THE CHESS-PLAYER'S BATTLE.
'Dost thou believe, he said, that Grace
Itself can reach this grief?
With a feeble voice and a woeful eye--
"Lord, I believe," was the sinner's reply,
"Help Thou mine unbelief."'
_Southey._
By the beginning of the Christmas holidays, Fernando Travis was able
to lie on a couch in Mr. Audley's sitting-room. His recovery was even
tardier than had been expected, partly from the shock, and partly from
the want of vigour of the tropical constitution: and he still seemed to
be a great way from walking, though there was no reason to fear that
the power would not return. His father wrote, preparing for a journey
to Oregon, and seemed perfectly satisfied, and he was becoming very
much at home with his host.
He was much interested in that which he was learning from Mr. Audley,
and imbibing from the young Underwoods. The wandering life he had
hitherto led, without any tenderness save from the poor old negro,
without time to make friends, and often exposed to the perception of
some of the darkest sides of human life, in the terrible lawlessness
of the Mexican frontier, had hitherto made him dull, dreary, and
indifferent, with little perception that there could be anything
better; but first the kindness and then the faith he saw at Bexley, had
awakened new perceptions and sensations. His whole soul was opening
to perceive what the love of God and man might be; and the sense of
a great void, and longing to have it satisfied, seemed to fill him
with a constant craving for the revelation of that inner world, whose
existence had just dawned upon him.
After a little hesitation, Mr. Audley decided on reading with Geraldine
in his presence after he had come into the sitting-room, explaining
to her how he thought it might be helpful. She did not much like it,
but acquiesced: she used to hop in with her sweet smile, shy greeting,
and hand extended to the invalid, who used to lie looking at her
through his long eyelashes, and listening to her low voice reading or
answering, as if she were no earthly creature; but the two were far too
much in awe of one another to go any further; and he got on much better
with Wilmet, when she looked in on him now and then with cheery voice
and good-natured care.
Then Fulbert and Robina came home; and the former was half suspicious,
half jealous, of Lance's preoccupation with what he chose to denominate
'a black Yankee nigger.' He avoided the room himself, and kept Lance
from it as much as was in his power; and one day Lance appeared with
a black eye, of which he concealed the cause so entirely, that Felix,
always afraid of his _gamin_ tendencies, entreated Fulbert, as a
friend, to ease his mind by telling him it was not given in a street
row.
'I did it,' said Fulbert; 'he was so cocky about his Yankee that I
could not stand it.'
'Why shouldn't he be kind to a poor sick fellow?'
'He has no business to be always bothering about Fernando
here--Fernando there--Fernando for ever. I shall have him coming up to
school a regular spoon, and just not know what to do with him.'
'Well, Fulbert, I think if you had a broken leg you'd wish some one
to speak to you. At any rate, I can't have Lance bullied for his good
nature; I was very near doing it myself once, but I was shamed out of
it.'
'Were you--were you, indeed?' cried Fulbert, delighted at this
confession of human nature; and Felix could not help laughing. And that
laugh did much to bring him down from the don to the brother. At any
rate, Fulbert ceased his persecution in aught but word.
Robina, always Lance's companion, followed him devotedly, and only hung
about the stairs forlorn when he went to Fernando without her; or if
admitted, she was quite content to sit serenely happy in her beloved
Lance's presence, expecting neither notice nor amusement, only watching
their occupation of playing at draughts. Sometimes, however, Lance
would fall to playing with her, and they would roll on the floor, a
tumbling mass of legs, arms, and laughter, to the intense diversion of
Fernando, to whom little girls were beings of an unknown order.
So came on Christmas, with the anniversaries so sweet and so sad, and
the eve of holly-dressing, when a bundle of bright sprays was left
by some kind friend at No. 8, and Lance and Bobbie were vehement to
introduce Fernando to English holly and English decking.
Geraldine suggested that they had better wait for either Mr. Audley
or Wilmet to come in, but for this they had no patience, and ran down
with their arms full of the branches, and their tongues going with the
description of the night's carols, singing them with their sweet young
voices as they moved about the room. Fernando knew now what Christmas
meant, but the joy and exhilaration of the two children seemed to him
strange for such a bygone event. He asked them if they would have any
treat.
'Oh no! except, perhaps, Mr. Audley said he should drink tea one day,'
said Robina. And then she broke out again, 'Hark! the herald angels,'
like a little silver bell.
Suddenly there was a cry of dismay. She had been standing on a chair
over the mantelpiece, sticking holly into the ornaments, behind and
under which, in true man's fashion, a good many papers and letters had
accumulated. One of these papers--by some unlucky movement--fell, and
by a sudden waft of air floated irrevocably into the hottest place in
the fire.
'O dear! oh dear!' wailed Robina.
'That's a pretty go,' cried Lancelot.
'That comes of your open fires,' observed Fernando.
'What was it?' asked Lance.
'I don't know. I think it was a list of names! Oh! how vexed he'll be,
and Wilmet; for she told me never to get on a chair over the fender,
and I forgot.' Bobbie's round face was puckering for a cry.
'No, no, don't cry, Bob; I told you to get up, and I'll say so,' said
Lance, smothering her in his arms after the wont of consoling brothers.
'I dare say he'll not miss it,' said Fernando good-naturedly; 'he very
seldom meddles with those things.'
Bobbie's great round grey eyes came out over Lance's shoulder, and
flashed amazement and wrath at him. 'I'm not going to tell stories,'
she said stoutly.
'No,' said Lance, equally scandalized; 'I thought you had learnt
better, Fernando.'
Robina, be it observed, was ignorant of Fernando's untaught state.
'I only said you could hold your tongue,' was of course Fernando's
rejoinder.
'That's just as bad,' was the little girl's response.
'But, Lance, you held your tongue about your black eye.'
'That's my affair, and _nobody else's_,' said Lance, flushing up and
looking cross at the allusion.
'And Fulbert told!' added Robina.
'Will they punish you?' asked Fernando.
'I think Wilmet will, because it was disobedience! I don't think she'll
let me have any butter at tea,' Bobbie nearly sobbed. 'Mr. Audley won't
punish! But he'll look--' and she quite cried now.
'And do you like that better than not telling?' said Fernando, still
curious.
She looked up, amazed again. 'I must! I don't like it! But I couldn't
ever have a happy Christmas if I didn't tell! I wish they would come
that I might have it over.'
The street door opened at the moment, and Mr. Audley and Wilmet came in
together from Lady Price's convocation of the parish staff. Fernando
heard the sobbing confession in the passage, and Lance's assurance
that he had been art and part in the disobedience, and Wilmet gravely
blaming the child, and Mr. Audley telling her not to think so much
about the loss as the transgression; and then the door was shut, and he
heard no more, till Mr. Audley came in, examined the chimney-piece, and
performed the elegy of the list in a long low whistle.
'Is much harm done?' Fernando asked.
'Not much; only I must go and get another list made out, and I am
afraid I shall not be able to come in again before church.'
'I hope they have not punished her.'
'Wilmet recommended not taking the prize prayer-book to church, and
she acquiesced with tears in her eyes. A good child's repentance is a
beautiful thing--
"O happy in repentance' school
So early taught and tried."'
These last words were said to himself as he picked up his various
goods, and added, 'I must get some tea at the Rectory. I am sorry to
leave you, but I hope one of them will come down.'
They did not, except that they peeped in for a moment to wish him
good-night, and regretted that they had not known him to be alone.
As Felix was going out to begin the Christmas Feast in the darkness of
morning, he looked in as he usually did, since Mr. Audley, sleeping out
of the house, never came in till after early church. The nurse, who
still slept in the room, was gone to dress; there was only a flickering
night-light, and the room looked very desolate and forlorn, still more
so the voice that called out to him, 'Felix! oh, Felix! is that you?'
'Yes. A happy Christmas to you,' said Felix.
'Happy--!' there was a sort of groan.
'Why, what's the matter? have you had a bad night? Aren't you so well?'
'I don't know. Come here; I must speak to you.'
Felix was, as usual, in a great haste, but the tone startled him.
'Felix, I can't stand this any longer. I must let you know what a
frightful, intolerable wretch I've been. I tried to teach Lance to bet.'
'Fernando!' He was so choked with indignation, he could not say more.
'He wouldn't do it. Not after he understood it. It seems he tried it
with another little boy at school, and one of the bigger ones boxed his
ears and rowed him.'
'Ay; Bruce promised me to look after him.'
'So he refused. He told me he was on his honour to you not to stay if I
did anything your father would have disapproved. He did leave me once,
when I would not leave off.'
'But how could you?'
'I was so bored--so intolerably dull--and it is the only thing on earth
that one cares to do.'
'But Lance had nothing to stake.'
'I could lend him! Ah! you don't know what betting is; why, we all
do it--women, boys and all!' His voice became excited, and Felix in
consternation broke in--
'When did you do this?'
'Oh! weeks ago. Before I was out of bed. When I found my dice in my
purse; but I have not tried it since, with him!'
'With whom, then?'
'Why--don't fall on him--with Fulbert. He knew what it meant. Now,
Felix, don't come on him for it. Come on me as much as you please. I've
been a traitor to you. I see it now.'
'Anything but that!' sighed Felix, too much appalled for immediate
forgiving, dejected as was the voice that spoke to him.
'Yes, yes, I know! I see. The worst thing I could do,' said Fernando,
turning his face in on the pillow, in so broken-hearted a manner that
Felix's kindness and generosity were roused.
'Stay, don't be so downcast,' he said. 'There's no harm done with
Lance, and you being so sorry will undo it with Fulbert! I do thank you
for telling me, _really_, only it upset me at first.'
'Upset! Yes, you'll be more so when you hear the rest,' said Fernando,
raising his head again. 'Do you know who set that inn on fire?'
'Nobody does.'
'Well, I did.'
'Nonsense! You've had a bad night! You don't know what you are
talking about,' said Felix, anxiously laying hold of one of the hot
hands--perceiving that his own Christmas Day must begin with mercy, not
sacrifice, and beginning to hope the first self-accusation was also
delirious.
'Tell me. Didn't the fire begin in the ball-room? Somebody told me so.'
'Yes, the waiter saw it there.'
'Then I did it; I threw the end of a cigar among the flummery in the
grate,' cried Fernando, falling back from the attitude into which he
had raised himself, with a gesture of despair.
'Nobody can blame you.'
'Stay. It was after father and uncle had gone! I was smoking at the
window of our room, and the landlord came in and ordered me not,
because some ladies in the next room objected. He told me I might come
down to the coffee-room; but I had never heard of such meddling, and I
jawed him well; but he made me give in somehow. Only when I saw that
big ball-room all along the side of the building, I just took a turn in
it with my cigar to spite him. Poor Diego came up and begged me not,
but you know the way one does with a nigger. Oh!'
Felix did not know; but the voice broke down in such misery and horror,
that his soul seemed to sink within him. 'Have you had this on your
mind all this time?' he asked kindly.
'No, no. It didn't come to me. I think I've been a block or a stone.
The dear faithful fellow, that loved me as no one ever did. I've been
feeling the kiss he gave me at the window all to-night. And then I've
been falling--falling--falling in his black arms--down--down to hell
itself. Not that he is there; but I murdered him, you know--and some
one else besides, wasn't there?'
'This is like delirium, really, Fernando,' said Felix, putting his arms
round him to lay him down, as he raised himself on his elbow. 'I must
call some one if you seem so ill.'
'I wish it was illness,' said Fernando with a shudder. 'Oh! don't
go--don't let me go--if you can bear to touch me--when you know all!'
'There can't be any worse to know. You had better not talk.'
'I must! I must tell you all I really am; though you will never let
your brothers come near me, or the little angels--your sisters. I'd
not have dared look at them myself if I had known it, but things never
seemed so to me before.'
Felix shivered at the thought of what he was to hear, but he gave
himself up to listen kindly, and to his relief he gathered from the
incoherent words that there was no great stain of crime, as he had
feared; but that the boy had come to open his eyes to the evils of the
life in which he had shared according to his age, and saw them in their
foulness, and with an agonised sense of shame and pollution. Felix
could not help asking whether this had long dwelt on his thoughts.
'No,' he said, 'that's the wonder! I thought myself a nice,
gentlemanly, honourable fellow. Oh!' with a groan. 'Fancy that! I never
thought of recollecting these things, or what they have made me. Only,
somehow, when those children seemed so shocked at my advising them
to hold their tongues about their bit of mischief--I thought first
what fools you all were to be so scrupulous; and then I recollected
the lots of things I have concealed, till I began to think, Is this
honour--would it seem so to Lance--or Felix? And then came down on me
the thought of what you believe, of God seeing it all, and laying it up
against one for judgment; and I _know_--I _know_ it is true!' and there
came another heavy groan, and the great eyes shone in the twilight in
terror.
'If you know that is true,' said Felix, steadfastly and tenderly, 'you
know something else too. You know Whom He sent into the world for our
pardon for these things.'
There was a tightening of the grasp as if in acquiescence and comfort;
but the nurse came back to tidy the room, and still Fernando clung to
Felix, and would not let him go. She opened the shutters, and then
both she and Felix were dismayed to see how ill and spent her patient
looked; for she had slept soundly through his night of silent anguish
and remorse--misery that, as Felix saw by his face, was pressing on him
still with intolerable weight.
By the time the woman had finished Mr. Audley came in, and seeing at
once that Felix's absence was accounted for by Fernando's appearance,
he stepped up at once to the bed, full of solicitude. Felix hardly knew
whether to reply or escape; but Fernando's heart was too full for his
words not to come at once.
'No, I am not worse, but I see it all now.--Tell him, Felix; I cannot
say it again.'
'Fernando thinks--' Felix found he could hardly speak the words
either--'Fernando is afraid that it was an accident of his own--'
'Don't say an accident. It was passion and spite,' broke in Fernando.
'That caused the fire at the Fortinbras Arms,' Felix was obliged to
finish.
'Not on purpose!' exclaimed Mr. Audley.
'Almost as much as if it had been,' said Fernando. 'I smoked to spite
the landlord for interfering, and threw away the end too angry to
heed where. There!' he added grimly; 'Felix won't tell me how many I
murdered besides my poor old black. How many?'
'Do not speak in that way, my poor boy,' said Mr. Audley. 'At least,
this is better than the weight you have had on your mind so long.'
'How many?' repeated Fernando.
'Two more lives were lost,' said Mr. Audley gently, 'Mr. Jones's
baby and its nurse. But you must not use harder words than are just,
Fernando. It was a terrible result, but consequences do not make the
evil.'
He made a kind of murmur; then turning round, uneasily said, 'That is
not all; I have seen myself, Mr. Audley.'
Mr. Audley looked at Felix, who spoke with some difficulty and
perplexity. 'He has been very unhappy all night. He thinks things wrong
that he never thought about before.'
Mr. Audley felt exceedingly hopeful at those words; but he was alarmed
at the physical effect on his patient, and felt that the present
excitement was mischievous. 'I understand in part,' he said. 'But it
seems to me that he is too restless and uncomfortable to think or
understand now. It may be that he may yet see the joy of to-day; but no
more talk now. Have you had your breakfast?'
He shook his head, but Felix had to go away, and breakfast and dressing
restored Fernando to a more tranquil state. He slept, too, wearied out,
when he was placed on his couch; while Felix was at Christmas service,
singing, as he had never sung before,--
'Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.'
Oh! was the poor young stranger seeing the way to that reconciliation?
and when Lancelot's sweet clear young notes rose up in all their
purity, and the rosy honest face looked upwards with an expression
elevated by the music, Felix could not help thinking that the boy had
verily sung those words of truth and hope into the poor dark lonely
heart. Kindness, steadfastness, truth, in that merry-hearted child
had been doing their work; and when Lance marched away with the other
lesser choristers, the elder brother felt as if the younger had been
the more worthy to 'draw near in faith.'
Fernando was more like himself when Felix came in, but he was a good
deal shaken, and listened to the conventional Christmas greeting like
mockery, shrinking from the sisters, when they looked in on him, with
what they thought a fresh access of shyness, but which was a feeling of
terrible shame beside the innocence he ascribed to them.
'I wish I could help that poor boy,' sighed Wilmet. 'He does look so
very miserable!'
And Geraldine's eyes swam in tears as she thought of the loneliness
of his Christmas, and without that Christmas joy that even her
mother's dulled spirit could feel--the joy that bore them through the
recollections of this time last year.
Lance's desire to cheer took the more material form of acting as
Fernando's special waiter at the consumption of the turkey, which Mr.
Audley had insisted on having from home, and eating in company with the
rest, to whom it was a 'new experience,' being only a faint remembrance
even to Felix and Wilmet; but Fernando had no appetite, and even the
sight of his little friend gave him a pang.
'Do you want any one to stay with you?' asked Lance. 'If Cherry _would_
do--for Felix said he would take Fulbert and me out for a jolly long
walk, to see the icicles at Bold's Hatch.'
'No, I want no one. You are better without me.'
'I'll stay if you _do_ want it,' said Lance, very reluctantly. 'I
don't like your not having one bit of Christmas. Shall I sing you one
Christmas hymn before I go?' And Lance broke into the 'Herald Angels'
again.
'Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die;
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.'
Fernando's face was bathed in tears; he held out his arms, and to
little Lance's great amazement, somewhat to his vexation, he held him
fast and kissed him.
'What did you do that for?' he asked in a gruff astonished voice.
'Never mind!' said Fernando. 'Only I think I see what this day can be!
Now go.'
Presently Mr. Audley came softly in. The lad's face was turned in to
his cushion, his handkerchief over it; and as the young priest stood
watching him, what could be done but pray for the poor struggling soul?
At last he turned round, and looked up.
'I saw it again,' he said with a sigh.
'Saw what?'
'What you all mean. It touched me, and seemed true and real when Lance
was singing. What was it--"Born to save the sons of earth"? Oh! but
such as I am, and at my age, too!'
And with a few words from Mr. Audley, there came such a disburthening
of self-accusation as before to Felix. It seemed as if the terrible
effects of his wilfulness at the inn--horrified as he was at them--were
less oppressive to his conscience than his treachery to his host in his
endeavour to gamble with the little boys. He had found a pair of dice
in his purse when looking for the price of a Bible, and the sight had
awakened the vehement hereditary Mexican passion for betting, the bane
of his mother's race. His father, as a clever man of the world, hated
and prohibited the practice; but Fernando had what could easily become
a frenzy for that excitement of the lazy south, and even while he had
seen it in its consequences, the intense craving for the amusement had
mastered him more than once, when loathing the dulness and weariness
of his confinement, and shrinking from the doctrines he feared to
accept. He knew it was dishonourable--yet he had given way; and he
felt like one utterly stained, unpardonable, hopeless: but there was
less exaggeration in his state of mind than in the early morning; and
when Mr. Audley dwelt on the Hope of sinners, his eyes glistened and
brightened; and at the further words that held out to him the assurance
that all these sins might be washed away, and he himself enabled to
begin a new life, his looks shone responsively; but he shook his head
soon--'It went away from him,' he said; poor boy! 'it was too great and
good to be true.'
Then Mr. Audley put prayer before him as a means of clinging even
blindly to the Cross that he was barely beginning to grasp, and the
boy promised. He would do anything they would, could he but hope to be
freed from the horrible weight of sense of hopeless pollution that had
come upon him.
For some days he did not seem able to read anything but the Gospels and
the Baptismal Service; and at length, after a long silence, he said,
'Mr. Audley, if your sermon is finished, can you listen to me? May I be
baptized?'
Then indeed the Curate's heart bounded, but he had to keep himself
restrained. The father's consent he had secured beforehand, but he
thought Fernando ought to write to him; and it was also needful to
consult the Rector as to the length of actual preparation and probation.
Then, when the question came, 'Can I indeed be like Felix and Lancelot'
the reply had to be cautious. 'You will be as entirely pardoned, as
entirely belonging to the holiness within and without, as they; but
how far you will have the consciousness, I cannot tell; and it is very
probable that your temptations may be harder. Guilt may be forgiven,
while habits retain their power; and they have been guarded, taught
self-restraint, and had an example before them in their father, such as
very few have been blessed with.'
Fernando sighed long and sadly, and said, 'Then you do not think it
will make much difference.'
'The difference between life and death! But you must expect to have to
believe rather than _feel_. But go on, and it will all be clear.'
The Rector was at first anxious to wait for definite sanction from
the father; but as Mr. Audley was sure of the permission he had
received, and no letter could be had for several months, he agreed to
examine the lad, and write to the Bishop--a new Bishop, who had been
appointed within the last year, and who was coming in the spring for a
Confirmation.
Mr. Bevan was really delighted with the catechumen, and wrote warmly of
him. The reply was, that if the Baptism could take place the day before
the Confirmation, which was to be in a month's time, the Bishop himself
would like to be present, and the youth could be confirmed the next
day. There was much that was convenient in this, for it gave time for
Fernando to make progress in moving about. He had made a start within
the last week or two, was trying to use crutches, and had been out on
fine days in a chair; and once or twice Lady Price had taken him for
a drive, though she had never thought of doing so by Geraldine. The
doctor said that change of air would probably quite restore his health;
and he had only to wait to be a little less dependent before he was to
go to a tutor, an old friend of the Audley family.
Everything promised well; but one wet afternoon, in the interim between
the end of Lance's and that of Fulbert's holidays, Mr. Audley, while
coming down from a visit to Mrs. Underwood, fancied he heard an ominous
rattle, and opening the door suddenly, found Fernando and Fulbert
eagerly throwing the dice and with several shillings before them.
Both started violently as he entered, and Fulbert put his arm and hand
round as if to hide the whole affair; while Fernando tried to look
composed.
All that the Curate said in his surprise was one sharp sentence.
'Fernando Travis, if you are to renounce the devil, you will have to
begin by throwing those dice into the fire.'
Fernando's eyes looked furious, and he swept the dice and the money
into his pocket--all but three shillings. Fulbert stole out of the room
quietly. No doubt these were his winnings, which he did not dare to
touch.
Mr. Audley took up a book and waited, fully expecting that sorrow would
follow; but Fernando did not speak; and when at length he did on some
indifferent matter, it was in his ordinary tone. Well, there must be
patience. No doubt repentance would come at night! No; the evening
passed on, and Fernando was ready for all their usual occupations.
Perhaps it would come with Felix, or in the dawn after a troubled
night. Alas! no. And moreover, Felix, to whom it was necessary to
speak, was exceedingly angry and vexed, and utterly incredulous of
there being any good in the character that could be so fickle, if not
deceitful and hypocritical. His own resolute temper had no power of
comprehending the unmanliness of erring against the better will; he
was absolutely incapable of understanding the horrible lassitude and
craving for excitement that must have tempted Fernando, and he was
hard and even ashamed of himself for having ever believed in the lad's
sincerity.
This anger too made him speak with such a threatening tone to Fulbert,
as to rouse the doggedness of the boy's nature. All that could be got
out of Fulbert was that 'his going there was all Felix's doing,' and he
would not manifest any sign of regret, such as would be any security
against his introducing the practice among the clergy orphans, or
continuing it all his life. He was not a boy given to confidences, and
neither Wilmet nor Cherry could get him beyond his glum declaration
that it was Felix's fault, he only wanted to keep out of the fellow's
way. They could only take comfort in believing that he was really
ashamed, and that he suffered enough within to be a warning against the
vice itself.
As to Fernando, he made no sign, he went on as if nothing had happened;
and nothing was observable about him, but that he showed himself
intensely weary of his present mode of life, put on at times the
manners that were either those of the Spanish Don or of the Indian
Cacique, and seemed to shrink from the prospect of the English tutor.
Yet he continued his preparation for baptism, and Mr. Bevan was
satisfied with him; but Mr. Audley was perplexed and unhappy over the
reserve that had sprung up between them, and could not decide whether
to make another attempt or leave the lad to himself.
One afternoon, only ten days from the time fixed for the Bishop's
visit, Mr. Audley returned from a clerical meeting to find an
unexpected visitor in the room--namely, Alfred Travis, Fernando's
uncle, a more Americanized and rougher person than his brother. He rose
as he entered. 'Good morning, Mr. Audley; you have taken good care of
your charge. He is fit to start with me to-morrow. See a surgeon in
town--then to Liverpool--'
'Indeed!' Mr. Audley caught a deprecating look from Fernando. 'Do you
come from his father?'
'Well--yes and no. His father is still in the Oregon; but he and I have
always been one--and opening the boy's letters, and finding him ready
to move, I thought, as I had business in England, I'd come and fetch
him, and just settle any claim the fellow at yonder hotel may have
cheek enough to set up, since Fernan was green enough to let it out.'
'May I ask if you have any authority from his father?'
'Authority! Bless you! William will be glad to see his boy; we don't go
by authority between brothers.'
'Because,' continued Mr. Audley, 'I heard from your brother that he
wished Fernando to remain with me to receive an English education.'
'All sentiment and stuff! He knew better before we had sailed! An
English squire in this wretched old country, forsooth! when the new
republic is before him! No, no, Mr. Audley, I'll be open with you. I
saw what you were up to when I got your letter, and Fernan--Got his
lesson very well, he had. And when I came down, a friend in London gave
me another hint. It won't do, I can assure you. That style of thing is
all very well for you spruce parsons of good family, as you call it in
the old country; but we are not going to have a rising young fellow
like this, with a prospect of what would buy out all your squires and
baronets in the old country, beslobbered and befooled with a lot of
Puseyite cant. You've had your turn of him; it is time he should come
and be a man again.'
Mr. Audley was dizzy with consternation. Fernando was no child. He was
full sixteen, and he was so far recovered that his health formed no
reason for detaining him. If he chose to go with his uncle, he _must_.
If not--what then? He looked at Fernando, who sat uneasily.
'You hear what your uncle says?' he asked.
'I told him,' said Fernando, 'I must wait for a fortnight.' He spoke
with eyes cast down, but not irresolutely.
His uncle broke out--He knew what that meant; it was only that he might
be flattered by the Bishop and all the ladies, and made a greater fool
of than ever. No, no, he must be out again by May, and he should just
have time to take Fernan to one of the gay boarding-houses at Saratoga,
and leave him there to enjoy himself.
'I have letters from my father,' said Fernando, looking up to Mr.
Audley, 'before he went to Oregon. He said nothing.'
'Do you wish to stay?' said Mr. Audley, feeling that all depended on
that, and trying to hide the whirl of anxiety and disappointment he
felt.
The answer was not what he expected. Fernando sat upright in his chair,
looked up to him and then at his uncle, and said low but resolutely, 'I
will stay.'
'Then you shall stay,' said Mr. Audley.
'You have worked upon him, I see, Sir, with your old-world prejudiced
superstition,' said Alfred Travis, evidently under the delusion that he
was keeping his temper. 'A proper fool my brother was to leave him to
you. But you do it at your peril. I shall see if there's power even in
this old country to keep a boy from his own relations. You'll see me
again, Fernan. You had better make ready.'
The words were not unaccompanied with expletives such as had never been
personally uttered to Charles Audley before, and that brought the hot
colour to his cheek. When he looked round, Fernando's face was covered
with his hands. 'Oh! Mr. Audley,' he cried, as his uncle hastily shut
the door, 'is he going to send for the police?'
'I do not believe he can do any such thing,' said Mr. Audley, seeing
that Fernando was in great nervous agitation. 'I have authority from
your father, he has none; and you are old enough to make your own
decision. You really mean and wish to stay?' he added.
'I told him so from the first,' said Fernando.
'Then he has no power to force you away.'
Fernando was silent. Then he said, 'If I could have gone after my
Baptism.'
'Would you have wished that?' said Mr. Audley, somewhat disappointed.
The tears were now on the long black lashes.
'Oh, don't think me ungrateful, or-- But this English life does come
over me as intolerably dull and slow. No life nor go in it. Sometimes
I feel sick of it; and going back to books and all, after what I
have been used to. If my uncle could wait for my Baptism, or,' more
hesitating, 'if I could be baptized at once. Men do lead Christian
lives out there. I would try to keep from evil, Mr. Audley. I see your
face! Is this another temptation of the devil?'
'I think it is an attempt of his,' said Mr. Audley, sadly. 'Even here
you have not been able to abstain entirely from giving way to your old
passion, when you had little temptation, and felt your honour bound.
What will it be when you have comparatively no restraint?'
'I am resolved not to go unbaptized,' said Fernando. 'I said so from
the first, but he will not wait! Yet if my father sends for me, I must
go.'
'Then it will be your duty, and you will have more right to look for
help. Besides, a summons from your father could not come for three or
four months, and in that time you would have had time to gain something
in Christian practice and training.'
'Oh, there is the bell! Must you go, Mr. Audley? He will come back!'
'I wish I could stay, but Smith is gone to Dearport, and I do not know
whether the Rector is in. Besides, this must be your own doing, Fernan,
not mine. I shall pray for you, that you well know. Pray for yourself,
for this is a real crisis of life. God bless you, my dear boy.' He laid
his hand on the head, and Fernando looked up gratefully, then said,
'You never did that before. May Lance come to me, if he has not gone?'
'I will call him,' said Mr. Audley, seeing that he really dreaded being
alone. The little boy was on the stairs with something in his hand. 'Go
in to Fernan,' he was told; 'he wants you. What have you got there?'
'This queer drawing. Cherry found it in an old portfolio, and has been
copying it.'
It was Retzsch's outline of the chess-player, and it almost startled
Mr. Audley by its appropriateness. He went out to Evensong, and never
was more glad to get back to reinforce the feeble garrison.
Lance opened the front door to him. 'I'm so glad you are come!' he
said. 'Mr. Bruce is there.'
'Not the uncle?'
'No, only Mr. Bruce.'
Mr. Bruce was a lawyer, and a very respectable man, in whom Mr. Audley
felt confidence. He rose at the clergyman's entrance, and asked to
speak to him in another room, so he was taken into the little back
dining-room, and began--'This is a very unpleasant business, Mr.
Audley; this gentleman is very much annoyed, and persuaded that he has
a right to carry off his nephew; but as I told him, it all turns upon
the father's expressions. Have you any written authority from him?'
Mr. Audley had more than one letter, thanking him, and expressing full
satisfaction in the proposed arrangements for Fernando; and this Mr.
Bruce thought was full justification, together with the youth's own
decided wishes. The words were likewise clear, by which William Travis
had given consent to his son's Baptism, but there was no witness of
them. Mr. Bruce explained that Alfred Travis, who seemed to regard
Fernando as the common property of the brothers, had come to him in
what he gently termed 'a great state of excitement,' complaining of
a Puseyite plot. He had evidently taken umbrage at the tone of the
letters he had opened for his brother, and had been further prejudiced
by some Dearport timber-merchant he had met at Liverpool, who had told
him how the parson had got hold of his nephew, and related a farrago of
gossip about St. Oswald's. He was furious at the opposition, and could
not understand that law in the old country was powerless in this case,
because he was neither father nor guardian. In fact he seemed to be
master of his brother; and Mr. Bruce told Mr. Audley that it was quite
to be considered whether though law was on his side now, the father
might not be brought over to the brother's side, be very angry at the
detention of the boy, and refuse the payment, which, while he was in
America, could not be forced from him. Of that Mr. Audley could happily
afford to run the risk; and Mr. Bruce said he had also set before the
young gentleman that he might have to suffer much displeasure from
his father for his present refusal, although his right to make it was
incontestable. To this Fernando had likewise made up his mind; and Mr.
Bruce, who had never seen him before, thought he looked utterly unfit
for a long journey and sea voyage, so that the uncle had taken nothing
by his application to the law.
Fernando was flushed and panting, but more resolute, for resentment at
the attempt at force had come to back him up, and rouse the spirit of
resistance. Not half an hour had elapsed before there was another ring
at the door. The uncle and lawyer were come together now. It was to
make a last offer to Fernando; Mr. Alfred Travis offered to take him up
to London the next day, and there to have advice as to the safety of
the voyage, in the meantime letting him be baptized, if nothing else
would satisfy him, but by some London clergyman--not one of the Bexley
set whom the uncle regarded with such aversion.
Fernando drew himself up, and stood, leaning on the end of the sofa.
'Thank you, uncle,' he said, 'I cannot. I am obeying my father now, and
I will not leave those to whom he trusted me.'
There followed a volley of abuse of his English obstinacy and Spanish
pride and canting conceit, which made Mr. Bruce stand aghast, and
Fernando look up with burning cheeks and eyes glowing like hot coals;
but with the Indian impassibility he did not speak till Alfred Travis
had threatened him not only with his father's displeasure, but with
being cast off by both, and left to his English friends' charity.
'My father will not!' said Fernando. 'If he sends for me I will come.'
But there his strength suddenly collapsed, and he was forced to sit
down and lean back.
'Well, Fernan,' said his uncle, suddenly withdrawing his attempt when
he found it vain, 'you seem hardly in marching order, so I'm off by the
night train; but if you change your mind in the next week, write to
me at Peter Brown's--you know--and I'll run down. I will save you the
coming out by yourself. Good-bye.'
Mr. Bruce tarried one moment to aver that he was unprepared for his
client's violence, and that he thought the nephew had done quite right.
The door was shut, and Mr. Audley came back holding out his hand, but
Fernando did not take it. He was occupied in supporting himself by
the furniture from the sofa to the fire-place, where, holding by the
mantelpiece with one hand, he took his dice from his pocket with the
other, and threw them into the reddest depth. Then he held the hand to
Mr. Audley, who wrung it, and said, 'It has been a hard fight, my boy.'
Fernando laid his weary head on his shoulder, and said, 'If my father
is not poisoned against me!'
'Do not fear that, Fernando. You are where he left you. You have given
up something for the sake of your new Lord and Master; you will have
his armour another time.'
Fernando let himself be helped to sit down, and sighed. He was
thoroughly worn out, and his victory was not such as to enliven his
spirits. He took up the drawing that lay on the table, and gazed on it
in a sort of dreamy fascination.
'You have checked him this time,' said Mr. Audley.
'Here or there, I will never bet again,' said Fernan solemnly. 'God
help me to keep the resolution! It is the one thing that I care for,
and I know I should have begun the first day I was away from you.'
'I think that with those tastes you cannot make too strong a resolution
against it,' said Mr. Audley.
Their dinner was brought in, but Fernando had no appetite. He soon
returned to his chess-player, and seemed to be playing over the game,
but he was too much tired for talk, and soon went to bed; where after
a short sleep feverishness set in, bringing something approaching to
delirium. The nurse had gone a fortnight previously; but as he was
still too helpless to have no one within call, Felix slept on the bed
in the corner of the room.
When he came down the opening of the door was greeted by 'Don't let him
come! Is Mr. Audley there?'
'Yes, he is not gone.'
Then he knew Felix, but soon began again to talk of the game at chess,
evidently mixing up his uncle with the personage with the long feather.
'He has been checked once. I've taken one piece of his. He is gone now.
Will he come back after my Baptism? No; I shall go to him.'
This lasted till past midnight, when, as they were deliberating
whether to send for Mr. Rugg, he fell soundly asleep, and awoke in the
morning depressed, but composed and peaceful; and this state of things
continued. The encounter with his uncle, and the deliberate choice, had
apparently given some shock to his nerves; and whenever night recurred,
there came two or three hours of misery, and apparently of temptation
and terror. It took different forms. Sometimes it was half in
sleep--the acting over again of one or two horrible scenes that he had
partly witnessed in the Southern States, when an emancipator had been
hunted down, and the slaves who had listened to him savagely punished.
In spite of his Spanish blood, the horror had been ineffaceable;
and his imagination connected it with the crowd of terrors that had
revealed themselves to his awakened conscience. He seemed to think that
if he lost in the awful game of life, he should be handed over to that
terrible slave-master; and there were times when Diego's fate, and his
own lapses, so fastened on his mind, as to make him despair of ever
being allowed to quit that slave-master's dominions; and that again
joined with alarm lest his uncle should return and claim him.
Sometimes, likewise, the old wandering life, with the flashes of
rollicking mirth and excitement, rather glimpsed at and looked forward
to than really tasted, would become so alluring a contrast to the flat
and tasteless--nay, as it seemed to him, tedious and toilsome--future
sketched out for him; and the restraints and constant watchfulness of
a Christian's life appeared so distressing a bondage, that his soul
seemed to revolt against it, and he would talk of following his uncle
at once to London while yet it was time, and writing to him the next
morning. This state was sure to be followed by a passion of remorse,
and sheer delirious terror lest he should be given up to the enemy,
who seemed now to assume to his fancy the form of his uncle. A great
deal was no doubt delirious, and this betrayed the struggles which he
had been for weeks fighting out in silence and apparent impassiveness;
but it was impossible not to feel that therewith was manifested the
wrestling with the Prince of Darkness, ere his subject should escape
from his territory, and claim the ransom of his manumission. Mr.
Audley--after the second night--would not let Felix remain, but took
the watch entirely on himself, and fought the battle with the foe
by prayer and psalm. Sleep used to come before morning; and by day
Fernando was himself again, very subdued and quiet, and, in fact,
having lost a good deal of ground as to health.
Strange to say, the greatest pleasure he had at this time was sitting
in the upstairs parlour. The custom had begun in consequence of his
nervous shuddering at being left alone lest his uncle should return,
and Felix and Geraldine had then proposed taking him to their mother,
who was rather interested than annoyed by his presence, and indeed
all her gentle motherly instinct was drawn out by his feebleness and
lameness; she talked to him kindly and quite rationally, and he was
wonderfully impressed and soothed by her tenderness. It was so utterly
unlike anything he had ever even seen, that he watched her with a sort
of awe; while Cherry worked, read aloud, or drew, and felt proud of
being able to fetch what was beyond the capacity of her little errand
boy, Bernard.
The children, too, entertained him; he was a little afraid of Bernard's
roughness, but delighted in watching him, and he and little Stella
were intensely admiring friends. She always knew him, cooed at him,
and preferred the gold of his watch-chain to all things in nature or
art. Then when Wilmet, Angela, and Lance came home, and family chatter
began, the weary anxious brain rested; and even in that room, so sad
to most eyes, Fernando began to realise what Christian peace and
cheerfulness could be.