"I am sorry to hear it," he replied. "And that of your companion?"
"Pat Doolan, my lord." I said this with no vindictive feeling, or with
any idea of excusing myself; but I was asked a question, and without
considering what might be the result I answered it.
"A pretty companion for the son of the vicar of ---. Take away his gun,
O'Rourke," he said to the keeper, "and the game: to that he has no
right. And now, young gentleman, I shall see your father on this matter
shortly. If he chooses to let his son commit depredations on my
property, he must take the consequences."
"I came out without my father's knowledge, and he is in no way to
blame," I answered quickly; for I could not bear to have any reflection
cast on my father through my fault.
Lord Fetherston looked at me attentively, and I think I heard him
muttering something like, "He is a brave lad, and must be rescued from
such companionship;" but I am not quite certain.
"Well, sir, you at all events must not escape punishment," he replied
aloud. "For the present, I leave you in the custody of my keepers. You
see the condition to which you have reduced yourself."
He then gave some orders to one of the keepers, which I did not hear;
and without further noticing me he walked on, while they led me away
towards Fetherston Abbey, his lordship's residence. I need scarcely say
that my feelings were very wretched, and full of shame; and yet perhaps
I would rather it should thus have happened, than that I should have
been compelled to go back to my father. It was perhaps somewhat of a
consolation to feel that I was being justly punished, and yet not by my
father's hand. I don't know that I thought this at the time, but I know
that I did afterwards. And then, when days had passed, and many other
events had occurred, I felt very grateful that Providence had thus
disposed of me, and had preserved me from a fate which in all human
probability would have been mine had I this time escaped with impunity.
Lord Fetherston was a magistrate, and consequently in the Abbey there
was a strong room, in which, on occasion, prisoners were locked up
before they were carried off to jail. Into this room I was led, and
with a heavy heart I heard the key turned in the lock, and found myself
alone. If I had wished to escape I could not; and there were no books,
or other means of amusement, so that I was left to my own reflections.
A servant, who would not answer any questions, brought me in some
dinner, which I could scarcely taste; and at night a small bed,
ready-made, was brought in, and I was again left to myself. Two days
thus passed away: my obstinate spirit was completely broken, and I must
say that I truly had repented of all my folly and idleness. On the
third day the door opened, and my father appeared. He looked very sad,
but not angry. He took a chair and sat down, while I stood before him.
For more than a minute he could not speak.
"Peter," he at length said, "I do not come to reproach you: the grief I
and your mother feel, and what you will have to endure henceforth, will
be, I trust, sufficient punishment. We must part with you, my son; we
have no choice. You must go to foreign lands, and there retrieve your
name, and, I trust, improve and strengthen your character. You have
placed yourself and me in Lord Fetherston's power. He insists on it,
that you shall forthwith be sent to sea; and on that condition he
promises to overlook all that has occurred. He did not even speak
harshly of you; and I am fain to believe that what he has decided is for
the best. At my earnest solicitation, he consented that you should take
only a short voyage first to North America, provided that you sail
without delay. Accordingly, I have agreed to set off to-morrow with you
for Liverpool, whence many ships sail for that part of the world, and I
dare say that I shall find some captain to take charge of you. Do you
consent to abide by this arrangement?"
"I think Lord Fetherston is right," I replied. "The life of a sailor,
if what I know of it is correct (little in truth did I know of it), will
just suit me; and though I regret to go as I am going, and grieve to
wound my mother's heart, yet I consider that I am very leniently dealt
with, and will gladly accept the conditions." So it was settled, and my
father led me out of my prison. Lord Fetherston met us as we left the
mansion.
"My son gratefully accepts your conditions, my lord," said my father,
colouring. His pride, I fear, was humbled to the dust (alas! through
me) when he said so. "I shall fulfil to the letter your lordship's
commands."
"I am glad to hear it, Mr Lefroy; depend on it, you act wisely," said
Lord Fetherston. "And I trust that we part without malice, young man,"
addressing me. "You have my well-wishes, I can assure you." He held
out his hand, and I shook it, I believe gratefully, though I said
nothing; and without another word I jumped into the car which had
brought my father, and we drove home.
There was much grief and sorrow when we got there, and many a tear in
the eyes of my mother and my sweet, ever kind, sisters as they packed up
my little kit; but not a word of reproach. Thus passed the last day for
many a long year that I spent at home.
Let me tell those who wish to quit their homes to go roaming round the
world in search of what they know not, that though they chance to bring
back shiploads of riches, they will find no jewels comparable in price
to a another's fond love, a father's protecting affection, the sweet
forbearing regard of tender sisters, a brother's hearty interest, or the
calm tranquillity of the family roof.
I write for the large and happy majority of my readers: some few are
less fortunate, and they in truth deserve the sympathy of the rest.
Cherish, I say, while you can, the affections of your home; and depend
on it, when far away, the recollection alone will be like a refreshing
spot in the weary desert through which your path in life may lead you;
for be assured that there is no place like home.