“I would scorn to fling a stone at a bird, father.”
“You know what I mean, and all too well, and this attempt to evade deserved reproof by feigned simplicity is quite in character with your general behaviour. I have ever observed about you a want of frankness, which has distressed me; you never speak of what you are about, your hopes, or your projects, but cover yourself with mystery. I never knew till the present moment that you were acquainted with Armenian.”
“Because you never asked me, father; there’s nothing to conceal in the matter—I will tell you in a moment how I came to learn Armenian. A lady whom I met at one of Mrs. ---’s parties took a fancy to me, and has done me the honour to allow me to go and see her sometimes. She is the widow of a rich clergyman, and on her husband’s death came to this place to live, bringing her husband’s library with her: I soon found my way to it, and examined every book. Her husband must have been a learned man, for amongst much Greek and Hebrew I found several volumes in Armenian, or relating to the language.”
“And why did you not tell me of this before?”
“Because you never questioned me; but I repeat there is nothing to conceal in the matter. The lady took a fancy to me, and, being fond of the arts, drew my portrait; she said the expression of my countenance put her in mind of Alfieri’s Saul.”
“And do you still visit her?”
“No, she soon grew tired of me, and told people that she found me very stupid; she gave me the Armenian books, however.”
“Saul,” said my father, musingly, “Saul, I am afraid she was only too right there; he disobeyed the commands of his master, and brought
down on his head the vengeance of Heaven—he became a maniac, prophesied, and flung weapons about him.”
“He was, indeed, an awful character—I hope I shan’t turn out like him.”