During the day, Hiram Meeker had intelligence of his son's flight. He received it with great outward composure, and with sensible inward relief.
The discovery of the fraud which Augustus had committed had also been borne with entire equanimity.
The fact is, Hiram, having thought best to conclude that his son was irreclaimable, searched the Scriptures to find the various eminent examples of disobedient, ungrateful, and wicked children; and he seemed to cherish with unction the idea of being numbered among the godly parents of a reprobate child.
His own position was so strong, so far above that of any ordinary man of wealth, that the circumstance of a dissolute son's raising a few thousand dollars by forging his name (after all, it was only a few thousand) could only produce an expression of sympathy for the honored father.
What to do with Augustus—that was the question which troubled him through the night; and the morning brought an agreeable solution of it.
His child, an only son, possessed of many noble and generous qualities, without any of his father's intense selfishness, was a wanderer and an outcast on the earth, and he unmoved, undisturbed, complacent!
It was soon known in the house what had become of Augustus. When Belle heard of it, she gave a shrug, and exclaimed, 'Poor Gus!'
Harriet, the invalid, was deeply affected. Seeing how much she was sorrowing, her mother, whose heart was still tender from the recollection of her late parting with her boy, told her, under promise of secrecy (she knew she could trust her), that she had seen Augustus before he went away, and repeated the message with which she had been charged.
'O mamma!' exclaimed the poor girl, 'we can save him—I know we can! You say he is to write you. We shall know where he is, and by-and-by he will come back.'
'Your father will never permit it.'