"His son Louis was a boy full of energy and fire. The family were all indignant at the confidence which Ralph Brandon put in this Potts--Louis most of all. One day he met Potts. Words pa.s.sed between them, and Louis struck the scoundrel. Potts complained. Brandon had his son up on the spot; and after listening to his explanations gave him the alternative either to apologise to Potts or to leave the house forever. Louis indignantly denounced Potts to his father as a swindler. Brandon ordered him to his room, and gave him a week to decide.

"The servants whispered till the matter was noised abroad. The county gentry had a meeting about it, and felt so strongly that they did an unparalleled thing. They actually waited on him to a.s.sure him that Potts was unworthy of trust, and to urge him not to treat his son so harshly.

All Brandon's pride was roused at this. He said words to the deputation which cut him off forever from their sympathy, and they left in a rage.

Mrs. Brandon wrote to me, and I went there. I found Brandon inflexible.

I urged him to give his son a longer time, to send him to the army for a while, to do any thing rather than eject him. He refused to change his sentence. Then I pointed out the character of Potts, and told him many things that I had heard. At this he hinted that I wished to have the management of his business, and was actuated by mercenary motive. Of course, after this insult, nothing more was to be said. I went home and tried to forget all about the Brandons. At the end of the week Louis refused to apologize, and left his father forever."

"Did you see Louis?"

"I saw him before that insult to ask if he would apologize."

"Did you try to make him apologize?" asked Mrs. Thornton, coldly.

"Yes. But he looked at me with such an air that I had to apologize myself for hinting at such a thing. He was as inflexible as his father."

"How else could he have been?"

"Well, each might have yielded a little. It does not do to be so inflexible if one would succeed in life."

"No," said Mrs. Thornton. "Success must be gained by flexibility. The martyrs were all inflexible, and they were all unsuccessful."

Thornton looked at his wife hastily. Despard's hand trembled, and his face grew paler still with a more livid pallor.

"Did you try to do any thing for the ruined son?"

"How could I, after that insult?"

"Could you not have got him a government office, or purchased a commission for him in the army?"

"He would not have taken it from me."

"You could have co-operated with his mother, and done it in her name."

"I could not enter the house after being insulted."

"You could have written. From what I have heard of Brandon, he was just the man who would have blessed any one who would interpose to save his son."

"His son did not wish to be saved. He has all his father's inflexibility, but an intellect as clear as that of the most practical man. He has a will of iron, dauntless resolution, and an implacable temper. At the same time he has the open generosity and the tender heart of his father."

"Had his father a tender heart?"

"So tender and affectionate that this sacrifice of his son must have overwhelmed him with the deepest sorrow."

"Did you ever after make any advances to any of them?"

"No, never. I never went near the house."

"Did you ever visit any of the county gentry to see if something could be done?"

"No. It would have been useless. Besides, the very mention of his name would have been resented. I should have had to fling myself headlong against the feelings of the whole public. And no man has any right to do that."

"No," said Mrs. Thornton. "No man has. That was another mistake that the martyrs made. They would fling themselves against public opinion."

"All men can not be martyrs. Besides, the cases are not a.n.a.logous."

Thornton spoke calmly and dispa.s.sionately.

"True. It is absurd in me; but I admire one who has for a moment forgotten his own interests or safety in thinking of others."

"That does very well for poetry, but not in real life."

"In _real life_, such as that on board the _Tec.u.mseh_?" murmured Mrs.

Thornton, with drooping eyelids.

"You are getting excited, my dear," said Thornton, patiently, with the air of a wise father who overlooks the petulance of his child. "I will go on. I had business on the Continent when poor Brandon's ruin occurred. You were with me, my dear, at Berlin when I heard about it. I felt shocked, but not surprised. I feared that it would come to that."

"You showed no emotion in particular."

"No; I was careful not to trouble you."

"You were in Berlin three months. Was it at the beginning or end of your stay?"

"At the beginning."

"And you staid?"

"I had business which I could not leave."

"Would you have been ruined if you had left?"

"Well, no--not exactly ruined, but it would have entailed serious consequences."

"Would those consequences have been as serious as the _Tec.u.mseh_ tragedy?"

"My dear, in business there are rules which a man is not permitted to neglect. There are duties and obligations which are imperative. The code of honor there is as delicate, yet as rigid, as elsewhere."

"And yet there are times when all obligations of this sort are weakened.

When friends die, this is recognized. Why should it not be so when they are in danger of a fate worse than death?"

Thornton elevated his eyebrows, and made no reply.

"You must have heard about it in March, then?"

"Yes, at the end of January. His ruin took place in December, 1845. It was the middle of May before I got home. I then, toward the end of the month, sent my clerk to Brandon village to make inquiries. He brought word of the death of Brandon, and the departure of his family to parts unknown."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEN, COVERING HER FACE WITH HER HANDS, SHE BURST INTO AN AGONY OF TEARS."]

"Did he make no particular inquiries?"