"A thousand cheers for them, auntie!" cried Walter. Then turning to his brother, he added, "So you see, Amos, you must not lose heart; indeed, I know you won't. Things will come nicely round, as Harry said. My father, I am sure, will understand and appreciate you in time; and I shall have to erect a triumphal arch with flowers and evergreens over the front door, with this motto in letters of gold at the top, 'Amos and moral courage for ever.'"

"I don't know," said his brother rather sadly; "I trust things may come round as you say. But anyhow, I mean, with G.o.d's help, to persevere; and it is a great happiness for me to know that I have the sympathy of my dear aunt and brother."

Not many days after this conversation, when the family were at breakfast, Mr Huntingdon asked Walter when the steeplechase was coming off.

"Three weeks to-morrow, I believe," replied his son. "By-the-by, I think I ought to mention that Saunders wants me to be one of the riders."

"You!" exclaimed his father in astonishment.

"Yes, father; he says I am the best rider of my age anywhere round, and that I shall stand a good chance of coming in at the head of them."

"Very likely that may be the opinion of Mr Robert Saunders," replied the squire; "but I can only say I wish you were not quite so friendly with that young man; you know it was he who led you into that sc.r.a.pe with poor Forester."

"Ah, but, father, Bob wasn't to blame. You know I took the blame on myself, and that was putting it on the right shoulders. There's no harm in Bob; there are many worse fellows than he is."

"But perhaps," said Miss Huntingdon, "he may not be a very desirable companion for all that."

"Perhaps not, auntie.--Well, father, if you don't mind my riding this time, I'll try and keep a little more out of his way in future."

"I think you had better, my boy; you are not likely to gain much either in reputation or pocket by the acquaintance. You know it was only the other day that he helped to let you in for losing a couple of sovereigns in that wretched affair on Marley Heath; and one of them was lost to about the biggest blackguard anywhere hereabouts. I think, my boy, it is quite time that you kept clear of such things."

"Indeed, father. I almost think so too; and, at any rate, you won't find me losing any more sovereigns to Jim Jarrocks. But I'm almost pledged to Saunders to ride in this steeplechase. It will be capital fun, and no harm, and perhaps I may never have another chance."

"I had rather you didn't," said his father; "anyhow, your friend Saunders must find you a horse for I am not going to have one of mine spoilt again, and your own pony would make but a poor figure in a steeplechase."

"All right, father," replied Walter, and the conversation pa.s.sed on to another subject.

The three weeks came and went; the steeplechase came off, and Walter was one of the riders. The admired of all eyes, he for a time surmounted all difficulties. At last, in endeavouring to clear an unusually wide ditch, he was thrown, and his horse so badly injured that the poor animal had to be shot. Walter himself, though stunned and bruised, was not seriously hurt, and was able to return home in time for dinner.

The party had a.s.sembled in the drawing-room, all but Mr Huntingdon.

Five minutes--ten--a quarter of an hour past the usual time, but the squire had not made his appearance. At last his step was heard rapidly approaching. Then he flung the door hastily open, and rushed into the room, his face flushed, and his chest heaving with anger. Striding up to Walter, he exclaimed: "So this is the end of your folly and disobedience. You go contrary to my orders, knowing that I would not have you take part in the steeplechase; you ruin another man's horse worth some three hundred guineas; and then you come home, just as if nothing had happened, and expect me, I suppose, to pay the bill. But you may depend upon it I shall do nothing of the sort."

No one spoke for a few minutes. Then Walter stammered out that he was very sorry.

"Sorry, indeed!" cried his father; "that's poor amends. But it seems I'm to have nothing but disobedience and misery from my children."

"Dear Walter," said his sister gently, "are you not a little hard upon the poor boy?"

"Hard, Kate?--poor boy?--nonsense! You're just like all the rest, spoiling and ruining him by your foolish indulgence. He's to be master, it seems, of the whole of us, and I may as well give up the management of the estate and of my purse into his hands."

Miss Huntingdon ventured no reply; she felt that it would be wiser to let the first violence of the storm blow by. But now Amos rose, and approached his father, and confronted him, looking at him calmly and steadily. Never before had that shy, reserved young man been seen to look his father so unflinchingly in the face. Never, when his own personal character or comfort had been at stake, had he dreamt of so much as a remonstrance. He had left it to others to speak for him, or had submitted to wrong or neglect without murmuring. How different was it now! How strange was the contrast between the wild flashing eyes of the old man, and the deeply tranquil, thoughtful, and even spiritual gaze of the son! Before that gaze the squire's eyes lost their fire, his chest ceased to heave, he grew calm.

"What's the meaning of this?" he asked in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

"Father," said Amos slowly, "I am persuaded that you are not doing full justice to dear Walter. I must say a word for him. I do not think his going and riding in the steeplechase was an act of direct disobedience.

I think your leave was implied when you said that at any rate he must not look to you for a horse. I know that you would have preferred his not going, and so must he have known, but I do not think that he was wrong in supposing that you had not absolutely forbidden him."

"Indeed!" said Mr Huntingdon dryly and sarcastically, after a pause of astonishment; "and may I ask where the three hundred guineas are to come from? for I suppose the borrowed horse will have to be paid for."

"Father," said Walter humbly, and with tears in his eyes and a tremor in his voice, "I know the horse must be paid for, because it was not Saunders's own; he borrowed it for me, and I know that he cannot afford the money. But it's an exaggeration that three hundred guineas; the horse was really worth about a hundred pounds."

"It makes no matter," replied his father, but now with less of irritation in his voice, "whether it was worth three hundred guineas or one hundred pounds. I want to know who is going to pay for it, for certainly _I_ am not."

"You must stop it out of my allowance," said Walter sorrowfully.

"And how many years will it take to pay off the debt, then, I should like to know?" asked his father bitterly.

Again there was a few moments' silence. But now Amos stepped forward once more, and said quietly, "Father, I will take the debt upon myself."

"_You_, Amos!" exclaimed all his three hearers, but in very different tones.

Poor Walter fairly broke down, sobbing like a child, and then threw himself into his brother's arms and kissed him warmly. Mr Huntingdon was taken quite aback, and tried in vain to hide his emotion. Miss Huntingdon wept bright tears of gladness, for she saw that Amos was making progress with his father, and getting nearer to his heart.

"There, then," said her brother with trembling voice, "we must make the best of a bad job.--Walter, don't let's have any more steeplechases.-- Amos, my dear boy, I've said I wouldn't pay, so I must stick to it, but we'll make up the loss to you in some way or other."

"All right, dear father," replied Amos, hardly able to speak for gladness. Never for years past had Mr Huntingdon called him "dear."

That one word from his father was worth the whole of the hundred pounds to him twice over.

The squire had business with one of the tenants in the library that evening, so his sister and her two nephews were alone in the drawing- room after dinner.

"Aunt," said Walter, "look at my hands; do you know what this means?"

His hands were crossed on his knees.

"I think I do," she replied with a smile; "but do you tell me yourself."

"Why, it means this,--_I_ am going to bring forward for our general edification an example of moral courage to-night, and my hero is no less a person than Martin Luther; and there is _my_ Martin Luther." As he said this he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, and looked at him with a bright and affectionate smile. "Yes, he is my Martin Luther: only, instead of his being brought before a 'Diet of Worms,' a very substantial _diet_ of fish, flesh, and fowl has just been brought before _him_; and instead of having to appear before the Emperor Charles the Fifth, he is now appearing before Queen Katharine the First of Flixworth Manor."

Both his hearers laughed heartily and happily; then he added: "Now I am going to trot out my hero--nay, that word 'trot' won't do; I've had too much of both trotting and galloping lately. But what I mean is, I want to show you what it is that I specially admire in my hero, and how this exactly fits in with my dear hero-brother Amos. Ah! I see he wants to stop me, but, dear Aunt Kate, you must use your royal authority and back me up; and when I have done, you can put in what notes and comments and addenda and corrigenda you like, and tell me if I have not just hit the right nail on the head.

"Very well; now I see you are all attention. Martin Luther--wasn't he a grand fellow? Just look at him as he is travelling up to the Diet of Worms. As soon as the summons came to him, his mind was made up; he did not delay for a moment. People crowded about him and talked of _danger_, but Luther talked about _duty_. He set out in a waggon, with an imperial herald before him. His journey was like a triumphal procession. In every town through which he pa.s.sed, young and old came out of their doors to wonder at him, and bless him, and tell him to be of good courage. At last he has got to Oppenheim, not far from Worms, and his friends do their very best to frighten him and keep him back; but he tells them that if he should have to encounter at Worms as many devils as there were tiles on the houses of that city, he would not be kept from his purpose. Ah! that was a grand answer. And then, when he got to his lodgings, what a sight it must have been! They were crowded inside and out with all cla.s.ses and all kinds of persons,--soldiers, clergy, knights, peasants, n.o.bles by the score, citizens by the thousand. And then came the grand day of all, the day after his arrival. He was sent for into the council-hall. What a sight that must have been for the poor monk! There was the young emperor himself, Charles the Fifth, in all his pomp and splendour, and two hundred of his princes and n.o.bles. Why, it would have taken the breath out of a dozen such fellows as I am to have to stand up and speak up for what I knew to be right before such a company. But Luther did speak up; and there was no swagger about him either. They asked him to recant, and he begged time to consider of it. They met again next day, and then he refused to recant, with great gentleness. 'Show me that I have done wrong,' he said, 'and I will submit: until I am better instructed I cannot recant; it is not wise, it is not safe for a man to do anything against his conscience. Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise. G.o.d help me. Amen.'

There, auntie, don't you agree with me in giving the crown of moral courage to Martin Luther? It's an old story, and I've learned it quite by heart, for I was always fond of it, but it is none the less true on that account."

"Yes, Walter, clear boy," replied his aunt, "I must heartily agree with you, and acknowledge that you have made a most excellent choice of a hero in Martin Luther. Not a doubt of it, he was a truly great and good man, a genuine moral hero. For a man who can be satisfied with nothing less than what is real and right; who is content to count all things loss for the attainment of a spiritual aim, and to fight for it against all enemies; who does his duty spite of all outward contradiction; and who reverences his conscience so greatly that he will face any difficulty and submit to any penalty rather than do violence to it, that is a truly great man, exhibiting a superb example of moral courage. And such a man, no doubt, was Martin Luther; and I believe I can see why you have chosen him just now, but you must tell me why yourself."

"I will, Aunt Kate. You see we are in Worms now. This is the council- hall; before dinner to-day was the time of meeting; and my dear father was in his single person the august a.s.sembly. Amos, the best of brothers to the worst of brothers, is Martin Luther. He might have kept himself to himself, but he comes forward. It is the hardest thing possible for him to speak; if he had consulted his own feelings he would have spared himself a mighty struggle, and have left his scamp of a brother to get out of the sc.r.a.pe as best he could. But he stands up as brave as a lion and as gentle as a lamb, and looks as calm as if he were made of sponge-biscuits instead of flesh and blood. He ventures to address the august a.s.sembly--I mean my father--in a way he never did in all his life before, and never would have done if he had been speaking for himself; but it was duty that was prompting him, it was love that was nerving him, it was unselfishness that made him bold. And so he has shown himself the bravest of the brave; and I hope the brother for whom he has done and suffered all this, if he has any shame left in him, will learn to copy him, as he already learned to respect and admire him.

There, Aunt Kate, I've been, and gone, and said it."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

PERPLEXING.

Many months had rolled by since Amos had undertaken to pay for the horse which his brother had unhappily ruined in the steeplechase. Mr Huntingdon never alluded to the matter again, but the difference in his manner towards his elder son was so marked that none could fail to observe it. There were both respect and affection in his voice when he addressed him, and the poor young man's naturally grave face lighted up as with a flood of sunshine when his father thus spoke to him. Miss Huntingdon, of course, rejoiced in this change with all her heart.

Walter was as pleased and proud at it as if some special honours were being conferred on himself. And old Harry--it was a sight worth seeing to observe the old servant when his master spoke kindly to Amos: what with winking and nodding, opening wide his eyes, lifting his eyebrows, rolling his tongue about, and certain inward volcanic mutterings, all const.i.tuting a little bit of private acting for his own special and peculiar benefit, it might have been thought by those who did not know him that something had been pa.s.sing at the moment causing a temporary derangement of his digestive organs. But Miss Huntingdon, as she marked his mysterious conduct, was perfectly aware that it simply meant an expression on his part--princ.i.p.ally for the relief of his own feelings, and partly also to give a hint to those who might care to know how he felt in the matter--that things were "coming round nicely," and that Mr Amos would get his proper place and his rights given him in the family, and would in due time accomplish his great purpose.

Amos himself began to be much of the same opinion, and was greatly touched by receiving a cheque from his father for a hundred pounds one morning, with the a.s.surance that he did not wish him to be out of pocket on Walter's account, while at the same time the squire neither mentioned the steeplechase himself nor allowed Amos to refer to it. The money was now his own, he remarked, and the less said about where it was going to the better.