'The boy has saved my life,' said my grandfather, 'and he shall not want a friend.' 'Are you quite sure of that, Sir?' answered I, with emphatical anxiety. 'Never, while I live,' replied the rector. 'Nay, but are you quite quite positive?' 'Do you doubt my word, boy?'—'That is very wrong of you indeed, child,' said the apothecary.—A thought suddenly struck me. If he would but take an oath, said I to myself? The oath, the oath! that was what I dreaded! An opposite oath seemed to be my only safe-guard. I continued—'I swear, Sir, while I have life never to forsake you, but to be dutiful and true to you'—'Swear boy?'—'Yes, Sir, most solemnly.'—I spoke with great fervor—'You are an unaccountable boy'—'Oh that you would never forsake me'—'I tell you I will not'—'Oh that you never would!'—'Won't you believe me?'—'Oh that you never never would!'—'The boy I believe wants me to swear too'—'Ay; do, Sir; take an oath not to disown me; and indeed indeed I'll die willingly to deserve your favour'—'Disown you'—'Nay, Sir, but take an oath. You say I saved your life; I would lay down my own again and again to save it. Do not deny me, do not turn me to starve, or send me back to be murdered by my barbarous master'—'I tell you I will not'—'Nay but'—'Well then I swear, boy, I will not'—'Do you indeed duly and truly swear?'—'Solemnly, boy! I take heaven to witness that, if you are not guilty of something very wicked, while I live I will provide for you.'—I fell on my knees, caught hold of his hand, burst into tears, and exclaimed with sobs—'God in heaven bless my dear dear good grandfather! He has forgiven me! He has forgiven me!' 'Grandfather?' 'I am Hugh Trevor.'
Never did I behold so sudden a change in the human countenance! The rector's eyes glared at me! There was something ghastly in the sunken form of his features! My shirt was still red, and my coat spotted with blood; the hair had been cut away from the wound on my head, which was covered with a large plaister. My eye was black, and swelled up, and my forehead too was plaistered above the eye-brow. My body he had been told was covered with bruises, tears bathed my cheeks, and my face was agitated with something like convulsive emotions. This strange figure was suddenly changed into his grandson! It was an apparition he knew not how to endure. To be claimed by such a wretched creature, to have been himself the author of his wretchedness, to have had an oath extorted from him, in direct violation of an opposite oath, to feel this universal shock to his pride and his prejudices was a complication of jarring sensations that confounded him. To resist was an effort beyond his strength. For a moment he lost his voice: at last he exclaimed, with a hoarse scream—'Take him away'—My heart sunk within me. The apothecary stood petrified with astonishment. The rector again repeated with increasing agony—'Take him away! Begone! Never let me see him more!'
The pang I felt was unutterable. I rose with a feeling of despair that was annihilating, and was going broken hearted out of the room. At that instant the figure of my master started to recollection, and with such terror as to subdue every other fear. I turned back, fell on my knees again, and clasping my hands cried out, 'For God Almighty's sake, do not send me back to my master! I shall never escape with life! He will murder me! He will murder me! I'll be your servant as long as I live. I will go of your errands; take care of your horses; drive your plough; weed your garden; do any thing you bid me; indeed, indeed I will.—Do not send me back to be murdered!'
The excess of my feelings had something of a calming effect on those of the rector. He repeated, 'Go go, boy, go! I feel myself very ill!' The apothecary recovered his tongue and added, 'Ay, my good child, you had better go.'
The altered voice of the rector removed a part of the load that oppressed me, and I left the room, though with no little sensation of despondency. In about half an hour the apothecary came down. He had had a conversation with the rector, who I found could not endure the sight of me again, under my present forlorn or rather accusing form. The remembrance however that I had saved his life was predominant. How his casuistry settled the account between his two oaths I never heard; on that subject he was eternally silent. He was probably ashamed of having taken the first, and of having been tricked out of the second. His orders were that I should go home with the apothecary, with whom he had arranged matters, should be new clothed, wait till my wounds were healed, and then, if he possibly could, he would prevail upon himself to see me.
CHAPTER X
Hopes in behalf of my mother: The arrival of the rector: I gain his favour: Am adopted by him: And effect a family reconciliation. Anecdotes of a school-fellow, and his sister: Grammatical and musical studies: Causes of discontent between the Squire and the rector: Tythes and law produce quarrels: The tragi-comic tale of the rats
Six weeks had elapsed before my wounds, bruises, and black marks, had totally disappeared; and the scar above my eye still retained a red appearance. The alteration of my person however, aided as it was by dress, was so remarkable as to excite surprise among my village friends. The apothecary prided himself upon the change, persuading himself that the rector would thank him for the present of so fine a grandson. His art and care had wrought miracles, I was quite another creature; the alteration was so prodigious since he had taken me that he was sure there was not so fine a boy in all England.
In the mean time I had written to my mother, whose cottage was about ten miles across the country, from the village where the apothecary lived. He would not permit me to go to her, it might offend the rector; but he agreed that, if she should by chance come to me, there could be no harm in my speaking to my mother. He too understood casuistry. She accordingly came to see me, and was overjoyed at what had happened; it might lead to a general reconciliation: especially now that my brother and sister were both dead. They had been carried off by the small-pox; and she rightly enough conjectured that the rector would not be the less prone to pardon her for being clear of further incumbrance. She enjoined me to intercede in her behalf, and I very sincerely promised to speak as soon as I dared.
The day at last came on which the rector was to pay his visit, and examine how far I was fit to be his grandson. My terror by this time had considerably abated: he having taken thus much notice of me, I scarcely could believe myself in danger of being rejected. I was not however without trepidation, and when the well known post chariot drove up to the door my heart sunk within me.