‘Oh, no,’ said the curate, ‘my father was three times married, and I have a great many brothers. This was one of the first lot. He is quite an old fellow, and he’s done very well for himself; he never had the least idea of breaking his heart. Indeed, I don’t know,’ he added, with a smile—but stopped himself, and left his sentence unfinished, ‘He has a great foundry, and is in a large way of business. By the way, John, I’m afraid he has nothing to do with lighthouses. He is what is called a mechanical engineer.’
‘I suppose they are all connected,’ said Mr. Sandford, as if he knew all about it: and he expressed himself as very grateful to Mr. Cattley, who promised to procure him all necessary information about the further education that John would require to go through: and the evening terminated with a little supper of the simplest kind, which the curate was not too fine to share. It seemed to bring him closer to them, and knit the bond of long association more warmly that he should thus have something to do with John’s future career, and on the other hand it threw a light of respectability upon the profession John had chosen, that Mr. Cattley’s brother should be in it. It was a very dark night, and when the curate left them, John took the lantern to see him home to his own house. When the old people were alone, after accompanying their guest to the door, they came back to the fire, for it was cold; but for a few minutes neither spoke. Then Grandfather Sandford said, with an air of relief,
‘Well, that’s over, thank heaven. It’s been hanging over me, day after day, for years. But I might have saved myself the trouble, for he took it as sweetly as any baby, and never had a doubt.’
‘Oh, John Sandford,’ said the old lady, ‘and doesn’t that make it all the worse to deceive him now? We’ve told him the truth all his days; how could he doubt us? But when he finds it out he will think it’s all a lie everything we’ve ever said.’
To this the old gentleman replied with something like a sob, covering his face with his hand,
‘If you feel you can take it upon you to break that poor lad’s heart, do it; but don’t ask me.’
CHAPTER V.
AN ADVENTURE.
The curate and his pupil trudged along in the dark, guided by the lantern which threw a gleam along the road and showed them the irregularities in it, which indeed they both knew very well, avoiding by instinct the bit of broken causeway before the schoolhouse, and the heap of crates and packages that were always to be found in front of the shop. The darkness of the village was not like the modified darkness to which dwellers in towns are accustomed. It was a blackness which could be felt; without any relief. But then both of these people knew every step of the way. The drawback of the darkness, however, was that one could not see who might be listening, and had, therefore, no guidance to tone one’s voice or change the subject when there were people passing by, to whom one did not care to confess all one’s thoughts. This, however, very little affected John and the curate, who knew everybody, and had nothing in the world to conceal.
‘I’m very glad, John,’ said the curate, as they trudged along, speaking a little louder than usual because of the night; for it was so heavy and depressing that it seemed to require more cheer than usual in the human voices, ‘very glad that your grandfather and grandmother take it so well. It’s a very fine profession, the best you can have.’
‘Yes, that is just what I think,’ said John, ‘it’s not a mere trade to make one’s living by. It means more than that.’