Mr. Morton mixed his brandy and water, and moved his chair into its customary corner.
You saw your brothers letter, said he, after a pause; he gives young Philip a very good character.
The human heart is very deceitful, replied Mrs. Morton, who, by the way, spoke through her nose. Pray Heaven he may be what he seems; but whats bred in the bone comes out in the flesh.
We must hope the best, said Mr. Morton, mildly; andput another lump into the grog, my dear.
It is a mercy, Im thinking, that we didnt have the other little boy. I dare say he has never even been taught his catechism: them people dont know what it is to be a mother. And, besides, it would have been very awkward, Mr. M.; we could never have said who he was: and Ive no doubt Miss Pryinall would have been very curious.
Miss Pryinall be ! Mr. Morton checked himself, took a large draught of the brandy and water, and added, Miss Pryinall wants to have a finger in everybodys pie.
But she buys a deal of flannel, and does great good to the town; it was she who found out that Mrs. Giles was no better than she should be.
Poor Mrs. Giles!she came to the workhouse.
Poor Mrs. Giles, indeed! I wonder, Mr. Morton, that you, a married man with a family, should say, poor Mrs. Giles!
My dear, when people who have been well off come to the workhouse, they may be called poor:but thats neither here nor there; only, if the boy does come to us, we must look sharp upon Miss Pryinall.
I hope he wont come,it will be very unpleasant. And when a man has a wife and family, the less he meddles with other folks and their little ones, the better. For as the Scripture says, A man shall cleave to his wife and
Here a sharp, shrill ring at the bell was heard, and Mrs. Morton broke off into:
Well! I declare! at this hour; who can that be? And all gone to bed! Do go and see, Mr. Morton.
Somewhat reluctantly and slowly, Mr. Morton rose; and, proceeding to the passage, unbarred the door. A brief and muttered conversation followed, to the great irritability of Mrs. Morton, who stood in the passagethe candle in her hand.
What is the matter, Mr. M.?
Mr. Morton turned back, looking agitated.
Wheres my hat? oh, here. My sister is come, at the inn.
Gracious me! She does not go for to say she is your sister?
No, no: heres her notecalls herself a lady thats ill. I shall be back soon.
She cant come hereshe shant come here, Mr. M. Im an honest womanshe cant come here. You understand
Mr. Morton had naturally a stern countenance, stern to every one but his wife. The shrill tone to which he was so long accustomed jarred then on his heart as well as his ear. He frowned:
Pshaw! woman, you have no feeling! said he, and walked out of the house, pulling his hat over his brows. That was the only rude speech Mr. Morton had ever made to his better half. She treasured it up in her heart and memory; it was associated with the sister and the child; and she was not a woman who ever forgave.
Mr. Morton walked rapidly through the still, moon-lit streets, till he reached the inn. A club was held that night in one of the rooms below; and as he crossed the threshold, the sound of hip-hip-hurrah! mingled with the stamping of feet and the jingling of glasses, saluted his entrance. He was a stiff, sober, respectable man,a man who, except at electionshe was a great politicianmixed in none of the revels of his more boisterous townsmen. The sounds, the spot, were ungenial to him. He paused, and the colour of shame rose to his brow. He was ashamed to be thereashamed to meet the desolate and, as he believed, erring sister.
A pretty maidservant, heated and flushed with orders and compliments, crossed his path with a tray full of glasses.
Theres a lady come by the Telegraph?
Yes, sir, upstairs, No. 2, Mr. Morton.
Mr. Morton! He shrank at the sound of his own name.
My wifes right, he muttered. After all, this is more unpleasant than I thought for.
The slight stairs shook under his hasty tread. He opened the door of No. 2, and that Catherine, whom he had last seen at her age of gay sixteen, radiant with bloom, and, but for her air of pride, the model for a Hebe,that Catherine, old ere youth was gone, pale, faded, the dark hair silvered over, the cheeks hollow, and the eye dim,that Catherine fell upon his breast!
God bless you, brother! How kind to come! How long since we have met!
Sit down, Catherine, my dear sister. You are faintyou are very much changedvery. I should not have known you.
Brother, I have brought my boy; it is painful to part from himveryvery painful: but it is right, and Gods will be done. She turned, as she spoke, towards a little, deformed rickety dwarf of a sofa, that seemed to hide itself in the darkest corner of the low, gloomy room; and Morton followed her. With one hand she removed the shawl that she had thrown over the child, and placing the forefinger of the other upon her lipslips that smiled thenshe whispered,We will not wake him, he is so tired. But I would not put him to bed till you had seen him.
And there slept poor Sidney, his fair cheek pillowed on his arm; the soft, silky ringlets thrown from the delicate and unclouded brow; the natural bloom increased by warmth and travel; the lovely face so innocent and hushed; the breathing so gentle and regular, as if never broken by a sigh.
Mr. Morton drew his hand across his eyes.
There was something very touching in the contrast between that wakeful, anxious, forlorn woman, and the slumber of the unconscious boy. And in that moment, what breast upon which the light of Christian pityof natural affection, had ever dawned, would, even supposing the worlds judgment were true, have recalled Catherines reputed error? There is so divine a holiness in the love of a mother, that no matter how the tie that binds her to the child was formed, she becomes, as it were, consecrated and sacred; and the past is forgotten, and the world and its harsh verdicts swept away, when that love alone is visible; and the God, who watches over the little one, sheds His smile over the human deputy, in whose tenderness there breathes His own!
You will be kind to himwill you not? said Mrs. Morton; and the appeal was made with that trustful, almost cheerful tone which implies, Who would not be kind to a thing so fair and helpless? He is very sensitive and very docile; you will never have occasion to say a hard word to himnever! you have children of your own, brother.
He is a beautiful boybeautiful. I will be a father to him!
As he spoke,the recollection of his wifesour, querulous, austerecame over him, but he said to himself, She must take to such a child,women always take to beauty. He bent down and gently pressed his lips to Sidneys forehead: Mrs. Morton replaced the shawl, and drew her brother to the other end of the room.
And now, she said, colouring as she spoke, I must see your wife, brother: there is so much to say about a child that only a woman will recollect. Is she very good-tempered and kind, your wife? You know I never saw her; you married afterafter I left.
She is a very worthy woman, said Mr. Morton, clearing his throat, and brought me some money; she has a will of her own, as most women have; but thats neither here nor thereshe is a good wife as wives go; and prudent and painstakingI dont know what I should do without her.
Brother, I have one favour to requesta great favour.
Brother, I have one favour to requesta great favour.
Anything I can do in the way of money?
It has nothing to do with money. I cant live longdont shake your headI cant live long. I have no fear for Philip, he has so much spiritsuch strength of characterbut that child! I cannot bear to leave him altogether; let me stay in this townI can lodge anywhere; but to see him sometimesto know I shall be in reach if he is illlet me stay herelet me die here!
You must not talk so sadlyyou are young yetyounger than I amI dont think of dying.
Heaven forbid! but
Wellwell, interrupted Mr. Morton, who began to fear his feelings would hurry him into some promise which his wife would not suffer him to keep; you shall talk to Margaret,that is Mrs. MortonI will get her to see youyes, I think I can contrive that; and if you can arrange with her to stay,but you see, as she brought the money, and is a very particular woman
I will see her; thank youthank you; she cannot refuse me.
And, brother, resumed Mrs. Morton, after a short pause, and speaking in a firm voiceand is it possible that you disbelieve my story?that you, like all the rest, consider my children the sons of shame?
There was an honest earnestness in Catherines voice, as she spoke, that might have convinced many. But Mr. Morton was a man of facts, a practical mana man who believed that law was always right, and that the improbable was never true.
He looked down as he answered, I think you have been a very ill-used woman, Catherine, and that is all I can say on the matter; let us drop the subject.
No! I was not ill-used; my husbandyes, my husbandwas noble and generous from first to last. It was for the sake of his childrens prospectsfor the expectations they, through him, might derive from his proud unclethat he concealed our marriage. Do not blame Philipdo not condemn the dead.
I dont want to blame any one, said Mr. Morton, rather angrily; I am a plain mana tradesman, and can only go by what in my class seems fair and honest, which I cant think Mr. Beauforts conduct was, put it how you will; if he marries you as you think, he gets rid of a witness, he destroys a certificate, and he dies without a will. How ever, all thats neither here nor there. You do quite right not to take the name of Beaufort, since it is an uncommon name, and would always make the story public. Least said, soonest mended. You must always consider that your children will be called natural children, and have their own way to make. No harm in that! Warm day for your journey. Catherine sighed, and wiped her eyes; she no longer reproached the world, since the son of her own mother disbelieved her.
The relations talked together for some minutes on the pastthe present; but there was embarrassment and constraint on both sidesit was so difficult to avoid one subject; and after sixteen years of absence, there is little left in common, even between those who once played together round their parents knees. Mr. Morton was glad at last to find an excuse in Catherines fatigue to leave her. Cheer up, and take a glass of something warm before you go to bed. Good night! these were his parting words.
Long was the conference, and sleepless the couch, of Mr. and Mrs. Morton. At first that estimable lady positively declared she would not and could not visit Catherine (as to receiving her, that was out of the question). But she secretly resolved to give up that point in order to insist with greater strength upon anotherviz., the impossibility of Catherine remaining in the town; such concession for the purpose of resistance being a very common and sagacious policy with married ladies. Accordingly, when suddenly, and with a good grace, Mrs. Morton appeared affected by her husbands eloquence, and said, Well, poor thing! if she is so ill, and you wish it so much, I will call to-morrow, Mr. Morton felt his heart softened towards the many excellent reasons which his wife urged against allowing Catherine to reside in the town. He was a political characterhe had many enemies; the story of his seduced sister, now forgotten, would certainly be raked up; it would affect his comfort, perhaps his trade, certainly his eldest daughter, who was now thirteen; it would be impossible then to adopt the plan hitherto resolved uponof passing off Sidney as the legitimate orphan of a distant relation; it would be made a great handle for gossip by Miss Pryinall. Added to all these reasons, one not less strong occurred to Mr. Morton himselfthe uncommon and merciless rigidity of his wife would render all the other women in the town very glad of any topic that would humble her own sense of immaculate propriety. Moreover, he saw that if Catherine did remain, it would be a perpetual source of irritation in his own home; he was a man who liked an easy life, and avoided, as far as possible, all food for domestic worry. And thus, when at length the wedded pair turned back to back, and composed themselves to sleep, the conditions of peace were settled, and the weaker party, as usual in diplomacy, sacrificed to the interests of the united powers. After breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Morton sallied out on her husbands arm. Mr. Morton was rather a handsome man, with an air and look grave, composed, severe, that had tended much to raise his character in the town.
Mrs. Morton was short, wiry, and bony. She had won her husband by making desperate love to him, to say nothing of a dower that enabled him to extend his business, new-front, as well as new-stock his shop, and rise into the very first rank of tradesmen in his native town. He still believed that she was excessively fond of hima common delusion of husbands, especially when henpecked. Mrs. Morton was, perhaps, fond of him in her own way; for though her heart was not warm, there may be a great deal of fondness with very little feeling. The worthy lady was now clothed in her best. She had a proper pride in showing the rewards that belong to female virtue. Flowers adorned her Leghorn bonnet, and her green silk gown boasted four flounces,such, then, was, I am told, the fashion. She wore, also, a very handsome black shawl, extremely heavy, though the day was oppressively hot, and with a deep border; a smart sevigni brooch of yellow topazes glittered in her breast; a huge gilt serpent glared from her waistband; her hair, or more properly speaking her front, was tortured into very tight curls, and her feet into very tight half-laced boots, from which the fragrance of new leather had not yet departed. It was this last infliction, for il faut souffrir pour etre belle, which somewhat yet more acerbated the ordinary acid of Mrs. Mortons temper. The sweetest disposition is ruffled when the shoe pinches; and it so happened that Mrs. Roger Morton was one of those ladies who always have chilblains in the winter and corns in the summer. So you say your sister is a beauty?
Was a beauty, Mrs. M.,was a beauty. People alter.
A bad conscience, Mr. Morton, is
My dear, cant you walk faster?
If you had my corns, Mr. Morton, you would not talk in that way!
The happy pair sank into silence, only broken by sundry How dye dos? and Good mornings! interchanged with their friends, till they arrived at the inn.
Let us go up quickly, said Mrs. Morton.
And quietquiet to gloom, did the inn, so noisy overnight, seem by morning. The shutters partially closed to keep out the sunthe taproom desertedthe passage smelling of stale smokean elderly dog, lazily snapping at the flies, at the foot of the staircasenot a soul to be seen at the bar. The husband and wife, glad to be unobserved, crept on tiptoe up the stairs, and entered Catherines apartment.