DR. MORGAN
SIR,—I received your favur duly, and am glad to hear that the pore
boy is safe and Well. But he has been behaving ill, and ungrateful
to my good son Richard, who is a credit to the whole Famuly and has
made himself a Gentleman and Was very kind and good to the boy, not
knowing who and What he is—God forbid! I don’t want never to see
him again—the boy. Pore John was ill and Restless for days
afterwards. John is a pore cretur now, and has had paralyticks.
And he Talked of nothing but Nora—the boy’s eyes were so like his
Mother’s. I cannot, cannot see the Child of Shame. He can’t cum
here—for our Lord’s sake, sir, don’t ask it—he can’t, so
Respectable as we’ve always been!—and such disgrace! Base
born! base born! Keep him where he is, bind him prentis, I’ll pay
anything for That. You says, sir, he’s clever, and quick at
learning; so did Parson Dale, and wanted him to go to Collidge and
make a Figur,—then all would cum out. It would be my death, sir; I
could not sleep in my grave, sir. Nora, that we were all so proud
of. Sinful creturs that we are! Nora’s good name that we’ve saved,
now gone, gone. And Richard, who is so grand, and who was so fond
of pore, pore Nora! He would not hold up his Head again. Don’t let
him make a Figur in the world; let him be a tradesman, as we were
afore him,—any trade he takes to,—and not cross us no more while
he lives. Then I shall pray for him, and wish him happy. And have
not we had enuff of bringing up children to be above their birth?
Nora, that I used to say was like the first lady o’ the land-oh, but
we were rightly punished! So now, sir, I leave all to you, and will
Pay all you want for the boy. And be sure that the secret’s kept.
For we have never heard from the father, and, at leest, no one knows
that Nora has a living son but I and my daughter Jane, and Parson
Dale and you—and you Two are good Gentlemen—and Jane will keep her
word, and I am old, and shall be in my grave Soon, but I hope it
won’t be while pore John needs me. What could he do without me?
And if that got wind, it would kill me straght, sir. Pore John is a
helpless cretur, God bless him. So no more from your servant in all
dooty,
M. AVENEL.
Leonard laid down this letter very calmly, and, except by a slight heaving at his breast, and a deathlike whiteness of his lips, the emotions he felt were undetected. And it is a proof how much exquisite goodness there was in his heart that the first words he spoke were, “Thank Heaven!”
The doctor did not expect that thanksgiving, and he was so startled that he exclaimed, “For what?”
“I have nothing to pity or excuse in the woman I knew and honoured as a mother. I am not her son—her-” He stopped short.
“No: but don’t be hard on your true mother,—poor Nora!”
Leonard staggered, and then burst into a sudden paroxysm of tears.
“Oh, my own mother! my dead mother! Thou for whom I felt so mysterious a love,—thou from whom I took this poet soul! pardon me, pardon me! Hard on thee! Would that thou wert living yet, that I might comfort thee! What thou must have suffered!”
These words were sobbed forth in broken gasps from the depth of his heart. Then he caught up the letter again, and his thoughts were changed as his eyes fell upon the writer’s shame and fear, as it were, of his very existence. All his native haughtiness returned to him. His crest rose, his tears dried. “Tell her,” he said, with astern, unfaltering voice, “tell Mrs. Avenel that she is obeyed; that I will never seek her roof, never cross her path, never disgrace her wealthy son. But tell her, also, that I will choose my own way in life,—that I will not take from her a bribe for concealment. Tell her that I am nameless, and will yet make a name.”
A name! Was this but an idle boast, or was it one of those flashes of conviction which are never belied, lighting up our future for one lurid instant, and then fading into darkness?
“I do not doubt it, my prave poy,” said Dr. Morgan, growing exceedingly Welsh in his excitement; “and perhaps you may find a father, who—”