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"For Father's Sake," or A Tale of New Zealand Life

Chapter XXXV

page 410

Chapter XXXV.

Scene—Business consultation chamber.

Locality—Drawing-room of "Spes."

Dramatis Personœ—Such of the Main family as aforesaid.

A table, strewn with papers, surrounded by persons, and resplendent in the rich gas-light which fell from the polished brass gasalier above. In the far corner of the room, a couch, occupied by a white-robed, black-girdled figure, which is almost concealed by the soft drapery of the mantelpiece and the downy cushions.

Occupation—Reading, talking, listening, thinking, criticising, and dreaming. At the head of the table (which, by-the-way, had no head), and in the speaker's chair, sat Mr. Walter Thornton; on his right-hand side, Mrs. Main; on his left, Mrs. Alen, junior; Grace opposite; and the rest, with the exception of Nellie, who had a back-ache, and was permitted the use of the couch, filed in martial array between the above-mentioned. Dear me! How important they look; those at the table, I mean; for, of course, you can guess who was the critic, the dreamer, and the moralist. Has it ever struck you, my reader, what a remarkable likeness there is between the faces of the business debaters (anything in the way of business, I mean) and the solemn, wise, chiselled features of our sculptured heads? Next time you get a chance, look well at the faces of a business assemblage, and see if you do not find some rare good amusement that will keep you for an hour or more in one continual state of inward explosion. Only, let me advise page 411you, do not yourself have anything to do with the business, or you, too, will become petrified.

And the critic and moralist, in her corner, quietly made her observations, and inwardly commented upon the company.

"How manly, how refined is the face of the speaker," mused Nellie. "How white his hands as he sorts those papers. And that voice. Ah! it just seems as if I were listening to another, dearer by far. I wonder why he wears whiskers. I shall persuade him to shave by-and-by. I believe he has a dimpled chin, and, like all conceited young men, is ashamed of it. Are you conceited, young man? You do not seem to be; but that's nothing to go by. I find judging character by 'seeming to be' is a mistake. In such cases it all depends upon the cleverness of the character to conceal its failings. But you have a good face, Walter; very, very good; yet, I think, a little effeminate. We will soon cure that defect, however. New Zealand's climate and climatization (I think that's the word) will soon make a man of you. I like that word 'Man.' It suggests all that is brave and strong; and it is free from all foppish prefixes, and caddish affixes. I wonder why I am so fond of brave and strong things. Perhaps because I am not very strong myself. Well, about 'man'—the word, not the being. It is a rugged word, and it signifies tact in its application. When I hear a person say, 'Ah! he is a man,' I think to myself, here is something worth unravelling. Either the man is good, gentle and considerate but not ostentatious, rather hiding his virtues; or else the person is a man, and by his tact, has discovered in the man what he himself possesses in person. There! Did anyone ever see such a donkey? Here I am moralizing when I should be listening. How very serious Grace looks. I wish I could read her thoughts. I wonder if they are occupied with the reading page 412or the reader. Isn't she improving? I declare she looks quite—quite—let me see—yes, quite beautiful. No wonder Master Tom said she cuts the shine out of me. Although, for my part, I never knew I had any shine to cut out. You certainly have a very nice face Miss Grace; some would say peculiar; and I would not be a bit surprised if it—never mind," casting a roguish glance at the fair face at the head of the headless table. "'Pon my word! mother looks quite young again. What's going to happen? Well, you are a goose, Nellie," contemptuously. "Because you are smitten with Walter, you think everyone else is. Am I, though? Oh dear, Oh dear; this is getting worse and worse. You really must listen. I'll not look at them," turning away her head. "Now I come to think of it, I wonder how," back wandered the eyes to the faces. "Yes, you look well, Amelia. Better than you used to look before you were married. You certainly give the lie to the affirmative side of that question, 'Is marriage a failure?' Then there is my brother. He—oh, I'll leave him to someone else's criticism. I am getting sick of this nonsense." She closed her eyes, and tried to keep back the rushing waves of thought. "The Main family are a queer lot. I wonder what they are all going to do;—spiritually, I mean. Live—beg—borrow—steal. I suppose there is a place reserved for each, both here and Yonder." Up rose the reclining figure. "Nellie, Nellie, this will never never do." The look of settled resolution lasted for the space of three whole minutes; then down came the fortress with a crash, and the waters of meditation rushed in and flooded the actual, the swift-flowing tide being checked only by the dropping of that inate slide of susceptibility, which slide awakened the dreamer to the fact that there was something of vast importance taking place in the outward surroundings. Listen!

"I may explain to you," began Mr. Thornton, looking up and down the column, of faces on each side of the table; "I page 413may explain that it was not until I returned from my trip to the Colonies, two years ago, that I became aware of Mr. Main's existence, or of our relationship to him. The circumstance which first led to the discovery was singular. While in New Zealand, I had collected a few Maori curios, and mother, ever anxious for news of that, to her, wonderland—the land that report says is almost paved with gold; where rich and poor live on a level; where humanity and nature dwell in unity; where, by reason of its liberty and freshness, mortality and immortality walk hand in hand, and converse on such subjects as has power to raise the terrestrial to that eminent standard occupied by the celestial—mother, ever anxious for news of that land, was the first to undo the parcel. After looking at the various articles, and admiring what I thought almost hideous, she took up the wrappings. The inner one was a piece torn from one of the colonial newspapers. This she begun glancing carelessly over. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation, and on looking up I saw her face was white as death, and that her hand which held the torn fragment was trembling. Pointing to a paragraph, she exclaimed, "Read that to me, please." It was the announcement of your husband's death. I read it through and handed back the paper.

"Who is he? Do you know him?" I asked, it striking me as strange that I should have the same name attached to my father's; but mother was too agitated to answer, and I left her at her own command to recover her self-possession. That evening she told me who and what Mr. Main was, and why I was named after him; but I was not at all satisfied, and I felt that there was something kept back. Time passed; troubles thickened; and the circumstance, though not forgotten, was laid aside. Deeper and deeper into pecuniary difficulties my father sank, and at last the disgrace of bankruptcy stared us in the face. page 414It is a very humiliating position for a proud man; and father, while smarting under the uplifted lash, wrote that letter to you. To do him justice, he thought, as did everyone but mother, that the money he demanded was his wife's just due. Where he was to blame was his writing secretly. Had he told mother, all would have been explained. Poor mother! I shall never forget the look of horrified sorrowing that was on her face when she bade me go and make reparation. "Go, my son," she said, "New Zealand is not far away. Take these papers, they will explain all. They were given to me by my uncle, who was Walter's uncle also. But I promised not to disclose their secret unless some unforseen danger arose. That danger has arisen, and the secret must be a secret no longer." Then she told me Walter Main was her lover as well as her cousin. That he had left Scotland a homeless orphan, and had gone to the Colonies to seek his fortune, and to make a home for her and him. But as time passed, and no word came from the wanderer, she had mourned him as one dead. Her hopes and prayers grew silent, and one day, being pressed by necessity, and numb with the pain of her heart's bereavement, she consented to become the wife of a wealthy merchant. Thus she continued to live, loved by her husband, worshipped by her children, and respected and courted by the best of society. Yet, although happy, her thoughts would often wander back to the old paths, and she would long to know the footsteps traced by that early beloved. "More than this I will not tell you," added my mother mournfully, and in her dear eyes I saw the gathering tears. "But you may read those papers while you are journeying. And, O, tell Walter's children that I never believed a word that was said about their father." Like a flash there leapt into my hazy recollections a scene in my childhood: Mother and uncle George were conversing. Uncle must have said something disagreeable, page 415for in the middle of their conversation I saw mother lift her head and rise. "You lie, uncle George, and you know you do. Something tells me that you, and not he, are guilty. Good-bye." She swept out of the room, and as she passed, too deeply agitated to notice me, I saw her face was deathly white, and her eyes had great black lights burning in their depth. From that day until the day of uncle's death, they two never met. It was then that mother was sent for and received charge of these and several other papers. Father knew nothing about them, and with the rest, believed report."

Taking up the papers, Mr. Thornton, after glancing around to see if all were in attention, commenced to read.

There were a few dates, some bare instructions, formal introductions of not much consequence, and then:—

"I know not whether this, almost the last action of my life, will be of any use, or whether there is any need of my acting thus. Still, a spirit within speaks, and I feel I must obey. I feel my end drawing in apace, for I am old now, and the hopes of youth hang no more around me. Ah! I fear I have loved thine approbation too dearly, O World! else why should thy mists laden my departing footsteps? But thy fruits were sweet to my mouth; and I have enjoyed my sojourn under thy cool branches. What is that I see in the distance? It is the pyramid I have built upon my Saharan Desert. Oh! how the sand burns my naked feet as I walk toward it, for I must view it once more before I enter my barque. Does the Pleasure of Possession recompense the Pain of Achievement? Is the Aim worth the Means? Not always. Perhaps I have made my aim my idol. I have worshipped my pyramid! But I cannot take it with me. I feel there will be no place for it Yonder. Ah! Walter, my nephew my brother's only son, you are amply avenged; for at the best page 416of times I have not been happy. And your white set face, with my brother's eyes, ever rises between myself and my possession. Stay! In fancy, you are before me now. Stand thus, and unto thee I will speak. Walter, I falsitied those debts. I wanted your inheritance. But you were in my way here, so I sent you away, and put that stain upon your name. Then, when you wrote, I was afraid of your return, and, consequently, my exposure; so intercepted the letters. That note I sent you from your cousin I penned with my own hand. There! nephew; a proud man has confessed. Take and value that confession accordingly. Yet am I not, as they say, truly sorry. Nothing but remorse gnaws at my heart, and makes me wish, without incurring my own exposure, to rid your name of that stain. This, you see, is not repentance; but these are my feelings. You were a thoughtless, careless young man, Walter; and you had been spoiled by your excessive indulgences. How was I to know but that you, in your unrestrained manhood, would follow the bent of your youth? The Main heirlooms were too valuable to be exposed to such a risk; and the blow of relinquishment would sober your fiery spirits; while I, who had always coveted my brother's prosperity, would occupy and increase. But that inheritance was full of haunting spirits, and, for my own peace of mind, I had, in the end, to barter it. Ah! although for the name's sake I did it, for the name's sake I received my punishment; and you, Walter, were not the only one to suffer from that stain. The weapon hurled, rebounded, and struck deep into the heart of the hurler."

There was more written in the same half-penitent, half-vindicating, peculiar style. The name of George Main was signed at the bottom; and the tiny piece which had leavened the lump, lay bare.

Mr. Thornton put down the papers, and leaning his elbow upon the table, rested his head on his hand. The others page 417were mute and motionless. Then clear as a bell rang out a voice from the shadowy corner:

"God forgive all who sin for such a purpose as freely as I forgive George Main. God grant all who are concerned in, and all who are the consequences of similar sins, the peace that He has granted us. But for that deed, I, for one, would not be in existence. A Being would not have known the truth of Life. Ere this, father and his uncle have met, and paid their vows before a 'Mercy-seat.' Let us rejoice in the Spirit that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will." The white figure rose, glided across the room; and the silent air became flooded with silvery sounds. Soft and low, like the ripple of many waters, began that trembling air; then deeper, higher, louder, stronger; until with a mighty roar, a song of adoration was poured forth from the melodious throat of that modern timbrel. At the end of the accompaniment, the people received the keynote of the song, and rising of one accord from their seats, they, with their earnest voices, pierced through the distant sky, and rolled in at Heaven's gate, the glorious song of praise,

"God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform."

Then, as the last strain died away, the fingers of the player glided into that pleading prayerful tune,

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee."

The angels who received the volume at Heaven's gate, and who carried it to the feet of their Master, returned to breathe into the hearts of the singers their glorious "Amen."