Eli's Children Part 97

said Michael Ross, in a quiet patronising way. "He is a good deal broken, my boy. Speak kindly to him, pray."

"What do they want?" said Luke. "Oh, father, what have I done that fate should serve me such an ugly turn?"

"Your duty, my boy, your duty," whispered the old man; and the next minute the visitors were in the room, finding, as they entered, that old Michael was holding his son's arm in a tender, proud way that seemed to fix the old Rector's eyes.

He was, indeed, old-looking and broken; sadly changed from the fine, handsome, greyheaded man that Luke knew so well.

"I met Mr Mallow almost at your door," said Portlock, in his bluff, firm way. "We did not come together, but we both wanted to call."

Luke pointed to chairs, but the old Rector remained standing, gazing reproachfully at Luke.

"Yes, I wanted to see you," he said; "I wanted to see and speak to the man I taught when he was a boy, and in whom I took a great deal of pride. I was proud to see you progress, Luke Ross. I used to read and show the reports to your father when I saw them, for I said Luke Ross is a credit to our town."

"And you said so to me often, Mr Mallow," cried old Michael.

"I did--I did," said the Rector; "and to-day in court I asked myself what I had ever done to this man that he should strike me such a blow."

"Be just, for heaven's sake, Mr Mallow," cried Luke. "I did not seek the task I have fulfilled to-day."

"And I said to myself, as I saw my only son dragged away by his gaolers, 'I will go and curse this man--this cold-blooded wretch who could thus triumph over us.' I said I would show him what he has done--bruised my heart, driven a suffering woman nearly mad, and made two little innocent children worse than orphans."

"Mr Mallow, is this justice?" groaned Luke.

"No," said the old man, softly. "I said it in mine haste, and as I hurried here mine anger pa.s.sed away; the scales dropped from mine eyes, and I knew that it was no work of thine. Truly, as Eli's sons of old brought heaviness to their father's heart, so have my poor sons to mine; and, Michael Ross," he cried, holding out his trembling hands, "I was so proud of that boy--so proud. He was his mother's idol, and, bad as he would be at times, he was always good to her. Can you wonder that she loved him? Oh, G.o.d help me! my boy--my boy!"

"It has been an agony to me ever since the brief was forced upon me, Mr Mallow," said Luke, taking the old man's hand. "Believe me, I could not help this duty I had to do."

"G.o.d bless you, Luke Ross!" said the old man, feebly. "Like Balaam of old, I came to curse, and I stop to bless. If I have anything to forgive, I forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven. You have been a good son. Michael Ross, you have never known what it is to feel as I do now.

But I must go back; I must go back to her at home. She waits to know the worst, and this last blow will kill her, gentlemen--my poor, suffering angel of a wife--it will be her death."

"Will you not come and see Sage first?" said Portlock, with rough sympathy.

"No, no, I think not. The sight of my sad face would do her harm. I'll get home. Keep her with you, Portlock. G.o.d bless her!--a true, sweet wife. We came like a blight to her, Portlock. Luke Ross, I ought not to have allowed it, but I thought it was for the best--that it would reform my boy. My life has been all mistakes, and I long now to lie down and sleep. Keep her with you, Portlock, and teach her and her little ones to forget us all."

He tottered to the door to go, but Luke stepped forward.

"He is not fit to go alone," he cried. "Mr Portlock, what is to be done?"

"I must take him home," he replied, sadly. "I'd better take them all home, but I have a message for you."

"For me?" cried Luke. "Not from Mrs Cyril?"

"Yes, from Sage. She wants to see you."

"I could not bear it," cried Luke. "Heavens, man! have I not been reproached enough?"

"It is not to reproach you, I think, Luke Ross," said Portlock, softly.

"She bade me say to thee, 'Come to me, if you have any sympathy for my piteous case.'"

PART THREE, CHAPTER EIGHT.

A FORLORN HOPE.

"Come to me if you have any sympathy for my piteous case!"

Sympathy! In his bitter state of self-reproach, he would have done anything to serve her. He felt that he could forgive Cyril Mallow, aid him in any way, even to compromising himself by helping him to escape.

But he shrank from meeting Sage: he felt that he could not meet her reproachful eyes.

"You will come and see her?" said the Churchwarden. "Ah, my lad, if we could have looked into the future!"

His voice shook a little as he spoke, but he seemed to nerve himself, and said again--"You will come and see her?"

"If it will be any good. Yes," said Luke, slowly; and they proceeded together to the hotel, where Sage was staying with her uncle, in one of the streets leading out of the Strand.

The old Rector was so broken of spirit that he allowed Portlock to lead him like a child, and, satisfied with the a.s.surance that to-morrow he should return home, he sat down in the room set apart, with old Michael Ross, while, in obedience to a sign from Portlock, Luke followed him to a room a few doors away.

The place was almost in shadow, for the gas had not been lit, and as Luke entered, with his heart beating fast, a dark figure rose from an easy-chair by the fire, and tottered towards the old farmer, evidently not seeing Luke, who stayed back just within the door.

"He would not come," she cried. "It was cruel of him. I thought he had a n.o.bler heart, and in all these years would have forgiven me at last."

"Mr Ross is here, Sage," said Portlock, rather sternly. "Shall I leave you to speak to him alone?"

"No, no," she cried in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, instead of her former high-pitched querulous tone. "I cannot--I dare not speak to him alone."

"If forgiveness is needed for the past, Mrs Mallow," said Luke, in a grave, calm voice, for he had now mastered his emotion, "you have mine freely given, and with it my true sympathy for your position."

She burst into a pa.s.sionate fit of weeping, which lasted some minutes, during which she stood hiding her face on her uncle's breast; then, recovering herself, she hastily wiped away her tears, and drawing herself up, stood holding out her hand for Luke to take.

He hesitated for a moment, and then, stepping forward, took it and raised it to his lips, just touching it with grave respect, and then letting it fall.

"I wished to say to you, Mr Ross, let the past be as it were dead, all save our boy and girlhood's days."

"It shall be as you wish," he said, softly.

"You do not bear malice against me?"

"None whatever; but is not this better left, Mrs Mallow? Why should we refer so to the past?"

"Because," she said, "I am so alone now, so wanting in help. You have become a great and famous man, whose word is listened to with respect and awe."

"This is folly," he said.

"Folly? Did I not see judge, jury, counsellors hanging upon your lips?

did not your words condemn my poor husband this dreadful day?"

"I am afraid, Mrs Mallow," he said, sadly, "that it needed no advocate's words to condemn your unhappy husband. I would gladly have avoided the task that was, to me, a terrible one; but my word was pa.s.sed, as a professional man, before I knew whom I had to prosecute.

Speaking now, solely from my knowledge of such matters, I am obliged to tell you that nothing could have saved him."