"You were perfect, of course," finished Mrs. West; "pray find some other topic of conversation than the little weaknesses of your son."
"Little weaknesses!" Ah! thus had Roland's grave faults and his early tendencies to evil courses been glossed over by the false kindness of a fond parent, until now, at the early age of sixteen, few would have recognised in the boisterous stripling, with swaggering gait and eyes already lustreless, the once lovely boy, whose childish years had given the fair promise of a golden future.
Choosing for himself companions rife for mischief and folly, on leaving school he indulged in those pursuits, from which, though most congenial, he had been greatly debarred during his seclusion. Now he began, as he termed it, to enjoy life. Each evening he sought the exciting scenes of revelry and debauch, and neither his father's stern reproaches nor the tearful pleadings of his mother, moved him to more than a passing thought of the ruin which he was inevitably working out for himself. But when his constitution had become weakened by excesses, there came into his life influences that were mighty in their gentle drawing towards all that was good and noble.
While yet a young man, he met, at the house of a friend, a lady of strong religious tendencies. Strongly drawn to her by the attraction of a well-balanced mind and a beautiful exterior, he resolved, if possible, to win her affections. So great was her influence upon him, that, for a time, the force of evil habits lost its power, and other society was readily relinquished for hers, and the house of God beheld him an outwardly reverent worshipper at her side. Alas! that one so influenced by the power of human love should have missed those gracious impressions which, made on the tender heart of childhood, so often prove the good seed of the Kingdom, springing up into life eternal.
In thus taking upon himself the profession of Christianity, Roland was no hypocrite. He had seen the beauty and acknowledged the power of a life that was far above him, and from his heart he loathed the life he had hitherto led, and earnestly desired to put it away for ever. But strong only in his own strength, and looking to no higher power than earthly love to aid him in his upward course, what marvel that he deceived himself and others also. With his heart's desire at length accomplished, and with renewed prospects of a bright future, Roland West might have retrieved the dark past, and entered upon a career of usefulness, such as had been fondly pictured for him. Was it so? Let one scene, after a lapse of twelve years, tell its sorrowful tale.
In a cottage in one of the crowded suburbs of London, a pale, anxious-looking mother was alternately sewing and directing the studies of a fine boy, with a massive forehead and intelligent eyes.
"Mother, I've mastered it at last; I'm so glad," he said presently.
"That's right, my son; you are quick, like your father," his mother replied with a sigh.
"My father quick!" said the boy with ill-repressed contempt; "I didn't know that before."
"Hush, Allan, your father was very clever when I first knew him, and could do anything he liked."