Mattie:-A Stray Volume II Part 32

He pa.s.sed his arm through his father's and led the bewildered old man down the steps into the night air; he had been insulted, he thought, and thus, spurning appearances, he had resented it. He could not play longer his part of guest in that house; his old straightforward habits led him at once to show his resentment and retire. So he shook the dust of the house from his feet, and turned his back upon his patrons.

CHAPTER VIII.

MATTIE'S CONFESSION.

Sidney Hinchford kept his word. He returned not to service in his uncle's bank. He gave up his chances of distinction in that quarter, rather than be indebted to a villain, as he considered his cousin to be, for his success in life. It was an exaggeration of virtuous indignation, perhaps, but it was like Sidney Hinchford. He considered his cousin as the main cause of his separation from Harriet Wesden; that man had met her after the little Brighton romance, of which faint inklings had been communicated to Sid by Harriet herself, and had played the lover too well--speciously coaxing her from that which was true, unto that which was false and dangerous, and from which her own defence had but saved her. Evidently a deep, designing man, who had sought the ruin of the woman Sidney had loved best in the world--Sid could not hold service under him now the mask had dropped.

"Father, I shall leave our rich relations to themselves," he had said, the next morning. "I am not afraid of obtaining work in other quarters.

I have done with them."

"You know best, Sid," said the father, with a sigh.

"I'll tell you the story--it is no secret now. You shall tell me how you would have acted in my place."

Sid related the particulars of his love-engagement to his father--why it had been broken off, and by whose means, and Mr. Hinchford listened attentively, and exclaimed, when the narrative was ended--

"That nephew was a scamp of the first water, and we are well rid of him."

"I am not afraid of getting other employment," said Sidney, unremindful of his past attempts. "If I were, I think I would prefer starving to service in that bank."

"Both of us would," added Mr. Hinchford.

Sidney thought of his father, and went out again in the old search for a place. It was beginning life again; he was once more at the bottom of the hill, and all the past labour was to be begun afresh. No matter, he did not despair; he was young and strong yet; he had saved money; upwards of a hundred pounds were put by for the rainy day, and he could afford to wait awhile; if fortune went against him at this new outset, his was not a nature to flinch at the first obstacle. He had always fought his way.

But luck went with him, as it seemed to Sidney. That day he heard of the starting of a new bank on the limited liability principle, and he sought out the manager, stated his antecedents, offered his services, and was engaged. He came home rejoicing to his father with the news, and after all had been communicated, his father tendered him a letter that had been awaiting his arrival.

Sidney looked at the letter; in the left corner of the envelope was written "Maurice Hinchford," and Sid's first impulse was to drop it quietly in the fire, and pay no heed to its contents. But he changed his mind, broke the seal, and read, in a few hasty lines, Maurice's desire for an interview with his cousin. Maurice confessed to being the Darcy of that past evil story, and expressed a wish to enter into a little explanation of his conduct, weak and erring as it was, but not so black as Sidney might imagine. Sidney tore up the letter and penned his reply--unyielding and unforgiving. He could find no valid excuse for his cousin's conduct; he was sure there was not any, and he saw no reason why they two should ever meet again. This, the substance of Sidney Hinchford's reply, which was despatched, and then the curtain fell between these two young men, and Sidney alone in the world, more grim, more business-like, even more misanthropical than ever.

He had soon commenced work in the new bank. Before its start in the world with the usual flourish of trumpets, he had found himself taken into confidence, and his advice on matters monetary and commercial followed on more than one occasion; he was, in his heart, sanguine of success in this undertaking; he saw the road to his own honourable advancement; his employers had been pleased with the character which they had received from Messrs. Hinchford and Son, bankers, to whom Sidney had referred them, with a little reluctance; before him all might yet be bright enough.

Then came the check to his aspirations--the check which he had feared, which he had seen advancing to rob him of the one tie that had bound him to home. His father gave way more in body if not in mind, and became very feeble in his gait; he had reached the end of his journey, and was tired, dispirited, and broken down. He gave up, and took to his bed.

Sidney, returning one day from office, found him in his own room, a poor, weak, trembling old man, set apart for ever from the toil and wear of daily life.

His mind seemed brighter in those latter days, to have cleared for awhile before the darkness set in.

"Sidney," he said, reaching out his thin hand to his son as he entered, "you must not mind my giving up. I have been trying hard to keep strong, for your sake, but the effort has tired me out, boy."

"Courage! I shall see you hale and hearty yet."

"No, Sid, it's a break up for ever. What a miserable, selfish old fellow I have been all my life! You will get on better in the world without me--only yourself to think of and care for then."

"Only myself!" echoed Sidney, gloomily.

The poor old gentleman would have offered more of this sort of consolation had not Sidney stopped him. It was a cruel philosophy, against which the son's heart protested. Sid was a man to attempt consolation, but not capable of receiving it. His austerity had placed him, as he thought, beyond it, and his father's efforts only stabbed him more keenly to the quick.

Sidney tried to believe that his father's deliberate preparation was a whim occasioned by some pa.s.sing weakness, but the truth forced its way despite him, sat down before him, haunted his dreams, would not be thought away. The doctor gave no hopes; the physician whom he called in only confirmed the doctor's verdict; it was a truth from which there was no escape.

When he gave up reasoning against his own convictions, Sidney gave up his clerkship, as suddenly, and with as little warning as he had vacated his stool in his uncle's counting-house.

There was a choice to make between hard work day and night at the new banking scheme--isolated completely from his dying father--and attendance, close and unremitting, to that father who had loved him truly and well, and Sidney did not hesitate.

"Afterwards, I can think of myself," he said; "let me brighten the days that are left you, to the best of my power."

"Ah! but the future?" said the father, anxious concerning his son's position in life.

"I do not care for it, or my position in it now."

"Don't say that, Sid."

"Father, I was working for you, and for your comfort in the future--now let all thoughts of the world go away for awhile, and leave you and me together--thus!"

He laid his hand upon the father's, which clutched his nervously.

"Oh! but what _is_ to become of you?"

"Do _you_ fear my getting on, with the long years before me wherein I can work?"

"No, you are sure to rise, Sid."

Sidney did not answer.

"Unless you grow despondent at the difficulties in the way, or let some secret trouble weigh you down. Sid, my dear son, there's nothing on your mind?"

"Oh! no--nothing. Don't think that," was the quick response--the white lie, for which Sidney Hinchford deserved forgiveness. He would keep his sorrows to himself, and not distress that deathbed by his own vain complainings against any affliction in store for _him_!

When the father grew weaker, he expressed a wish to see his brother Geoffry again.

"We don't bear each other any malice--Geoffry and I, now. If you don't mind, Sid," he said, wistfully, "I should like to shake hands with him, and bid him good-bye."

"I will write at once, sir."

Sidney despatched his letter, and the rich banker came in his carriage to the humble dwelling-place of his younger brother. Sidney did not see his uncle; he bore him no malice; he was even grateful to him for past kindnesses, but he could not face him in his bitter grief, and listen, perhaps, to explanations which he cared nothing for in that hour. With this new care staring him in the face, the other seemed to fade away, and with it much of his past bitterness of spirit. Leave him to himself, and trouble him no more!

When the interview was over, and his uncle was gone, Sidney returned to his post by his father's bed-side.

"He has been talking about you, Sid," said the father; "he seemed anxious to see you."

"I am not fit for company."

"Maurice is abroad, he tells me."

"Indeed!"

Sidney changed the subject, read to his father, talked to him of the old days when the mother and wife were living--a subject on which Mr.

Hinchford loved to dilate just then. But in the long, restless nights, when Sidney slept in the arm-chair by the fire-place--he left not his father day or night, and would have no hired watcher--the father, who had feigned sleep for his son's sake, lay and thought of the son's future, and was perplexed about it. His perceptive faculties had become wondrously acute, and he could see that Sidney Hinchford was unhappy--had been unhappy before the illness which had cast its shadow in that little household. There was something wrong; something which he should never know, he felt a.s.sured. Who could help him?--who could a.s.sist him to discover it?--who would think of Sid in the desolation which was to be that boy's legacy, and do his, or her, best for him?