“And had you quarrelled?” asked Aunt Agatha, in consternation.
“I am not sure it is all right,” said Mary; “why has he gone to see Uncle Penrose? and what has he heard? and without saying a word to me.”
Mary was angry with her boy, and it made her heart sore—it was the first time any of them had taken a sudden step out of her knowledge—and then what had he heard? Something worse than any simple offence or discontent might be lurking behind.
But Hugh, of course, knew nothing at all about that. He sat down again to his interrupted breakfast, and laughed and talked, and made merry. “I wonder what Uncle Penrose will say to him?” said Hugh. “I suppose he has gone and spent all his money getting to Liverpool; and what could his motive be, odd fellow as he is? The girls are all married——”
“My dear boy, Will is not thinking of girls as you are,” said Mary, beguiled into a smile.
Hugh laughed and grew red, and shook his abundant youthful locks. “We are not talking of what I think,” he said; “and I suppose a man may do worse than think about girls—a little: but the question is, what was Will thinking about? Uncle Penrose cannot have ensnared him with his odious talk about money? By-the-way, I must send him some. We can’t let an Ochterlony be worried about a few miserable shillings there.”
“I don’t think we can let an Ochterlony, at least so young a one as Will, stay uninvited,” said Mary. “I feel much disposed to go after him and bring him home, or at least find out what he means.”
“No, you shall do nothing of the kind,” said Hugh, hastily. “I suppose our mother can trust her sons out of her sight. Nobody must go after him. Why, he is seventeen—almost grown up. He must not feel any want of confidence——”
“Want of confidence!” said Aunt Agatha. “Hugh, you are only a boy yourself. What do you know about it? I think Mary would be very wrong if she let Will throw himself into temptation; and one knows there is every kind of temptation in those large, wicked towns,” said Miss Seton, shuddering. It was she who knew nothing about it, no more than a baby, and still less did she know or guess the kind of temptation that was acting upon the truant’s mind.
“If that were all,” said Mary, slowly, and then she sighed. She was not afraid of the temptations of a great town. She did not even know what she feared. She wanted to bring back her boy, to hear from his own lips what his motive was. It did not seem possible that there could be any harm meant by his boyish secrecy. It was even hard for his mother to persuade herself that Will could think of any harm; but still it was strange. When she thought of Percival’s visit and Will’s expedition to Carlisle, her heart fluttered within her, though she scarcely knew why. Will was not like other boys of his age; and then it was “something he had heard.” “I think,” she said, with hesitation, “that one of us should go—either you or I——”