"You have been very thoughtless, very foolish, and not quite so firm as we could have wished, my own dear boy, but I will not have you accuse yourself of any graver faults," replied Mrs. Hamilton, as she lightly pushed back the clustering hair from his heated forehead, and the gentle touch of her cool hand seemed as restorative as her soothing words; and Percy, as he listened to her, as she continued speaking to him in the same strain for some little time, felt more relieved than five minutes before he thought possible, and more than ever determined that he would never act so thoughtlessly; or, if he were tempted to do so, never keep it concealed so long again. Mrs. Hamilton's anxious desire with him was, always to do justice to his better qualities, at the same time that she blamed and convinced him of his faults. It was a very delicate thing, and very difficult to succeed in, perhaps impossible to minds less peculiarly refined, and hearts less intensely anxious than Mrs. Hamilton's; but no difficulty, no failure, had ever deterred her—and in Percy she was already rewarded. He was of that high, fine spirit, that any unjust harshness would have actually confirmed in error—any unguarded word bring argument on argument, and so, for the mere sake of opposition, cause him to abide in his opinions, when the acknowledgment of his being right in some things, produced the voluntary confession of his error in others.
"And now about these unfortunate verses, my dear boy; I am not quite clear as to their fate, how it happened that you did not destroy them directly you returned home."
"I fully intended, and believed I had done so, mother, but the whirl of that night seemed to extend to the morning, and I dressed and prepared for Mr. Howard in such a hurry (I had overslept myself, too), that though I had quite resolved they should not pollute my pocket-book any longer, I had no time to look over my papers—thought I could not be mistaken in their outside—burnt those I really wished to keep, and threw those which have caused me all this pain into my portfolio. If I had but been firm enough to have followed my father's advice, and left my companions before supper!—or, if I did join them, had not been so weak, so mad, as to yield to the temptation, but adhered to my principles, notwithstanding they might have been laughed at, I might have been spared it all; but I was so excited, so heated, with a more than sufficient quantity of wine, that I did not know what I was about—not its extent of wrong, at least."
"And you have suffered enough for an evening's excitement, my poor boy; but I am sure you would atone for it, if you could."
"Atone for it, mother! I would give all I possess to cancel that odious poem, and blot it from Mr. Morton's memory, as from my own."
"And I think you can do both, Percy."
He looked at her in utter bewilderment.
"Do both, mother!" he repeated.
"Yes, my boy! it is a painful remedy, but it would be an effectual one. Seek Mr. Morton, and tell him yourself your whole story."
Percy crimsoned to the very temples.