Basil and Annette: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"No, you must seek rest yourself; I insist upon it; it will do me good to know that you are resting after your long labour."

"Are you sure you will not want me?"

"Quite sure; I am gaining strength rapidly; to-morrow I shall be almost well. Go."

"When did I disobey my dear lad?" said Mrs. Chaytor. "When did I disregard his slightest wish? He repays me with love, and I am happy, happy! This is the brightest night of my life, Newman. What have I done that such joy should be mine? It is more than I deserve. Yes, I will go, though I don't want rest--indeed, indeed I do not. I could stop up for weeks nursing my dear lad, and never feel fatigue." The tears rose in Basil's eyes as he gazed upon her worn and wasted face. "Good night, my dear, dear boy. God bless and guard you?"

He could not deny her the kiss for which she mutely pleaded, and she prepared to leave him; but she came back a dozen times to assure herself that he was comfortable, that there was not a crease on his pillow, that the clothes were smoothly laid over him, and to hover about him with soft accents of love. At length he pretended to be asleep, and she crept from the room so softly that he did not hear her footfall.

Being alone now, he could think of what had passed, of the revelation that had been made to him, of the position in which he stood, and how it behoved him to act. The woman believed him to be her son, the idol of her heart, the one supreme treasure which heaven and earth contained for her. In that belief she had rescued him from death, and by so doing had perhaps afforded him the opportunity to redeem his name and honour. To undeceive her would break her heart; of this he had no doubt. How perfect was her love! How tender and beautiful were its evidences! He remembered his own mother, and knew how pure was the love which existed between them; but never till this moment had it been given him to know to what wondrous extent a mother's love could go. That Newman had been a bad son, that he had been profligate and false--of this he was certain; such a nature as Newman's was capable of nought else; but all this was forgotten and forgiven. Nay, instead of entreaties for pardon being expected from him, it was himself that was asked to forgive. Something more than gratitude stirred his heart as he thought of Mrs. Chaytor's goodness, a feeling of pity and affection rose within him, and he bethought himself in what way he could repay her for the great service she had rendered to him.

Had it been Newman, indeed, whom she had rescued from death and dishonour, how would he have acted? Natures do not change, and Newman would have followed the bent of his. He would have brought fresh sorrows upon her head; he would have stripped her of her new fortune and squandered it in dissolute practices? Would it not be a fine revenge to make the end of her life sweet and beautiful by the loving care and gratitude it was in Basil's power to bestow. His heart glowed at the thought. The sterner part of his revenge could still be carried out. He would have means to prosecute his search for Newman and Annette, and it would be the easiest matter to find an excuse for absence, if it were necessary that he should go personally to seek them. Thus two good ends would be attained, one certain in the joy it would bring to a good woman's heart, the other as yet uncertain, inasmuch as the roads which would lead to it were enveloped in darkness.

Yes, he would have means to punish the guilty. But were those means his to use? Could he with justice employ them in the task upon which he was engaged, and which Mrs. Chaytor had saved him to prosecute? This was the question which now obtruded itself.

Why not? Had not Newman Chaytor, by the vilest conduct, by long systematic deceit and treachery, fraudulently obtained possession of his fortune, and was he not now using it for his own selfish pleasures? Could human cunning go further than Newman had done in his vile plot--could human baseness reach a baser depth? No. There would be a strange and inscrutable justice in using the villain's weapons to bring the villain to bay.

There was another consideration: Annette. If in the morning he declared himself to be Basil Whittingham, if he left the loving mother in sorrow and tribulation, and rejected the opportunity which, through no scheming on his part, had presented itself, if he threw himself once more penniless upon the world, what chance had he of finding Annette in time, maybe, to save her from a life of deepest unhappiness? This last consideration induced him to resolve upon his course of action. For the present he would allow matters to go on as they would. He would not undeceive Mrs. Chaytor; she should, for as long or as short a time as circumstances permitted, rest in a delusion which had filled her heart with joy. She should believe that he, Basil, was her son indeed, and he would work and wait for events.