
Capt. Elliott remained only a couple of days at the Manse; the parting was
a melancholy one. He expected to be sent to India, where he was sure to
remain at least six years. He had heard twice from William, since leaving
Kelso; and at his departure, he put a letter into Helen's hand directed
for her brother, which he desired her to be sure and forward by the next
day's post. "I promised him, poor fellow, that I would be sure to let him
hear from me the very day I left Eskdale, and I must keep my word." Then,
shaking his sister's hand, he added, "I prophecy that William will be both
an honour and a comfort to you yet, for all his trifling faults and
imperfections."
About a week after Capt. Elliott had left the Manse, the family were
sitting at tea, conversing very comfortably together, when the study door
opened, and to their astonishment Mr. Lamont walked in. All expressed
their surprise at so unexpected a visitor; Mrs. Martin alone sat still,
her eyes fixed on Mr. Lamont's face, seeming to dread what she was to
hear. Mr. Lamont, however, spoke cheerfully, and after looking round the
room sat down, only saying a little private business required him to come
unexpectedly into Eskdale. Mrs. Martin was not satisfied; she remained
silent a few minutes, and then said, "Mr. Lamont, I know something has
happened: tell me at once what it is, I cannot be deceived; this state of
suspense is intolerable." "Madam, I find it is impossible to blind the
eyes of a mother so anxious and attached as you are; William has given me
a little uneasiness, but I hope there is no occasion for serious alarm."
He was proceeding when he perceived Mr. Martin almost gasping for breath;
he handed him a glass of water, and when Mr. Martin had drank it, he
waited about a minute, and then said, "Pray Mr. Lamont proceed, I am
prepared now to hear what you have to tell us." Mr. Lamont then began by
saying that, from the time they had parted from William at Kelso, he had
observed a most remarkable change in the boy. He no longer opposed any
thing he was desired to do, however disagreeable it might be to him; he
was never out of his place; his lessons were always attended to; in short,
he had flattered himself that an impression had been made on the boy's
mind which promised to be lasting. "About a week ago," continued Mr.
Lamont, "I observed him to be uncommonly grave, and once or twice he
complained of a head-ache, and asked leave to go to bed earlier than his
usual hour. Mrs. Lamont, upon one of these occasions, being anxious about
him, happened to go into his room to enquire how he was before she went to
bed. He told her the next morning he was much obliged to her for her
attention, but that she had awakened him by the light of her candle, and
he had not been able to sleep any more all night. Last Friday evening he
complained in the same way of his head, and went to bed, saying, as he
left the room, 'Pray, madam, don't awake me to-night if you please, for my
head aches more than usual.' Accordingly, when we went to bed, we did not
go into his room, but only in passing shut the door gently, observing, it
was odd he had left it open when he was so much afraid of noise. Next
morning, when the school assembled, William did not make his appearance. I
became alarmed lest his headache had increased, or been the forerunner of
some other complaint, and I therefore hastened in search of him; when, to
my great dismay, I found his room empty, and the bed evidently bearing the
appearance of never having been slept in. After a general search through
the house and the town, and making every possible inquiry of every
creature we could meet with, we heard from a man who had been fishing in
the Tiviot the evening before, that he had seen one of my scholars walking
quickly along the road to Edinburgh, with a small parcel in his hand, much
about the time when William pretended to be going to bed." Mr. Lamont went
on to inform the miserable parents, that, on this information, he had
traced William as far as the end of Princes Street, in Edinburgh, but
there he had lost him; and though both himself and one of the ushers had
continued their search for two days, they had not yet been able to get the
slightest intelligence of him; that he had then thought it his duty to
come himself to inform Mr. Martin, in order that they might consult
together what was best to be done.