The Literary World Seventh Reader Part 9

Her eyes, ordinarily so kind, darted flashes of anger as she spoke; and she tossed up her head (which hung down commonly) with the [v]mien of a princess.

"Heyday!" said my Lord, who was standing by the fireplace, "Rachel, what are you in a pa.s.sion about? Though it does you good to get in a pa.s.sion--you look very handsome!"

"It is, my Lord, because Mr. Harry Esmond, having nothing to do with his time here, and not having a taste for our company, has been to the blacksmith's alehouse, where he has some friends."

My Lord burst out with a laugh.

"Take Mistress Beatrix to bed," my Lady cried at this moment to her woman, who came in with her Ladyship's tea. "Put her into my room--no, into yours," she added quickly. "Go, my child: go, I say; not a word."

And Beatrix, quite surprised at so sudden a tone of authority from one who was seldom accustomed to raise her voice, went out of the room with a scared face and waited even to burst out crying until she got upstairs.

For once, her mother took little heed of her. "My Lord," she said, "this young man--your relative--told me just now in French--he was ashamed to speak in his own language--that he had been at the blacksmith's all day, where he has had that little wretch who is now ill of the smallpox on his knee. And he comes home reeking from that place--yes, reeking from it--and takes my boy into his lap without shame, and sits down by me. He may have killed Frank for what I know--killed our child! Why was he brought in to disgrace our house? Why is he here? Let him go--let him go, I say, and [v]pollute the place no more!"

She had never before uttered a syllable of unkindness to Harry Esmond, and her cruel words smote the poor boy so that he stood for some moments bewildered with grief and rage at the injustice of such a stab from such a hand. He turned quite white from red, which he had been before.

"If my coming nigh your boy pollutes him," he said, "it was not so always. Good-night, my Lord. Heaven bless you and yours for your goodness to me. I have tired her Ladyship's kindness out, and I will go."

"He wants to go to the alehouse--let him go!" cried my Lady.

"I'll be hanged if he shall," said my Lord. "I didn't think you could be so cruel, Rachel!"

Her reply was to burst into a flood of tears, and to quit the room with a rapid glance at Harry Esmond, as my Lord put his broad hand on Harry's shoulder.

In a little while my Lady came back, looking very pale, with a handkerchief in her hand. Instantly advancing to Harry Esmond, she took his hand. "I beg your pardon, Harry," she said. "I spoke very unkindly."

My Lord broke out: "There may be no harm done. Leave the boy alone." She looked a little red, and pressed the lad's hand as she dropped it.

"There is no use, my Lord," she said. "Frank was on his knee as he was making pictures and was running constantly from Harry to me. The evil is done, if any."

"Not with me," cried my Lord. "I've been smoking." And he lighted his pipe again with a coal. "As the disease is in the village--plague take it!--I would have you leave it. We'll go to-morrow to Walcote."

"I have no fear," said my Lady. "I may have had it as an infant."

"I won't run the risk," said my Lord. "I'm as bold as any man, but I'll not bear that."

"Take Beatrix with you and go," said my Lady. "For us the mischief is done."

My Lord, calling away Doctor Tusher, bade him come in the oak parlor and have a pipe.

When the lady and the boy were alone, there was a silence of some moments, during which he stood looking at the fire whilst her Ladyship busied herself with the [v]tambour frame and needles.

"I am sorry," she said, after a pause, in a hard, dry voice--"I repeat I am sorry that I said what I said. It was not at all my wish that you should leave us, I am sure, unless you found pleasure elsewhere. But you must see that, at your age, and with your tastes, it is impossible that you can continue to stay upon the intimate footing in which you have been in this family. You have wished to go to college, and I think 'tis quite as well that you should be sent thither. I did not press the matter, thinking you a child, as you are indeed in years--quite a child.

But now I shall beg my Lord to despatch you as quick as possible; and will go on with Frank's learning as well as I can. And--and I wish you a good night, Harry."

With this she dropped a stately curtsy, and, taking her candle, went away through the tapestry door, which led to her apartments. Esmond stood by the fireplace, blankly staring after her. Indeed, he scarce seemed to see until she was gone, and then her image was impressed upon him and remained forever fixed upon his memory. He saw her retreating, the taper lighting up her marble face, her scarlet lip quivering, and her shining golden hair. He went to his own room and to bed, but could not get to sleep until daylight, and woke with a violent headache.

He had brought the contagion with him from the alehouse, sure enough, and was presently laid up with the smallpox, which spared the hall no more than it did the cottage.

When Harry Esmond had pa.s.sed through the [v]crisis of the [v]malady and returned to health again, he found that little Frank Esmond had also suffered and rallied from the disease, and that his mother was down with it. Nor could young Esmond agree in Doctor Tusher's [v]vehement protestations to my Lady, when he visited her during her [v]convalescence, that the malady had not in the least impaired her charms; whereas, in spite of these fine speeches, Harry thought that her Ladyship's beauty was very much injured by the smallpox. The delicacy of her rosy complexion was gone; her eyes had lost their brilliancy, her hair fell, and she looked older. When Tusher in his courtly way vowed and protested that my Lady's face was none the worse, the lad broke out and said, "It is worse, and my mistress is not near so handsome as she was." On this poor Lady Castlewood gave a [v]rueful smile and a look into a little mirror she had, which showed her, I suppose, that what the stupid boy said was only too true, for she turned away from the gla.s.s and her eyes filled with tears.

The sight of these always created a sort of rage of pity in Esmond's heart, and seeing them on the face of the lady whom he loved best, the young blunderer sank down on his knees and besought her to pardon him, saying that he was a fool and an idiot. Doctor Tusher told him that he was a bear, and a bear he would remain, at which speech poor Harry was so dumb-stricken that he did not even growl.

"He is my bear, and I will not have him baited, doctor," said my Lady, putting her hand kindly on the boy's head, as he was still kneeling at her feet. "How your hair has come off! And mine, too!" she added with another sigh.

"It is not for myself that I care," my Lady said to Harry, when the parson had taken his leave; "but am I very much changed! Alas! I fear 'tis too true."

"Madam, you have the dearest, and kindest, and sweetest face in the world, I think," the lad said; and indeed he thought so.

For Harry Esmond his benefactress' sweet face had lost none of its charms. It had always the kindest of looks and smiles for him--and beauty of every sort. She would call him "Mr. Tutor," and she herself, as well as the two children, went to school to him. Of the pupils the two young people were but lazy scholars, and my Lord's son only learned what he liked, which was but little. Mistress Beatrix chattered French prettily, and sang sweetly, but this from her mother's teaching, not Harry Esmond's. But if the children were careless, 'twas a wonder how eagerly the mother learned from her young tutor--and taught him, too.

She saw the [v]latent beauties and hidden graces in books; and the happiest hours of young Esmond's life were those pa.s.sed in the company of this kind mistress and her children.

These happy days were to end soon, however; and it was by Lady Castlewood's own decree that they were brought to a conclusion. It happened about Christmas-tide, Harry Esmond being now past sixteen years of age. A messenger came from Winchester one day, bearer of the news that my Lady's aunt was dead and had left her fortune of 2,000 among her six nieces. Many a time afterward Harry Esmond recalled the flushed face and eager look wherewith, after this intelligence, his kind lady regarded him. When my Lord heard of the news, he did not make any long face. "The money will come very handy to furnish the music-room and the [v]cellar," he said, "which is getting low, and buy your Ladyship a coach and a couple of horses. Beatrix, you shall have a [v]spinet; and Frank, you shall have a little horse from Hexton fair; and Harry, you shall have five pounds to buy some books." So spoke my Lord, who was generous with his own, and indeed with other folks' money. "I wish your aunt would die once a year, Rachel; we could spend your money, and all your sisters', too."

"I have but one aunt--and--and I have another use for the money," said my Lady, turning red.

"Another use, my dear; and what do you know about money?" cried my Lord.

"I intend it for Harry Esmond to go to college. Cousin Harry," said my Lady, "you mustn't stay any longer in this dull place, but make a name for yourself."

"Is Harry going away? You don't mean to say you will go away?" cried out Beatrix and Frank at one breath.

"But he will come back, and this will always be his home," replied my Lady, with blue eyes looking a celestial kindness; "and his scholars will always love him, won't they?"

"Rachel, you're a good woman," said my Lord. "I wish you joy, my kinsman," he continued, giving Harry Esmond a hearty slap on the shoulder, "I won't balk your luck. Go to Cambridge, boy."

When Harry Esmond went away for Cambridge, little Frank ran alongside his horse as far as the bridge, and there Harry stopped for a moment and looked back at the house where the best part of his life had been pa.s.sed. And Harry remembered, all his life after, how he saw his mistress at the window looking out on him, the little Beatrix's chestnut curls resting at her mother's side. Both waved a farewell to him, and little Frank sobbed to leave him.

The village people had good-bye to say to him, too. All knew that Master Harry was going to college, and most of them had a kind word and a look of farewell. And with these things in mind, he rode out into the world.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

=HELPS TO STUDY=

Tell what you find out about the household in which Harry Esmond lived. What impression do you get of each person? What trouble did Harry bring upon the family? What change occurred in his life and now?

SUPPLEMENTARY READING

The Virginians--William Makepeace Thackeray.

The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers--Steele and Addison.

THE FAMILY HOLDS ITS HEAD UP

The story is an extract from Oliver Goldsmith's famous novel, _The Vicar of Wakefield_. In this book Goldsmith describes the fortunes of the family of Doctor Primrose, a Church of England clergyman of the middle of the eighteenth century. The novel is considered a most faithful picture of English country life in that period.