"Do not ask me such a thing, mother," he answered very hurriedly; "I can not do it."
"You think so at this moment, my dear boy; I am not at all astonished that you should, for it will be very humiliating, and very painful; and if I could spare you either the humiliation or the pain, yet produce the same good effects, I need not tell you how gladly I would; but no one can remove the sting of that poem from Mr. Morton's sensitive feelings but yourself; and I am quite sure if you will allow yourself a little time for quiet thought, you will agree with me."
"But why should I inflict such pain upon myself, granting I deserve it?" answered Percy, still much heated; "when, though my poem is the only one that has unfortunately met his eye, the others were quite as galling, and my companions quite as much to blame—why should I be the sufferer?"
"Because, by many errors, you have brought it on yourself. Your companions did indeed act very wrongly, but are we quite sure that the principles which your father and Mr. Howard have so carefully impressed upon you, have been as carefully impressed upon them? and in such a case are not you the more responsible? They had evidently no inward check to keep them from such an amusement; you had, for you have acknowledged that you kept aloof at first, knowing it was wrong, and only yielded from want of sufficient firmness. Inflict the pain of an avowal upon yourself, my boy, and its memory will help you in future from yielding to too great weakness—and the act prove to us that, though for a moment led into great error, you are still as brave and honest as we believe you."
Percy did not reply, but his countenance denoted an inward struggle, and his mother added—
"Suppose, as is very likely, Mr. Morton becomes intimate here, how can you, with your open, truthful heart, associate with him, with any comfort or confidence even though perfectly satisfied that we would not betray you, and that he would never know the truth? You may fancy now that you could, but I know my Percy better; but I must not talk to you any more, for the dressing-bell rang some minutes ago. Remember, my dear boy, that I lay no command on you to seek Mr. Morton; I have only told you that which I believe would restore you to happiness and atone for your faults, more effectually than any thing else; but you are quite at liberty to act as you think proper."
She left the room as she spoke, but Percy remained for some few minutes longer in deep thought, and when he prepared for dinner, and joined his family, it was still in the same unbroken silence. Mr. Hamilton took no notice of him, and two or three times the little affectionate Emmeline felt the tears rising to her eyes, for she could not bear to see that brother, who was in general the life of the family group, so silent and abstracted.
Sliding after him, as he quitted the room after dinner, she took his hand, and looked coaxingly in his face, longing, but not daring to tell him her father's promise, for fear he should discover her share in the transaction.
"Well, dear Emmy?"
"Are you going to take a walk, Percy?—let me go with you."