“I shall remain here with poor
Julia,” said Amos to his brother, when their
unhappy sister, completely overcome by the terrible
scene she had just witnessed, had retired to her bedroom,
where she was lovingly tended by her kind landlady.
“And what is the next move for me?” asked
Walter.
“Well,” replied Amos,
“you have done your part most nobly, and I am
so thankful now that you came. Not that I think
that wretched man would really have harmed me.
He just wanted to frighten the money out of me; but
I believe, on finding me firm, and not to be frightened,
he would have dropped his pistol, and made some shuffling
attempt to turn the matter into a joke, and would
then have tried to wheedle the money out of me, when
he saw that a show of violence would not do.
Still, I am truly glad that you were here, and that
things have turned out as they have done. I
feel sure now that you have thoroughly humbled this
unprincipled scoundrel, and that he has slunk away
like a whipped hound, and I have every hope that he
will not trouble poor Julia any more with his odious
presence. As he knows now that there are two
of us keeping watch, and must remember what you have
said to him, I fully believe that he will take himself
off to a distance, if not go abroad, and that we need
not be afraid of his annoying us any more either here
or at Flixworth Manor.”
“That’s pretty much what
I think too,” replied his brother; “but
what am I to say at home?”
“Just what you like. But
as to our dear sister, I want you to express to my
father her delight and gratitude when I gave her his
love, and told her that there was still a place for
her in the old home. And then would you find
out from him or through our aunt how soon she may come
back to us? for I want to get her out of this place.
When she is once in her old home again she will be
safe out of the clutches of her cruel husband.
I will wait here for an answer, which you can send
me by post; and, should that answer warrant poor Julia’s
return at once, I will see all things got ready, and
will bring her myself. And, should there be
anything in the way of her returning immediately, I
can remove her for a time to where her children are,
as I shall be better able to keep my eye upon her
there.”
“All right, Amos; I’m
not afraid of leaving you here now, for I am as fully
persuaded as you are that Mr Vivian has had such a
lesson as he won’t forget in a hurry, and that
he will make himself pretty scarce for some time to
come. You shall hear from me by to-morrow’s
post. Ah, but there’s another thing:
am I to say anything about the children? for if poor
Julia is to come back we shall have to make room for
the children as well.”
“Nay, dear Walter,” said
his brother, “I think it would be better to say
nothing about the children; they are safe and happy
where they are. Let us leave the matter to our
dear father. When Julia has got her old place
in his house and heart back again, I feel sure that
it will not be long before he bids her himself send
for the children. Don’t you think it will
be better that it should come from himself?”
“Just so, Amos; you are right,
as usual. Well, this is a capital ending to
a queer beginning. And what will old Harry say
to see `Miss Julia as was’ turning up `Mistress
Julia as is’? Oh, won’t it be capital
fun to see him welcome her back!” So Walter
set off on his homeward journey in high spirits, and
in due time reached his destination brimful of news
and excitement.
“All well, I hope?” asked
his father, who, with his aunt, met him in the hall
on his arrival.
“Oh yes, father, it’s
all well, and a deal better than all well it’s
all best.” Then the three gathered round
the fire in Mr Huntingdon’s library, and Walter
told his story. Deep was the emotion of Mr Huntingdon
and his sister, and deeper still their thankfulness,
when they heard of the happy conclusion of the terrible
and exciting meeting between Amos and his brother-in-law.
“And you did nobly and wisely
yourself, my dear boy,” said the squire.
“I believe you have given that wretched scoundrel
his quietus so far as we are concerned. And
what of your poor sister? Are we to expect her
soon?”
“That’s what I’ve
got to write to Amos about,” replied his son.
“As soon as you are ready to receive her she
will be only too thankful to come.”
“Let her come at once write
by this night’s post,” cried his father
in an agitated voice. “Poor dear child,
I long to welcome her back again; and I think, if
I am not mistaken, that your aunt has been making some
quiet preparations, so that it will not be inconvenient
to you, Kate, for her to come at once, will it?”
“Not in the least,” replied
his sister; “I have been earnestly hoping and
praying for this.”
“And what about the children?”
said her brother; “we must make room for them
too, poor things. We can’t keep the mother
and her children separate.”
“Of course not, dear Walter,”
replied Miss Huntingdon; “we shall be quite
prepared to receive them also, though they are at present
not with their mother, but under Amos’s charge.”
“Ah, I remember,” said
her brother; “well, we can send for them too,
when the poor child herself has got here.”
“Am I to write all that?” asked Walter.
“Oh, certainly,” was the reply.
“Then hip, hip, hurrah forty-four
thousand times! And now I will write the letter;
and then I’ll have a fine bit of fun with Harry.”
So the letter was written and duly posted that evening;
and Walter, after he had finished it, betook himself
to the butler’s pantry.
“Harry,” he said to the
worthy old servant, who, wash-leather in hand, was
burnishing the plate with all the solemnity of one
engaged in some very serious and responsible undertaking,
“what do you think?”
“Well, Master Walter, I think a good many things.”
“I daresay you do. But what do you think
now?”
“Why, pretty much what I’ve
been thinking of for the last half-hour; and that
ain’t much to the purpose to any one but myself.”
“Just so, Harry; well, I’m
not going to offer you a penny for your thoughts,
but I’m sure you would give a good many pence
for mine. However, I’ll make no charge
on the present occasion, but will tell you out at
once Miss Julia that was is coming back
to us to her old home, perhaps to-morrow or next day.
My father has sent for her. Now, isn’t
that stunning?”
It certainly looked so in Harry’s
case, for the old man dropped a large silver fork
on to the ground, and stood, with his mouth and eyes
wide open, staring at Walter, the very picture of
amazement.
“All, I thought so,” said
Walter. “Well, Harry, it’s true.
Isn’t that good news?”
Yes; it was joy and gladness to the
faithful old servant’s heart. One big
tear after another rolled down his cheeks, and then
he said in a low voice, “The Lord be praised!
I’ve prayed as it might come to this some day;
and so it has at last. And you’re sure
of it, Master Walter; you’re not a-cramming
of me?”
“Nothing of the sort, Harry;
I couldn’t have the heart to do it. No,
it is perfectly true. And now, what shall we
do? Shall we pile up a great bonfire, and light
it the same night she comes back? What do you
say to that?”
“I don’t know, Master
Walter, I don’t know. Somehow or other
it don’t seem to me quite suitable. I
think master would hardly like it. You see,
it isn’t as if she’d been and married a
creditable person, or were coming back after all had
gone on straight and smooth like. There’s
been faults on both sides, maybe; but it seems to me
as we’d better do our rejoicing in a quieter
sort of way, and light the bonfires in our hearts,
and then we shan’t give offence to nobody.”
“Harry, I believe you’re
right,” said Walter. “You’re
a regular old brick, and nothing but it; thank you
for your sensible advice.”
When dinner was over, and Miss Huntingdon
had retired for a few minutes to her own room, she
received a visit from Walter. “Auntie,”
he said, “I am come for a lesson on moral courage,
and for a little encouragement. Now, you know
all the circumstances of our grand scene with that
shocking scoundrel at Dufferly; so you must tell me
who is your special hero for moral courage in whose
steps Amos trode on that occasion.”
“Yes, I can do that, my dear
boy,” replied his aunt; “but, first of
all, I must speak a word of congratulation and praise
to another hero my dear nephew Walter.”
“Nay, aunt,” he replied,
“I don’t think there was much moral courage
about it in my case. My blood was up when I saw
Amos’s life threatened, and I should have pitched
into the cowardly wretch if he had been as tall as
a lighthouse and as big as an elephant.”
“True, dear boy, that was natural
courage principally; but there was moral courage too
in your whole conduct in the matter, in the steady
perseverance with which you went to be your brother’s
protector, come what might and at all hazards.”
“Thank you, dear aunt, but you
have given me more praise than I deserve. And
now for the special hero, the counterpart of Amos.”
“My hero this time,” said
Miss Huntingdon, “is a very remarkable man, a
most excellent clergyman, Mr Fletcher of Madeley.
He had a very profligate nephew, a military man,
who had been dismissed from the Sardinian service
for base and ungentlemanly conduct, had engaged in
two or three duels, and had wasted his means in vice
and extravagance. One day this nephew waited
on his uncle, General de Gons, and, presenting a loaded
pistol, threatened to shoot him unless he would immediately
advance him five hundred crowns. The general,
though a brave man, well knew what a desperado he
had to deal with, and gave a draft for the money,
at the same time expostulating with him freely on his
conduct. The young madman rode off triumphantly
with his ill-gotten cheque. In the evening,
passing the door of Mr Fletcher, he determined to call
on him, and began by telling him how liberal General
de Gons had been to him, and, as a proof, exhibited
the draft. Mr Fletcher took it from his nephew,
and looked at it with astonishment. Then, after
some remarks, putting it into his pocket, he said,
`It strikes me, young man, that you possessed yourself
of this note by some indirect method; and in honesty
I cannot return it without my brother’s knowledge
and approbation.’ The young man’s
pistol was immediately at his uncle’s breast.
`My life,’ said Mr Fletcher, with perfect calmness,
`is secure in the protection of an Almighty Power,
nor will he suffer it to be the forfeit of my integrity
and your rashness.’ This firmness
staggered his nephew, who exclaimed, `Why, Uncle de
Gons, though an old soldier, was more afraid of death
than you are.’ `Afraid of death!’
cried Mr Fletcher. `Do you think I have been twenty-five
years the minister of the Lord of life, to be afraid
of death now? No, sir; it is for you
to fear death. Look here, sir, the broad eye
of Heaven is fixed upon us; tremble in the presence
of your Maker, who can in a moment kill your body,
and for ever punish your soul in hell.’ The
unhappy man turned pale, and trembled first with fear
and then with rage. He still threatened his
uncle with instant death. Mr Fletcher, however,
gave no alarm and made no attempt to escape.
He calmly conversed with his miserable nephew; and
at last, when he saw that he was touched, addressed
him like a father till he had fairly subdued him.
But he would not return his brother’s draft.
However, he gave him some help himself, and having
prayed with him, let him go.”
“Ay, dear aunt,” exclaimed
Walter, “that was a hero indeed.”
“Yes, Walter, a true moral hero;
for, if you remember, moral courage is the bravery
shown, not in acting from sudden impulse, nor from
`pluck,’ as you call it, nor from mere animal
daring, but in deliberately resolving to do and doing
as a matter of principle or duty what may cost us
shame, or loss, or suffering, or even death.
Such certainly was Mr Fletcher’s courage.
A sense of duty and the fear of God upheld him against
all fear of man.”
“True, auntie,” acquiesced
her nephew; “and so it was with Amos.”
“Yes, just so, Walter.
You tell me that when your unhappy brother-in-law
pointed the pistol at Amos, your brother said with
perfect calmness that he was in God’s hands,
and not in the hands of Mr Vivian. In thus acting
from duty, and deliberately hazarding the loss of his
own life rather than do what his conscience disapproved
of, Amos exhibited, like Mr Fletcher, the most exalted
moral courage.”
“Thank you, dear aunt; and I
am so glad that I have been permitted to help my hero
out of his trouble.”
On the third day after this conversation,
the post brought the welcome news from Amos that he
should bring his sister that afternoon to her old
home, and that her children would follow in a day or
two. Seven years had elapsed since the erring
daughter had left sorrow and shame behind her in her
home, by suddenly and clandestinely quitting it, to
become, without the sanction of father or mother,
the wife of a specious but profligate and needy adventurer.
And now, sad and forsaken, she was returning to a
home which had for a long time been closed against
her. Oh, with what a wild throbbing of heart
did she gaze at the familiar sights which presented
themselves to her on all sides, as she and Amos drove
along the well-known roads, in through the great green
gates, up the drive, and then, with a sudden pull
up, to the front door. The next moment she had
sprung on to the door-steps with an eager cry, and
found herself clasped in her father’s arms.
“My poor, poor child! welcome
home again,” he murmured, with choking tears.
“O father! father!” she
cried, “it is too much happiness.”
She could say no more.
Then she received the warm embrace
of her aunt, who was saddened to mark the lines of
care on that young face, which was all brightness the
last time she had seen it. And then, as she
raised herself up, and disengaged herself from those
loving arms, her eyes fell on the old butler, who
was twisting a large red pocket-handkerchief into a
rope, in his vain efforts to restrain his emotions,
which at last found vent in a long cadence of mingled
sobs and exclamations. For a moment Julia Vivian
hesitated, and then flung her arms round the neck of
the old man, who made the hall ring with a shout of
thanksgiving. Then, calming down, he said, half
out loud, and half confidentially to himself, “You
know it was to be so, and so it is. We’ve
got Miss Julia as was back among us again; and we
don’t mean to part with her never again no more.”
Oh, what a day of gladness was that
to Amos Huntingdon! One half of the great purpose
to which he had devoted his life was now accomplished.
The banished sister had been welcomed back by his father
to her earthly home. And yet, how much still
remained to be done! But, as he had worked on
in faith and trust before, so he would continue trusting,
watching, working, committing all to the wise guiding
and overruling of that loving Father whose leading
hand he had hitherto sought to follow, but never to
outrun.
How bright were the faces which gathered
round the dinner-table that evening! though
even then the cloud rested in a measure on every heart;
for that poor worn face, and those wistful pitiful
eyes, told of a deep and hidden sorrow, and of an
abiding humiliation, which not even the pure love
that now beamed on her from all sides could remove
from the burdened spirit of the restored wanderer.
Down in the kitchen, however, the rejoicing was unclouded,
except that Harry mourned over his young mistress’s
faded beauty and sad looks, and occupied a considerable
portion of his leisure time in punching an imaginary
head, held firm under his left arm, and supposed by
his fellow-servants to belong to Miss Julia’s
brute of a husband.
Dinner had been over rather more than
an hour, when Walter, who had been absent for a short
time from the drawing-room, returned, beckoned to
Amos, and then, gently laying hold of his sister’s
hand, drew her towards the door. “Come
here, just for one minute,” he said, with a
merry smile twinkling in his eyes. “Father
will spare you just for a minute;” and he conducted
her out of the room. Oh, what a flood of joy
came into her heart with that smile of Walter’s.
Years had passed since she had rejoiced in its light.
What would she have given could the frightful interval
between this smile and the last she had seen before
it have been wiped clean out! To her that interval
had been one prolonged and gloomy frown. But
now the three, Amos, Walter, and their sister, made
their way downstairs. Oh, it was so like a bit
of childish fun in days gone by! And now they
arrived at the butler’s pantry, the door of
which was fast closed. Walter knocked.
“Come in,” said the old man. They
entered; and all exclaimed at the sight which presented
itself. On every available projection there was
placed a portion of a candle, making in all some thirty
or forty lights, which made the little room one brilliant
blaze. On the wall opposite the door were the
words, “Welcome home again,” in large
red and blue letters; and on another wall the words,
“Hip, hip, hooray!” in golden characters.
“O dear Harry!” cried
his young mistress, her face glowing with such a smile
as no one had seen on it yet since her return, “how
good and kind of you just like your dear
old self! how came you to think of it?”
“Well, Miss Julia,” was
his reply, “it’s this way, Master
Walter and me talked about having a bonfire on the
hill; but when we came to think it over, we decided
as it wouldn’t p’r’aps be altogether
the right thing, for reasons as needn’t be named
on this here occasion. So I’ve been and
got up a little bit of an illumination all of my own
self. But don’t you go for to suppose
as these candles belongs to master. I’m
not the man to use his goods this way without leave.
It’s a pound of the best composite as I bought
out of my own wages, and you’re heartily welcome
to every one on ’em.”
“Thank you, dear Harry,”
she said, holding out her hand to him; “it is
the sweetest of welcomes. I feel that it has
done me good already; there is true love in every
light.”
“Just so, miss,” said
the old man, his face brimming over with happiness.
“And now, before we part, we must have a bit
of toffee all round, as you was used to in old times.”
So saying, he opened an old drawer, which seemed
abundantly furnished with sundry kinds of sweets,
and produced the toffee, which he pressed upon each
of his three visitors. “There,”
he said in a tone of deep satisfaction, “that’s
just as it should be; and now, Miss Julia,”
he added, “when you want any more, you know
where to come for it.”
Few happier hearts were laid on a
bed that night in England than the heart of old Harry
the butler.