The Monctons Volume I Part 14

He held out his hand as I took my seat at the desk. "Are we friends, Geoffrey?"

"That depends upon circ.u.mstances" said I.

"How hard it is for you to give a gracious answer," he replied. "It is your own fault that we ever were otherwise."

"I will try and think you my friend for the time to come."

He seemed more amused than surprised at this concession, and for some time we both wrote on in silence.

A tap at the door, and one of the clerks handed in a letter.

Mr. Moncton examined the post-mark and eagerly opened it up. While reading, his countenance underwent one of those remarkable changes I had on several occasions witnessed of late, and which seemed so foreign to his nature.

Suddenly crus.h.i.+ng the letter tightly in his hand, he flung it from him to the floor, and spurned it with his foot, exclaiming as he did so, with a fiend-like curl of the lip: "So would I serve the writer were he here!" Then turning to me, and speaking in a low confidential tone, he said:

"The writer of that letter is unconsciously making your fortune, Geoffrey. This son of mine has acted in a base, ungrateful manner to me--in a manner which I can never forget or forgive. If you conduct yourself prudently, you may become dearer to me than this wicked young man."

"I should be sorry to rise on my cousin's ruin. I would rather gain your respect on any other terms."

This remark made him wince.

"Foolish boy! How blind you are to your own interest. You belong to a family famous for playing the fool. It runs in the blood of the Monctons."

Starting from his seat, he paced the room for some minutes, as if in deep communion with himself.

"Geoffrey," said he at last, "from this day I adopt you as my son. I exempt you from the common drudgeries of the office, and will engage masters to instruct you in the fas.h.i.+onable accomplishments which are deemed necessary to complete the education of a gentleman."

I was mute with astonishment.

"Trifling as these things may appear to the man of science and the candidate for literary honours, they are not without their use to the professional student. The world judges so much by externals, that nothing is despised which helps to flatter its prejudices and ensure popularity. You are not too old to learn dancing, fencing and riding. I should like you to excel in athletic sports and exercises."

"You are making game of me, uncle," said I, for I could not believe him in earnest.

"By the living G.o.d! Geoffrey, I mean what I say."

I stood before him, gazing into his face like one in a dream. There was a downright earnestness in his face which could not be mistaken. He was no longer acting a part, but really meant what he said. Nor could I doubt but that letter had wrought this sudden change in my favour.

Where, now, was all my high-souled resolutions? Human nature prevailed, and I yielded to the temptation. There sat Robert Moncton, gazing complacently upon me, from beneath those stern, dark brows, his glittering eyes no longer freezing me with their icy s.h.i.+ne, but regarding me with a calm, approving smile: no longer the evil genius of my childhood, but a munificent spirit intent to do me good.

Ah, I was young--very young, and the world in my narrow circle had dealt hardly with me. I longed for freedom, for emanc.i.p.ation from constant toil. This must plead an excuse for my criminal weakness.

Years of painful experience, in the ways and wiles of men, had not as yet perfected the painful lesson taught me in after-years. Young, ardent, and willing to believe the best I could of my species, I began to think that I alone had been to blame; that I had wronged my uncle, and thrust upon his shoulders the burden of injuries which I had received from his son.

The evil influence of that son had been removed, and he was now willing to be my friend; and I determined to bury the past in oblivion, and to believe him really and truly so.

I shook him warmly by the hand, and entreated his forgiveness for the hard thoughts I had entertained, and thanked him sincerely for his offers of service.

The light faded from his eye. He looked gloomily, almost sadly into my face, glowing, as it must have been, with generous emotions, marvelling doubtlessly at my credulity.

Mr. Moncton up to this period had resided in the house which contained his office; the bas.e.m.e.nt having been appropriated entirely for that purpose, while the family occupied the floors above. My uncle seldom received visitors, excepting at those times when Theophilus returned from college. To these parties, I as a matter of course had never been admitted. My uncle's evenings were spent abroad, but I was unacquainted with his habits, and totally ignorant of his haunts.

Judge then, of my surprise and satisfaction when informed by Mr.

Moncton, that he had purchased a handsome house in Grosvenor Street, and that we were to remove thither. The office was still to be retained in Hatton Garden, but my hours of attendance were not to commence before ten in the morning; and were to terminate at four in the afternoon.

I had lived the larger portion of my life in great, smoky London, and had never visited the west end of the town. The change in my prospects was truly delightful. I was transported as if by magic from my low, dingy, ill-ventilated garret, to a well-appointed room on the second story of an elegantly furnished house in an airy, fas.h.i.+onable part of the town; the apartment provided for my especial benefit, containing all the luxuries and comforts which modern refinement has rendered indispensable.

A small, but well-selected library crowned the whole.

I did little else the first day my uncle introduced me to this charming room, but to walk to and fro from the book-case to the windows; now glancing at the pages of some long coveted treasure; now watching with intense interest the throng of carriages pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing; hoping to catch a glance of the fair face, which had made such an impression on my youthful fancy.

A note from Mr. Moncton, kindly worded for him, conveyed to me the pleasing intelligence that the handsome pressful of fine linen, and fas.h.i.+onably cut clothes, was meant for my use; to which he had generously added, a beautiful dressing-case, gold watch and chain.

I should have been perfectly happy, had it not been for a vague, unpleasant sensation--a certain swelling of the heart, which silently seemed to reproach me for accepting all these favours from a person whom I neither loved nor respected.

Conscience whispered that it was far better to remain poor and independent, than compromise my integrity. Oh, that I had given more heed to that voice of the soul! That still, small voice, which never lies--that voice which no one can drown, without remorse and self-condemnation.

Time brought with it the punishment I deserved, convincing me then, and for ever, that no one can act against his own conviction of right, without incurring the penalty due to his moral defalcation.

I dined alone with Mr. Moncton.

He asked me if I was pleased with the apartments he had selected for my use. I was warm in my thanks, and he appeared satisfied.

After the cloth was drawn, he filled a b.u.mper of wine, and pushed the bottle over to me.

"Here's to your rising to the head of the profession, Geoffrey. Fill your gla.s.s, my boy."

I drank part of the wine, and set the gla.s.s down on the table. It was fine old Madeira. I had not been used to drink anything stronger than tea and coffee, and I found it mounting to my head.

"I will not allow that, Geoffrey--you must honour my toast."

"I have done so, uncle, as far as I am able. I have had enough wine."

"Nonsense, boy! Don't you like it?"

"I hardly know. It makes me feel giddy and queer."

"Ha! ha! that's good"--chuckling and rubbing his hands.

"If I take more just now, I shall certainly be tipsy."

"What then?"

"It would be disgraceful. In your presence, too."

"What--were you never drunk?"

"Never, in my life."

"How old are you?"