The Monctons Volume I Part 13

"I shall be very happy to do so--if you will only give me the proofs."

"_Proofs!_" I exclaimed, bitterly, "they are in your own possession--or you have destroyed them!"

"What interest can I have in trying to make you a b.a.s.t.a.r.d? Is the boy mad?"

"You never act without a motive," I cried; "you know that I am heir to a t.i.tle, and property that you covet for yourself and your son!"

His pretended calmness was all gone. His pale face crimsoned with rage.

Yet it was wonderful how instantaneously he mastered his pa.s.sion.

"Who told you this _probable_ story? Who put such absurd notions into your head?"

"One, upon whose word I can rely. My friend, Mr. Harrison."

"I would like to ask Mr. Harrison what he knows of our family affairs,"

sneered Mr. Moncton. "He has proved himself a scoundrel by inventing this pretty little romance to get up a quarrel between us, and rob you of the only real friend you have. I will repay Mr. Harrison for this base falsehood, one of these days."

I felt that I had, betrayed my friend, and perhaps by my foolish rashness marred my own fortunes. Inwardly I cursed my imprudence, and loaded myself with reproaches. Then the thought suggested itself, "Could my uncle be right--was I indeed illegitimate?"

"No, no," I exclaimed, unconsciously aloud; "it is not true--I feel that it is false. A base falsehood got up to rob me of my good name--the only treasure left me by Providence when she deprived me of my parents. Uncle," I exclaimed, standing erect before him, "I will never part with it. I will maintain my equality with you and your son to the last moment of my life."

Overcome by excitement and agitation, I sank down into a chair, my head dropped upon the table and I sobbed convulsively.

"Geoffrey," said my uncle, in a low voice, in which an unusual touch of kindness mingled, "calm down this furious pa.s.sion. Poor lad! I pity and excuse your indignation; both are natural in your case."

"Such sympathy is worse than hate," I muttered.

"Well, believe me the author of all your wrongs, if it pleases you, Geoffrey; but first listen to what I have to say."

I was too much exhausted by the violence of my emotions to offer the least opposition, and he had it entirely his own way--commencing his remarks with a provoking coolness which cut me to the heart.

"When you lost your parents, Geoffrey, you were too young to have formed a correct estimate of their characters."

"I have a very indistinct recollection of my father. I remember my mother well."

"You may imagine that. Your father had a fine, manly face, and nature had endowed him with those useless but brilliant qualities of mind, which the world calls genius, and like many of the same cla.s.s, he acted more from impulse than from principle. Your mother was a beautiful young woman, but with little discretion, who loved unwisely and too well. Her father saw enough of my brother Edward's character, to awaken his suspicions that his attentions to his daughter were not of an honourable nature, and he forbade him the house.

"This impolitic step brought matters to a crisis. The young people eloped together, and the old man died of a broken heart. Your mother went by the name of Moncton, and was introduced to his sporting friends as my brother's wife. But no evidence exists of a marriage having taken place; and until such evidence can be procured, the world will look upon you as illegitimate.

"You will soon be of age, Geoffrey, and if you are prepared with these indispensable doc.u.ments, I will a.s.sist, to the best of my professional abilities, in helping you to establish your claims. It is not in my power to destroy or invalidate them. Why then these base suspicions--these unmerited reproaches--these hurricanes of pa.s.sion?

Why doubt my integrity at the very moment when I am most anxious to serve you?"

"Because in no instance have you ever proved yourself my friend, and I cannot help doubting your sincerity!"

"A want of candour is certainly not among your failings," said Mr.

Moncton, with a slight curl of his proud lip. "You have studied the law long enough to know the impolicy of such conduct."

"I judge, not from fair words but deeds. Sir, the change in your behaviour to me is too sudden for me to believe it genuine."

"Strange," mused Mr. Moncton, "so young and so suspicious!" then turning to me, he said, without the least appearance of resentment at my violence,

"Geoffrey, I know your faulty temper, and forgive you for using such insulting language. The communication I have just made was enough to irritate your sensitive nature and mortify your pride; but it is not reasonable that your anger should be directed against me. I considered it absolutely necessary, to apprise you of these important facts, and conveyed the knowledge of them to you, as gently as I could, just to show you that you must depend upon your own exertions to advance your position in society."

"If your statement be true, what have I to do with society?" said I.

"What position could I obtain in a world which already regards me as an outcast?"

"Not here, perhaps. But there are other countries, where the conventional rules which govern society in this, are regarded with indifference--_America_, for instance."

He fixed his keen eye upon me. An electric flash pa.s.sed into my mind. I saw his drift. I recollected Harrison's advice that the only way to obtain my rights and baffle my uncle's cunning, was _non-resistance_.

I formed my plans in a moment, and determined to foil his schemes, by appearing to countenance them, until I could arrive at the truth, and fathom his designs--and I answered with composure.

"Perhaps, I have done you injustice, Sir. The distracted state of my mind must be my excuse. I will try and submit with patience to my hard fate."

"It is your only wise course. Hark you, Geoffrey! I am rich, trust in me, and the world shall never sneer at you as a _poor relation_. Those whom Robert Moncton takes by the hand may laugh at doubtful birth and want of fortune."

The scoundrel! how I longed to knock him down, but that would have done me no good, so I mastered my indignation and withdrew.

CHAPTER XII.

I FORFEIT MY INDEPENDENCE.

"Be ye wise as serpents, and harmless as doves," was the advice of the Divine Lawgiver, when he sent his disciples forth on their heavenly mission to reform an evil world.

Religion, as I have before stated, had formed no part in my education.

I had read the sacred volume with fear and trembling, and derived no consolation from its mystic pages. I had adopted the fatal idea, that I was one of those pre-condemned beings, for whom the blackness of darkness was reserved for ever, and that no effort on my part could avert the terrible decree.

This shocking and blasphemous belief had taken such deep hold of my mind, that looked upon all religious exercises as perfectly useless. I could not fancy myself one of the elect, and so went from that extreme to the other. If I were to be saved, I should be saved; if a vessel of wrath, only fitted for destruction, it was folly to struggle against fate, and I never suffered my mind to dwell upon the subject. In the mult.i.tude of sorrows which pressed sorely on my young heart, I more than ever stood in need of the advice and consolation which the Christian religion can alone bestow.

I left the presence of my uncle, and sought my own chamber. The lonely garret did not appear so repulsive as usual. No one would disturb its gloomy solitude, or intrude upon my grief. There I had free liberty to weep--to vent aloud, if I pleased, the indignant feelings of my heart.

My mind was overwhelmed with bitter and resentful thoughts; every evil pa.s.sion was struggling for mastery, and the worst agony I was called upon to endure, was the hopeless, heart-crushing, downward tending madness of despair.

To die--to get rid of self, the dark consciousness of unmerited contempt and social degradation, was the temptation which continually flitted through my excited brain. I have often since wondered how I resisted the strong impulse which lured me onward to destruction.

My good angel prevailed. By mere accident, my Bible lay upon the iron chest. I eagerly seized the volume, and sought in the first page I should open, an omen that should decide my fate, and my eye glanced upon the words already quoted--"Be ye, therefore, wise as serpents, and harmless as doves."

I closed the book and sat down, and tried to shape the words to suit my present state. What better advice could I follow? from what higher authority could I derive sounder counsel? Did it not suit completely my case?

Harrison had disappeared. I was alone and friendless in the house of the oppressor. Did I follow the suggestions of my own heart, I should either destroy myself, or quit the protection of Mr. Moncton's roof for ever.

"But then," said reason, "if you take the first step, you are guilty of an unpardonable sin, and by destroying yourself, further the sinister views of your uncle. If the second, you throw away seven years of hard labour, lose your indentures, and for ever place a bar on your future advancement. In a few months you will be of age, and your own master.

Bear these evils patiently a little longer--wait and watch: you never can regain your lost name and inheritance by throwing yourself friendless upon the world."

Determined to adopt, and strictly to adhere to this line of conduct, and leave the rest to Providence, I washed the traces of tears from my face and returned to the private office.

Here I found Mr. Moncton engaged with papers of consequence.