Half Brothers

by Hesba Stretton

The person to whom of all others Andrew Goldsmith attached himself, in this partial revival of his old life, was Sidney Martin. Sidney, unconsciously perhaps, addressed the sorrow-stricken man, who was bearing the burden of the sin he had been guilty of, in a tone and manner of the deepest sympathy; as if he knew all his burden, and would help him to bear it, though he would never speak of it. The sad secret lay between them, and both were thinking of it in their deepest hearts. There was a strange, inexplicable subtlety in this silent sympathy. The moment their eyes met each man saw, as if standing between them, Sophy's girlish figure and pretty face; and Andrew Goldsmith felt, with vague and confused instinct, that Sidney looked at his grief and loss with different eyes from other onlookers. Sidney fathomed his woe with a deeper and truer plummet than that with which other men could sound it; and there was a dim sense of satisfaction in the feeling that he, who had all that earth could give, shared the pain that was gnawing his own heart.

It grew into a habit with Andrew Goldsmith to listen for the sound of Sidney's horse or carriage, and hasten to his shop door in time to lift his hat to him as he went by, and to catch the subtle gleam of melancholy comprehension in Sidney's passing salutation. There was such a link between them as did not exist between any other two souls, among all the souls they were in contact with; and it was a dark day with Andrew in which he did not see the recognition of it in Sidney's face.

Sidney would unhesitatingly have called himself the happiest man on earth but for this singular and ominous devotion toward him of the man he had so deeply injured. His life was all that he had ever hoped for; Margaret a dearer wife and better companion than he had even dreamed she might be; his child a sweetness and delight to him beyond all words. There was no flaw in his prosperity. His sky was clear of all but one almost invisible speck. At his gates dwelt this man whose mere existence was a perpetual reminder of his early blunder; for Sidney would not own it to be a sin. The friendship of this man, he said to himself, was the bitterest penance that could be inflicted on him. But for this he could have forgotten Sophy altogether. And why should he not forget her? He had done her very little wrong; not the wrong ninety-nine men out of a hundred in his position would have been guilty of. If he could but escape the sight of this unfortunate father of hers, his wrong-doing would soon cease to trouble him.

But Sidney could find no easy way of escape. He might have insisted on living in or near London; but Margaret was strongly attached to her old home, and it happened that all his attempts to buy an estate nearer to London fell through. The estate bought by his uncle was in Yorkshire; and consequently was too far away for him to dwell upon it; and Margaret's place answered all their requirements perfectly. It was not much more than an hour's journey by train from his place of business in the City; and Margaret's position, as the last descendant of an old county family, gave them a standing in the county which they could not have elsewhere. It had always been a part of his ambition for the future to become a member of the House of Commons, and he was already recognized as the most eligible candidate of his party for a place as member for the county at the next general election. A number of minute threads, gathering in number and vigor as each month passed by, wove themselves into a rope which it needed the strength of a Samson to break through.

It was not possible, on the other hand, to dislodge Andrew Goldsmith; nor did Sidney seriously think of it. He would not add to the harm he had already done him the cruel injury of turning him out of his old home, and sending him adrift among strangers. He was not in any way of a hard and pitiless nature, and his heart was full of compunction and kindliness toward Andrew Goldsmith. More than once he debated with himself whether it would not be wise to confide the whole story to the rector, and take his counsel as to the question of telling Andrew, or of still keeping the fate of Sophy a secret. But he could not risk the chance of Margaret knowing it; and he resolved upon keeping silence and bearing his penalty as best he could.

His eldest boy, Philip, was three years of age; and the second son, Hugh, his mother's heir and the future owner of Apley, was about twelve months old, when a vacancy in the representation of the county occurred, which gave to Sidney a fair chance of being elected, though not without a close contest. The influence on both sides was stretched to the utmost, and party spirit ran high. It was like the sound of a trumpet to an old war-horse for Andrew Goldsmith. For the time being his heavy burden seemed to slip off his shoulders, and he became again, as in former times, the active and energetic leader of the voters in the neighborhood. His shop and the pleasant kitchen behind it were filled from morning to night with groups of his neighbors, eagerly discussing the question of the coming election. Occasionally Sidney himself dropped in, with Margaret beside him; and was thus brought into closer contact than before with her tenants. For Sidney, busy as he was with a multiplicity of affairs, left the management of the Apley estate almost wholly in his wife's hands.

Life was very full to Margaret. She had her husband, her children, and her tenants to live for, and her desire to serve them was very ardent, to minister to their lowest as well as to their highest needs. She had the true Christian instinct of help-giving. There was one incident of her Lord's life over which her soul brooded, more frequently, perhaps, than any other. She saw him sitting at the feast with his disciples, Judas the traitor being one of them, and all of them being on the point of forsaking him. He, who was King of kings and Lord of lords, who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God, yet took upon himself the form of a servant, and came, not to be ministered unto, but to minister. She saw this Jesus rise from the table, and lay aside the white robe he was wearing for the feast, and pour water into a basin, and stoop to wash his disciples' feet, soiled with the dust of the street. It was a symbol, but it was also a real action of her Lord's. What service ought she to shrink from, then, if Christ washed his disciples' feet?

Margaret was very much in earnest about her husband's election, and threw herself with all her heart into the efforts made to secure it. She believed him to be so good and true a man that it must be for the welfare of the country for him to sit in Parliament. If he was returned it would compel them to live more in London; but that was a sacrifice she could make, and she did not flinch from the sacrifice. She was in the habit of visiting freely and familiarly among all her neighbors, the poor as well as the rich; and she had not failed in winning their esteem and regard. Her canvassing for her husband was everywhere successful.

But the chief factor in the election was Andrew Goldsmith, who labored night and day for Sidney Martin's return. When the poll was declared Sidney was elected by a small majority only, and everyone said this majority was due to Andrew Goldsmith's influence in his own district, where the voters had given their votes as one man. Sidney had reached the goal of his ambition, or rather he had passed one winning-post to enter upon a new path; and his heart beat high with exaltation. He was a young man yet, and he would win such a name as should reflect glory upon his two boys and lay the foundation of an illustrious family. He had no long line of ancestry to boast of; his uncle had been a self-raised man, and he was still almost unknown. But Margaret's lineage was old enough to compensate for the newness of his own, and his boys should have such a position in the world as few others had. Hugh, the youngest, would succeed Margaret, and take the name of Cleveland; but Philip would be his heir and nothing should be lacking in his career. He would make his name illustrious for his boy's sake as well as his own.

These thoughts were flitting through his brain as he drove homeward with Margaret and his friends, after the declaration of the poll at the county town. It was a very bright hour for him. But within a few miles of Apley they were met by a procession of his wife's tenants coming out to congratulate him, with Andrew Goldsmith on horseback at their head. There was something very striking in the appearance of the vigorous, soldierly, white-headed man, as he came up to the side of the carriage to act as spokesman for the crowd behind. He sat his horse well, as a member of the cavalry troop must do; and his deep-set eyes glowed with pride and affection. His pale, sad face was transfigured for the time; for this was the happiest moment he had known for years. Sidney practically owed his election to him; and it was some return, he thought, for all the kindness he had received from him and Margaret.