CHAPTER XXII
_AFTER MANY DAYS_
It was about the hour of five o'clock in the afternoon, and beingwinter it was already dusk, when I came at last to my native place,and rode up to the gate of my father's house.
I had journeyed down as far as Norwich in company with my cousinRupert, who was on his way to Lynn, and with my faithful friend, oldMuzzy, who had sworn never to leave me, and whom I was not less lothto part with. And finding myself, as I came back into that countrywhere I was born, utterly overmastered by a strong passion ofhome-sickness, I had no sooner procured comfortable lodgings for mycompanions in the Maid's Head Inn, of Norwich, than I got uponhorseback and rode over by myself to look upon my father and motheragain.
But as I came towards the house, the greater my longing was to enterit again, so much the more was I daunted by a fearful apprehension ofthe reception I should meet with, as well as of the changes whichmight have been wrought during my absence. So that at the last I darednot ride up boldly to the door, but came along softly, and dismountedand tied my horse to the outer gate. After which I slipped insidequietly, and round the side of the house to the window of the greatparlour, through which I could see the warm glow of a fire illuminatethe wintry mist without.
When I had come to the window I raised myself up till my head was on alevel with the bottom panes, and looked within.
The room held four persons. On one side of the fire sat my father,seeming to be much older than I remembered him, in his greatarm-chair, with pillows at the back. Standing up on the opposite sideof the hearth was a figure which I quickly recognised for Mr. PeterWalpole, though his back was towards me. It was Saturday night, and hehad plainly arrived a short time before me, from Norwich. Between thetwo was my mother, sitting placidly as of old, and unchanged exceptfor a wistful sadness in her eyes, which it smote me to the heart tonotice, and beside her a young woman, scarce more than a girl, with asingular sweet expression on her face, who was at first strange to me.
Mr. Walpole was speaking when I first looked in upon them.
"We are like to have more news from the East Indies. The _NorwichJournal_ announces that a Company's ship has entered the Thames,bringing news of a great victory over the Moors of Bengal."
My mother looked round sharply, and cried out--
"Tell me at once, Mr. Walpole, if you have heard anything of our boy?"
The good old man shook his head.
"No, no, ma'am, there is no news of that sort. I fear it will be longbefore we hear of him. Indeed, it is but a chance that he is out inthe East Indies at all. We did but hear a rumour that he had been seenin Calcutta."
My mother let her head droop upon her breast. The girl bent over toher and laid her hand upon my mother's shoulder.
"Don't let yourself think that Athelstane has come to harm," she saidin a sweet, clear voice. (And if I had not recognised the face Irecognised the voice. It was my little playmate, Patience Thurstan.)"I have a faith which makes me sure that he is still alive, and willsome day come back to us again."
"No!" It was my father's voice I heard, coming sternly from where hesat upright in his chair. "He will not come back here. He left thishouse of his own free will, left it in treachery and deceit. He hascast its dust from off his feet, and this is his home no more."
My heart sank within me at these bitter words. But Patience pleadedfor me still.
"Ah, but he will return, I know he will, and if he does you willforgive him, won't you, Mr. Ford? After all he was but a boy when heran away, too young to know what he was doing. How can we tell whatsuffering he has gone through since, how often he has repented of whathe did, and longed to come back and be forgiven."
Mr. Peter Walpole gave a groan.
"It is I was to blame, as much as the boy, come, brother Ford.Remember how I held out for that premium with him. Not but what thesum I named was just, mind you; but I loved the lad and would havetaken him without a premium at all, rather than he should have gonewandering about the world, to be murdered by heathen men andcannibals."
I cannot express how surprised and touched I was to hear Mr. Walpolespeak thus of me. For I had ever regarded him as a cold, hard man,with no affections beyond money and religion. I looked anxiously formy father's reply.
"Nay, you were in no wise to blame, if you considered that what youasked was your right, though to my mind it savoured of extortion. Itis my unhappy son whom I cannot excuse. Had he but come to me, andtold me what was in his heart, it would have gone hard but I wouldhave provided for him in some honest career. But to let himself beenticed away by pirates, as there is little doubt they were, and todissemble his flight with falsehood, that was unworthy of a son ofmine, and cannot be atoned for."
He gave a glance, half angry, half questioning, at my mother, as heconcluded. I did the same, but was surprised to observe that her facewas returned to its former placid composure, and she seemed not toheed my father's stern expressions.
Poor little Patience took them more to heart, and the tears shone inher eyes.
"Don't say you won't forgive him!" she implored. "Think, for aught weknow he may now be pining in a Moorish dungeon, or lying wounded onthe battle-field. Oh, Mr. Ford, he was your only son, and you lovedhim--you must love him still!"
"Silence, girl!" cried my father, very fierce. "How dare you tell me Ilove a rebellious child! I should wrong my conscience, and be false tomy profession as a Christian man, if I were weak enough to do what yousay."
Patience turned and appealed to my mother.
"Won't you speak to him, mother? Why do you sit there so quietly? Youlove Athelstane as much as--as much as any one."
My mother cast a tender glance at my father.
"Hush, child! There is no need to speak. Athelstane's father forgavehim long ago."
I saw my father start and tremble.
"Woman! What is it you say? What do you know?" he exclaimed. "You sawme cross his name out of the Bible with my own hand!"
"Yes, dear," my mother answered very softly, "but you wrote it inagain that very night, when you thought I was asleep."
And rising out of her chair she crossed over and took down the bookfrom where it had lain those three years and more, and opened the pagewhere, as I have often seen it since, my name was written in again inlarge letters, and underneath in a shaken hand, the words, "Oh,Athelstane, my son, my son!"
Then, whether because of the flickering of the firelight, or the steamof my breath upon the pane, I ceased to see very distinctly, and cameaway from the window, and went round to the door, where I gave a loudknock.
The door was opened by Patience, and seeing before her, as shethought, a stranger in a uniform coat, she uttered a cry of surprise.
"Who are you, sir?"
"I am an ensign in the East India Company's service, as you see," Ianswered, jesting to conceal the fullness of my heart.
But I suppose there was that within her which told her more quicklythan her eyes who it was, for before I had spoken two words the littlesilly thing fell a-sobbing and crying, and I had to take her in myarms, without more ado, and bring her in with me.
My mother has always affirmed that she knew I was to return thatnight, even when I was outside by the window, and that the first stepI made across the threshold told her all. But instead of running outto meet me, in her beautiful wisdom she went over to where my fathersat still, and leant against his chair and put her arm round his neck.
So I found them when I came in alone, leaving Patience in the hall,and walked straight over, and would have knelt down before my father.But he prevented me, and rose out of his chair with a great cry, anddrew me to him, and so stood holding me in silence, while my motherwept; and presently I saw his lips moving, and found that he waswhispering to himself, "This my son was dead, and is alive again; hewas lost, and is found."
Afterwards we all knelt down together, while Mr. Walpole offered up aprayer; and then I sat in the midst and told them the whole story ofmy wanderings and perils as I hav
e written it here. And later on,noting that Patience was dressed in black, I inquired, and found thatshe had lost her father nearly a year before, and was become myfather's ward till she should attain the age of twenty-one, or marrywith his consent.
It was not for a long time after that I surprised her little secret,and discovered that depth of true affection which had been waiting forme all those years beside my own hearth, while I was pursuing phantomsfar away. But being alone with her one day, and our talk turning onthe riches I had brought back with me, and how I was to bestow them, Isaid to her--
"For one thing, I must buy you a fairing, Patience, like I used to dowhen we were children together. Have you forgotten, I wonder, theguinea which I gave you to spend, on the last day I ever spent athome?"
"No, indeed, I have not. I remember it very well," she answered,blushing.
"Why, is that so? And pray what did you buy with it?" I asked smiling.
"Nothing at all," said Patience shortly.
"Nothing! What then----"
"I have it by me, somewhere." She pretended to speak carelessly, butmy suspicions were aroused.
"I insist on knowing where, Patience," I said in a tone of command,such as I have never known her to resist.
"You must find out for yourself, then," says she, trying to defy me.(For the first and last time, God bless her!)
I took her by the arms and held her firmly.
"Now, Patience, tell me what you have done with my guinea," Idemanded, quite stern.
"I kept it--for a keepsake. Oh, Athelstane, don't laugh at me, I haveit on the ribbon round my neck!"
I didn't laugh at her. But I kissed her, and--well, well!--she kissedme back. And I was surprised to find how little anybody else wassurprised when they heard of it, and how they all seemed to take it asa matter of course, and my father told me quite coolly that heintended me to marry as soon as Patience should be eighteen, and tolive on Abner Thurstan's farm, which she had inherited by his will.
* * * * *
Of Rupert, as well as of old Muzzy, I must briefly speak. I conductedmy cousin to his father, as I had promised, and sought to reconcilethem. But I found my uncle to be harsher than I had expected. He had,besides, married again, and his wife looked sourly on the blind manshe was asked to entertain in her house. The upshot of it was that Itold her if she would take care of Rupert till I was married I wouldthen have him to live with me. And in our house he still abides, amuch altered man, given to the hearing of sermons, and never so happyas when Patience sits down to read him a piece from the Bible or the_Norwich Journal_; though sometimes a flash of his old spirit returnswhen I sit beside him after supper and talk over our old adventures inthe East.
I found it more difficult at first to befriend old Muzzy. For thoughthe old man professed to be, and I am sure really was, anxious toreform and lead a better life, he made but a poor business of it, andhis constant profane oaths and habits of rum-drinking proved a severetrial to my mother and Patience. I had told them of his many servicesto me, including his having saved my life, and therefore they made ita duty to show kindness to the old man, and endeavour to bear withhis ways. But I think they would have failed, and I should have beenobliged to find a home for him elsewhere, but for his havingaccidentally told them of the affair outside Calcutta. No sooner didthese tender-hearted women learn that I had saved old Muzzy's life (asthey chose to consider it) than they instantly conceived a strongaffection for the old man, and instead of finding him a burden nothingpleased them better than to sit in his company while the boatswainrelated the story of my prowess, interrupting it at every minute toexcuse himself for some dreadful expression which had brought thetears into their eyes. The tale lost nothing in the telling, and I amashamed to say that he so improved upon it in course of time as tomake it appear that I had marched single-handed through the Nabob'sentire army, severely wounded the Nabob himself, and slain many of hisprincipal generals, and finally emerged, carrying old Muzzy himselfacross my shoulders like a suckling lamb.
Peace to old Muzzy! His heart was as innocent as his life andconversation were depraved. I believe my mother used to buy tobaccofor him; and I am certain I once detected my wife secretly giving himrum.
In this peaceful manner my adventures ended, and I found myself, farbeyond my deserts, settled at last in the land where I was born, amongthose who loved me and whom I loved.
And we are so made, and this life of ours is so strange a thing, thatsometimes, when I walk abroad in the evening, as I was wont to do inmy boyhood, and stand beside the lonely, rippling water of the broad,and watch the reflection of the sunset upon the distant walls ofYarmouth town; sometimes, I say, I ask myself whether all this hasreally been as I have thus written it, or whether all these eventsfrom my first running away from my father's roof; and those nights anddays in the streets of yonder town and beneath the roof of the old"Three-decker"; and the woman I loved and fought for; and my cousinRupert's enmity; and the voyage which I took to the East Indies, andthe battles and perils which I passed through; and last of all thatwhite tomb in the seraglio garden in far-off Moorshedabad; whetherthey are not dreams and visions which have come to me while I haveslept.
UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.