There was another silence. William pitied the boy, he was so tired and weak. After a time Augustus said: "I am sorry you made it necessary for me to strike you." As he looked in his father's face, he saw no signs of relenting. This time the pause was longer. Finally he looked up with a pitiful expression and held out his hands, saying: "Please take me to mamma. I will tell her I have been naughty and cross."
William lifted him easily; as he laid his head against his shoulder, Augustus clasped his neck and nestled down, wan and tired. That was the hardest task he had ever done. He was thoroughly conquered, and looked up with a pleasant smile when he felt his father's kiss upon his face, and was soon lying by his mother's side fast asleep.
William was content to watch them, and as he sat there, he thought what a blessing Alice's advice had been to him. He had his family back now. Could he keep them? If love would hold them he would. He was tired himself, but he must go and consult with James and Dinah. So he left them together and went out to perfect his plans for their future happiness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was not long before William had his family domesticated in his home. For a while it required most of his time and attention to restore them and Merle to even seemingly well conditions. By the time one was better another would fail, yet this was the happiest period so far in his life, and his contented mind showed forth in his every expression and act. Not that every condition was precisely what he desired, for there were often conflicts between stubborn wills, but he had been disciplined in the stern, hard, rigid school of experience.
The loneliness he had endured in the beautiful home that was the envy of so many, will never be known to any save himself. His wife can never realize it, for she has had her child to occupy her attention. His was a nature hard to understand, as he possessed a pride so deep and strong it was easier for him to endure suffering than to accept pity or sympathy.
The darkest season of his life had been lived alone. In early youth he had been left an orphan, inheriting vast riches. His remembrances of his parents were very vague, and he had neither agreed with nor respected his guardian. He had been practically unrestricted and developed an imperious, haughty temperament, expecting his words and wishes to always command obedience and attention because they always had.
When he met Clarissa, she embodied, to his mind, just the qualities with which he had endowed his ideal of woman. She was beautiful in person, gracious and graceful in deportment, cultured, refined, and gifted with a glorious voice that cultivation had rendered little less than marvellous in power and richness. He immediately gave her all the love that was in his hitherto unexpressed nature, and cherished only one thought—to call her his.