"It is far the best way that you can show it, Wat," replied his mother; "and oh, my boy, it is the only way that ever you can set your mother's heart at peace again!"
"Well, I will, mother, I will!" cried the lad, grasping her hand; "and I am sure Heaven will help me, if I try--for since I have had this wound through my side, I have not felt half so wild and willful as I used to do; and when I was in the prison of a night, I tried to pray many a time--and if it had not been for that, I don't think I should have got through the whole of that bad business steadily. So, I will try and do right; indeed I will!"
The tears streamed down his mother's cheeks; for the relief that Beauchamp's liberality had given her was nothing to that which those words afforded, and the night passed over in peace. The next morning, the news spread through Emberton that the widow's son had returned; and one or two of the ladies of that place, suddenly smitten with an interest in the widow's fate, called at the cottage they had never entered before, just to ask after her and her son. They carried no gossip back into the town with them however; for the widow coldly, though civilly, replied that her son was not well, and dismissed them with a brief answer to more impertinent questions. Three days after that again, the fresh tidings fluttered on the air of Emberton, that Widow Harrison and her son had left the place, and had gone to France. Every one opened their eyes--every one conjectured--and then the nine days' wonder was over, and the whole affair was forgotten.
Only one person in the neighborhood saw the young sailor after his return. This was Dr. Wilton, who, having delivered in person the packet which Beauchamp had sent to the widow, was now visited by both herself and her son, ere their departure, with a request that he would convey to their benefactor the expression of their deepest gratitude. The worthy clergyman, on first hearing who it was that awaited him in his library, had meditated an exhortation to the young sailor on his future conduct; but when he saw the worn and haggard look, and the evident traces of ruined health which his countenance displayed--all that was severe in the good man's oration died away, and it breathed nothing but hope and consolation.
"You say you are going to France," he added; "and I will give you two books to take with you, which, after your Bible, I should wish you to read attentively. They contain neither cant nor affectation," he added; "but they point out the best way for one who has been led astray to return unto right."
Both mother and son received the books with gratitude; and after having promised to let him know where they settled in France, they left the worthy clergyman in the act of muttering to himself, "He'll not live three months, poor, unhappy lad!--There is consumption in his eyes and on his cheek!"
Scarcely were they gone, and scarcely was Dr. Wilton's comment on the young sailor's appearance pronounced, when the rush of wheels was heard before his windows, and in a moment the servant announced Lord Ashborough. The doctor started up, bewildered; but as Beauchamp entered the room, dressed in deep mourning, the events that had lately taken place recurred to his old preceptor's mind; and, shaking him by the hand, he exclaimed, "Welcome, my dear Harry, and let me pay my tribute to your new rank; though, to tell you the truth, when the servant announced the Earl of Ashborough, I scarcely knew who to expect. I had forgotten all about it, and have been calling you Mr. Beauchamp for this half hour, with two pensioners of yours--Widow Harrison and her son. But with me, I am afraid, you will be Harry Beauchamp to the end of your days."
"Let me never be any thing else, I beseech you, my dear sir," replied Beauchamp. "The poor widow and her son, too, know me by no other name; for the deed was drawn up before my poor uncle's death. But I must go and see them when I visit Emberton."
"You will hardly find them there," replied Dr. Wilton; "for apprehensions of the rude curiosity and brutal scorn of that most gossiping place, have driven them to seek an asylum on the continent. But tell me, Harry, what is the meaning of your looking so ill and so anxious!"
"In regard to my ill looks," answered Beauchamp, smiling, "you must remember, my dear sir, that, as I wrote to you, I have been seriously indisposed since we last met; and as to my anxious looks, I have certainly had many a subject, both of care and anxiety, pressing heavily upon my mind. The sudden death of my uncle, and all the consequent trouble--both in examining his affairs, and in punishing a rascally agent, who endeavored to throw the basest imputations upon the memory of his benefactor--have occupied more of my time and attention than was at all pleasant to me."