Still Amos did not reply, but seemed hesitating what to say. But here Walter broke in again. “I call it downright mean!” he exclaimed bitterly; “but he’s getting meaner and meaner, that he is. What he does with his money nobody knows. I suppose he spends it in religious pocket-handkerchiefs and pious bed-quilts for the little niggers in Africa, or something of the sort. At any rate, he has none to spare for those nearer home.” He was about to say more, but happening to raise his eyes he was astonished to see the old butler, who had been slowly drawing nearer and nearer, raising his right arm, and looking at him almost fiercely, as though he were going to strike him.—“What’s up now, Harry?” he cried; “is the black cat dead?”
The old man’s appearance now attracted every one’s attention. He had drawn himself up to his full height, and had turned so as to confront Mr Huntingdon, who was sitting with his sister by his side on a garden bench facing the house. His snow-white hair gave him ordinarily a venerable appearance, and this was now increased by the look of intense earnestness which glowed in his every feature. His back was to Amos, who, noticing that the old man was evidently about to speak under the pressure of some unusual excitement, half rose to his feet, but too late to stop old Harry’s purpose.
“Master,” said the old man, in a voice hoarse with emotion, “hear me; if it’s to be for the last time, you must hear me. I can’t hold in no longer; so it’s no use, come what may.”
Mr Huntingdon, struck with amazement at this speech of the old domestic, could only exclaim, “Well!” while his sister and Walter looked on and listened in mute wonder.
“Master,” continued the old man, “you must hear me this once, if I’m to be turned away this blessed night for what I’m a-going to say. I’ve been hearing Master Amos called by Master Walter mean about his money, and I can’t stand it, for I knows better.”
Here Amos sprang forward, and coming in front of Harry, strove by gesture and whispered remonstrance to stop him; but the other shook his head, and motioned his young master back.
“It’s of no manner of use, Master Amos,” he cried; “I must and will speak—the time’s come for it. I know why Master Amos can’t afford to subscribe: ’tain’t because he hasn’t got the will; ’tain’t because he’s been spending it on himself, or sending it to the niggers, though he might be doing worse with it than that. His money goes to keep dear Miss Julia as was—bless her little heart!—from want; and it goes, too, to keep a home for her little ones, and one on ’em’s a girl, and she’s as like what her blessed mother was at her age as one lamb’s like another. O master, master! if you loved Miss Julia as was as I love her, and as Master Amos loves her, though she has married a vagabond of a husband, and had the door of her home closed agen her for ever for it, and oh, if you’d but a touch still of the dear Saviour’s forgiving love towards your own flesh and blood, you couldn’t blame Master Amos for doing as he’s doing, if you only knew too how he’s been a-sacrificing of himself, and bearing the shame and scorn all the while without a murmur. There, master, I’ve had it out. And now I suppose I must pack up and be off for good; but it don’t matter. I couldn’t keep it in, so there’s an end of it.”
The effect of this speech on all the members of the party was overwhelming, though in different ways.
Mr Huntingdon’s face turned deadly pale, and then flushed fiery red. He half rose from the bench on which he was sitting, and then sank back again and buried his face in his hands. Then he started up, and muttering something hoarsely, rushed into the house, and was not seen again by the family that night. Next morning, before breakfast, his sister received a hasty note from him, merely stating that he was leaving home, and should not return that day, and perhaps not for a few days.
The old butler’s disclosure was also most trying to Miss Huntingdon by its suddenness. Not that she was unprepared for it altogether, for quiet observation of Amos had made her sure that he had some noble and self-denying work in hand, and that probably it might have something to do with the welfare of his sister, whom she knew that he dearly loved. She was grieved, however, that the old butler had blurted out the secret in such an abrupt manner, and at the terrible distress which the unexpected revelation had caused her brother.