The vices he has acquired have far outrun the advantages. His example, and that of a band of idle, irregular spirits who have joined him, has not only scandalized the simple people but disturbed their homesteads, brought contention and misery, and in some cases, bloodshed; so that in point of social and domestic position, I fear they have sunk lower than when my grandfather first sought the island. The mother of this unhappy young man has, naturally, perhaps, but weakly, shrunk from informing against him; but her brother, the clergyman of Osteroe, has at length taken upon himself to do so, clearly stating that nothing but personal interference and some months' residence among them will effect a reformation; and that the ruin is more to be regretted, as the little island has been for more than half a century the admiration not only of its immediate neighbors, but of all who have chanced to harbor off its coast. He states, too, that if properly directed and not exposed to the contagion of large cities, as his brother has been, poor Wilson's younger son, now a boy of eleven, may become us worthy and judicious a pastor as his father and grandfather, and so keep the office in his family, as my grandfather was so desirous of doing. The question is, how is this boy to be educated on the island, and whom can I find to take the ministry meanwhile."

"And must your own residence there be very long?" inquired Mrs.

Hamilton, still in that quiet tone, but her lip quivered.

"It depends entirely on whom I can get to accompany me, dearest. I must set Mr. Howard and Morton to work to find me some simple-minded, single-hearted individual, who will regard this undertaking in the same missionary spirit as the elder Wilson did. If I am happy enough to succeed in this, I hope a year, or somewhat less, will be the farthest limit of our separation."

"A year! a whole long year--dearest Arthur, must it be so very, very long?"

"Who tried to persuade Ellen, a fortnight ago, that a year, even two years, would pa.s.s so very quickly?" replied Mr. Hamilton trying to smile, and folding his arm fondly round his wife, he kissed the cheek which had become pale from the effort to restrain her feelings. "It is indeed an unexpected and a painful trial, and, as is generally the case with our rebellious spirits, I feel as if it would have been better borne at any other period than the present. We had so portioned out this year, had so antic.i.p.ated gratifying Caroline by introducing her to the so long and so eagerly antic.i.p.ated pleasures of London next January, that I can not bear to think of her disappointment."

"And our boys, too, they say it is so strange to be without their father, even in college term; what will it be when they come home for the long vacation, to which we have all so looked forward? But this is all weakness, my own dear husband; forgive me, I am only rendering your duty more difficult," she added, raising her head from his shoulder, and smiling cheerfully, even while the tears glistened in her eyes. "I must try and practice my own lesson, and believe the term of separation will really pa.s.s quickly, interminable as it now seems. We have been so blessed, so guarded from the bitter pang of even partial separation for twenty years, that how dare I murmur now the trial has come? It is G.o.d's pleasure, dearest Arthur, though it seems like the work of man, and as HIS we can endure it."

"Bless you, my beloved! you have indeed put a new spirit in me by those words," replied her husband, with a fondness, the more intense from the actual veneration that so largely mingled with it. "And bitter disappointment as it is to me to be from home when our sons return, it is better so, perhaps, for their company will wile away at least nearly three months of my absence."

Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton remained some hours together that morning in earnest conversation. All of individual regret was conquered for the sake of the other: its expression, at least, not its feeling; but they understood each other too well, too fondly, to need words or complaints to prove to either how intensely painful was the very thought of separation. To elude the performance of a duty which many persons, unable to enter into the hope of effecting good, would, no doubt, p.r.o.nounce Quixotic--for what could the poor inhabitants of Samboe be to him?--never entered either Mr. or Mrs. Hamilton's mind. He was not one to neglect his immediate duties for distant ones; but believed and acted on the belief, that both could be united. His own large estate, its various farms, parishes, and villages, were so admirably ordered, that he could leave it without the smallest scruple in the hands of his wife and steward. Though interested in, and actually a.s.sisting in the political movements of his country, he was still, as from his youth he had firmly resolved to be, a free, independent Englishman; bound to no party, but respected by all; retaining his own principles unshaken as a rock, though often and often his integrity had been tried by court bribes and dazzling offers. And yet, rare blending with such individual feelings, Arthur Hamilton looked with candor and kindness on the conduct and principles of others, however they might differ from his own, and found excuses for them, which none others could. That he should give up all the comforts, the luxuries, the delights of his peculiarly happy home, to encounter several months' sojourn in a bleak, half-civilized island, only in the hope of restoring and insuring moral and religious improvement to a small colony of human beings, whose sole claim upon him was, that they were immortal as himself, and that they had done a kindness to his grandfather more than half a century back, was likely to, and no doubt did, excite the utmost astonishment in very many circles; but not a sneer, not a word seeming to whisper good should be done at home before sought abroad, could find a moment's resting-place near Arthur Hamilton's name.

For half an hour after Mrs. Hamilton quitted her husband she remained alone, and when she rejoined her family, though she might have been a shade paler than her wont, she was as cheerful in conversation and earnest in manner as usual. That evening Mr. Hamilton informed his children and Miss Harcourt of his intended departure, and consequent compelled change of plan. Emmeline's burst of sorrow was violent and uncontrolled. Caroline looked for a minute quite bewildered, and then hastening to her father threw one arm round his neck, exclaiming, in a voice of the most affectionate sincerity, "Dear papa, what shall we do without you for such a long time?"

"My dear child! I thank you for such an affectionate thought; believe me, the idea of your wishes being postponed has pained me as much as any thing else in this unpleasant duty."

"My wishes postponed, papa--what do you mean?"

"Have you quite forgotten our intended plans for next January, my love?

My absence must alter them."

For a moment an expression of bitter disappointment clouded Caroline's open countenance.

"Indeed, papa, I had forgotten it; I only thought of your going away for so many months. It is a great disappointment, I own, and I dare say I shall feel it still more when January comes; but I am sure parting from you must be a still greater trial to mamma, than any such disappointment ought to be to me; and, indeed, I will try and bear it as uncomplainingly and cheerfully as she does."

Her father almost involuntarily drew her to his heart, and kissed her two or three times, without speaking; and Caroline was very glad he did so, for when she looked up again, the tears that would come at the first thought of her disappointment were bravely sent back again; and she tried to cheer Emmeline, by a.s.suring her she never could be like her favorite heroines of romance, if she behaved so very much like a child; taking the opportunity when they retired for the night, to say more seriously--

"Dear Emmeline, do try and be as lively as you always are. I am sure poor mamma is suffering very much at the idea of papa's leaving us, though she will not let us see that she does, and if you give way so, it will make her more uncomfortable still."

Emmeline promised to try; but her disposition, quite as susceptible to sorrow as to joy, and not nearly as firm as her sister's, rendered the promise very difficult to fulfill. It was her first sorrow; and Mrs.

Hamilton watched her with some anxiety, half fearful that she had been wrong to shield her so carefully from any thing like grief, if, when it came, she should prove unequal to its firm and uncomplaining endurance.

Ellen had been out of the room when Mr. Hamilton had first spoken; and engaged in soothing Emmeline; when she re-entered and the news was communicated to her, he did not observe any thing particular in mode of receiving it. But Mrs. Hamilton was so struck with "the expression of her countenance, which, as she tried somewhat incoherently to utter regrets, took the place of its usual calm, that she looked at her several minutes in bewilderment; but it pa.s.sed again, so completely, that she was angry with herself for fancying any thing uncommon.

Caroline, however, had remarked it too, and she could not help observing to Miss Harcourt, the first time they were alone--

"You will say I am always fancying something extraordinary, Miss Harcourt; but Ellen certainly did look pleased last night, when mamma told her of papa's intended departure."

"The expression must have been something extraordinary for you to remark it at all," replied Miss Harcourt; "n.o.body but Mrs. Hamilton, whose penetration is out of the common, can ever read any thing on Ellen's face."

"And it was for that very reason I looked again; and mamma noticed it too, and was surprised, though she did not say any thing. If she really be pleased, she is most ungrateful, and all her profession of feeling mamma and papa's constant kindness sheer deceit. I never shall understand Ellen, I believe; but I do hope mamma will never discover that she is not exactly that which her affection believes her."

"Pray do not talk so, my dear Caroline, or I shall be tempted to confess that you are giving words to my own feelings. Her conduct with regard to the disappearance of her allowance, the wholly unsatisfactory account of its expenditure, even every month, for she seems to me to mention many things she has never had, banish every hopeful feeling, and I dread more than I can tell you, the very thing you have expressed. But all this is very wrong; we have relieved each other by a mutual acknowledgment, and now let us never revert, even in thought, if possible, to the subject."

Caroline willingly acquiesced, for it was far from agreeable. Mr.

Hamilton's preparations, meanwhile, rapidly progressed. He imparted his wishes for a companion willing to remain in the island, till young Wilson should be prepared for the ministry, both to Mr. Howard and Mr.

Morton (the latter still remained in his desolate parish, still more isolated in feeling from the loss of both his parents, and Percy's absence), and both, especially Morton, gave him every hope of obtaining the character he wanted. His next inquiry was at Dartmouth for a strong, well-built vessel, fitted to encounter the stormy seas between Scotland and Feroe, determining to do all in his power to provide some means of regular communication between himself and the beloved inmates of his home. Wick, in Caithness, was the farthest post town to which letters could be addressed. Every ten days or fortnight communications were to be sent there, and the Siren, after conveying him to Feroe, was regularly to ply between Samboe and Wick, bringing from the latter place to Mr. Hamilton the various letters that had acc.u.mulated there, should unfavorable winds have lengthened the voyage, and forwarding his through that post to his home. By this means, he hoped to hear and be heard of regularly; an intense relief, if it really could be so accomplished, to his wife.

As soon as a ship, a competent captain, mate, and crew were obtained, Mr. Hamilton set off for Oxford and London, wishing in the latter place to see his friend Grahame, and in the former to pa.s.s a few days with his sons, who, knowing nothing of his summons, received him with unbounded delight. Their regret, when they heard the cause of his visit, was as great as their joy had been. Percy, in a desperate fit of impatience, wished the little island and all its concerns at the bottom of the sea, the best place for such unruly, disagreeable people; and he was only sobered when his father put before him that, though it must be a very heightened individual disappointment, it was the greatest comfort to him, to think that they would both be with their mother and sisters the first few months of his absence. Percy instantly altered his tone.

"You are quite right, my dear father; I was very selfish not to think of it. Trust me for making my dearest mother as cheerful and as happy as I can. You don't know what a guardian angel the thought of her love has been to me in temptation; and as for Bertie, if ever I thought he was studying himself ill, and not taking the care of himself he ought, or wanted him to take exercise and recreation, when he thought me a great bore, the word mother, made him yield at once."

And Herbert's kindling eye and cheek bore testimony to the truth of his brother's words. His only feeling and exclamation had been, if he might but accompany his father, and save him all the trouble he could; allowing, however, its impossibility, when the circ.u.mstances of his still delicate health and the necessity for uninterrupted study, were placed before him.

That visit to Oxford was a proud one for Mr. Hamilton. His sons held that place in the estimation of the professors, superiors, and their fellow-collegians, which their early influences had promised, and which, as the sons of Arthur Hamilton, seemed naturally their own. Percy could so combine firmness in principle, unbending rect.i.tude in conduct, with such a spirit of fun and enjoyment, as rendered him the prime mover of all sports at Oxford, as he had been at Oakwood; and Herbert, though so gentle and retiring as (until Percy's spirit was roused to shield him), gained him many nick-names and many petty annoyances, silently and insensibly won his way, and so bore with the thoughtless, the mirthful, and even the faulty, as at length to gain him the privilege of being allowed to do just as he liked, and win by his extraordinary talents the admiration and love of all the professors with whom he was thrown.

Morton had promised to introduce a person to Mr. Hamilton on his return from Oxford, who, if approved of, would be his willing, his eager a.s.sistant, and gladly remain in the island, attending to all that was required in its superintendence, and in the education of young Wilson, till he was old enough and properly fitted to take his father's place.

Great, then, was Mr. Hamilton's disappointment, when Morton entered his library according to appointment, but quite alone. Still greater was his astonishment, when he found it was Morton himself, thus eagerly desirous to become his companion, urging his wishes, his motives, Mr. Howard's sanction, with such earnestness, such single-mindedness of purpose, that every objection which, for Morton's own sake, Mr. Hamilton so strenuously brought forward, was overruled; and after a lengthened interview, matters were arranged to the entire satisfaction of both parties. The idea of the companionship and aid of such a friend as Morton bringing as great a relief to both Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, as their acquiescence filled the whole heart of the young missionary with the most unbounded grat.i.tude and joy. He suggested many little things, which, in the agitation of his hasty summons, had escaped his friends, and his whole being seemed transformed from despondency and listlessness to energy and hope. Engrossed as he was, Mr. Hamilton's usual thought for others had not deserted him, and he remarked that one of his household, Robert Langford, so often mentioned, appeared to linger in the library after morning and evening service, as if anxious to speak to him, but failing in courage so to do. He thought, too, that the young man seemed quite altered, dispirited, gloomy, almost wretched at times, instead of the mirthful, happy being he had been before. Determining to give him an opportunity of speaking before his departure, if he wished it, Mr. Hamilton summoned him to arrange, write a list, and pack some books, which Morton had selected to take with him. For some time Robert pursued his work in persevering silence, but at length fixed his eyes on his master with such beseeching earnestness, that Mr. Hamilton inquired the matter at once. It was some time before the young man could sufficiently compose himself to speak with any coherency, but at last Mr. Hamilton gathered the following details.

About five weeks previous (the first day of June) he had been introduced, as he had very often before been, by his master, with certain papers and law articles to convey to Plymouth, and with a pocket book containing thirty pounds, in two ten and two five pound notes, which he had orders to leave at some poor though respectable families, whom Mr. Hamilton was in the habit of occasionally a.s.sisting, though they were out of his own domains. The morning he was to have started on this expedition a cousin, whom he had always regarded as a brother, came unexpectedly to see him. He had just arrived at Plymouth from a four years' residence with his regiment in Ireland: and Robert's glee was so great as to require reiterated commands from the steward to take care of the papers, and not stay at his mother's cottage, where he was to take his cousin, later than the afternoon. He lingered so long before he set off from Oakwood, that he gathered up all the papers as quickly as he could, forgot his princ.i.p.al charge, so far at least as not to look to the secure fastening of the pocket-book, and hastened with his cousin through the brushwood and glade we have before mentioned, to his mother's cottage. It was very hot, and the young men, heated and in eager conversation, took off their coats, threw them loosely over their arms, and proceeded on their walk without them, much too engrossed with each other to be aware that, as they carried their coats, it was the easiest and most natural thing possible for all the smaller contents of their pockets to fall out, and if not missed directly, from the winding and rugged wood path, not likely to be found again.

A draught of cider and half an hour's rest at Mrs. Langford's cottage sufficiently revived Robert to resume his coat; he satisfied himself that his packet of papers was secure, and, as he imagined from the feel of another pocket, the pocket-book also.

What, then, was his consternation, when he approached the first house at which he was to leave ten pounds of the money, about twenty miles from Oakwood to discover that the pocket book was gone! and that which, by its feel, he believed to have been it, an old card-case, that his young master Percy had laughingly thrown at him one day after failing in his endeavor to emblazon it, the sticky materials he had used causing it to adhere to whatever it touched, and so preserving it in Robert's pocket, when almost all the other things had fallen out. He racked his memory in vain as to what could have become of it, convinced that he had not left it at Oakwood, as he first sincerely wished that he had. Two or three other things had also disappeared, and it suddenly flashed upon him, that when carrying his coat over his arm they must have fallen out. He cursed his thoughtlessness again and again, and would have retraced his steps immediately, but the papers with which he was intrusted had to be delivered at Plymouth by a certain hour, and he could not do it. The intense heat of the day gave place in the evening to a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, wind and very heavy rain, which last continued unabated through the night. He returned home, or rather to his mother's cottage, the next day, in a state of mind little removed from distraction; searching the path he had traversed with his cousin in every direction, but only succeeded in finding some worthless trifles, and the pocket-book itself but open and empty; but at a little distance from it one five pound note. In an instant he remembered that in his hurry he had failed to see to its proper fastening: if he had, all would have been right, for the wind and rain would hardly have had power to open it, and disperse its contents. Hour after hour he pa.s.sed in the vain search for the remainder; the storm had rendered the path more intricate; the ground was slimy, and quant.i.ties of dried sticks and broken branches and leaves almost covered it. He told his tale to his mother in the deepest distress; what was he to do? She advised him to tell the steward the whole story, and to request him to keep back the sum she was in the habit of receiving quarterly, till the whole amount could be repaid. Robert obeyed her, but with most painful reluctance, though even then he did not imagine all the misery his carelessness would entail upon him. Morris, as was natural, was exceedingly displeased, and not only reproved him very severely, but let fall suspicions as to the truth of his story: he knew nothing of his cousin, he said, and could not say what company he might have been led into. If the notes had fallen out of his pocket during his walk, they must be found; it was all nonsense that the wind and rain could so have scattered and annihilated them, as to remove all trace of them. He would not say any thing to his master, because it would only annoy him, and the charities he would give himself, not from Mrs. Langford's allowance, but from Robert's own wages, which he should certainly stop till the whole sum was paid; he should take care how he intrusted such a responsible office to him again.

Robert was at first indignant, and violent in his protestations of the truth of his story; but as it got wind in the servants' hall as he found himself suspected and shunned by almost all, as days merged into weeks, and there was no trace of the notes, and Morris and Ellis both united in declaring that, as no strangers pa.s.sed through that part of the park, if found they must have been heard of, the young man sunk into a state of the most gloomy despondency, longing to tell his kind master the whole tale, and yet, naturally enough, shrinking from the dread of his suspicion of his honesty, as more terrible than all the rest.

But Mr. Hamilton did not suspect him, and so a.s.sured him of his firm belief in his truth and innocence, that it was with great difficulty poor Robert refrained from throwing himself at his feet to pour forth his grat.i.tude. He was so severely punished from his heedlessness, that his master would not say much about it, and soon after dismissing him, summoned Morris, and talked with him some time on the subject, declaring he would as soon suspect his own son of dishonesty as the boy who had grown up under his own eye from infancy, and the son of such a mother.

It was very distressing for Mrs. Langford certainly, the old steward allowed, and she looked sad enough; but it was no use, he had tried hard enough to prevent his suspicions, but they would come. None but the servants and the woodmen and gardeners went that path, and if the notes had been dropped there, they must have been found; and it was a very hard thing for the other servants, as none knew who might be suspected of appropriating them. His master was much too kind in his opinions, but he must forgive him if he continued to keep a sharp look out after the young man. Morris was very old, and somewhat opinionated; so all that his master could succeed in, was to insist that he should only keep back half of Robert's wages, till the sum was paid.

"Take away the whole, and if he have been unfortunately led into temptation, which I do not believe he has, you expose him to it again,"

was his judicious command. "It is all right he should return it, even though lost only by carelessness; but I will not have him put to such straits for want of a little money, as must be the case if you deprive him of all his wages; and now, my good Morris, if you can not in conscience repeat my firm opinion of this lad's innocence to the servants, I must do it myself."

And that very evening after prayers, when the whole household were a.s.sembled in the library, Mr. Hamilton addressed them simply and briefly, mentioning that Robert Langford had himself told his tale to him, and that it was his own opinion, and that of their mistress, that he did not deserve the suspicions attached to him, and that his fellow-servants would all be acting more charitably and religiously if they believed his story, until they had had some strong proof to the contrary; he could not of course, interfere with private opinion; he could only tell them his own and their lady's. He acknowledged it was a very unpleasant occurrence, but he begged them all to dismiss the idea that suspicion could be attached to either of them; he felt too convinced that had any one of his household chanced to find the missing notes, they would at once have mentioned it to the steward or housekeeper, more especially, since Robert's loss had been known among them only a few days after it had occurred. Appropriation, he need not tell them, in such a case was theft, and of that sin, he was perfectly certain, not one present would be guilty. He allowed that it would be much more satisfactory to have the tangible proof of Robert's innocence by discovering some trace of them but it was not unlikely the heavy wind and rain had destroyed the thin material of the notes or borne them into the brambly brushwood, where it was scarcely possible they could be found.

If the attention of Mrs. Hamilton, her daughters, and Miss Harcourt had not been naturally riveted on Mr. Hamilton's address, and its effect on the servants, especially Robert, whose emotion was almost overpowering, they must have remarked that Ellen had shrunk into the shade of the heavy curtains falling by one of the windows, and had unconsciously grasped the oaken back of one of the ma.s.sive chairs; lips, cheek, and brow, white and rigid as sculptured marble. An almost supernatural effort alone enabled her to master the crushing agony, sending the blood up to her cheeks with such returning violence, that when she wished her aunt and uncle good night, she might have been thought more flushed than pale; but it pa.s.sed unnoticed Mrs. Hamilton too much annoyed on Mrs.

Langford's account, to think at that moment of any thing but how she could best set the poor mother's heart at rest. It was very evident that though some of the domestics after their master's address came up to Robert, shook hands with him and begged his pardon, the greater number still sided with Morris, and retained their own less favorable opinion, and she could well imagine what Mrs. Langford's sufferings must be. It only wanted five days to that fixed for Mr. Hamilton's departure, wind permitting; and there were so many things to think of and do for him, that his family could have little thought of any thing else; but Mrs.

Hamilton, a.s.sured her husband she would leave no means untried to prove Robert's innocence.

For nearly an hour that same night did Ellen, after her attendant had left her, sit crouched by the side of her bed as if some bolt had struck and withered her as she sat. One word alone sounded and resounded in her ears; she had known it, p.r.o.nounced it to be such to herself numbers of times, but it had never mocked and maddened her as when spoken in her uncle's voice, and in his deepest, most expressive tone--"theft!" And she was the guilty one--and she must see the innocent bearing the penalty of her crime, suspicion, dislike, avoidance, for she dared not breathe the truth. Again came the wild, almost desperate, resolve to seek Mrs. Hamilton that very moment, avow herself the criminal, implore her to take back every trinket belonging to her, to replace it, and do with her what she would. But if she did confess, and so draw attention to her, how could she keep her brother's secret? Could she have firmness to bear all, rather than betray it? What proof of her inward wretchedness and remorse could there be in the mere confession of appropriation, when the use to which she had applied that money and all concerning it, even to the day it was found, must be withheld, lest it should in any way be connected with her letter to her brother. She must be silent; and the only prayer which, night and morning, ay, almost every hour, rose, from that young heart, was for death, ere it was too late for G.o.d's forgiveness.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BROKEN DESK

The many secret wishes for an unfavorable wind, that Mr. Hamilton might stay at Oakwood still a little longer, were not granted, and he left his family the very day he had fixed, the 14th of July, just three weeks after his summons, and about ten days before his sons were expected home. Without him Oakwood was strange indeed, but with the exception of Emmeline, all seemed determined to conquer the sadness and anxiety, which the departure of one so beloved, naturally occasioned. Emmeline was so unused to any thing like personal sorrow, that she rather seemed to luxuriate in its indulgence.

"Do you wish to both disappoint and displease me, my dear Emmeline?" her mother said, one day, about a week after her husband had gone, as she entered the music-room, expecting to find her daughter at the harp, but perceiving her instead, listless and dispirited, on the sofa. "Indeed, you will do both, if you give way to this most uncalled-for gloom."

"Uncalled for," replied Emmeline, almost pettishly.

"Quite uncalled for, to the extent in which you are indulging it; and even if called for, do you not think you would be acting more correctly, if you thought more of others than yourself, and tried to become your own cheerful self for their sakes? It is the first time you have ever given me cause to suspect you of selfishness; and I am disappointed."