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Arthur was, from this
moment, employed by the Colonel, till the hour of his leaving Glenlyn,
when, knowing that his father, who had been engaged at some distance
from Lochmore that morning, was not likely to have yet returned home, he
ventured to go to the mountain, in order to tell his friend there what
had happened, and to solicit his advice with regard to the answer he
must give to Mrs. Beaumont, relative to the seal and writing.
Old Robert was evidently waiting impatiently for his arrival. “I have
expected you, Arthur, for nearly an hour. What has Kept you so late? Has
the Colonel changed his mind, or how is it?”
Arthur, as composedly as he could, related all that had passed that
morning at Glenlyn; and when he had finished, he asked what answer he
must give, if Mrs. Beaumont should press him again on the subject Robert
listened to the whole account with great interest. “I thought it would
be so/ I was sure of it,” and many remarks of the same kind escaped him,
during the recital; but when he came to the scene in the dressing-room,
he shook his head, and said, “Mary, Mary, always imprudent, though ever
affectionate. In this instance, however, no harm has been done. My dear
Arthur will no more betray Sir Alexander M‘Donald, than he has yet done
old Bobert. You must rather seek than shun her inquiries, my dear, and
tell her distinctly that you both know the handwriting ana the seal of
the note, but that a solemn vow binds you to secrecy, and that you will
rather resign your appointment than break it. I know if you tell her
this, she will never again press you on the subject, and I will take
care, when you are gone, to reward her for the kindness she has shewn to
you.”
Arthur thanked his old friend for his advice, and then proceeded to
consult him on the subject of his new appointment, the duties of which
he was unacquainted with. The old man entered, with the energy and
spirit of youth, into all that regarded it; telling his pupil that he
must spend as much time as possible with him, whilst he remained in the
country, in order to learn how to conduct himself when called on to mix
with the world. "Alas! my young friend,” continued the old roan, “they
will be the last hours that we are ever likely to gild the evening of my
wretched life with. Providence has, however, been very kind in not
permitting me, even in this solitude, to lead either a useless or an
idle life. In forming your mind, and fitting you for entering into the
world, such as you now are, I fully believe I have been as usefully
employed, as if I had been living in what was once my own house, in the
midst of my family and friends. I shall feel your loss deeply; but still
I shall ever rejoice in the chance that has brought us together; and
shall not cease, while I exist, to pray for your happiness and success
in this world, looking forward with confidence to the hope of meeting
you in a more lasting and a better one.”
Arthur was deeply affected; he grasped the hand of his old friend; and,
as if almost afraid to make the proposal that hovered upon his lips,
could scarcely speak distinctly. The old man looked at him. “You have
not said all you wished, Arthur. Speak out, my dear boy. If I can serve
you in any way, do not fear to make your request known. My own son was
never dearer to me than you are.”
“I cannot venture to say, my dear sir, that I have a request to make to
you, because I cannot exactly know how it may please you. I wish to
propose that you would allow me to confide the secret of your residence
here to my brother Allen. He is as honourable and as trustworthy, I am
confident, as ever I was, and would as strictly confine to his own
breast any secret I repose in him. His studies are much the same that
mine were, for the first year or two that I was with you; and I have
little doubt that, as he advances in age, he will become a companion who
may amuse you, and execute all the little commissions I have hitherto
done. He is likely to remain constantly in the country for several
years; and even when he goes to college, he will always return to
Lochmore during the summer months. Through his means, I could keep up a
constant correspondence with you, which would, I think, both amuse and
interest you; and my mind would be kept at rest by learning from him
everything relative to your wishes and wants.”
Old Robert had uniformly, by a shake-of his head, negatived Arthur’s
proposal through all the various advantages he had represented as likely
to result from it, till he came to where he said that through Allen he
could hold constant intercourse with him. That made him raise his eyes;
and when Arthur stopped, he said, “If I thought that any other boy could
be trusted, I believe I might be tempted to confide in your brother, for
the prospect it holds out to me of hearing from and of you; but the
thing is so improbable, and the risk I run so great, that I dare not, in
common prudence, agree to it, either for my own sake, or for that of one
who is far dearer to me than life.” Arthur thought it best not to urge
the matter further at that moment; he therefore left the mountain,
promising to go to Glenlyn the next morning, and give Mrs. Beaumont the
answer Robert recommended, and afterwards, as soon as he could get away,
return to his friend, to benefit as much as possible, during the short
while he had to remain in the country, by his instructions.
When William was informed of the Colonel’s proposal of taking Arthur, he
Clasped his hands, and answered, “The hand of Providence, my son, is in
this, and. it becomes not me to offer any objections to so rational and
unlooked-for a way of placing you in the rank you are entitled to fill.
Under Colonel Beaumont’s care, I can have no fear in permitting you to
enter the world, as I am confident that he will watch over your moral
and religious conduct, as much as he will endeavour to instruct you in
the duties which your new situation requires. Act but towards him as
uniformly well as you have ever done towards me, and if your life is
spared for a few years, I have no doubt that we shall both have to glory
in having been made the instruments of rearing and protecting the orphan
son of my dear and ever-valued master.”
From this day preparations began to be made for the departure of the
Colonel and his young aid-de-camp. Mrs. Beaumont listened to Arthur’s
answer, which had been prescribed by Robert. She wept much when she
understood it, but never afterwards attempted to draw any more
information from him on the subject, though, from that time, her
attention and kindness, both towards him and Jessie, seemed to be
redoubled.
A few days before the travellers were to quit the country, Robert
informed Arthur that he had resolved to allow him to introduce Allen to
him. “I find I cannot give up all hope of corresponding with you, my
dear son, without sacrificing my life in the attempt. I have determined,
therefore, to admit your brother into my confidence, and trust that I
may find in him an equally honourable mind with your own.”
Arthur felt, at this information, as if a load had been removed from his
mind. He thanked his friend, and promised to bring his brother with him
the next day, as he could easily intercept him on his way from school;
and if his absence were to be observed, he could account for it by
stating, that he had much to say to him oefore he left him, and had
detained him in walking for the purpose of conversing more at liberty
than in the presence of the family.
The next day, he accordingly met Allen, as he had planned, and with much
caution communicated to him some part of his secret. Allen listened to
the history of Arthur’s education with the greatest astonishment, and
then grasping his brother’s hand, said, “Tell me, my dearest Arthur, if
it lies in my power to repay in any way the great debt of gratitude we
all owe to this poor, desolate old man, rest assured, that if secrecy is
still required for his security, no temptation, however strong, shall
induce me to betray what you may intrust me with; and during your
absence, nothing that I can do, either to add to his comfort, or insure
his safety, shall ever be neglected. I own, I am greatly pleased to find
that your astonishing progress in Latin and Greek is now accounted for;
as, since I have known the difficulty of acquiring such knowledge, I
have looked upon myself as certainly one of the greatest dunces in the
world, for being so infinitely behind you, though enjoying, what
appeared to me, such very superior advantages. Now, though I still think
you have great merit in the constant and unremitting application you
have practised, I yet see the means by which you acquired the knowledge
of the peculiarities of the languages, to attain which, by your own
exertions, has ever appeared to me almost a miracle.”
Arthur smiled. “I don’t wonder much, Allen, at your surprise. Indeed, I
have been greatly astonished that Mr. Brown should have been so easily
deceived into the belief that I was entirely self-taught; but let us
return to my good, worthy master. He has, at my earnest entreaties, at
last consented, before I quit the country, to allow you to be intrusted
with his secret; and I have promised, that if he will admit you to his
retirement, you will supply my place, in some measure, to him, and
manage all his little concerns, as quietly and attentively as I have
done myself. Are you willing to undertake this charge? It is one of
considerable responsibility, Allen, and therefore you must not enter
into it without being aware of all its difficulties. Not even my father
must ever be allowed to suspect that you have any motive for absenting
yourself from the house, more than you have been accustomed as yet to
do, than merely your love of a solitary walk.”
Allen answered, “I fully understand, brother, what I engage in, and am
ready to bind myself by any promise you think necessary. As far as is
possible to comply with your directions, I will most scrupulously fulfil
them; but you must clearly explain to your old friend, that in me he can
never have either a companion, or a confident, equal in judgment and
forethought with the one he is about to lose.”
“An honourable and faithful intention to discharge, conscientiously, the
engagement you come under, both to him and me, will enable you, my dear
Allen, to perform all that is required of you; and I have no doubt that
you will receive, from the intercourse with old Robert, quite as much
advantage as I have done.”
“Oh! Arthur, if I could hope ever to resemble you in any degree, there
is no sacrifice I would not make, nor any exertion I would not attempt,
to enable me to attain it.” “Attend then closely, my dear Allen, to the
instructions of my kind old master, and there is no fear but that in a
few years you will far outstrip me in literary acquirements as well as
in useful knowledge.”
Arthur soon led him into a sort of cave formed by nature in the rock,
about the middle of which he stopped, and passing behind a great stone
that nearly divided it, followed a narrow path for several yards in
total darkness, at the end of which, he pushed aside some thick
brushwood, and bade Allen follow him. Here all was wild and desolate:
the ravine, formerly mentioned, lay at the foot of the rock they then
stood on; through the middle of it wound a little streamlet, which
appeared only at intervals between the bushes. They descended from the
rock, crossed the ravine, and ascended the opposite side.
“What a wild place you are bringing me to,” said Allen; “I thought I had
known every step of these hills as well as any one in the country; but I
never came near this spot in any of my wanderings.”
“It was chance alone that brought me to this spot,” answered Arthur,
“if, indeed, I ought to say so, when, considering the advantages that
have arisen from it, it really appears as if Providence had, for its own
good purposes, directed my steps hither, at the very time when I most
required assistance. But here we are,” continued he, putting aside the
bushes, "and there is my aear friend, watching for our arrival.”
A spot of green grass, about twenty yards square, lay in the very heart
of the brushwood; and on one side of it, a small thatched cottage,
completely screened from observation, even from the top of the hills
which rose above it, by the spreading branches of two large trees that
grew on each side. Old Robert was seated on a large stone at the door.
He rose directly, on seeing Arthur, and held out his hand to welcome
him. He appeared to be between sixty and seventy years of age, rather
below the middle size, stout made, with a healthy, cheerful countenance.
His hair was quite white, and rather bald, a high forehead, quick eye,
with an aquiline nose, and a small mouth, which even yet was furnished
with a good set of teeth. Altogether, he certainly must have been
considered, by even better judges than the two boys, who now joined him,
as a remarkably handsome man for his years. The expression of delight
that played on his countenance, as he listened to Arthur’s account of
his brother’s willingness to become his future friend and assistant,
completely won Allen’s heart; and when they separated in the evening,
both parties seemed equally pleased with each other; Robert having
assured Arthur that he was now quite satisfied in having granted his
prayer, as no one could doubt either the honour or fidelity of Allen,
who looked in his face.
The week passed quickly away, the end of which was to carry the Colonel
and Arthur from their friends. The evening before the day they had fixed
to set out, Arthur, during a confidential conversation which he held
with his father, entreated that he would inform him who he really was;
but William positively refused to do this, alleging, that ne had pledged
his word to his master, not to divulge the secret, even to his children,
till an event had taken place, which, in the ordinary course of nature,
could not now be at any great distance. “You are still, Arthur, very
young, and therefore I do not think, even if I were at liberty to repeat
to you your father’s history, I should choose to do it for some years
yet; but as it is, the thing is entirely out of the question. I have
taken precautions to secure your getting at the knowledge of everything
that concerns your family in the event of my sudden death; and likewise,
my dear boy, have lodged, in the same hands, proofs sufficient to
ascertain your real birth, m case any chance of your regaining
possession of your father’s property should occur. I have written this
letter,” continued he, giving a sealed packet into his hand, “which I
mean for you, and request that you may always carry it about you; it
contains directions as to where you must apply for my narrative, if I
should die before your return to your native country. If I live till the
event happens that sets me at liberty to relate your father’s history to
you and your brother and sister, you may depend on receiving it by the
very next ship that leaves England after the event takes place; but if
it should so happen that I am taken away before that time, let me
entreat that, at all events, you will not claim my papers till you have
attained your one-and-twentieth year.”
Arthur answered, “Your will, my dear father, is, and ought to be, my
law. I confess I am disappointed, as I had hoped that before I left you,
you might have judged it proper to confide to me who my natural parents
were; but since it was their will to direct you to act otherwise, I
shall never urge you, on that, or any other subject, to act contrary to
what you know to have been their pleasure.”
“Thank you, my dear boy, for this high proof of confidence; believe me,
it repays me for everything I have done for you. Anxiety alone for your
welfare, would at present prevent me from even putting it in your own
power rashly to betray your existence to any human being. To no one, but
Jane and myself, is it at present known. After having quitted my own
country, and sacrificed our connection with all our friends, for the
sake of keeping it within our own breasts, it would be acting weakly,
if, merely to gratify a curiosity, which, though very natural, can yet
produce no good end, in the present posture of affairs, I were to risk,
by a premature disclosure, all the good I have struggled so many years
to secure. No selfish motive, Arthur, ever actuated me, in anything that
regarded you; and even to my latest breath, there is no sacrifice I will
not willingly make, if required, to insure either your happiness or your
security.”
“I know it well, dear father,” answered Arthur, in a low, tremulous
voice: “and when I forget or reject your counsels, I must be unworthy of
the light of heaven.”
“I do not fear, my son, that that time will ever come,” answered
William, cheerfully; “you have ever been a dutiful and obedient boy,
from the first moment of your being mine. In one instance alone, did you
ever oppose the slightest of my wishes, and in that very instance you
were right, and I was clearly wrong; as it undoubtedly was much better
for you, in every point of view, to go into the world, than to settle
quietly as a clergyman here, though my limited means rendered it
impossible for me to think it likely that you could ever be rendered fit
for doing so how you have contrived to overcome all difficulties, I can
hardly yet understand; but even I, who have in former times seen many
gentlemen of high rank and education, am quite convinced that no one,
let him be who he may, need blush at having you for a companion.”
Arthur coloured deeply, and pressing his father’s hand, said, “When you,
dear sir, confide to me the secret intrusted to you by my parents,
perhaps I may be at liberty, in return, to relate to you, in confidence,
the only thing I ever concealed from you in my life. At present, your
vow is not more binding than the promise that passed my lips, nearly
five years ago; and till the reason for silence on my part is removed,
my father will not, I am sure, urge me to break it. I cannot, however,
allow you to believe that the change in my manners, and increase of
knowledge, were all acquired merely from my own industry. I have had
advantages oi so high a stamp, that had I not profited by them, I should
have deserved to have sunk into everlasting oblivion, and remained,
during life, the humble assistant of poor, honest John Gibson.”
William looked surprised, while Arthur was speaking; but imagining that
Mr. Brown had taught him, in secret, and perhaps from the fear of making
his other parishioners jealous, if they knew that he gave so much of his
time to one boy, had stipulated for his silence on the subject, he
answered him with a smile, saying, “ Well, my boy, whoever has taught
you, has great reason to be proud of his scholar; and since you have
learnt nothing but good from his instructions, I have no right to
complain, or wish to pry into a secret he wishes to conceal.”
Next morning, Arthur, after a very melancholy parting with his mother
and Annie, at last was drawn from their arms by William, who, though
scarcely less agitated himself, yet felt the necessity, for all their
sakes, to shorten so painful a moment. Arthur had executed Annie’s
commission, by procuring a handsome Bible for her mother, and had added
another exactly similar, as a parting gift to herself. He had taken an
opportunity, in the morning, to give her the hooks, and to return to
her, her well-hoarded sixpences, telling her, that be must insist on her
allowing him to pay for both, and he hoped that when her mother’s
birthday came round, she would present it, from him, as a proof that he
never could forget the happiness which that day had always conferred on
him, as well as on all the rest of her children.
"And it will go hard with me, Annie,” said he, “if I do not enable you,
in one way or another, to put her in mind of your oldest brother, on
that day, every time it comes round, as long as I am absent.”
Poor Annie could only answer by her tears. She gladly received the
books, and hurried with them to her own little box, to prevent the
possibility of their being seen, till the time fixed for producing them.
Allen and Jamie accompanied their father and brother to Glenlyn, where
all was nearly ready for the travellers’ departure, by the time they
arrived. Mrs. Beaumont appeared more composed than was expected; she was
pale, and looked as if she haa not slept; but still she spoke
cheerfully, and evidently tried to exert herself. Jessie, on the
contrary, for the first time in her life, seemed to have lost her
resolution. She clasped Arthur in her arms, and wept on his neck, the
whole time he was with her. On his part, the separating from her almost
overpowered him; and when the Colonel motioned him to follow him, he
eagerly called to his father, and putting her into his arms, said, “
Guard her, dear sir, as you would do Annie, from every harm that may
assail her, till my return, m whatever shape it may come. To you and
Allen 1 intrust her; and may the time arrive, when I shall be able to
receive her from your hands* to part from her no more!”
“We shall all protect her, dear Arthur, be assured,” exclaimed Jamie.
“Jessie is as dear to me as Annie is, and though you and Allen are more
learned than I am, yet still I am confident, neither of you would do
more to protect and provide for our sisters, than I will always do.”
Arthur turned to him as he was quitting the room, and, straining him to
his breast, whispered, “I know it, Jamie, and ought not to have made the
exception I did; but you will forgive me, and impute it only to
inattention, not to any want of confidence or love.” William was still
detained in soothing Jessie; but, fearing that he should lose a last
embrace from the son he so dearly loved, he disengaged her arms from his
neck, and putting her gently on the sofa, ran out of the room. He was
just in time to catch Arthur’s hand, as the latter was stepping
reluctantly into the carriage, after having lingered as long as he could
at the bottom of the stairs. The Colonel, oppressed with his own
feelings, guessed what detained him, and, wishing to spare William the
pain of a final leave-taking, he called so loudly for Arthur, that he
had been forced to obey. William’s arrival saved him from the agony of
goi&g without receiving a last embrace; but, fearful of trespassing too
much on the Colonel’s patience, they separated directly; he sprung into
the carriage, and in one moment was driven from Glenlyn.
POSTSCRIPT, BT THE AUTHOR.
Thus, my dear young readers, have you seen, that Arthur’s perseverance
in the paths of Industry and Virtue was rewarded by his attaining the
object of an honourable ambition. |
