“Merciful Heaven! That is worse than all the rest!” exclaimed she, covering her face with her apron, and weeping bitterly with me.
CHAPTER X.
COLONEL WIMPLETON AND SON.
My mother wept as she thought of the past, and dreaded the future. It would have been comparatively easy to endure the loss of the twenty-four hundred dollars; but it was intolerable to think of the misery of again being a drunkard’s wife. All else was as nothing to her beside this awful prospect. My father had struggled with his besetting and his besotting sin for five years, and with hardly an exception had always been the conqueror. During this period he had prospered in his worldly affairs, and till this day of disaster the future seemed to be secure to him.
My mother told me I had done right in emptying the bottle, and assured me that my father would not long cherish his anger. She knew not what to do in order to turn the tide which had set against us. If the sheriff succeeded in arresting Christy, and securing the money he had stolen, the effect upon my father would be good. If the money was lost, we feared that father would be lost with it.
While we were talking about the sad prospect before us, an imperative knock was heard at the front door—a summons so loud and stately that we could hardly fail to identify the person even before we saw his face. My mother wiped away her bitter tears, and hastened to the door.
“Has your son come home?” demanded Colonel Wimpleton, in his abrupt and offensive manner, when he spoke to his social inferiors, as he regarded them.
“Yes, sir, he has,” replied my mother, with fear and trembling before the magnate of Centreport.
Without further ceremony, or any ceremony,—for he had used none,—he stalked into the kitchen where I sat. He was followed by his hopeful scion, who looked quite as magnificent as his stately father.
“So you have come home, you young villain!” said the colonel, fixing a savage gaze upon me.