Magnum Bonum; Or, Mother Carey's Brood Part 97

His next step in obedience was to take out his books; but Bobus had no mind for them, and said it was too late. If Armine had really worked diligently all the autumn, he might have easily entered King's College, London; but now he had thrown away his chance.

Mr. Ogilvie found him with his books on the table, plunged in utter despondency. "Your mother is not worse?" he asked in alarm.

"Oh no; she is very comfortable, and the doctor says she may get up to-morrow."

"Then is it the Greek?" said Mr. Ogilvie, much relieved.

"Yes. Bobus says my rendering is perfectly ridiculous."

"Are you preparing for him?"

"No. He is sick of me, and has no time to attend to me now."

"Let me see--"

"Oh! Mr. Ogilvie," said Armine, looking up with his ingenuous eyes. "I don't deserve it. Besides, Bobus says it is of no use now. I've wasted too much time ever to get into King's."

"I should like to judge of that. Suppose I examined you--not now, but to-morrow morning. Meantime, how do you construe this chorus? It is a tough one."

Armine winked out of his eyes the tears that had risen at the belief that he had really in his wilfulness lost the hope of fulfilling the higher aims of his life, and with a trembling voice translated the pa.s.sage he had been hammering over. A word from Mr. Ogilvie gave him the clue, and when that stumbling-block was past, he acquitted himself well enough to warrant a little encouragement.

"Well done, Armine. We shall make a fair scholar of you, after all."

"I don't deserve you should be so kind. I see now what a fool I have been," said Armine, his eyes filling again, with tears.

"I have no time to talk of that now," said Mr. Ogilvie. "I only looked in to hear how your mother was. Bring down whatever books you have been getting up at twelve to-morrow; or if it is a wet day, I will come to you."

Armine worked for this examination as eagerly as he had decorated for Miss Parsons, and in the face of the like sneers; for Bobus really believed it was all waste of time, and did not scruple to tell him so, and to laugh when he consulted Jock, whose acquirements lay more in the way of military mathematics and modern languages than of university requirements.

Perhaps the report that Armine was reading Livy with all his might was one of his mother's best restoratives,--and still more that when he came to wish her good-night, he said, "Mother, I've been a wretched, self-sufficient brute all this time; I'm very sorry, and I'll try to go on better."

And when she came downstairs to be petted and made much of by all the four, she found that the true and original Armine had come back, instead of Petronella's changeling. Indeed, the danger now was that he would overwork himself in his fervour, for Bobus's continued ill-auguries only acted as a stimulus; nor were they silenced till she begged as a personal favour that he would not torment the boy.

Indeed her presence made life smooth and cheerful again to the young people; there were no more rubs of temper, and Bobus, whose departure was very near, showed himself softened. He was very fond of his mother, and greatly felt the leaving her. He a.s.sured her that it was all for her sake, and that he trusted to be able to lighten some of her burdens when his first expenses were over.

"And mother," he said, on his last evening, "you will let me sometimes hear of my Esther?"

"Oh, Bobus, if you could only forget her!"

"Would you rob me of my great incentive--my sweet image of purity, who rouses and guards all that is best in me? My 'loyalty to my future wife'

is your best hope for me, mother."

"Oh, if she were but any one else! How can I encourage you in disobedience to your father and to hers?"

"You know what I think about that. When my Esther ventures to judge for herself, these prejudices will give way. She shall not be disobedient, but you will all perceive the uselessness of withholding my darling.

Meanwhile, I only ask you to let me see her name from time to time. You won't deny me that?"

"No, my dear, I cannot refuse you that, but you must not a.s.sume more than that I am sorry for you that your heart is set so hopelessly.

Indeed, I see no sign of her caring for you. Do you?"

"Her heart is not opened yet, but it will."

"Suppose it should do so to any one else?"

"She is a mere child; she has few opportunities; and if she had--well, I think it would recall to her what she only half understood. I am content to be patient--and, mother, you little know the good it does me to think of her and think of you. It is well for us men that all women are not like Janet."

"Yet if you took away our faith, what would there be to hinder us from being like my poor Janet?"

"Heaven forbid that I should take away any one's honest faith; above all, yours or Essie's."

"Except by showing that you think it just good enough for us."

"How can I help it, any more than I can help that Belforest was left to Elvira? Wishes and belief are two different things."

"Would you help it if you could?" she earnestly asked.

He hesitated. "I might wish to satisfy you, mother, and other good folks, but not to put myself in bondage to what has led blindfold to half the dastardly and cruel acts on this earth, beautiful dream though it be."

"Ah, my boy, it is my shame and grief that it is not a beautiful reality to you."

"You were too wise to bore us. You have only fancied that since you fell in with the Evelyns."

"Ah, if I had only bred you up in the same spirit as the Evelyns!"

"It would not have answered. We are of different stuff. And after all, Janet and I are your only black sheep. Jock has his convictions in a strong, practical working order, as real to him as ever his drill and order-book were. Good old fellow, he strikes me a good deal more than all Ogilvie's discussions."

"Mr. Ogilvie has talked to you?"

"He has done his part both as cleric and your devoted servant, mother, and, I confess, made the best of his case, as an able man heartily convinced can do. Good night, mother."

"One moment, Bobus, my dear; I want one promise from you, to your old Mother Carey. Call it a superst.i.tion and a charm if you will, but promise. Take this Greek Testament, keep it with you, and read a few verses every night. Promise me."

"Dear mother, I am ready to promise. I have read those poems and letters several times in the original."

"But you will do this for me, beginning again when you have finished?

Promise."

"I will, mother, since it comforts you," said Bobus, in a tone that she knew might be trusted.

The other little book, with the like request, in urgent and tender entreaty, was made up into a parcel to be forwarded as soon as Mr.

Wakefield should learn Janet Hermann's address. It was all that the mother could do, except to pray that this living Sword of the Spirit might yet pierce its way to those closed hearts.

Nor was she quite happy about Barbara. Hitherto the girl had seemed, as it were, one with Armine, and had been led by his precocious piety into similar habits and aspirations, which had been fostered by her intercourse with Sydney and the sharing with her of many a blissful and romantic dream.

All this, however, was altered. Petronella had drawn Armine aside one way, and now that he was come back again, he did not find the same perfectly sympathetic sister as before. Bobus had not been without effect upon her, as the impersonation of common sense and antagonism to Miss Parsons. It had not shown at the time, for his domineering tone and his sneers always impelled her to stand up for her darling; but when he was "poor Bobus" gone into exile and bereft of his love, certain poisonous germs attached to his words began to grow. There was no absolute doubt--far from it--but there was an impatience of the weariness and solemnity of religion.

To enjoy Church privileges to the full, and do good works under Church direction, had in their wandering life been a dream of modern chivalry which she had shared with Sydney, much as they had talked of going on a crusade. And now she found these privileges very tedious, the good works onerous, and she viewed them somewhat as she might have regarded Coeur de Lion's camp had she been set down in it. Armine would have gone on hearing nothing but "Remember the Holy Sepulchre," but Barbara would soon have seen every folly and failure that spoiled the glory of the army--even though she might not question its destination--and would have been unfeignedly weary of its discipline.