“Well, ma'am, if the lad can neither be a soldier, nor a sailor, nor a merchant, nor a farmer, nor will be a lawyer, a doctor, or a preacher o' the Word, I 'm sore pushed to say what there's open to him, except some light business in the way of a shop, or an agency like, which maybe you 'd think beneath you.”
“I'm certain my son would, sir; and no great shame either that Colonel Walter Butler's son should think so,—a C. B. and a Guelph of Hanover, though he never wore the decoration. It is not so easy for us to forget these things as it is for our friends.”
This was rather cruel, particularly to one who had been doing his best to pilot himself through the crooked channels of difficulties, and was just beginning to hope he was in deep water.
“Would n't the Colonel's friends be likely to give him a helping hand?” said the minister, timidly, and like one not quite sure of his ground.
“I have not asked them, nor is it likely that I will,” said she, sternly; then, seeing in the old man's face the dismay and discouragement her speech had produced, she added, “My husband's only brother, Sir Omerod Butler, was not on speaking terms with him for years,—indeed, from the time of our marriage. Eleanor Mackay, the Presbyterian minister's daughter, was thought a mesalliance; and maybe it was,—I won't deny it, doctor. It was deemed a great rise in the world to me, though I never felt it exactly in that way myself. It was my pride to think my husband a far greater man than any of his family, and it was his to say I had helped him to become so.”
“I've heard o' that too,” was the cautious rejoinder of the old minister.
The memories thus suddenly brought up were too much for the poor widow's composure, and she had to turn away and wipe the tears from her eyes. “Yes, sir,” said she at last, “my noble-hearted husband was made to feel through his whole life the scorn of those who would not know his wife, and it is not from such as these my poor boy is to crave assistance. As for Tony himself,” said she, with more energy of voice and manner, “he'd never forgive me if I took such a step.”
The good minister would fain have rebuked the indulgence of sentiments like these, which had little of forgiveness in their nature. He felt sorely tempted to make the occasion profitable by a word in season; but his sagacity tempered his zeal, and he simply said, “Let byganes be byganes, Mrs. Butler, or, at all events, let them not come back like troubled spirits to disturb the future.”
“I will do my best, doctor,” said she, calmly, “and, to do so, I will talk of something else. Can you tell me if there is a Mr. Elphinstone in the Ministry now,—in the Cabinet, I mean,” said she, correcting herself, for she remembered what the word signifies to Presbyterian ears.
“There is a Sir Harry Elphinstone, Secretary of State for the Colonies, ma'am.”