He that will not when he may; vol. I

by Mrs. Oliphant

“Indeed,” said Lady Markham, holding up her head, though she had grown pale, “you must not say so, William; he did not know you were away; and as for Mr. Spears, I was just about to tell you. He is not a man to be afraid of. It is true he is not—in society, perhaps—he has not quite the air of a person in society—has he, Alice?” This was said with scarcely a tremble. “But his manners were perfectly good, and his appearance, though it was quite simple—I think you must be making some mistake. I saw no harm in him.”

Will it be believed that Paul, instead of showing gratitude, was indignant at this mild approval? “Saw no harm in him,” he cried; “his manners, his appearance. Are you mad, mother? He is a man who is worthy to be a king, if merit made kings; or if any man worth the name would accept an office which has been soiled by such ignoble use!”

“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Sir William. “It is you who are mad. A stump-orator, a fellow who does much mischief in England! My house is not to be made a shelter for such canaille. Your mother should have turned him to the door; and so she would have done, I don’t doubt—her instincts are too fine not to have seen the kind of creature he was—but for her foolish devotion to you.”

“Paul, Paul! Oh, don’t speak—don’t say anything,” cried Alice in an agony, in her brother’s ear.

“Let him say what he pleases,” said Sir William. “This must be put a stop to. When the house is his, he can dishonour it if he likes, but in the meantime the house is mine.”

“Certainly the house is yours, sir,” cried his son; “I make no claim on it. I feel no right to it. Let me alone, Alice! Do I want the house, or the land, or the money which we steal from the poor to make ourselves splendid, while our fellow-creatures are starving? I am ready to give it up at a moment’s notice. It wounds my conscience, it restrains my action. I want nothing with your house, sir. If I may not bring one honest man into it, you may hand it over to any one you please; it is no home for me.”

“Paul, Paul!” cried his mother in tones of alarm. Sir William only laughed that laugh of anger which frightens a household.

“Let him rave—let him rave,” he cried, throwing himself into a chair. “A boy who speaks so of his home does not deserve one. He does not deserve the position Providence has given him—a good name, a good fortune, honourable ancestors, all thrown away.”

“I acknowledge no honour in the ancestors that robbed the poor to make me rich,” cried the hot-headed youth. And the end of all was that his mother and sister had much ado to keep him from leaving the house at once, late as it was, in the heat of passion. Never before had such a storm—or indeed any storm at all—arisen in the peaceful house. It marked the ending of that idyllic age in which the rulers of a family are supreme, and where no new-developed will confronts them within their sacred walls. Raised voices and faces aglow with anger are terrible things in such an inclosure. It seemed to Lady Markham that she would die with shame when she met the look of subdued wonder, curiosity, and sympathy in old Brown’s eyes; when, after the storm was over, after a decent interval, he came in, taking great precautions to make himself audible as he approached. It was the first time since she entered the house that her servants had occasion to be sorry for Lady Markham, and this consciousness went to her heart. By the time Brown came in, however, all was very quiet. Sir William had gone away to his library, and Paul, breathing indignation at every pore, was walking about the room with his hands in his pockets, now and then launching an arrow at his mother or sister. A truce had been patched up. He had consented, as a great matter, not to plunge out of the house into the darkness, but to wait till to-morrow. This was a concession for which they were as grateful as if it had been the noblest gift; it was for their sake he did it; nothing else, he declared, would have made him remain an hour under the same roof.

“Oh hush, Paul—hush! I forbid you to say another word,” cried his mother; and then all was silent, as they heard Brown cough before he opened the door.