Does it always smoke? said the gentle Jesuit, addressing the little maid.
The effect of so sudden and discomposing
a question, at a moment when the person addressed was staring with all her soul at the minister, open-mouthed and open-eyed, may be better imagined than described. The girl gave a start and stifled exclamation, and made all the cups rattle on the tray as she set it down. Did what smoke? the chimney, or the minister, or the landladys husband down-stairs?
Does it always smoke? repeated Mrs. Vincent, calmly, putting on the chimney. I dont think it would if you were very exact in putting this on. Look here: always at this height, dont you see? and now it burns perfectly well.
Yes, maam; Ill tell missis, maam, said the girl, backing out, with some alarm. Mrs. Vincent sat down at the table with all the satisfaction of success and conscious virtue. Her son, for his part, flung himself into the easy-chair which she had given up, and stared at her with an impatience and wonder which he could not restrain.
To think you should talk about the lamp at such a time, or notice it at all, indeed, if it smoked like fifty chimneys! he exclaimed, with a tone of annoyance; why, mother, this is life or death.
Yes, yes, my dear! said the mother, a little mortified in her turn: but it does not do to let strangers see when you are in trouble. Oh, Arthur, my own boy, you must not get into any difficulty here. I know what gossip is in a congregation; you never would bear half of what your poor dear papa did, said the widow, with tears in her eyes, laying her soft old fingers upon the young mans impatient hand. You have more of my quick temper, Arthur; and whatever you do, dear, you must not expose yourself to be talked of. You are all we have in the world. You must be your sisters protector; for oh, if this should be true, what a poor protector her mother has been! And, dear boy, tell me, what are we to do?
Had he any friends? asked Vincent, half sullenly; for he did feel an instinctive desire to blame somebody, and nobody seemed so blamable as the mother, who had admitted a doubtful person into her house. Did he know anybody in Lonsdale, or anywhere? Did he never speak of his friends?
He had been living abroad, said Mrs. Vincent, slowly. He talked of gentlemen sometimes, at Baden, and Homburg, and such places. I am afraid you would think it very silly, and and perhaps wrong, Arthur; but he seemed to know so much of the world so different from our quiet way of life that being so nice and good and refined himself with it all I am afraid it was rather an attraction to Susan. It was so different to what she was used with, my dear. We used to think a man who had seen so much, and known so many temptations, and kept his nice simple tastes through it all oh, dear, dear! If it is true, I was never so deceived in all my life.
But you have not told me, said Arthur, morosely, if he had any friends?
Nobody in Lonsdale, said Mrs. Vincent. He came to see some young relative at school in the neighbourhood
At this point Mrs. Vincent broke off with a half scream, interrupted by a violent start and exclamation from her son, who jumped off his seat, and began to pace up and down the room in an agitation which she could not comprehend. This start entirely overpowered his mother. Her overwrought nerves and feelings relieved themselves in tears. She got up, trembling, approached the young man, put her hand, which shook, through his arm, and implored him, crying softly all the time, to tell her what he feared, what he thought, what was the matter? Poor Vincents momentary ill-humour deserted him: he began to realise all the complications of the position; but he could not resist the sight of his mothers tears. He led her back gently to the easy-chair, poured out for her a cup of the neglected tea, and restrained himself for her sake. It was while she took this much-needed refreshment that he unfolded to her the story of the helpless strangers whom, only the night before, he had committed to her care.
The mother you shall see for yourself to-morrow. I cant tell what she is, except a lady, though in the strangest circumstances, said Vincent. She has some reason I cannot tell what for keeping her child out of the fathers hands. She appealed to me to let her send it to you, because he had been at Lonsdale already, and I could not refuse. His name is Colonel Mildmay; he has been at Lonsdale; did you hear of such a man?
Mrs. Vincent shook her head her face grew more and more troubled.
I dont know about reasons for keeping a child from its father, she said, still shaking her head. My dear, dear boy, I hope no designing woman has got a hold upon you. Why did you start so, Arthur? what had Mr. Fordham to do with the child? Susan would open my letters, of course, and I daresay she will make them very comfortable; but, Arthur
pride and consolation as she once more dried the tears which would come, notwithstanding all her efforts. Then he sat down beside her, and resigned himself to that confidential talk which can rarely be but between members of the same family. He had unburdened his mind unconsciously in his letters about Tozer and the deacons; and it cannot be told what a refreshment it was to be able to utter roundly in words his sentiments on all those subjects. The power of saying it out with no greater hindrance than her mild remonstrances, mingled, as they were, with questions which enabled him to complete his sketches, and smiles of amusement at his descriptive powers, put him actually in better humour with Salem. He felt remorseful and charitable after he had said his worst.