The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 1 (of 2) Read online

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE CACIQUE.

  'Devouring flames resistless glow, And blazing rafters downward go, And never halloo, "Heads below!" Nor notice give at all.' _Rejected Addresses._

  It was a warm night in September, and Wilmet had laid herself down inbed in her nursery with a careful, but not an oppressed heart. Aboutmany matters she was happier than before. Her mother had revived insome degree, could walk from her bed-room to the sitting-room, andtook more interest in what was passing; and this the hopeful spiritsof the children interpreted into signs of recovery. Geraldine's healthand spirits had evidently taken a start for the better. Fulbert,too, was off her mind--safe gone to a clergy orphan foundation; andthough Lancelot had not yet been elected, owing, Mr. Audley imagined,to Lady Price's talk about their fine friends, Wilmet could not besorry, he was such a little fellow, and the house would be so dullwithout his unfailing merriment and oddities. And though there hadbeen sore disappointment that Mrs. Thomas Underwood had chosen to goto Brighton instead of coming home, there was the promise of a visitfrom Alda before Christmas to feed upon. Little Robina had come homefor the summer holidays, well, happy, and improved, and crying only ina satisfactory way on returning to school. Moreover, Wilmet's financeshad been pleasantly increased by an unexpected present of five poundsat the end of the half year from Miss Pearson, and the promise of thelike for the next; increasing as her usefulness increased; and shewas also allowed to bring Angela to school with her. The balance ofaccounts at Midsummer had been satisfactory, and Felix had proudlypronounced her to be a brick of a housekeeper. And thus altogetherWilmet did not feel that the weight of care was so heavy and hopelessas when it first descended upon her; and she went to bed as usual,feeling how true her father's words of encouragement and hope had been,how kind friends were, how dear a brother Felix was, and above all,how there is verily a Father of the fatherless. And so she fell fastasleep, but was ere long waked by a voice from the inner room whereCherry slept with the door open.

  'Wilmet, Wilmet, what is it?'

  Then she saw that the room was aglow with red light from the window,and heard a loud distant hubbub. Hurrying out of bed, she flew to thewindow of Cherry's room, and drew up the blind. 'O Wilmet, is it fire?'

  'Yes,' low and awe-struck, said Wilmet. 'Not here. No. There's nothingto be frightened at Cherry. It is out--out there. I think it must bethe Fortinbras Arms. Oh, what a sight!'

  'It is dreadful!' said Cherry, shrinking trembling to the foot of herlittle bed, whence she could see the window. 'How plain one can seeeverything in the room! Oh! the terrible red glow in the windows! Iwonder if all the people are safe. Wilmet, do call Felix.'

  'I will,' said Wilmet, proceeding in search of her clothes; but herhands shook so that she could hardly put them on. They longed for Felixas a protection, and yet Cherry could hardly bear to let her sister goout of sight.

  'I only hope Mamma does not hear,' said Wilmet.

  'How lucky her room looks out the other way! but, oh! Wilmet, don'tfires spread?'

  'Felix and Mr. Audley will see about us in time, if there is any fearof that,' said Wilmet, trembling a good deal as she wrapped a shawlround Cherry, who sat in a heap on her bed, gazing fascinated at thered sky and roofs. Felix slept at the back of the house; her knock didnot waken him, but her entrance startled both him and Lance.

  'Felix, the Fortinbras Arms is on fire.--Hush, Lance; take care; thelittle ones and Mamma! O Felix, do come to our room.'

  They followed her there in a few seconds, but they had only glancedfrom the window before they simultaneously rushed away, to theincreased dismay of their sisters, to whom their manly instinct ofrushing into the fray had not occurred.

  'I'll go down. I'll try to catch them,' said Wilmet; and she too wasgone before Cherry could call to her. She found that Felix and Mr.Audley were in the act of undoing the front door, and this gave herjust time to fly down with the entreaty that Felix would not leavethem. It was a great deal more to ask of him than she knew.

  'To the end of the street I must go, Wilmet,' he said.

  'Oh! but Cherry is so frightened! and if Mamma wakes,' she said,gasping.

  'It is all quiet in her room,' said Felix.

  'Tell Cherry there is no danger at all here _now_,' said Mr. Audley;'but if it makes her happier you may dress her. Don't disturb yourmother. If needful, we will carry her out in her bed; but I do notthink it will be.'

  'We can only see out in the street,' added Felix, opening the door ashe spoke; and that moment out flew Lance, before anybody had thought ofstopping him, and the necessity of pursuing the little fellow into thethrong, and keeping him out of danger, made both Felix and Mr. Audleydash after him; while Wilmet, abashed at the men hurrying by, couldnot even gaze from the door, but fled upstairs in terror lest the twolittle ones should be awake and crying at the appalling red light andthe din, which seemed to her one continuous roar of 'Fire! fire!'

  To her great relief, they were still asleep, but Cherry was in achilled agony of trembling prayer for the 'poor people,' and thesisters crouched up together shivering in each other's arms asthey watched the rush of flames streaming up into the sky over thebrew-house opposite to them.

  Presently Wilmet heard feet again downstairs. 'Cherry dear, I must godown, they may want me. Indeed, I don't think there is real danger aslong as that brew-house is safe.'

  There was a scuffle of feet that frightened her very much. Sheremembered it last Michaelmas when her father was brought home fromchurch, and as she stood on the stairs--one choking petition in herheart, 'Let it not be Felix!' she saw that the figure, whatever it was,was carried by Mr. Audley and a strange man. And so great a horrorcame over her, that, regardless of her toilette, and the hair that hadfallen over the jacket on her shoulders, she dropped at once among themas they were bearing the senseless form into Mr. Audley's bed-room,with a low but piteous cry, 'Felix! Felix! oh, what has happened?'

  'It is not Felix, my dear,' said Mr. Audley; 'he is safe--he is gonefor the doctor. This poor boy has fallen from a window. You can helpus, Wilmet; call Martha, and get some water made hot. The fire isgetting under.'

  Wilmet needed no second hint. She was up, reassuring Cherry at onemoment; then breaking into Martha's heavy slumbers, impressing upon herthe necessity of not shrieking; then downstairs again, reviving thedying kitchen fire, and finding that, as usual, there was some waternot yet cold. For, as she now saw, it was not yet one o'clock. Shedurst not go to her mother's room, where ready means of heating foodwere always to be found. As she brought the jug to the door, Felix camein with Mr. Rugg, who, living in a street out of sight, and having earsfor no sound but his own night-bell, had been ready at once to obey thecall. Felix told his sister the little he knew.

  'It was a terrible sight. Just as we got to that one big window--apassage one, I believe, which looks out into this street--we saw thispoor boy and a black man up on the sill, with all the glare of lightbehind them, screaming out for help.'

  'But where was everybody?'

  'In the High Street, round the corner. Crowds there; and here in ourstreet only ourselves and a few men that hurried up after us. Mr.Audley shouted to them that we would get a ladder, but whether theycould not hold on any more, or they thought we were going quite away--OWilmet! I didn't see; but there was the most horrible thump and crashon the pavement.'

  'What! down from that window?'

  'Yes,' said Felix, leaning against the wall, and looking very pale.'And there was that good black man, he had got the boy in his arms, asif he had wound himself round to keep him from harm.'

  'Oh! And he?'

  'Killed--quite killed. Don't ask me about it, Wilmet. It is much toodreadful to hear of;' and he shuddered all over. 'But this boy's headwas safe at least, and as there seemed no one to attend to anything,Mr. Audley said he would bring him here, and I went for Mr. Rugg.'

  'And where's Lance? Did he go with you?'

  'Lance! Is not he in? I never saw or
thought of him, I must go andseek for him,' exclaimed Felix, darting off in haste and alarm at thethought of little nine-year-old Lance alone among the midnight crowd,just as Mr. Audley opened the door to try to find a messenger to Mr.Rugg's surgery. He paused to tell Wilmet that it was a lad aboutFelix's age, moaning some word that sounded like Diego, and with abroken leg and ribs; and then, as Martha was in attendance, she feltherself obliged to return to Cherry, whom indeed she could not leaveagain, for though the fire had sunk, and only thick clouds of smokeshowed the play of the engines, the effects of the terror were notso quickly over in the tender little frame, which was in a quiveringhysterical state, so deadly cold, that Wilmet was frightened, and wentonce more down to warm some flannel, and get some hot drink for her.She intended tea, but meeting Mr. Audley again, he sent up a glass ofwine. Even with this in hot water, Cherry could hardly be warmed again,and Wilmet lay down, clasping her round, and not daring to let her knowof her own continued anxiety about the two brothers. At last, however,when the red light had almost faded quite away, the cautious steps wereheard coming up the stairs, and Felix called into the room in a lowvoice--

  'All right, Wilmet.'

  'Oh! come in,' the sisters called. 'Where did you find him, Fee? Is hesafe?'

  'O Cherry, you never saw such a lark!' cried Lance in a gusty whisper.'Wouldn't Fulbert have given his ears to have seen it? To see theengines pouring down, and the great hose twining about like jolly oldsea-serpents spouting.'

  'Hush, Lance; how can you? How could you! Does Mr. Audley know he issafe?'

  'Yes,' said Felix, 'he opened the door, and said he might have knownLance was too much of a _gamin_ to come to grief.'

  'What's a _gamin?_' said Lance.

  'A street ragamuffin at Paris,' said Wilmet. 'But really, Lance, it wasa terrible thing to do.'

  'And where do you think I found him?' said Felix. 'In between littleJacky Brown and that big old coal-heaver who was so impudent about theblanket-club, hanging like a monkey upon the rails of the terrace, andhallooing as loud as they.'

  ''Twas the coal-heaver that helped me up,' said Lance. 'He's a jollygood fellow, I can tell you. He said, "You be one of Parson Underwood'slittle chaps, baint you? A rare honest gentleman of the right sort warhe--he war!" and he pulled down another boy and put me up instead, andtold me all about the great fire at Stubbs's factory. You can't thinkwhat fun it was. Roar, roar, up went the flame. Swish, wish, went thewater--such a bellowing--such great clouds of smoke!'

  'Was everybody saved?' whispered Cherry's tremulous murmur.

  There was a silence; then Lance said, 'Weren't they?' and Cherry hadanother shuddering fit.

  'Who?' Wilmet asked.

  'Poor Mr. Jones's youngest child and his nursemaid were in an atticroom where nobody could get at them,' said Felix in a hurried andawe-struck voice, causing Cherry to renew that agony of tremblingand sobbing so convulsive and painful that her elder brother andsister could only devote themselves to soothing her, till at lastshe lay still again in Wilmet's arms, with only a few long gaspscoming quivering up through her frame. Then Wilmet implored Felix togo away and make Lance go to bed, and finding this the only means ofreducing the little excited fellow to quiet, he went. And though allwere sure they should not sleep, they overslept themselves far intoSunday morning, except Wilmet, who was wakened by the clamours of theundisturbed Angela and Bernard, and succeeded in dressing them withoutdisturbing the other three.

  Very tired and stiff, and very anxious she felt, but she was obliged togo down as soon as she was dressed, since she always took charge of hermother before breakfast on Sunday while Sibby went to mass. It was solate that she could only listen in vain at the top of the stairs beforeshe went into the room, where she found Sibby very indignant at havingmissed all the excitement of the night past. 'As if she could not havebeen trusted not to have wakened the mistress. She believed they wouldhave let her alone till they all were burnt in their beds!'

  It was not till breakfast, which took place unusually late, that Wilmetheard much. Felix and Lance had just come downstairs, rather ashamed ofhaving overslept themselves, and Mr. Audley came in and begged for acup of tea.

  He told them that the father and uncle of the boy had arrived. Theywere American merchants or speculators of some kind, he thought, namedTravis, and they had gone on business to Dearport the day before,meaning to dine there, and return by the mail train in the night, andleaving the boy with the black servant in the unfortunate hotel.

  On arriving, at about three o'clock, not long after Felix had broughtLance home, they had telegraphed to Dearport for a doctor and nurse,who were momentarily expected to arrive. The patient was only halfconscious, and though he knew his father, continued to murmur forDiego. Martha was sitting with him whenever she could, for his fatherdid not seem to understand nursing, and it would be a great relief whena properly-trained person arrived.

  She came, and so did the doctor, but not till close upon church-time,and little but stray reports from the sick-room reached the populationupstairs all that day, as Mr. Audley, whenever he was not at church,was obliged to be in attendance on his strange guests. All that reachedthe anxious and excited young people was the tidings of the patientbeing not unlikely to do well, though he was in great pain and highfever, and continually calling for the poor negro who had saved hislife at the expense of his own.

  This was the last bulletin when the household parted to go theirseveral ways on Monday morning, not to be all collected again and freeto speak till seven o'clock in the evening, when they met round thetable for tea.

  'Mamma looks cheery,' said Felix, coming into the little back roomwhere Wilmet was spreading bread and butter.

  'Yes,' said Wilmet, 'I think she has cared to hear about the fire. Somany people have come in and talked, that it has enlivened her.'

  'And how is the boy?'

  'A little better, Martha heard; but he keeps on talking of Diego, andseems not to care about any one else.'

  'No wonder. His father must be an unmitigated brute,' said Felix.'He came to the inquest, and talked just as if it had been an oldNewfoundland dog; I really think he cared rather less than if it hadbeen.'

  'Tell us about the inquest, Felix,' said Lance. 'I wish they'd havewanted me there.'

  'I don't see why, Lance,' said Felix gravely; 'it was a terrible thingto see poor Mr. Jones hardly able to speak for grief, and the mother ofthat poor young nurse went on sobbing as if her heart was breaking.'

  'Nobody knows the cause of the fire, do they?' asked Cherry. 'LadyPrice said it was the gas.'

  'No; no one knows. Way, the waiter, saw a glare under the door ofthe great assembly-room as he was going up very late to bed, andthe instant he opened the door the flame seemed to rush out at him.I suppose a draught was all it wanted. He saw this poor Diego safedownstairs once, but he must have gone back to save his young master,and got cut off in coming back. Poor fellow! he is a Mexican negro,belonging to an estate that came to Mr. Travis's wife, and he hasalways clung to her and her son just like a faithful dog.'

  'But he could not be a slave in England,' said Cherry eagerly.

  'No; but as this Travis said, his one instinct was the boy: he did notknow how to get rid of him, he said, and I do believe he thinks it alucky chance.'

  'I wish it had been he!' said Lance.

  'Sibby has asked leave to go to the burial,' added Wilmet.

  'I hope you gave it,' said Felix. 'Mr. Macnamara came and asked if hewere not a Roman Catholic, and those two Travises laughed a littleoffensively, and said they guessed he was so, as much as a nigger wasanything; and the Papists were welcome to his black carcase, only theywould not be charged for any flummery. "I won't be made a fool of abouta nigger," one said. And then, I was so glad, Mr. Audley begged to knowwhen the funeral would be, and said he would go anywhere to do honourto faithfulness unto death.'

  'Well done, Mr. Audley!' cried Lance. 'Won't we go too, Fee?'

  'It will be at nine to-morrow,' said Felix; at which
Lance made a face,since of course he would be in school at the time.

  'Maybe I shall have to go,' added Felix; 'for only think, as my goodluck would have it, Redstone went on Saturday night to see his motheror somebody, and only came back this morning; and Mr. Froggatt himselfwas "out at his box," as he calls it, so he told me this morning towrite the account of the fire for the paper, and he would pay me for itextra, as he does Redstone.'

  'Well, and have you done it?'

  'I was pretty much at sea at first, till I recollected the letter Ibegan to Edgar yesterday night, and by following that, I made what Ithought was a decent piece of business of it.'

  'Oh, did you put in the way they threw the things out at window atJessop's without looking what they were?' cried Lance; 'and the jollysmash the jugs and basins made, and when their house was never on fireat all: and how the coal-heaver said "Hold hard, frail trade there!"'

  'Well,' said Felix quaintly, 'I put it in a different form, you see. Isaid the inhabitants of the adjacent houses hurled their furniture fromthe windows with more precipitation than attention to the fragilityof the articles. And, after all, that intolerable ass, Redstone, hascorrected fire every time into "the devouring element," and made "thefaithful black" into "the African of sable integument, but heart ofprecious ore."'

  'Now, Felix!'

  'Bald, sir, bald,' he said, with such a face. '"Yes, Mr. Underwood,"even good old Froggy said, when he saw me looking rather blue, "you andI may know what good taste and simplicity is, but if we sent out thePursuivant with no mouth-filling words in it, we should be cut out withsome low paper in no time among the farmers and mechanics."'

  'Is he so led by Mr. Redstone?' asked Wilmet.

  'Not exactly; but I believe there's nothing he dreads more thanRedstone's getting offended and saying that I am no use, as he wouldany day if he could. O, Mr. Audley, are you coming to stay?'

  'Will you have a cup of tea?' said Wilmet.

  'Thank you, yes; I've got to dine with these fellows at the RailwayHotel at eight, but I wanted to speak to you first, Wilmet,' said Mr.Audley, sitting down as if he were weary of his day.

  'How is the boy?'

  'Better. He has been quite sensible ever since he woke at twelveo'clock to-day, only he was dreadfully upset about poor Diego--aboutwhom his father told him very abruptly--without the least notion hewould feel it so much.'

  'I wish I had the kicking of that father,' observed Felix, driving theknife hard into the loaf.

  'He is not altogether such a bad fellow,' said Mr. Audley thoughtfully.

  'Not for an American, perhaps.'

  'He is not an American at all. He was born and bred in my own country,and took me by surprise by calculating that I was one of the Audleysof Wrightstone Court, and wanting to know whether my father were SirRobert or Sir Robert's son. Then he guessed that I might have heardof his father, if I was not too young, and by-and-by it dawned on methat whenever there is any complication about business matters, or anyone is in bad circumstances, my father always vituperates one Travis,who, it seems, was a solicitor greatly trusted by all the countryround, till he died, some twenty years ago, and it appeared that hehad ruined everybody, himself included. These men are his sons. Theywent out to America, and got up in the world. They told me the wholestory of how they had knocked about everywhere, last evening, but Iwas too sleepy to enter into it much, though I daresay it was curiousenough; successful speculations and hair's-breadth escapes seemed tocome very thick one upon another, but all I am clear about is thatthis poor boy, Fernando's mother was a Mexican heiress, they--one ofthem, I mean--managed to marry; her father English, but her mother oldSpanish blood allied to the old Caciques, he says; whether it is aboast I don't know, but the boy looks like it--such a handsome fellow;delicate straight profile, slender limbs, beautifully made, inky-blackhair and brows, pure olive skin--the two doctors were both in raptures.Well, they thought affairs in Mexico insecure, so they sold the poorwoman's estate and carried her off to Texas. No; was it? I really can'tremember where; but, at any rate, Diego stuck to her wherever shewent, and when she died, to her child; nursed him like an old woman,and-- In short, it was that touching negro love that one sometimeshears of. Now they seem to have grown very rich--the AmericanVice-Consul, who came over this morning from Dearport, knew all aboutthem--and they came home partly on business, and partly to leaveFernando to be made into an English gentleman, who, Mr. Travis says, ifhe has money to spend, does whip creation. He's English enough for thatstill. Well, they have got a telegram that makes them both want to sailby the next steamer.'

  'That's a blessing. But the boy?'

  'He cannot be moved for weeks. It is not only the fractures, but thejar of the fall. He may get quite over it, but must lie quite still onhis back. So here he is, a fixture, by your leave, my lady housekeeper.'

  'It is your room, Mr. Audley,' said Wilmet. 'But can his father reallymean to leave him alone so very ill, poor boy?'

  'Well, as his father truly says, he is no good to him, but rather thereverse; and as the Travis mind seems rather impressed by finding anAudley here, I am to be left in charge of him now, and to find a tutorfor him when he gets better. So we are in for that!'

  'But what is to become of you?' asked Wilmet. 'The nurse has got thelittle back study.'

  'I have got a room at Bolland's to sleep in, thank you,' he answered;'and I have been representing the inconvenience to the house of thislong illness, so that the Travises, who are liberal enough--'

  'I thought them horrid misers,' said Felix.

  'That was only the American conscience as to negroes. In other mattersthey are ready to throw money about with both hands; so I hope I havemade a good bargain for you, Wilmet. You are to have five guineas aweek, and provide for boy and nurse, all but wine and beer, ice andfruit.'

  'Five guineas!' murmured Wilmet, quite overpowered at the munificentsum.

  'I am afraid you will not find it go as far as you expect, for he willwant a good deal of dainty catering.'

  'And your room should be deducted,' said Wilmet.

  'Not at all. Mrs. Bolland said she did not take lodgers, but shouldesteem it a favour if I would sleep there while her son is away. It isall safe, I think. He has given me orders on his London banker, andthey say here at the bank that they are all right. It is a strangecharge,' he added thoughtfully; 'we little thought what we were takingon ourselves when we picked up that poor fellow, Felix; and I cannothelp thinking it will turn out well, there was something so noble aboutthe poor lad's face as he lay insensible.'

  It was about three weeks later, that one Sunday evening, when Mr.Audley came in from church, Felix followed him to his sitting-room, andbegan with unusual formality. 'I think I ought to speak to you, sir.'

  'What's the matter?'

  'About Lance, and him in there. I have had such a queer talk with_him!_'

  'As how?'

  'Why he wanted us to stop from church, asked me to let off the poorlittle coon; and when I said we couldn't, because we were in thechoir, wanted to know what we were paid, then why we did it at all;and so it turned out that he thinks churches only meant for women andpsalm-singing niggers and Methodists, and has never been inside one inhis life, never saw the sense of it, wanted to know why I went.'

  'What did you tell him?'

  'I don't know; I was so taken aback. I said something about our dutyto God, and it's being all we had to get us through life; but I know Imade a dreadful mess of it, and the bell rang, and I got away. But heseems a sheer heathen, and there's Lance in and out all day.'

  'Yes, Felix, I am afraid it is true that the poor lad has been broughtup with no religion at all--a blank sheet, as his father called him.'

  'Wasn't his father English?'

  'Yes; but he had lived a roving, godless life. I began, when I foundthe boy must stay here, by asking whether he were of his father's orhis mother's communion, and in return heard a burst of exultation thathe had never let a priest into his house. His father-in-law had warn
edhim against it, and he had carried his wife out of their reach longbefore the child's birth; he has not even been baptized, but you see,Felix, I could not act like Abraham to the idolater in the Talmud.'

  Felix did not speak, but knocked one foot against the other invexation, feeling that it was his house after all, and that Mr. Audleyshould not have turned this young heathen loose into it to corrupt hisbrother, without consulting him.

  'I told Travis,' continued the Curate, 'that if I undertook the chargeas he wished, it must be as a priest myself, and I must try to putsome religion into him. And, to my surprise, he said he left it tome. Fernando was old enough to judge, and if he were to be an Englishsquire, he must conform to old-country ways; besides, I was anothersort of parson from Yankee Methodists and Shakers or Popish priests--heknew the English clergy well enough, of the right sort.'

  'So he is to learn religion to make him a squire?'

  'I was thankful enough to find no obstruction.'

  'And have you begun?' asked Felix moodily.

  'Why--no. He has been too ill and too reserved. I have attemptednothing but daily saying a short prayer for him in his hearing, hopinghe would remark on it. But you know the pain is still very absorbing attimes, and it leaves him exhausted; and besides, I fancy he has a gooddeal of tropical languor about him, and does not notice much. Nothingbut Lance has roused him at all.'

  'I would never have let Lance in there by himself, if I had known,'said Felix. 'He is quite bewitched.'

  'It would have been difficult to prevent it. Nor do I think that muchharm can be done. I believe I ought to have told you, Felix; but Idid not like denouncing my poor sick guest among the children, or itsgetting round all the town and to my Lady. After all, Lance is a verylittle fellow; it is not as if Edgar or Clem were at home.'

  'I suppose it cannot be helped,' sighed Felix; 'but my father--' and ashe recollected the desire to take his brothers away from Mr. Ryder, hefelt as if his chosen guardian had been false to his trust, out of pityand enthusiasm.

  'Your father would have known how to treat him,' sighed Mr. Audley.'At any rate, Felix, we must not forget the duties of hospitality andkindness; and I hope you will not roughly forbid Lance to go near him,without seeing whether the poor fellow is not really inoffensive.'

  'I'll see about it,' was all that Felix could get himself to say; formuch as he loved Mr. Audley, he could not easily brook interferencewith his brothers, and little Lance, so loyal to himself, and so drollwithout a grain of malice, was very near to his heart. 'A young Pagan,'as he thought to himself, 'teaching him all the blackguard tricks andwords he has learnt at all the low schools in north or south!' and allthe most objectionable scenes he had met with in American stories, from'Uncle Tom' onwards, began to rise before his eyes. 'A pretty thing todo in a fit of beneficence! I'll order Lance to keep away, and if hedares disobey, I'll lick him well to show him who is master.'

  So he felt, as he swung himself upstairs, and halted with someintention of pouring out his vexed spirit to Wilmet, because Mr. Audleyhad no business to make it a secret; but Wilmet was putting her motherto bed, and he went on upstairs. There he found all the doors open, andheard a murmuring sound of voices in Geraldine's room. In a mood to beglad of any excuse for finding fault, he strode across the nursery,where Angela and Bernard slept, and saw that Lance, who ought to havegone at once to bed on coming in, was standing in his sister's window,trying to read in the ray of gas-light that came up from a lamp at thebrewhouse door.

  'Go to bed, Lance,' he said; 'if you have not learnt your lessons inproper time, you must wake early, or take the consequences. I won'thave it done on Sunday night.'

  Lance started round angrily, and Cherry cried, 'O Felix, it is no suchthing! Only would you tell us where to find about the king and hispriests that defeated the enemy by singing the "mercy endureth forever" psalm?'

  'In the Bible!' said Felix, as if sure it was a blunder. 'There's nosuch story.'

  'Indeed there is,' cried Lance, 'for Papa (the word low and reverently)took out his blue poly-something Bible and read it out in the sermon.Don't you remember, Fee, a hot day in the summer, when he preached allabout those wild robbers--horrid fellows with long spears--coming up inthe desert to make a regular smash of the Jews?'

  'Lance!' cried Cherry.

  'Well, he did not say that, of course, but they wanted to; and howthe king sent out the priests without a fighting man, only all inwhite, praising God in the beauty of holiness, and singing, "His mercyendureth for ever." I saw him read that, though he told us all the restwithout book; how all the enemy began to quarrel, and all killed oneanother, and the Jews had nothing to do but to pick up the spoil, andsing another psalm coming back.'

  'I remember now,' said Felix, in a very different tone. 'It wasJehoshaphat, Lancey boy. I'll find it for you in the book ofChronicles. Did you want it for anything?'

  Lance made an uneasy movement.

  'It was to show poor Fernando Travis, wasn't it?' said Cherry; and asLance wriggled again, she added, 'He seems to have been taught nothinggood.'

  'Now, Cherry,' broke out Lance, 'I told you to say not a word.'

  'I know a little about it, Lance,' said Felix, sitting down on thewindow-seat and lifting Lance on his knee, as he said, in a tone veryunlike his intended expostulation, 'You must not let him do you harm,Lance.'

  'He wouldn't; but he does not know anything about anything,' said thelittle boy. 'They never taught him to say his prayers, nor sing hymns,nor chant, and he thinks it is only good for niggers. So I told himthat singing psalms once beat an army, and he laughed; and I thoughtCherry was sure to know where it was--but girls will always tell.'

  'Indeed you never told me not,' said Cherry, humbly.

  'She has done no harm,' said Felix. 'Mr. Audley has just been talkingto me about that poor boy. He really is as untaught as that littlescamp at the potteries that we tried to teach.'

  'He's a stunning good fellow,' broke in Lance; 'he has seen analligator, and ridden mustangs.'

  'Never mind that now, Lance; I dare say he is very amusing, but--'

  'Don't hinder me from going to him,' broke in the younger boyvehemently.

  'If,' said Felix gravely, 'you can be quite sure my father would notmind it.'

  Lance was nestling close up to him in the dark, and he was surprised tofind that round face wet with tears. 'Papa would not let him lie dulland moped all day long,' he said. 'O Fee, I can't keep away; I am sosorry for him. When that terrible cramp comes, it is of no use to saythose sort of things to him.'

  'What sort of things?'

  'Oh, you know; verses such as Papa used to have said to him. Theyweren't a bit of good. No, not though I did get the book Papa markedfor Cherry.'

  'You did!' gasped Cherry, who little thought that sacred possession ofhers was even known to Master Lance.

  'You'd have done it yourself, Cherry,' said the little boy, 'if youhad only seen how bad he was; he got quite white, and had great dropson his forehead, and panted so, and would not let out a bit of a cry,only now and then a groan; and so I ran to get the verse Papa used tosay over and over to you when your foot was bad. And I'm sure it wasthe right one, but--but--it did him no good, for, oh! he didn't knowwho our Saviour is;' and the little fellow clung to his brother in apassion of tears, while Felix felt a pang at the contrast.

  'Have you been telling him, Lancey?' he asked.

  'I wanted him to ask Mr. Audley, but he said he was a parson, and hisfather said that there would be no parsons if men were not fools. Now,Fee, I've told you, but don't keep me away.'

  'It would be hard on a poor sick fellow,' said Felix, thoroughlysoftened. 'Only, Lance, you know I can't be with you; will you promiseto go away if ever you think Papa would wish it?'

  'Oh yes; one has to do that, you know, when our own fellows getblackguardly,' said little Lance, freely; whereat Cherry shudderedsomewhat. 'And, Fee,' he added, 'if you would only come and make himunderstand about things.'

  'Mr. Audley must do that,'
said Felix; 'I can't.'

  'You teach the boys in the Sunday-school,' said Lance. 'And he'd mindyou, Blunderbore. He says you are the grandest and most splendiferousfellow he ever did set eyes on, and that he feels something like, whenyou've just looked in and spoken to him.'

  'You little ass, he was chaffing you.'

  'No, no, _indeed_ he wasn't. I told him all about it, because he likedyour face so much. And he _does_ care so very much when you look in.Oh! _do, do_, Fee; he is so jolly, and it is so lonely and horrid forhim, and I do so want Papa for him;' and the child cried silently, butFelix felt the long deep sobs, and as Geraldine, much moved, said,'Dear little Lancey,' he carried him over to her as she sat up in bed,and she kissed and fondled him, and murmured in his ear, 'Dear Lance,I'm sure he'll get good. We will get Mr. Audley to talk to him, youknow, and we will say a prayer every day for him.'

  Lance, beginning to recover, put his arms round Cherry's neck, gave hera tremendous hug, released himself from his brother's arms, and ran offto bed. Felix remained a few moments, while Cherry exclaimed, 'Oh! thedear good little fellow!'

  'Better than any of us,' said Felix. 'I was quite savage with Mr.Audley when I found out about it. I must go down and tell him. I neverthought all that was in the little chap! I'm glad he came to you,Cherry. Good-night.'

  'And you will try to teach this poor boy, Felix?'

  'I don't say that. I don't in the least know how; but I shall not dareto hinder Lance, now I see how he goes on.'

  On his way down he heard voices in the sitting-room, where, in fact,Mr. Audley had joined Wilmet, to explain to her how vexed he was tohave so much annoyed Felix, and perhaps also something of his ownannoyance at the manner in which Felix took it. Wilmet, partly fromher 'growing on the sunny side of the wall,' partly from her earlyauthority, was in some ways older than her brother, and could see thatthere was in him a shade of boyish jealousy of his prerogative; andas she sat, in her pretty modest gravity, with her fair hair and herSunday frock, she was softly but earnestly telling Mr. Audley that shewas sure Felix would not mind long, and that he was very sorry forthe poor boy _really_, only he was so anxious about Lance, and he didlike to be consulted. Both looked up, startled, as Felix opened thedoor, and they saw that his eyes were full of tears. He came up to Mr.Audley, and said, 'I beg your pardon, sir; I'd no business to grumble,and that little fellow has been--'

  'Beforehand with us?' asked Mr. Audley, as Felix broke down. 'The nursehas been just telling me how he sat on his bed saying bits of psalmsand verses to him when he had that bad fit of cramp, "so pretty," shesaid; but I was afraid it must have been rather like a spell.'

  Felix told his story, feeling it too much not to make it lame, and withthe tearfulness trembling in his voice and eyes all the time.

  'Our little _gamin_ has the most of the good Samaritan in him,' saidMr. Audley. ''Tis not quite the end I should have begun at, but perhapsit may work the better.'

  'Dear little boy, that he should have remembered that sermon!'exclaimed Wilmet.

  'I am afraid it is more than I do,' said Felix; 'all last summer themore I tried to listen, the more I saw how he was changing. Do youremember it, Wilmet?'

  'Yes; the text was, "The joy of the Lord is your strength," and hesaid how praising God, and going on thinking about His goodness andthankfulness, was the way to make our adversaries dissolve before us,and never trouble us at all, just like the bands of the Moabites andAmmonites before Jehoshaphat.'

  'I recollect it well, and how I thought it such a likeness of himself,'said Mr. Audley; 'he was walking over his troubles, scarcely seeingthem, as if they could not dim the shine of his armour while he went onlooking up and being thankful. I fancy little Lance has a good deal ofthat kind of bright fearless way.'

  'He has,' said Felix in a grave thoughtful tone that made the Curatelook at him and sigh to think how early care and grief had come to makethat joyous buoyancy scarce possible to the elder boy, little more thanseventeen though he was.

  'He is _very_ idle, though,' added Wilmet; 'such caricatures as thereare all over his books! Edgar's were bad enough, but Lance putspig-tails and cocked hats to all Edgar's.'

  So Lance's visits to the sick stranger remained unobstructed. He hadno notion of teaching him; but the foreign boy in his languor andhelplessness curiously fascinated him, perhaps from the very contrastof the passive, indolent, tropical nature with his own mercurialtemperament. The Spaniard, or perhaps the old Mexican, seemed topredominate in Fernando, as far as could be guessed in one so weak andhelpless. He seemed very quiet and inanimate, seldom wanting or seekingdiversion, but content to lie still, with half-closed eyes; his mannerwas reserved, and with something of courteous dignity, especially whenLady Price came to visit him; and the Yankeeisms that sometimes droppedfrom his tongue did not agree with the polish of the tone, and stillless with the imperious manner in which he sometimes addressed thenurse. He seemed, though not clever, to be tolerably well cultivated;he had been at the schools of whatever cities his father had residedin, and his knowledge of languages was of course extensive.

  However, he never talked freely to Mr. Audley. He had bitterly resentedthat gentleman's interference, one day when he was peremptorilycommanding the nurse to place him in a position that had beenforbidden, and the endeavour to control him had made him fearfullyangry. There was a stormy outbreak of violent language, only checkedby a severe rebuke, for which he did not forgive the Curate; he wascoldly civil, and accepted the attentions he could not dispense with ina grave formal manner that would have been sulky in an English lad, buthad something of the dreary grandeur of the Spanish Don from that darklordly visage, and made Mr. Audley half provoked, half pitying, speakof him always as his Cacique. He only expanded a little even to Lance,though the little boy waited on him assiduously, chattering aboutschool doings, illustrating them on a slate, singing to him, actingBlondin, exhibiting whatever he could lay his hands on, including thetwins, whom he bore down one after the other, to the great wrath ofSibby, not to say of little Stella herself, while Theodore took theexhibition with perfect serenity.

  As to Felix, he was, as Lance said, the subject of the sick lad'sfervent admiration. Perhaps the open, fair, cheerful, though gravecountenance, fresh complexion, and strong, steadfast, upright bearinghad something to do with the strange adoration that in his silent wayFernando paid to the youth, who looked in from time to time, bringinga sort of air of refreshment with his good-natured shy smile, evenwhen he least knew what to say. Or else it was little Lance's ferventaffection for Felix which had conduced to the erection of the elderbrother into the idol of Fernando's fancy; and his briefest visit wasthe event of the long autumnal days spent in the uncurtained iron bedin the corner of the low room. The worship, silent though it was, wasmanifest enough to become embarrassing and ridiculous to the subjectof it, whose sense of duty and compassion was always at war with hisreluctance to expose himself to it. Not another word passed on anyreligious subject. Mr. Audley was not forgiven enough to venture on theattempt; the Rector was shy and frightened about it, and could make nobeginning; and Mr. Mowbray Smith, who found great fault with them fortheir neglect, had been fairly stared down by the great black eyes,which, when the heavy lids were uplifted, proved to be of an immensesize and force; and Felix was so sure that it could not be his businesswhile three clergymen were going in and out that he had never done morethan describe the weather, or retail any fresh bit of London news thathad come down to the office.

  At last, however, one November day, he found Fernando sitting up inbed, and Lance, perched on the table, talking so earnestly as not toperceive his entrance, until Fernando broke upon his words: 'There!it's no use!'

  'Yes, it is,' cried Lance, jumping down. 'O Fee, I am glad you arecome; I want you to tell him the rights of it.'

  'The rights of what, Lance?'

  'Tell him that it is all the devil's doing, and the men he has got onhis side; and that it was the very thing our Saviour came for to set usfree, only everybody won't,' sai
d Lance clinging to his brother's hand,and looking up in his face.

  'That's about right, Lance,' said Felix; 'but I don't quite know whatyou are talking about.'

  'Just this,' said Fernando. 'Lance goes on about God being merciful andgood and powerful--Almighty, as he says; but whatever women may tell alittle chap like that, nobody can think so that has seen the things Ihave, down in the West, with my own eyes.'

  'Felix!' cried Lance, 'say it. You know and believe just as I do, aseverybody good does, men and all.'

  'Yes, indeed!' said Felix with all his heart.

  'Then tell me how it can be,' said Fernando.

  Felix stood startled and perplexed, feeling the awful magnitude andimportance of the question, but also feeling his own incompetence todeal with it; and likewise that Wilmet was keeping the tea waiting forhim. He much wished to say, 'Keep it for Mr. Audley,' but he feared tochoke the dawning of faith, and he likewise feared the appearance ofhesitation.

  'Nobody can really explain it,' he said, 'but that's no wonder. Onecannot explain a thunderstorm, but one knows that it is.'

  'That's electricity,' said Fernando.

  'And what's electricity?'

  'A fluid that--'

  'Yes; that's another word. But you can't get any further. God madeelectricity, or whatever it is, and when you talk about explaining it,you only get to something that _is_. You know it _is_, and you can'tget any further,' he repeated.

  'Well, that's true; though science goes beyond you in America.'

  'But no searching finds out _all_ about God!' said Felix reverently.'All we know is that He is so infinitely great and wise, that of coursewe cannot understand why all He does is right, any more than a privatesoldier understands his general's orders.'

  'And _you--you_,' said Fernando, 'are content to say you don'tunderstand.'

  'Why not?' said Felix.

  There was a silence. Fernando seemed to be thinking; Lance gazed fromone to the other, as if disappointed that his brother was not moreexplicit.

  'And how do you know it is true?' added Fernando. 'I mean, what Lancehas been telling me! What makes you sure of it, if you are?'

  '_If_ I am?' cried Felix, startled into indignation. 'To be sure I am!'

  'But how?'

  'I _know_ it!' said Felix.

  'How?'

  'The Bible!' gasped Lance impatiently.

  'Ay; so you have said for ever,' broke in Fernando; 'but whatauthenticates that?'

  'The whole course of history,' said Felix. 'There is a great chain ofevidence, I know, but I never got it up. I can't tell it you, Fernando;I never wanted it, never even tried to think about the proofs. It isall too sure.'

  'But wouldn't a Mahometan say that?' said Fernando.

  'If he did, look at the Life of our Lord and of Mahomet together, andsee which must be the true Prophet--the Way, the Life, the Truth.'

  'That one could do,' said Fernando thoughtfully. 'I say,' as Felix madea movement as if he thought the subject concluded, 'I want to know onething more. Lance says it is believing all this that makes you--any oneI mean--good.'

  'I don't know what else should,' said Felix, smiling a little; thequestion seemed to him so absurd.

  'Is it really what makes you go and slave away at that old boss's ofyours?'

  'Why, that's necessity and my duty,' said Felix.

  'And is it what makes this little coon come and spend all hisplay-hours on a poor fellow with a broken leg? I've been at manyschools, and never saw the fellow who would do that.'

  'Oh! you are such fun!' cried Lance.

  'All that is right comes from God first and last,' said Felix gravely.

  'And you--you that are no child--you believe all that Lance tells meyou do, and think it makes you what you are!'

  'I believe it; yes, of course. And believing it should make me muchbetter than I am! I hope it will in time.'

  'Ah!' sighed Fernando. 'I never heard anything like it since my fathersaid he'd take the cow-hide to poor old Diego, if he caught himteaching me nigger-cant.'

  They left him.

  'Poor fellow!' sighed Felix; 'what have you been telling him, Lance?'

  'Oh, I don't know; only why things were good and bad,' was Lance'slucid answer; and he was then intent on detailing the stories he hadheard from Fernando. He had been in the worst days of Southern slaveryere its extinction, on the skirts of the deadly warfare with the RedIndians; and the poor lad had really known of horrors that curdled theblood of Wilmet and Geraldine, and made the latter lie awake or dreamdreadful dreams all night.

  But the next day, Mr. Audley was startled to hear the two friends inthe midst of an altercation. When Lance had come in for his mid-dayrecreation, Fernando had produced five shillings, desiring him to goand purchase a Bible for him; but Lance, who had conceived the ideathat the Scriptures ought not to be touched by an unchristened hand,flatly refused, offering, however, to read from his own. Now Lance'sreading was at that peculiar school-boy stage which seems calculated tocombine the utmost possible noise with the least possible distinctness;and though he had good gifts of ear and voice, and his reciting andsinging were both above the average, the moment a book was before him,he roared his sentences between his teeth in horrible monotony. And ashe began with the first chapter of St. Matthew, and was not perfectlyable to cope with all the names, Fernando could bear it no longer, andinsisted on having the book itself. Lance shook his head and refused;and matters were in this stage when Mr. Audley, not liking the echoesof the voices, opened the door. 'What is it?' he asked anxiously.

  'Nothing,' replied Fernando, proudly trying to swallow his vexation.

  'Lance!' said Mr. Audley rather severely; but just then, seeing whatbook the child was holding tight under his arm, he decided to followhim out of the room and interrogate.

  'What was it, Lance?'

  'He ought not to touch a Bible--he sha'n't have mine,' said Lanceresentfully.

  'Was he doing anything wrong with it?'

  'Oh no! But he ought not to have it before he is christened, and Iwould have read to him.'

  Mr. Audley knew what Lance's reading was, and smiled. 'Was that all,Lance? I like your guardianship of the Bible, my boy; but it was notgiven only to those who are Christians already, or how could any onelearn?'

  'He sha'n't touch mine, though,' said Lance, with an odd sturdiness;stumping upstairs with his treasure, a little brown sixpenny S. P. C.K. book, but in which his father had written his name on his lastbirth-day but one.

  Mr. Audley only waited to take down a New Testament, and presenthimself at Fernando's bedside, observing gladly that there was muchmore wistfulness than offence about his expression.

  'It was a scruple on the young man's part,' said Mr. Audley, smiling,though full of anxiety; 'he meant no unkindness.'

  'I know he did not,' said Fernando quietly, but gazing at the purplebook in the clergyman's hands.

  'Did you want this?' said Mr. Audley; 'or can I find anything in it foryou?'

  'Thank you;' and there was a pause. The offended manner towards Mr.Audley had been subsiding of late into friendliness under his constantattentions, and Fernando's desire for an answer prevailed at last.'Felix told me to read the Life of Christ,' he said, not irreverently,'and that it would show me He must be True.'

  'I hope and trust that so it may be,' said Mr. Audley, more moved thanhe could bear to show, but with fervour in his voice far beyond hiswords.

  'Felix,' said Fernando, resting on the name, 'Felix does seem as if hemust be right, Mr. Audley; can it be really as he says--and Lance--thattheir belief makes them like what they are?'

  'Most assuredly.'

  'And you don't say so only because you are a minister?' asked the boydistrustfully.

  'I say so because I know it. I knew that it is the Christian faith thatmakes all goodness, long before I was a minister.'

  'But I have seen plenty of Christians that were not in the least likeFelix Underwood.'

  'So have I; but in proportion as th
ey live up to their faith, they havewhat is best in him.'

  'I should like to be like him,' mused Fernando; 'I never saw such afellow. He, and little Lance too, seem to belong to something brightand strong, that seems inside and outside, and I can't lay hold of whatit is.'

  'One day you will, my dear boy,' said Mr. Audley. 'Let me try to helpyou.'

  Fernando scarcely answered, save by half a smile, and a long sigh ofrelief: but when Mr. Audley put his hand over the long brown fingers,they closed upon it.