Janet's Love and Service Part 46

"There are several reasons. One is, I shall never stay anywhere on sufferance. If I am not to be trusted at a distance, I shall certainly not stay to give my employers the trouble of keeping an eye upon me."

His own eye flashed as he spoke.

"But, Harry, man, that is nonsense, you know."

It was not his master, but his friend, that spoke, and Harry was a little thrown off his guard by the change in his tone.

"I do not think it is nonsense," said he.

"Harry, I have not been thinking of myself in all this, nor of the interests of the firm. Let me say, once for all, that I should consider them perfectly safe in your hands, in all respects. Harry, the world would look darker to me the day I could not trust your father's son."

Harry made no answer.

"It is of you I have been thinking, in the hesitation that has seemed so unreasonable to you. Harry, when I think of the home you have here, and of the wretched changed life that awaits you there, it seems selfish-- wrong to wish to send you away."

Harry made a gesture of dissent, and muttered something about the impossibility of staying always at home.

"I know it, my lad, but the longer you can stay at home--such a home as yours--the better. When I think of my own life there, the first miserable years, and all the evil I have seen since--. Well, there is no use in going over all that. But, Harry, it would break your sister's heart, were you to change into a hard, selfish, worldly man, like the rest of us."

There was nothing Harry could say to this.

"So many fail in the struggle--so many are changed or ruined. And, dear lad, you have one temptation that never was a temptation to me. Don't be angry, Harry," for Harry started and grew red. "Even if that is not to be feared for you, there is enough besides to make you hesitate. I have known and proved the world. What we call success in life, is not worth one approving smile from your sister's lips. And if you should fall, and be trodden down, how should I ever answer to her?"

He walked up and down the room two or three times.

"Don't go, Harry." For Harry had risen as though he thought the interview was at on end. "You said, just now, that you must decide for yourself, and you shall do so. But, consider well, and consult your brother and sister. As for the interests of the firm, I have no fear."

"I may consider it settled then," said Harry, huskily. "Arthur was always of opinion that I should go, and Graeme is willing now. And the sooner the better, I suppose?"

"The sooner the better for us. But there is time enough. Do not be hasty in deciding."

"I have decided already, I thank you, sir--" He hesitated, hardly knowing what to say more.

"I hope it will prove that you will have good reason to thank me.

Remember, Harry, whatever comes out of this, you left us with my full and entire confidence. I do not believe I shall have cause to regret it, or that you will fail me or disappoint me."

Harry grasped the hand held out to him without a word, but inwardly he vowed, that come what might, the confidence so generously expressed should never, for good cause, be withdrawn.

And so the decision was made. After this the preparations did not occupy a long time. The second day found Harry ready for departure.

"Graeme," said Harry, "I cannot be content to take away with me such a melancholy remembrance of your face. I shall begin to think you are not willing that I should go after all."

"You need not think so, Harry. I am sure it is best since you are determined. But I cannot but look melancholy at the necessity. You would not have me look joyful, when I am going to lose my brother?"

"No--if that were all. But you have often said how impossible it was that we should always keep together. It is only what we have been expecting, and we might have parted in much more trying circ.u.mstances.

I shall be home often--once a year at the least; perhaps oftener."

"Yes, dear, I know."

"Well, then, I think there is no cause for grief in my going, even if I were worthy of it, which I very much doubt."

Graeme's face did not brighten. In a little while her tears were falling fast.

"Graeme, what is it? There is some other reason for your tears, besides my going away. You do not trust me, Graeme, you are afraid."

Graeme made an effort to quiet herself.

"Yes, Harry, I am a little afraid, since you give me the opportunity to say so. You have hardly been our own Harry for a while, as you know, dear. And what will you be when you are far from us all? I am afraid to let you go from me, Harry, far more afraid than I should be for Will."

Harry rose and walked about a while, with an air that seemed to be indignant; but if he was angry, he thought better of it, and in a little he came and sat down beside his sister again.

"I wish I could make you quite satisfied about me, Graeme."

"I wish you could, dear. I will try to be so. I daresay you think me unreasonable, Harry. I know I am tired, and foolish, and all wrong,"

said she, trying in vain to keep back her tears.

"You look at this moment as though you had very little hope in anything," said Harry, with a touch of bitterness.

"Do I? Well, I am all wrong, I know. There ought to be hope and comfort too, if I sought them right. I will try to leave you in G.o.d's keeping, Harry, the keeping of our father's and our mother's G.o.d."

Harry threw himself on his knees beside her.

"Graeme, you are making yourself unhappy without cause. If you only knew! Such things are thought nothing of. If I disgraced myself the other night, there are few young men of our acquaintance who are not disgraced."

Graeme put her hand upon his lips.

"But, Graeme, it is true. I must speak, I can't bear to have you fretting, when there is no cause. Even Allan Ruthven thought nothing of it, at least, he--"

"Hush, Harry, you do not need Mr Ruthven to be a conscience to you.

And it is not of the past I am thinking, but the future! How can I bear to think of you going the way so many have gone, knowing the danger all the greater because you feel yourself so safe. I am afraid for you, Harry."

It was useless to speak, she knew that quite well. The words of another can never make danger real, to those who are a.s.sailed with poor Harry's temptation. So she shut her lips close, as he rose from her side, and sat in silence; while he walked up and down the room. By and by he came back to her side, again.

"Graeme," said he, gravely. "Indeed, you may trust me. The shame of that night shall never be renewed. You shall never have the same cause to be sorry for me, or ashamed of me again."

She put her arms round his neck, and laid her head down on his shoulder, but she did not speak. It was not that she was altogether hopeless about her brother, but Harry understood it so.

"Graeme, what shall I say to you? How shall I give you courage--faith to trust me? Graeme, I promise, that till I see you again I shall not taste nor touch that which so degraded me in your eyes. I solemnly promise before G.o.d, Graeme."

"Harry," said his sister, "it is a vow--an oath, that you have taken."

"Yes, and it shall be kept as such. Do you trust me, Graeme? Give me that comfort before I go away."

"I trust you, Harry," was all she had voice to say. She clasped him and kissed him, and by and by she prayed G.o.d to bless him, in words such as his mother might have used. And Harry vowed, with G.o.d's help, to be true to himself and her. He did not speak the words again, but none the less was the vow registered in Heaven.

That was the real farewell between the brother and sister. Next morning there was little said by any one, and not a word by Graeme, but the last glimpse Harry had of home, showed his eldest sister's face smiling and hopeful, saying as plainly as her words had said before,--

"Harry, I trust you quite."