'I am come that they might have life, And that they might have it more abundantly.'
The words returned on him, and with them what his father had said, 'You have had a thread running through your life.' He was in a state between sleeping and waking, when the confines of reflection and dreaming came very near together, and when vague impressions, hardly noticed at the time they were made, began to tell on him without his own conscious volition. It was to him as if from that brightening eastern heaven, multitudes of threads of light were floating hither and thither, as he had often watched the gossamer undulating in the sunshine. Some were firm, purely white, and glistening here and there with rainbow tints as they tended straight upwards, shining more and more into the perfect day; but for the most part they were tangled together in inextricable confusion, intermingled with many a broken end, like fleeces of cobweb driven together by the autumn wind,-some sailing aimlessly, or with shattered tangled strands- some white, some dark, some anchored to mere leaves or sprays, some tending down to the abyss, but all in such a perplexed maze that the eye could seldom trace which were directed up, which downwards, which were of pure texture, which defiled and stained.
In the abortive, unsatisfactory attempt to follow out one fluctuating clue, not without whiteness, and heaving often upwards, but frail, wavering, ravelled, and tangled, so that scarcely could he find one line that held together, Louis awoke to find his father wondering that he could sleep with the sun shining full on his face.
'It was hardly quite a dream,' said Louis, as he related it to Mrs. Frost.
'It would make a very pretty allegory.'
'It is too real for that just now,' he said. 'It was the moral of all my broken strands that Mary held up to me yesterday.'
'I hope you are going to do more than point your moral, my dear. You always were good at that.'
'I mean it,' said Louis, earnestly. 'I do not believe such an illness-ay, or such a dream-can come for nothing.'
So back went his thoughts to the flaws in his own course; and chiefly he bewailed his want of sympathy for his father. Material obedience and submission had been yielded, but, having little cause to believe himself beloved, his heart had never been called into action so as to soften the clashings of two essentially dissimilar characters. Instead of rebelling, or even of murmuring, he had hid disappointment in indifference, taken refuge in levity and versatility, and even consoled himself by sporting with what he regarded as prejudice or unjust displeasure. All this cost him much regret and self-reproach at each proof of the affection so long veiled by reserve. Never would he have given pain, had he guessed that his father could feel; but he had grown up to imagine the whole man made up of politics and conventionalities, and his new discoveries gave him at least as much contrition as pleasure.
After long study of the debates, that morning, his father prepared to write. Louis asked for the paper, saying his senses would just serve for the advertisements, but presently he made an exclamation of surprise at beholding, in full progress, the measure which had brought Sir Miles Oakstead to Ormersfield, one of peculiar interest to the Earl. His blank look of wonder amused Mrs. Ponsonby, but seemed somewhat to hurt his father.
'You did not suppose I could attend to such matters now?' he said.
'But I am so much better!'
Fearing that the habit of reserve would check any exchange of feeling, Mrs. Ponsonby said, 'Did you fancy your father could not think of you except upon compulsion?'
'I beg your pardon, father,' said Louis, smiling, while a tear rose to his eyes, 'I little thought I was obstructing the business of the nation. What will Sir Miles do to me?'
'Sir Miles has written a most kind and gratifying letter,' said Lord Ormersfield, 'expressing great anxiety for you, and a high opinion of your powers.'
Louis had never heard of his own powers, except for mischief, and the colour returned to his cheeks, as he listened to the kind and cordial letter, written in the first shock of the tidings of the accident. He enjoyed the pleasure it gave his father far more than the commendation to himself; for he well knew, as he said, that 'there is something embellishing in a catastrophe,' and he supposed 'that had driven out the rose-coloured pastor.'
'There is always indulgence at your age,' said the Earl. 'You have created an impression which may be of great importance to you by-and- by.'
Louis recurred to politics. The measure was one which approved itself to his mind, and he showed all the interest which was usually stifled, by such subjects being forced on him. He was distressed at detaining his father when his presence might be essential to the success of his party, and the Earl could not bear to leave him while still confined to his bed. The little scene, so calm, and apparently so cold, seemed to cement the attachment of father and son, by convincing Louis of the full extent of his father's love; and his enthusiasm began to invest the Earl's grey head with a perfect halo of wisdom slighted and affection injured; and the tenor of his thread of life shone out bright and silvery before him, spun out of projects of devoting heart and soul to his father's happiness, and meriting his fondness.
The grave Earl was looking through a magnifying-glass no less powerful. He had not been so happy since his marriage; the consciousness of his own cold manner made him grateful for any demonstration from his son, and the many little graces of look and manner which Louis had inherited from his mother added to the charm. The sense of previous injustice enhanced all his good qualities, and it was easy to believe him perfect, while nothing was required of him but to lie still. Day and night did Lord Ormersfield wait upon him, grudging every moment spent away from him, and trying to forestall each wish, till he became almost afraid to express a desire, on account of the trouble it would cause. Mary found the Earl one day wandering among the vines in the old hothouse, in search of a flower, when, to her amusement, he selected a stiff pert double hyacinth, the special aversion of his son, who nevertheless received it most graciously, and would fain have concealed the headache caused by the scent, until Mrs. Frost privately abstracted it. Another day, he went, unasked, to hasten the birdstuffer in finishing the rose- coloured pastor; and when it came, himself brought it up-stairs, unpacked it, and set it up where Louis could best admire its black nodding crest and pink wings; unaware that to his son it seemed a memento of his own misdeeds-a perpetual lesson against wayward carelessness.
'It is like a new love,' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'but oh! how much depends upon Louis after his recovery!'
'You don't mistrust his goodness now, mamma!'
'I could not bear to do so. I believe I was thinking of his father more than of himself. After having been so much struck by his religious feeling, I dread nothing so much as his father finding him deficient in manliness or strength of character.'
CHAPTER VIII. A TRUANT DISPOSITION
Gathering up each broken thread. WHYTEHEAD.
'Tom Madison is come back,' said the Vicar, as he sat beside Fitzjocelyn's couch, a day or two after Lord Ormersfield had gone to London.
'Come back-where has he been?' exclaimed Louis.
'There!' said the Vicar, with a gesture of dismay; 'I forgot that you were to hear nothing of it! However, I should think you were well enough to support the communication.'
'What is it?' cried Louis, the blood rushing into his cheeks so suddenly, that Mr. Holdsworth felt guilty of having disregarded the precautions that he had fancied exaggerated by the fond aunt. 'Poor fellow-he has not-' but, checking himself, he added, 'I am particularly anxious to hear of him.'
'I wish there were anything more gratifying to tell you; but he took the opportunity of the height of your illness to run away from his place, and has just been passed home to his parish. After all your pains, it is very mortifying, but-'
'Pains! Don't you know how I neglected him latterly!' said Louis. 'Poor fellow-then-' but he stopped himself again, and added, 'You heard nothing of the grounds?'
'They were not difficult to find,' said Mr. Holdsworth. 'It is the old story. He w
as, as Mrs. Smith told me, 'a great trial'-more and more disposed to be saucy and disobedient, taking up with the most good-for-nothing boys in the town, haunting those Chartist lectures, and never coming home in proper time at night. The very last evening, he had come in at eleven o'clock, and when his master rebuked him, came out with something about the rights of man. He was sent to Little Northwold, about the middle of the day, to carry home some silver-handled knives of Mr. Calcott's, and returned no more. Smith fancied, at first, that he had made off with the plate, and set the police after him, but that proved to be an overhasty measure, for the parcel had been safely left. However, Miss Faithfull's servant found him frightening Mrs. Frost's poor little kitchen-maid into fits, and the next day James Frost detected him lurking suspiciously about the garden here, and set Warren to warn him off-'
Louis gave a kind of groan, and struck his hand against the couch in despair, then said, anxiously, 'What then?'
'No more was heard of him, till yesterday the police passed him home to the Union as a vagabond. He looks very ill and ragged; but he is in one of those sullen moods, when no one can get a word out of him. Smith declines prosecuting for running away, being only too glad of the riddance on any terms; so there he is at his grandfather's, ready for any sort of mischief.'
'Mr. Holdsworth,' said Louis, raising himself on his elbow, 'you are judging, like every one else, from appearances. If I were at liberty to tell the whole, you would see what a noble nature it was that I trifled with; and they have been hounding-Poor Tom! would it have been better for him that I had never seen him? It is a fearful thing, this blind treading about among souls, not knowing whether one does good or harm!'
'If you feel so,' said Mr. Holdsworth, hoping to lead him from the unfortunate subject, 'what must _we_ do?'
'My position, if I live, seems to have as much power for evil, without the supernatural power for good. Doing hastily, or leaving undone, are equally fatal!'
'Nay, what hope can there be but in fear, and sense of responsibility?'
'I think not. I do more mischief than those who do not go out of their way to think of the matter at all!'
'Do you!' said the Vicar, smiling. 'At least, I know, for my own part, I prefer all the trouble and perplexity you give me, to a squire who would let me and my parish jog on our own way.'
'I dare say young Brewster never spoilt a Tom Madison.'
'The sight of self indulgence spoils more than injudicious care does. Besides, I look on these experiments as giving experience.'
'Nice experience of my best efforts!'
'Pardon me, Fitzjocelyn, have we seen your best?'
'I hope you will!' said Louis, vigorously. 'And to begin, will you tell this poor boy to come to me?'
Mr. Holdsworth had an unmitigated sense of his own indiscretion, and not such a high one of Fitzjocelyn's discretion as to make him think the interview sufficiently desirable for the culprit, to justify the possible mischief to the adviser, whose wisdom and folly were equally perplexing, and who would surely be either disappointed or deceived. Dissuasions and arguments, however, failed; and Mrs. Frost, who was appealed to as a last resource, no sooner found that her patient's heart was set on the meeting, than she consented, and persuaded Mr. Holdsworth that no harm would ensue equal to the evil of her boy lying there distressing himself.
Accordingly, in due time, Mr. Holdsworth admitted the lad, and, on a sign from Louis, shut himself out, leaving the runaway standing within the door, a monument of surly embarrassment. Raising himself, Louis said, affectionately, 'Never mind, Tom, don't you see how fast I am getting over it?'
The lad looked up, but apparently saw little such assurance in the thin pale cheeks, and feeble, recumbent form; for his face twitched all over, resumed the same sullen stolidity, and was bent down again.
'Come near, Tom,' continued Louis, with unabated kindness-'come and sit down here. I am afraid you have suffered a great deal,' as the boy shambled with an awkward footsore gait. 'It was a great pity you ran away.'
'I couldn't stay!' burst out Tom, half crying.
'Why not?'
'Not to have that there cast in my teeth!' he exclaimed, with blunt incivility.
'Did any one reproach you?' said Louis, anxiously. 'I thought no one knew it but ourselves.'
'You knew it, then, my Lord?' asked Tom, staring.
'I found out directly that there was no cement,' said Louis. 'I had suspected it before, and intended to examine whenever I had time.'
'Well! I thought, when I came back, no one did seem to guess as 'twas all along of me!' cried Tom. 'So sure I thought you hadn't known it, my Lord. And you never said nothing, my Lord!'
'I trust not. I would not consciously have accused you of what was quite as much my fault as yours. That would not have been fair play.'
'If I won't give it to Bill Bettesworth!' cried Tom.
'What has he done?'
'Always telling me that gentlefolks hadn't got no notion of fair play with the like of us, but held us like the dirt to be trampled on! But there-I'll let him know-'
'Who is he?'
'A young man what works with Mr. Smith,' returned Tom, his sullenness having given place to a frank, open manner, such as any one but Louis would have deemed too free and ready.
'Was he your great friend at Northwold?'
'A chap must speak to some one,' was Tom's answer.
'And what kind of a some one was he?'
'Why, he comes down Illershall way. He knows a thing or two, and can go on like an orator or a play-book-or like yourself, my Lord.'
'Thank you. I hope the thing or two were of the right sort.'
Tom looked sheepish.
'I heard something about bad companions. I hope he was not one. I ought to have come and visited you, Tom; I have been very sorry I did not. You'd better let me hear all about it, for I fear there must have been worse scrapes than this of the stones.'
'Worse!' cried Tom-'sure nothing could be worserer!'
'I wish there were no evils worse than careless forgetfulness,' said Louis.
'I didn't forget!' said Tom. 'I meant to have told you whenever you came to see me, but'-his eyes filled and his voice began to alter- 'you never came, and she at the Terrace wouldn't look at me! And Bill and the rest of them was always at me, asking when I expected my aristocrat, and jeering me 'cause I'd said you wasn't like the rest of 'em. So then I thought I'd have my liberty too, and show I didn't care no more than they, and spite you all.'
'How little one thinks of the grievous harm a little selfish heedlessness may do!' sighed Louis, half aloud. 'If you had only looked to something better than me, Tom! And so you ran into mischief?'
Half confession, half vindication ensued, and the poor fellow's story was manifest enough. His faults had been unsteadiness and misplaced independence rather than any of the more degrading stamp of evils. The public-house had not been sought for liquor's sake, but for that of the orator who inflamed the crude imaginations and aspirations that effervesced in the youth's mind; and the rudely-exercised authority of master and foreman had only driven his fierce temper further astray. With sense of right sufficient to be dissatisfied with himself, and taste and principle just enough developed to loathe the evils round him, hardened and soured by Louis's neglect, and rendered discontented by Chartist preachers, he had come to long for any sort of change or break; and the tidings of the accident, coupled with the hard words which he knew himself to deserve but too well, had put the finishing stroke.
Hearing that the police were in pursuit of him, he had fancied it was on account of the harm done by his negligence. 'I hid about for a day,' he said: 'somehow I felt as if I could not go far off, till I heard how you were, my Lord, and I'd made up my mind that as soon as ever I heard the first stroke of the bell, I'd go and find the police, and his Lordship might hang me, and glad!'
Louis was nearer a tear than a smile.
'Then Mr. Frost finds me, and was mad at me. Nothing wasn't bad enough for me
, and he sets Mr. Warren to see me off, so I had nothing for it but to cut.'
'What did you think of doing?' sighed Louis.
'I made for the sea. If I could have got to them places in the Indies, such as that Philip went to, as you reads about in the verse- book-he as killed his wife and lost his son, and made friends with that there big rascal, and had the chest of gold-'
'Philip Mortham! Were you going in search of buccaneers?'
'I don't know, my Lord. Once you told me of some English Sir, as kills the pirates, and is some sort of a king. I thought, may be, now you'd tell me where they goes to dig for gold.'
'Oh, Tom, Tom, what a mess I have made of your notions!'
'Isn't there no such place?'
'It's a bad business, and what can you want of it?'
'I want to get shut of them as orders one about here and there, with never a civil word. Besides,' looking down, 'there's one I'd like to see live like a lady.'
'Would that make her happier?'
'I'll never see her put about, and slave and drudge, as poor mother did!' exclaimed Tom.
'That's a better spirit than the mere dislike to a master,' said Louis. 'What is life but obedience?'
'I'd obey fast enough, if folk would only speak like you do-not drive one about like a dog, when one knows one is every bit as good as they.'
'I'm sure I never knew that!'
Tom stared broadly.
'I never saw the person who was not my superior,' repeated Louis, quietly, and in full earnest. 'Not that this would make rough words pleasanter, I suppose. The only cure I could ever see for the ills of the world is, that each should heartily respect his neighbour.'
Dynevor Terrace (Vol. I) Page 11