The Parson O' Dumford Part 71

"Open this door," cried the same loud voice, and a heavy fist was applied to the panel.

"You can't come in, I tell you," cried one of the sentries angrily.

"This room's private."

"You'd better tell them to open the door," said the deputation. "They can't touch you; we're within the law. It's a society meeting. Take your seat."

"Open the door, then," said Sim, reluctantly resuming his place, when, as the door was thrown back, in came Joe Banks, closely followed by Tom Podmore.

"Hooray, lads!" cried Sim, enthusiastically. "I always said as he would. It's Joe Banks come to join us at last, along wi' Tom Podmore."

Volume 3, Chapter III.

TO SAVE RICHARD.

"Eve, my child," said Mrs Glaire, "what is it? Tell me what this means."

"Oh, aunt, aunt," the poor girl sobbed. "Richard--Richard."

"Yes, yes," said Mrs Glaire, drawing her to her breast, and laying her cool soft hands upon the burning brow; "tell me, darling. You have no secrets from me."

"I will--directly--aunt," sobbed Eve; and then, in a burst of pa.s.sionate grief, "He has been begging me to be his wife."

"And is that so very dreadful, my child?" said Mrs Glaire.

"And when I told him it could not be perhaps for years--not till I could freely forgive him--he accused me, so dreadfully."

"Indeed, child! what did he say?"

"Oh, I could not, cannot tell you," sobbed Eve.

"Yes, yes, my poor little frightened bird," said Mrs Glaire, caressing her, "you can tell me all."

"I will, aunt," said the girl, starting up, looking flushed and eager, as she hastily dried her eyes, and speaking now indignantly; "he accused me, aunt, of encouraging Mr Selwood."

"And have you, Eve?"

"Oh, aunt dear, never, never." This with a wondering, almost angry, look.

"And has Mr Selwood ever made any advances to you, my dear?" said Mrs Glaire, watching curiously the bright blus.h.i.+ng face before her.

"Never, aunt dear, never. He has always been so kind and gentlemanly.

Never by word or by look, aunt."

"No, child, he would not," said Mrs Glaire, slowly; "he is a gentleman whom we can trust and love."

"Love, aunt?"

"Yes, child, as a very dear friend. But about Richard, Eve. He was very hot and pa.s.sionate?"

"Yes, aunt. Most cruel to me."

"And you told him you could not forgive him for his cruel neglect and trifling with--with that poor girl?"

"Yes, aunt," said Eve, struggling hard to keep up her firmness; "but not quite all you say. I did not tell him I would not forgive him."

"What then, my child?"

"That I could not forgive him yet, not till I saw that he was truly sorry for the past."

"You told him this, Eve?"

"Yes, aunt dear. Was it wrong?"

"Wrong, my child," said Mrs Glaire, embracing her, as the tears started to her eyes.

"No; it was most maidenly and true. But, Eve, my child, some day you may be a mother--some day you may have a son, over whose welfare your heart will yearn, and for whom you would be ready to do anything--even to committing a crime to save him from a downward course."

"Aunt!" cried the girl, looking up at her wonderingly, for she was speaking now in eager excited tones.

"Yes, child; ready to screen him, forgive him, bear the penalty of his sins, anything to save him from pain, suffering, or the retribution he has been calling down upon his head."

"Oh, aunt," cried the girl, in awe-stricken tones, "is it like this to be a mother?"

"No, no, my child: all sons are not like this. But it is a mother's agony to feel that if her boy turns from the straightforward course, she may herself be perhaps to blame; that by indulgent weakness, by giving up the reins of government too soon, she may have caused him to go astray; and--Eve--Eve--my darling, this is my fate, and it is you alone who can save my boy."

"Aunt!"

"Yes, child. He is my boy, my very own, and I have been weak, and let the weeds grow up in him, to the choking of the good qualities he possesses. I have been too proud of him, too glad to see my son taking his position as a gentleman, and a man of the world. It was my proud desire to see him the leading man here at the works--the great man of the town; and my pride has brought its punishment--has ruined my boy, so that he needs all I can do to save him."

"Aunt--dear aunt--pray--pray don't kneel to me," cried Eve, excitedly, as she saw her aunt's next act.

"Yes, yes, child, I must--I must; for it is to you I look alone for help, as G.o.d's minister, to save my boy. I--I have sinned for him more deeply than I can tell--more than a life of repentance can wash out, bringing, as I have, misery upon others, and fresh ill-treatment of my boy; but you--you--Eve, can save him. We must forgive--you must forgive; for it is I who am to blame."

"No, no, aunt."

"Yes, my child," cried Mrs Glaire, clinging to her pa.s.sionately.

"Nothing but the earnest love of a pure, true woman, can save him--the woman who will be his faithful wife, and bless him with her love. Eve, my child, on my knees I ask you to forgive him, now--at once, even as you nightly pray our Father to forgive us our trespa.s.ses. Say you will forgive him, that you will blot out all the past, and be his wife; for it will be the turning-point of his life."

"Aunt, dear aunt," sobbed the poor girl, bewildered by the strange outburst of pa.s.sion from one generally so calm and placid in her ways.

"What can I say? Oh, this is terrible!"

"Terrible, Eve? No, no, child, not terrible to save him we love, for you do love him, Eve?"

"I--I--hope so, aunt."

"Yes, yes, you do. You must, for he is true and good at heart. You will forgive him--for my sake, Eve. Eve, I am on my knees to you. If you have one spark of grat.i.tude for the past, listen to my prayer."

"Aunt, dearest aunt, my more than mother," sobbed Eve, completely carried away by the agony of one who had been everything to her for years and years of her life; "I will do all you wish. I am your child.

Tell me what to do, and I will do it; for I love you, dearest aunt, as if you were my own mother."