Mary Seaham Volume Ii Part 12

Eugene would not come and partake of the supper she had provided for him in her own room. And Eugene, though at first about to profess himself not hungry, on second thoughts, and a glance from his father, changed his mind, shook hands affectionately with his foster-mother, and consented to avail himself of her considerate attentions.

A change had come over the young man's dream; a new vista opened before his eyes; Satan had showed him the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; he must bow the knee and worship.

CHAPTER XIV.

Blest order, which in power dost so excel,

Fain would I draw nigh, Fain put thee on; exchanging my lay sword For that of th' Holy Word.

HERBERT.

About a year from this time an uncle of Mrs. Trevor's died, leaving twenty thousand pounds to his niece's second son, Eustace, his G.o.d-son; and the persecuted young man thus found himself, by this unexpected behest, placed in a position which rendered him to a degree independent of the tyranny and bondage to which he had been hitherto subjected by his father, and at liberty, if so had been his pleasure, to relinquish the profession which had in such an arbitrary manner been forced upon him. But it was not thus to be. Very different now was the nature of the case. He stood a free man--free to choose or to reject the path of life before him, and the spirit which had struggled so fiercely in the ign.o.ble chains which bound it to that course, now disenthralled, turned as naturally as the eagle to the sun, to that high and holy service for which he had been prepared.

The proud and restless spirit, soothed and tranquillized, yielded itself as a little child to the scarcely-breathed wishes of his mother, that the struggles he had so long and n.o.bly endured in bringing down his rebellious thoughts and contrary inclinations--the hard studies to which he had devoted himself to fit him according to his own high standard for the important vocation, might not be thrown away; but that before she left this world of sin and sorrow, she might have the happiness of seeing her beloved son wedded to that profession, which in her eyes offered the only fold of security and protection from the snares and temptations which beset the path of manhood--"the bosom of the Church."

Eustace was fully persuaded that his father would now withdraw the living he had before so pertinaciously awarded him; for he plainly perceived the increasing enmity the bestowal of his uncle's little fortune, had raised against him in the breast of his unnatural parent, an act purposely, no doubt, made by the testator, to secure it from the well-known cupidity of his niece's husband. But what if this were the case? The forfeiture of this benefice would but the more fully satisfy his own mind, as to the disinterestedness of the change affected in his feelings with respect to that profession.

Therefore from this period did Eustace Trevor set himself with heart and soul more fully to prepare for the sacred office, and having shone with increased brilliancy in the path of learning, covered with honours and distinctions, stood ready for the ceremony of ordination.

But this event was r.e.t.a.r.ded; first, by the severe attack of brain-fever, the result probably of the course of hard and long-sustained study, which nearly brought him to the brink of the grave, and prostrated his strength for many an after day; and by the time he had sufficiently recovered, another event had occurred, the nature of which seemed likely to effect a most important change in the aspect of his future career.

Mr. Trevor's words, spoken in cruel levity, with reference to his eldest son, became verified in a manner not often found precedented in the course of the world's history. The body of the unfortunate Henry Trevor was brought home one morning to his father's house, it having been found lying on the road, where, on returning home the night before in a state of intoxication--a vice to which he had been unhappily addicted--he had been thrown from his horse, and, as it appeared, killed upon the spot.

And Eustace Trevor stood in that brother's place--eldest son, and heir to all that would have been his!

It is not often that such instances are afforded us in the order of G.o.d's dealings; instances which, to our blind sight, cannot but appear wisely and providentially appointed.

We would fain cut down the barren tree, that the good and fruitful may flourish in its room. But the husbandman wills it not. We would fain root out the tares: but he orders that they should flourish on. The evil weeds grow apace; whilst too often the flower withers, and fades ere it be yet noon.

But here men said all was right. Poor Henry Trevor! removed from a sphere in which he could never have played but so ign.o.ble a part; making room for one of whom none could desire better to fill his place, as heir and future representative of a house and family of such wealth and consideration as that of Trevor, and so n.o.ble and brilliant a successor to its present miserly head.

Few in any way acquainted with Eustace's superiority of character, hesitated to look upon the death of the first-born but as a source of congratulation rather than of condolence to the new heir, and to posterity. So do men err in their calculations of good and evil!

Little did they know the wild heritage of woe this seeming good did bring about! Seldom has the death of an unlamented eldest son proved so direful in its consequences.

The catastrophe in question, of course interrupted, for a while, the intended ordination of Eustace Trevor. It was naturally supposed that no further thought would be entertained of his entering the Church, either by himself or family. Indeed, we will not say but that his change of circ.u.mstances altered also, in some degree, his own ideas upon the subject.

New prospects, new duties, new spheres of action for his transcendant talents, seemed to open before his view. Even Mrs. Trevor might have seemed tacitly to bend to the new position of circ.u.mstances. It was, however, difficult for the son to gain any insight into the wishes of his father upon the subject; for some time after his brother's death he was denied all access to that parent's presence: Mr. Trevor's vindictive feeling against his second son not suffering him to bear the sight of him in the new position he now was placed.

No one, indeed, save Eugene and Marryott, from this time were suffered often to approach him. The former, from the period recorded in the last chapter, spent much of his time at Montrevor; his favour and influence with his father increasing day by day. At this treatment, Eustace could be neither much astonished or grieved. For his mother's sake alone did he ever make Montrevor his abode, and her failing health, which had received a further shock from the violent end of her unfortunate son, drew him more anxiously than ever to her side.

He laid his future destiny in her hands. If she still desired him to embrace the office of priesthood, no change of fortune should induce him further to demur.

And no change of fortune _could_ alter the mother's heart's desire on that score; but she knew that worldly consideration spoke otherwise. Was it for her to gainsay the wisdom of the world, perhaps the dictates of her son's own heart?

She bade him further pause and consider the question ere he took the indissoluble step, which would bind him so firmly to the service of his G.o.d. She advised him to go and try the world, to look upon its pride, its ambition, and its pleasure. He went. Courted, flattered, and admired, all these allurements beckoned him away. The world smiled upon the eldest son, and not only the world; he in whose heart of hearts hatred and envy were darkly smouldering against one whom fortune had at once so unexpectedly favoured, and raised above himself--he also in that smiling world spoke him fair, and walked with him as friend--and this was his brother.

How was it then that Eustace Trevor finally returned to his original intention? Was his eye even then opened to see the hollowness of all that thus surrounded him, or that returning thence to his mother's side, he beheld her fading form, her anxious eye, and determined in his heart that her fainting spirit should be rejoiced--her last days cheered by the accomplishment of her soul's earnest desire.

Was it in bitterness of soul at his father's cruel hatred? The still more cruel suspicion that dawned upon his perception, in spite of all outward seeming, that the heart of his brother was turned against him more darkly still; and that he felt it to be absolutely necessary to secure himself a definite occupation and object in life, ere the time came when the only light of his paternal home would be quenched with his mother's life, and he become a voluntary exile from its portals? Be it as it may, Eustace Trevor, without giving notice of his intentions to any of his family, went to Oxford, and was finally ordained, having by consent of the bishop, in consideration of the long preparation and many accidental delays which had postponed the event--his long-tested readiness and ability for the important vocation--been excused the year's probation which must generally intervene, and was admitted on the close coming occasion to the office of priesthood.

"Dread searcher of the hearts, Thou who didst seal Thy servant's choice, oh help him in his parts, Else helpless found, to turn and teach Thy love."

CHAPTER XV.

The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress.

BYRON.

Thus signed and sealed, a devoted soldier of the church of G.o.d, "fearless yet trembling," Eustace Trevor went forth, and proceeded to his home--for home he must always term the spot which contained his mother.

In his mind was a conflict of many and full fraught feelings. There was the consciousness of the great and responsible charge he had that day taken, and the new colouring it must henceforth cast upon his future existence--accompanied by a calm and holy joy (as at the same time, that peace and good-will to all men warmed his heart, yes even to his enemies) the world seemed to fade from his estimation, and the kingdom of Heaven and its righteousness, to be the only one on which his soul was fixed.

But perhaps a less high-toned, but no less pure and holy emotion was the one which, unknown to himself, most strongly predominated over the rest--the idea of his mother. The glad surprise he had prepared for her suffering spirit, the joy he knew would fill those sorrow-dimmed eyes, when she learnt the consummation of her heart's desire on his behalf!

It would be difficult to conceive aright the depth and strength of the affection which, fed by "love and grief, and indignation," had grown with the growth, and strengthened with the strength of Eustace Trevor towards his mother; therefore its expression to some might appear exaggeration, but such it was, and the nearer he now approached the demesne of Montrevor, the more was his mind filled with her pure and holy image, and all the happiness he hoped for, both present and future, seemed to concentrate in that one point.

The possibility of losing her, seemed to become a thing he could not allow himself to think was possible. It was but sorrow and mental suffering which had affected her precious health. Happiness should again restore it; he would have a home to offer her. Power or principle could not bind her to the one, where wrongs, dishonour, and grief, had been so long her portion. He would bear her away to more healthful air, and with his love and devotion bind up her broken heart, and heal her bruised spirit. He had enough to provide for her in comfort, if not in luxury; and what luxury--what scarcely comfort, had she ever tasted in her husband's penurious abode?

If a thought of the day when those princely possessions he entered would be his, crossed his mind, the idea was but fraught with painful regret; scarcely daring, as he did, to extend his dreams so far as to contemplate the possibility of _her_ being alive when that day came, to profit by the circ.u.mstance--to find all the grief, and wrong, and slight, and dishonour which had marked her existence in her husband's wealthy house, exchanged for the honour, power and dominion--to say nothing of the peace and prosperity--which should gild her latter days, as mistress of her son's rich inheritance.

Yet at the same time it may be truly said no dark thoughts, no covetous desire which might have sprung too naturally from this train of ideas in any other breast, was hereby suggested. No, he felt too great a calm, a peace and contentment, in the present aspect of his life, as contrasted with the struggles and trials which had been its early portion, not to have contemplated such a _boulevers.e.m.e.nt_ as that to which we allude with any feeling save that of horror and distaste. No--he had seen and proved enough of the hateful sin of covetousness, for any such feeling to have gained admittance in his breast; nay, not indeed to have fled from its very idea, as from a serpent.

"They that will be rich fall into a temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful l.u.s.ts, which draw men into destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of evil, which, when some coveted after, they have erred from the faith and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. But thou, man of G.o.d, flee from these things and follow after righteousness, G.o.dliness, faith, love, patience, meekness."

Thus, in a frame and state of mind which it would have been far from the thoughts of man to conceive as the presager of misery, dark and horrible, Eustace Trevor approached his father's house.

It was night, and the mansion seemed wrapped in more than its customary gloom and darkness. Every window was closed and shuttered--all save one, and from that the only ray of light visible on its whole extent glittered through the open cas.e.m.e.nt.

It was enough--the light came from his mother's chamber. The star of his home shone forth, as it had ever done, to cheer and welcome his approach. He did not seek admittance at the front door. That had never been the privilege of himself or brothers during their boyhood, or their custom by choice in later years.

There was a more private entrance, through which, after having left their horse or other vehicle at the stables, the young Trevors could enter or issue at their pleasure--safe from the _espionage_ or uncertain welcome of their father. To this Eustace had now recourse. He tried it, and finding the doors beyond his expectations unsecured, pa.s.sed through, making his way by a back staircase to his mother's apartments, without encountering a domestic or any person on his route.

The house was still and silent as the grave. He entered the boudoir.

There was no lamp or candle burning there, but the clear light reflected from the adjoining chamber, of which the door was ajar, seemed to indicate that his mother had retired for the night.

Softly he stepped across the floor to make known to her his arrival. He knew she was expecting him about this time, therefore no fear of startling her too much by his sudden appearance presented itself to his mind--no fear indeed! He listened. All was still--only a slight breeze through the window, (he vaguely wondered that it was open at this hour though the night indeed was close and still), faintly rustled the canopy of the bed and flared the waxen tapers standing on the table. If his mother were there, she undoubtedly slept.

He glanced around the room before advancing further to ascertain the fact, and was struck by the cold and unnatural order pervading the apartment. It was the sign which first chilled his blood and impressed him with a vague but horrible dread. Yet he stood no longer; with a firm though somewhat quickened step he approached, laid his hand upon the drapery, which was slightly drawn round the head of the bed, and beheld his mother.