Eli's Children Part 39

"Yes, I may as well," he said, laughingly, "and you can take care of me, for I see somebody means mischief."

The Rector bit his lips, for his was a painful task. He wished to utter a severe reprimand, and to appeal to the young man's sense of right and wrong, while here at the outset was the mother bird spreading her protecting wing before her errant chick, and ready, the Rector saw, to stand up boldly in his defence.

"Let me punch up your pillow for you, dear," said Cyril, bending over the couch, and raising the slight frame of the sick woman, whose arms closed softly round the young man's neck, while he beat and turned the soft down pillow, lowering the invalid gently back into her former place, and kissing her tenderly upon the brow.

"That's better," he said. "I hate a hot pillow, and it's so comfortable when it's turned."

Mrs Mallow clung fondly to her son for a few moments, smiling gratefully in his face; and the Rector sighed and again bit his lip as he saw how moment by moment his task was growing more difficult.

"If he would only study her feelings in the broader things of life," he said to himself; and he took a turn or two impatiently about the room.

"Now, governor, I'm ready," said Cyril, facing round suddenly, his mother holding his hand between hers. "What's the last thing I've done amiss?"

"Heaven knows," cried the Rector, startling his wife by the way in which he suddenly flashed into anger. "The last thing that I have to complain of is that I cannot trust my own son."

"Ah, you mean with money, father," said the young man, lightly. "Well, it does go rather fast."

"I mean my son's word," said the Rector, quickly. "Cyril, last night you told me a lie."

"Oh, no, no, no," cried the mother, quickly. "It is some mistake, dear.

Cyril would not tell you what was not true."

The Rector, after years of patience, was so thoroughly out of temper with the discovery of that day that he retorted hotly--

"A lie--I say he told me a deliberate lie."

"Nonsense!" said the young man. "People tell lies when they are afraid to tell the truth. I'm not afraid to tell you anything."

"You told me last night, sir, that you had been down in the town with Frank, whereas I find this morning that you had been at Kilby Farm."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Cyril. "Why, what a discovery, father. You asked me where I had been, and I told you--'down the town.' So I had. You did not ask me whether I had been anywhere else, or I might have added, to the Churchwarden's."

"And pray why did you go there, sir?" cried the Rector.

"Come, father, don't talk to me as if I were a naughty little boy about to be sent to bed without his supper."

"Pray be calm, dear," cried Mrs Mallow. "Cyril gives a very good explanation. Surely it was natural that he should walk over to Kilby."

"I say why did you go over there, sir?"

"To smoke a pipe with old Portlock, if you must know, and have a gla.s.s of his home brewed ale. It's dull enough here with the girls."

"It is false, sir," cried the Rector, excitedly.

"Well," said Cyril, coolly, "you may not find it dull, but I do."

"I say, sir, it is false that you merely went there to drink and smoke."

"Very well, father," said Cyril, in the most nonchalant way, as he lay back in his chair and played with his mother's rings. "Perhaps you know, then, why I went."

"Oh, hush, Cyril, my boy," panted the invalid. "Eli, my dear, pray be calm. This hurts me--hurts me more than I can tell you."

"I am sorry, my dear, very sorry," cried the Rector, excitedly; "but it must be stopped. I cannot allow matters to go on as they do. It is terrible. I feel at every turn as if I were being disgraced. I shiver as I go down the town or make a call, for fear that I should have to encounter some fresh disgrace brought upon us by our own boys."

"What's the matter with the governor, ma, dear?" said the young man, mockingly. "Has Frank been up to some fresh games?"

"Oh, hush, my dear boy," cried the poor woman, imploringly.

"I'll be as quiet as I can, dear," replied Cyril; "but there are bounds to everything. I am not a child."

"No, sir, but you act like one--like a disobedient child," cried his father. "No matter what is done for you, back you come home to idle and lounge away your existence. The idea of the n.o.bility of labour never seems to have dawned in your mind."

"Never," replied Cyril, calmly. "n.o.bility of labour, indeed! Why, father, what's the good of quoting stuff like that to me out of one of your old sermons?"

"You are utterly wasting your life, sir."

"Not I, father," retorted Cyril. "I am rather enjoying it. Let those work who are obliged. Why should I make myself a slave? I like my existence very well as it is, and don't mean to bother."

"It is disgraceful," cried the Rector, whose usually bland face was now fierce with anger.

"Don't see it. I don't spend much, nor yet get into debt. You've got plenty of money, so why should I trouble myself about work?"

"I'd forgive that," cried the Rector--"I'd forgive your idleness, but when I find that you cannot be trusted, I am compelled to speak."

"But, my dear," remonstrated the invalid, "what has poor Cyril done? He did not like the wretched slavery out in the colony, and he could not content himself with the drudgery of a clerk's desk. Do not be so severe. Be patient, and he will succeed like Frank has done."

"What has he done?" cried the Rector. "What is he doing but leading such a life as must disgrace us all."

"Nonsense, father!" cried the young man. "It is no nonsense, sir.

Months ago I spoke to you about your conduct, but it has been in vain.

People in all directions are noticing your behaviour towards Miss Portlock. Just, too, when your sisters are about to make excellent matches."

"Miss Portlock!" cried Mrs Mallow, starting. "Oh, Cyril!"

Cyril acted like an animal brought to bay. He began to fight. While there was a chance of his father not being aware of his proceedings, he fenced and parried. Now he spoke out sharply--

"Well, what do people say about my behaviour with Miss Portlock? She's a very nice ladylike girl, well educated, and sweet and clever, and if I like to chat with her, I shall."

"Oh, Cyril!" cried his mother again; and then she added, "Is this true?"

"True? Is what true? That I have been to Kilby sometimes to have a chat with Sage Portlock? Of course it is. Why not?"

"You own to it, then?" said his father. "Own to it, if you like to call it so, sir. And now, pray, where is the harm?"

Mrs Mallow withdrew her hand from her son's grasp, and looked in his face with a terribly pained expression, for, with all her gentleness of disposition, the sense of caste was in her very strongly; and with all his failings, she had looked upon Cyril as a n.o.ble representative of the mingled blood of the old family Mallows and the Heskeths from whom she sprang.

"I am to understand, then," said the Rector, "that you propose honouring us with a daughter chosen from the people here."