I send his letter to you,seal unbroken. I conclude he has done with you forever, and your CAREER is lost! But if it be so, oh, my poor, poor child I at that thought I have not the heart to scold you further. If it be so, come home to me, and I ll work and slave for you, and you shall keep up your head and be a gentleman still, as you are, every inch of you. Dont mind what Ive said at the beginning, dear: dont you know Im hasty; and I was hurt. But you could not mean to be sly and underhand: twas only your high spirit, and it was my fault; I should not have shown you the letters. I hope you are well, and have quite lost that nasty cough, and that Mr. Vance treats you with proper respect. I think him rather too pushing and familiar, though a pleasant young man on the whole. But, after all, he is only a painter Bless you, my child, and dont have secrets again from your poor mother.
JESSICA HAUGHTON.The enclosed letter was as follows:
LIONEL HAUGHTON,Some men might be displeased at receiving such a letter as you have addressed to me; I am not. At your years, and under the same circumstances, I might have written a letter much in the same spirit. Relieve your mind: as yet you owe me no obligations; you have only received back a debt due to you. My father was poor; your grandfather, Robert Haughton, assisted him in the cost of my education. I have assisted your fathers son; we are quits. Before, however, we decide on having done with each other for the future, I suggest to you to pay me a short visit. Probably I shall not like you, nor you me. But we are both gentlemen, and need not show dislike too coarsely. If you decide on coming, come at once, or possibly you may not find me here. If you refuse, I shall have a poor opinion of your sense and temper, and in a week I shall have forgotten your existence. I ought to add that your father and I were once warm friends, and that by descent I am the head not only of my own race, which ends with me, but of the Haughton family, of which, though your line assumed the name, it was but a younger branch. Nowadays young men are probably not brought up to care for these things: I was. Yours,
GUY HAUGHTON DARRELL. MANOR HOUSE, FAWLEY.Sophy picked up the fallen letters, placed them on Lionels lap, and looked into his face wistfully. He smiled, resumed his mothers epistle, and read the concluding passages, which he had before omitted. Their sudden turn from reproof to tenderness melted him. He began to feel that his mother had a right to blame him for an act of concealment. Still she never would have consented to his writing such a letter; and had that letter been attended with so ill a result? Again he read Mr. Darrells blunt but not offensive lines. His pride was soothed: why should he not now love his fathers friend? He rose briskly, paid for the fruit, and went his way back to the boat with Sophy. As his oars cut the wave he talked gayly, but he ceased to interrogate Sophy on her past. Energetic, sanguine, ambitious, his own future entered now into his thoughts. Still, when the sun sank as the inn came partially into view from the winding of the banks and the fringe of the willows, his mind again settled on the patient, quiet little girl, who had not ventured to ask him one question in return for all he had put so unceremoniously to her. Indeed, she was silently musing over words he had inconsiderately let fall,What I hate to think you had ever stooped to perform. Little could Lionel guess the unquiet thoughts which those words might hereafter call forth from the brooding deepening meditations of lonely childhood! At length said the boy abruptly, as he had said once before,
I wish, Sophy, you were my sister. He added in a saddened tone, I never had a sister: I have so longed for one! However, surely we shall meet again. You go to-morrow so must I.
Sophys tears flowed softly, noiselessly.
Cheer up, lady-bird, I wish you liked me half as much as I like you!
I do like you: oh, so much! cried Soppy, passionately. Well, then, you can write, you say?
A little.
You shall write to me now and then, and I to you. Ill talk to your grandfather about it. Ah, there he is, surely! The boat now ran into the shelving creek, and by the honeysuckle arbour stood Gentleman Waife, leaning on his stick.
You are late, said the actor, as they landed, and Sophy sprang into his arms. I began to be uneasy, and came here to inquire after you. You have not caught cold, child?
SOPHY.Oh, no.
LIONEL.She is the best of children. Pray, come into the inn, Mr. Waife; no toddy, but some refreshment.
WAIFE.I thank you,no, sir; I wish to get home at once. I walk slowly; it will be dark soon.
Lionel tried in vain to detain him. There was a certain change in Mr. Waifes manner to him: it was much more distant; it was even pettish, if not surly. Lionel could not account for it; thought it mere whim at first: but as he walked part of the way back with them towards the village, this asperity continued, nay increased. Lionel was hurt; he arrested his steps.
I see you wish to have your grandchild to yourself now. May I call early to-morrow? Sophy will tell you that I hope we may not altogether lose sight of each other. I will give you my address when I call.
What time to-morrow, sir?
About nine.
Waife bowed his head and walked on, but Sophy looked back towards her boy friend, sorrowfully, gratefully; twilight in the skies that had been so sunny,twilight in her face that had been so glad! She looked back once, twice, thrice, as Lionel halted on the road and kissed his hand. The third time Waife said with unwonted crossness,
Enough of that, Sophy; looking after young men is not proper! What does he mean about seeing each other, and giving me his address?
He wished me to write to him sometimes and he would write to me.
Waifes brow contracted; but if, in the excess of grandfatherly caution, he could have supposed that the bright-hearted boy of seventeen meditated ulterior ill to that fairy child in such a scheme for correspondence, he must have been in his dotage, and he had not hitherto evinced any signs of that.
Farewell, pretty Sophy! the evening star shines upon yon elm-tree that hides thee from view. Fading-fading grows the summer landscape; faded already from the landscape thy gentle image! So ends a holiday in life. Hallow it, Sophy; hallow it, Lionel! Lifes holidays are not too many!
CHAPTER XVII
By this chapter it appeareth that he who sets out on a career can scarcely expect to walk in perfect comfort, if he exchanges his own thick-soled shoes for dress-boots which were made for another mans measure, and that the said boots may not the less pinch for being brilliantly varnished.It also showeth, for the instruction of Men and States, the connection between democratic opinion and wounded self-love; so that, if some Liberal statesman desire to rouse against an aristocracy the class just below it, he has only to persuade a fine lady to be exceedingly civil to that sort of people.
Vance, returning late at night, found his friend still up in the little parlour, the windows open, pacing the floor with restless strides, stopping now and then to look at the moon upon the river.
Vance, returning late at night, found his friend still up in the little parlour, the windows open, pacing the floor with restless strides, stopping now and then to look at the moon upon the river.
Such a day as I have had! and twelve shillings for the fly, pikes not included, said Vance, much out of humour
I fly from plate, I fly from pomp,
I fly from falsehoods specious grin; I forget the third line. I know the last is
To find my welcome at an inn.
You are silent: I annoyed you by goingcould not help itpity me, and lock up your pride.
No, my dear Vance, I was hurt for a moment, but thats long since over!
Still you seem to have something on your mind, said Vance, who had now finished reading his letters, lighted his cigar, and was leaning against the window as the boy continued to walk to and fro.
That is true: I have. I should like your advice. Read that letter. Ought I to go? Would it look mercenary, grasping? You know what I mean.
Vance approached the candles and took the letter. He glanced first at the signature. Darrell, he exclaimed. Oh, it is so, then! He read with great attention, put down the letter, and shook Lionel by the hand. I congratulate you: all is settled as it should be. Go? of course: you would be an ill-mannered lout if you did not. Is it far from hence must you return to town first?
LIONEL.No, I find I can get across the country,two hours by the railway. There is a station at the town which bears the post-mark of the letter. I shall make for that, if you advise it.
You knew I should advise it, or you would not have tortured your intellect by those researches into Bradshaw.
Shrewdly said, answered Lionel, laughing; but I wished for your sanction of my crude impressions.
You never told me your cousins name was Darrell: not that I should have been much wiser if you had; but, thunder and lightning, Lionel! do you know that your cousin Darrell is a famous man?
LIONEL.Famous!Nonsense. I suppose he was a good lawyer, for I have heard my mother say, with a sort of contempt, that he had made a great fortune at the bar.
VANCE.But he was in Parliament.
LIONEL.Was he? I did not know.
VANCE.And this is senatorial fame! You never heard your schoolfellows talk of Mr. Darrell?they would not have known his name if you had boasted of it?
LIONEL.Certainly not.
VANCE.Would your schoolfellows have known the names of Wilkie, of Landseer, of Turner, Maclise? I speak of painters.
LIONEL.I should think so, indeed.
VANCE (soliloquizing).And yet Her Serene Sublimity-ship, Lady Selina Vipont, says to me with divine compassion, Not in the way of your delightful art to know such men as Mr. Darrell! Oh, as if I did not see through it, too, when she said, a propos of my jean cap and velveteen jacket, What matters how you dress? Every one knows who you are! Would she have said that to the earl of Dunder, or even to Sir Gregory Stollhead? No. I am the painter Frank Vance,nothing more nor less; and if I stood on my head in a check shirt and a sky-coloured apron, Lady Selina Vipont would kindly murmur, Only Frank Vance the painter: what does it signify? Aha!and they think to put me to use, puppets and lay figures! it is I who put them to use! Hark ye, Lionel, you are nearer akin to these fine folks than I knew of. Promise me one thing: you may become of their set, by right of your famous Mr. Darrell; if ever you hear an artist, musician, scribbler, no matter what, ridiculed as a tuft-hunter,seeking the great, and so forth,before you join in the laugh, ask some great mans son, with a pedigree that dates from the Ark, Are you not a toad-eater too? Do you want political influence; do you stand contested elections; do you curry and fawn upon greasy Sam the butcher and grimy Tom the blacksmith for a vote? Why? useful to your career, necessary to your ambition? Aha! is it meaner to curry and fawn upon white-handed women and elegant coxcombs? Tut, tut! useful to a career, necessary to ambition! Vance paused, out of breath. The spoiled darling of the circles,he, to talk such republican rubbish! Certainly he must have taken his two guineas worth out of those light wines. Nothing so treacherous! they inflame the brain like fire, while melting on the palate like ice. All inhabitants of lightwine countries are quarrelsome and democratic.
LIONEL (astounded).No one, I am sure, could have meant to call you a tuft-hunter; of course, every one knows that a great painter
VANCE.Dates from Michael Angelo, if not from Zeuxis! Common individuals trace their pedigree from their own fathers! the children of Art from Arts founders!
Oh, Vance, Vance, you are certainly drunk! If that comes from dining with fine people at the Star and Garter, you would be a happier man and as good a painter if your toddy were never sipped save in honeysuckle arbours.
But, said Lionel, bewildered, and striving to turn his friends thoughts, what has all this to do with Mr. Darrell?
VANCE.Mr. Darrell might have been one of the first men in the kingdom. Lady Selina Vipout says so, and she is related, I believe, to every member in the Cabinet. Mr. Darrell can push you in life, and make your fortune, without any great trouble on your own part. Bless your stars, and rejoice that you are not a painter!
Lionel flung his arm round the artists broad breast. Vance, you are cruel! It was his turn to console the painter, as the painter had three nights before a propos of the same Mr. Darrell consoled him. Vance gradually sobered down, and the young men walked forth in the moonlight. And the eternal stars had the same kind looks for Vance as they had vouchsafed to Lionel.
When do you start? asked the painter, as they mounted the stairs to bed.
To-morrow evening. I miss the early train, for I must call first and take leave of Sophy. I hope I may see her again in after life.
And I hope, for your sake, that if so, she may not be in the same coloured print, with Lady Selina Viponts eyeglass upon her!
What! said Lionel, laughing; is Lady Selina Vipont so formidably rude?
Rude! nobody is rude in that delightful set. Lady Selina Vipont is excruciatinglycivil.
CHAPTER XVIII
Being devoted exclusively to a reflection, not inapposite to the events in this history nor to those in any other which chronicles the life of men.
There is one warning lesson in life which few of us have not received, and no book that I can call to memory has noted down with an adequate emphasis. It is this: Beware of parting! The true sadness is not in the pain of the parting, it is in the When and the How you are to meet again with the face about to vanish from your view! From the passionate farewell to the woman who has your heart in her keeping, to the cordial good-by exchanged with pleasant companions at a watering-place, a country-house, or the close of a festive days blithe and careless excursion,a cord, stronger or weaker, is snapped asunder in every parting, and Times busy fingers are not practised in re-splicing broken ties. Meet again you may; will it be in the same way?with the same sympathies?with the same sentiments? Will the souls, hurrying on in diverse paths, unite once more, as if the interval had been a dream? Rarely, rarely! Have you not, after even a year, even a months absence, returned to the same place, found the same groups reassembled, and yet sighed to yourself, But where is the charm that once breathed from the spot, and once smiled from the faces? A poet has said, Eternity itself cannot restore the loss struck from the minute. Are you happy in the spot on which you tarry with the persons whose voices are now melodious to your ear? beware of parting; or, if part you must, say not in insolent defiance to Time and Destiny, What matters!we shall soon meet again.