“Now, a little before them, there was on the left hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to go over into it, and that meadow is called By-path meadow.”—Pilgrim’s Progress.
Oh, the interest and the excitement of an election! How little we consider, when we glance over a dry list of the members of the House of Commons, all the efforts and sacrifices that have been made, the anxiety, heartburnings, sleepless1 nights, exhausting days, that have been endured to place a single name on that list!
Not only the castle, but all the neighbourhood, was in a ferment2, for this was to be a hotly contested election. For some years Mr. Hope had quietly sat as member for the adjacent town of Allborough; but it was now known that he must have a desperate struggle for his place—a wealthy, popular man, had come forward to oppose him: Mr. Stacey was the supporter of a very popular measure, and though the truth was scarcely acknowledged at Fontonore, the chances in favour of
[216]
the pink were considered equal to those in favour of the blue.
Nothing was talked of at the castle, scarcely anything thought of, but the election. Mr. Hope exerted himself as if his life depended upon success; his lady was, if possible, more anxious than himself, she was so proud of being the wife of an M.P., she thought that it added so much to her dignity in society. Even Clementina employed her delicate fingers with a little more energy than she usually thought “refined,” to make up cockades of blue satin ribbon. She wished the colours had been reversed, “as pink is so much more becoming;” but as her complexion3 had never been consulted in the choice, she made up her mind to appear in blue.
The boys naturally caught the infection of the time. Charles was wild for the Blues4, and accompanied his uncle very often on his canvassing5 rounds. He felt ready to knock down any one who dared express a doubt of Mr. Hope’s success. And though Ernest had suffered too much, and had reflected too much, to be quite so violent in his emotions, besides wanting even the smattering of politics which his brother had naturally picked up, he also took his part with interest in the proceedings6, and watched with almost as much pleasure the erection of the polling-booth, covered with gaudy7 placards of red and blue, on which “Hope for Ever!” and “Vote for Stacey!” appeared in large, staring letters,
[217]
as he did the conversion8 of a barn into a little school which he was preparing for the cottagers around.
Sometimes, indeed, the thought would cross the mind of the boy, as he looked on excited faces, and listened to animated9 conversation on the all-engrossing theme,—“How strange it is that so much more interest is taken in the things of this life than in what regards another! It is as though pilgrims to the celestial10 city should exert all their efforts, strain every nerve, to gain possession of some hillock by the way!”
The day before the election was one of those mild bright days which sometimes occur in the midst of winter, like a little green oasis11 in a desert, to remind us of the spring which is to come. The air felt almost balmy and warm, and Mr. Ewart and his two pupils walked out to enjoy the sweet sunshine in the park. There was a rustic12 chair beneath one of the fine old trees, on which the clergyman sat down, while the boys, on the other and more sheltered side of the huge tree, amused themselves with gathering13 and examining some peculiar14 moss15.
Mr. Ewart had scarcely taken his seat when a step was heard on the dry withered16 leaves with which the turf was thickly strewn. A rough-looking man approached and touched his hat; Mr. Ewart recognized the butcher who supplied the castle, and in his usual courteous17 manner, wished Mr. Staines good morning.
The tradesman replied to the salutation, but stood
[218]
lingering as if he had something to say, and yet felt difficulty in beginning the conversation.
MR. STAINES AND THE TUTOR.
“Did you wish to speak to me?” said Mr. Ewart, observing his hesitation18.
“Why, sir, I have been wishing very much to say a word to you about to-morrow’s election.”
“You must be aware,” replied the clergyman, “that I make it my rule to take no part in politics.”
[219]
“I wished to consult you, sir,—”
“I must decline giving advice on these subjects.”
“But, sir, it is a matter of conscience!”
“If so, then I am ready to hear you.”
“As you of course know, sir,” said the butcher, rubbing his head, “Mr. Hope expects me to give him my vote. I have the custom of the castle here, and that’s a great matter for a man like me. But you see, sir,”—he stopped and scraped the ground with his foot, then, as the clergyman waited patiently for the rest of his speech, continued with a good deal of embarrassment,—“you see I think all the other way from Mr. Hope, and I did promise to vote for Mr. Stacey.”
“Then what brings you now to me? You cannot be ignorant that in my position as tutor to Lord Fontonore, this is a most delicate affair for me to interfere19 in.”
“I know it, I know it, sir,” said the tradesman, lowering his voice; “but I have never received from any person in the world the advice that I have received from you. A man needs good counsel, you see, at a pass like this, when one is afraid of going against a customer on the one hand, and—and—conscience upon the other.”
“Conscience before interest always,” said Mr. Ewart.
“You don’t mean that I should vote against Mr. Hope?” cried the butcher, who perhaps secretly wished that the tutor of the candidate’s nephews might find some means
[220]
of relieving his scruples20, or take on himself the responsibility of silencing them at once.
“Do ever what is right, and leave the event to a higher hand,” replied the clergyman, rising to conclude so annoying an interview, and motioning to the tradesman to leave him.
“My uncle would not thank you for your counsel,” said Charles, coming forward as soon as the voter had departed.
“I hope that he may never know of it,” subjoined Ernest; “he would be wounded in his tenderest point.”
“I much regret that I was consulted,” said Mr. Ewart, gravely; “but, being so, I do not see what other answer I could have given.”
“Oh, you did right, as you always do!” exclaimed Charles; “but I hope that that vote may not lose us the election—it would be almost enough to drive one wild.”
There was a sudden change in the weather before the next morning dawned: the snow was falling fast, mantling21 the earth with white; the sky was of one dull gray; the wind shrieked22 through the leafless branches. It was a day when it might have been imagined that no one would have willingly quitted a warm hearth23 to face the inclemency24 of the weather; yet no one in Castle Fontonore seemed to regard either frost, wind, or snow.
[221]
There were banners flying, bands playing, crowds gathering, the tramp of horses, and the noise of shouting. The snow that fell so soft and white became hardened and brown beneath the hurried tread of many feet. To the poll, from the poll—on horseback, on foot—eager messengers crossed each other, to rouse wavering partisans25 to exertion26, or carry tidings to eager listeners.
The candidates had been proposed, their speeches had been made; all that now remained was for the voters to hasten to the poll. Great was the excitement in the castle when, at the end of the first hour, the statement of numbers was brought in. Mrs. Hope stood flushed and panting with anxiety, and looked half surprised, half mortified27, to hear that her husband was but thirteen ahead of his opponent.
The next hour his success appeared yet more doubtful—the thirteen had diminished to seven. Then again Mr. Hope’s majority rose; and his lady, as if assured of triumph, glanced proudly around and repeated for the hundredth time her assertion that she had never for a moment doubted of victory.
Ernest and Charles rode on their ponies28 amidst the gathered crowds. Every cheer that rose as the Lord of Fontonore and his bright-haired young brother appeared, with large blue cockades on their breasts, seemed a pledge of the success of their uncle.
At length the eventful moment for the close of the
[222]
poll drew near. Mrs. Hope could hardly endure to await the result in the castle; but such was the desire of her husband. Restlessly she paced up and down the hall, starting at every sound, watching with breathless anxiety for news from the polling-place. Not that she would admit that she had the slightest fear of defeat. It was impossible that Mr. Hope could fail of election, with his connections, his talents, his standing29: she only wondered at the audacity30 of his opponent, and stopped repeatedly, in her impatient walk to and fro, to desire Ernest to write down the name of some titled friend to whom she must write by the very first post, to communicate the news of her triumph.
“Hark! that’s the sound of a horse’s quick tramp,” exclaimed Ernest, starting to his feet. “That’s Charles, I am sure. He brings tidings.” The next moment the hoofs31 clattered32 through the archway, and the rider flung himself off the saddle, even before the panting animal stopped at the door.
Mrs. Hope and Ernest hurried to meet him; but the eager question died on the lips of the lady, as she saw the expression on her nephew’s face.
“Lost! all lost!” exclaimed Charles, almost stamping with impatience33; “lost by a minority of one!”
“Impossible! It cannot be!” cried Mrs. Hope. “There must be some mistake, or some treachery.”
But no; there was neither treachery nor mistake.
[223]
Every new-comer confirmed the tidings, and Ernest had an opportunity of again witnessing how heavily disappointment falls on the citizens of Vanity Fair. Would that the citizens of a more glorious place lived so far above the world that its trials should never have power to drag them down to the level of its slaves! Are the trifles which so often ruffle34 our tempers and depress our spirits worth such anxious thought from those who profess35 that their hearts and their treasures are above?
Mr. Hope’s disappointment, anger, and irritation36 knew no bounds. He was ill able to afford the expense of a contested election. He had spared no trouble, no exertion, no cost; and to lose it after all, and by a minority of one, was more than the worldly man could endure.
Mr. Hope talked over the events of the day with his wife in the evening; Ernest and Charles sitting at a little distance, with the chess-table before them, but too much interested in the conversation to attend to their game. Their uncle spoke37 in a rapid and excited manner, accusing this person of bribery38 and that of perjury39, and declaring that he would demand a scrutiny40.
“I say, Ernest,” whispered Charles, in a very low voice, bending towards his brother, so that no one else should hear him, “I would not for ten thousand pounds that our uncle should know of Mr. Ewart’s conversation with the butcher.”
[224]
“Nor I,” replied Ernest, in the same tone. “What do you think would happen if he did?”
“Mr. Ewart would be dismissed at once from the castle. I know that Uncle Hope would be glad of an opportunity to do this. I am certain that he dislikes our friend, and so does Aunt Matilda.”
“Oh, I hope and trust that he never may know it!” exclaimed Ernest, startled at the idea of such a misfortune—one of the greatest, he felt, which could befall him, for his affection towards his tutor was deep and sincere.
“I am afraid,” said Charles, still whispering, “that my uncle will hear something about the affair. He is aware that Staines was the last man to vote, and that he turned the scale against him: and Jones told us that the butcher had been seen yesterday in our park; and my uncle, who was very angry indeed, declared that he would sift41 the matter to the bottom.”
“You make me very uneasy,” said Ernest. “What should we say if we were questioned? You know that we overheard all.”
“I wish that we had been anywhere else,” cried Charles; “but I had no idea that the man had come about anything secret. What should we say if we were questioned?”
“We could not betray our friend. Oh, Charles, if he were to leave us, how could we ever stand firm against
[225]
all the temptations which we should be certain to meet?”
“Who would help you to carry out your plans of usefulness?”
“Who would be our guide in our pilgrimage?”
“And it might be ruin to Mr. Ewart to be sent away. You know that he supports his aged42 mother. His voice is not strong enough for severe clerical duty; he might never be able to get a church.”
“I would do anything to prevent such a misfortune happening,” cried Ernest.
“Anything? Would you tell an untruth?”
“In such a case as this, I hardly think that it would be wrong?”
Charles looked very doubtfully at his brother.
“Why, consider, Charles, all the evil that might follow if my uncle knew the truth—evil to us, to all around us, to our dear friend himself. Nothing should make us swerve43 from strict candour where only our own interests are concerned; but when a good man may be ruined—”
Here the conversation was suddenly broken off by Mr. Hope’s turning towards them, and exclaiming, in a loud tone,—
“And there’s something which you may help me to clear up, young gentlemen. I have heard a rumour44—a very strange rumour, one that it is scarcely possible to
[226]
credit—that that fellow Staines was hanging about the park yesterday, and had a consultation45 with Mr. Ewart, who advised him to vote against me. Were you with your tutor at the time?”
“We were with Mr. Ewart all the afternoon,” replied Ernest, his heart throbbing46 very fast.
“We never left him,” added Charles, as his uncle glanced towards him.
“And do you know nothing of this pretended interview, which may have been—which probably is—nothing but a malicious47 calumny48, a fable49? Was there any such conversation held in your presence?—a thing almost impossible to conceive.”
“No, sir; there was none,” replied Ernest, in a low tone.
“None,” repeated Charles, looking down and blushing.
Mr. Hope surveyed them both with a piercing eye. How uneasy they felt under his glance! He questioned them no more, however, but turned round again towards the fire, and was soon engaged once more in animated conversation with his wife.
“Have we done right?” whispered Charles to his brother.
“I don’t exactly know. I hope so, for we acted from a good motive50. We could not have spoken out, and ruined our friend. I am sure that God will not severely51 judge an act of kindness and gratitude52.”
[227]
Ah! vain confidence, how many have you led astray! who judge of the Almighty53 by their own false ideas, instead of His pure unerring Word! Where do we find in the Bible that any sin, committed from any motive whatsoever54, finds indulgence from the God of holiness and truth?
“I do not feel quite easy,” murmured Charles.
“Nor I. Yet I hope that we have not really wandered from the way. I hardly see what else we could have done.”
The servants now brought in tea and coffee. Clementina, looking tired and out of spirits, came into the drawing-room, and was almost immediately followed by Mr. Ewart.
“Mr. Ewart,” exclaimed Mr. Hope, stopping suddenly in what he was saying on perceiving the entrance of the clergyman, and addressing him in a sharp, stern, decided55 manner, “allow me to ask you one question.”
The tutor silently bowed.
“Did you, or did you not, converse56 yesterday in the park with the butcher Staines?”
“I did do so,” replied Mr. Ewart, without hesitation.
Ernest bit his lip, till he almost brought blood.
“Did you, or did you not, advise him to vote against me?” continued Mr. Hope, in a tone of suppressed fury.
“I advised him to vote according to his conscience.”
“And you advised these two boys to speak according
[228]
to their conscience!” exclaimed Mr. Hope, in a voice that made the room ring. “You, the instructor57 of youth—you, the pattern of strict morality—you have taught your pupils to be hypocrites and liars58; you have corrupted59 their unsuspicious minds—”
THE DISMISSAL.
“Sir,” said Mr. Ewart, with dignity; but Mr. Hope was too furious to listen.
“I say that you have corrupted them—ruined their principles. Your conduct to me I could pass over; but I cannot leave my nephews one day longer in the hands of one who would teach them to be hypocrites. You leave the castle to-morrow, sir,—”
[229]
“Oh, uncle!—Mr. Hope!” cried Ernest and Charles, springing forward, “Mr. Ewart knew nothing of it; it was we—it was I.”
“There is no use speaking,” cried the indignant candidate. “From your conduct, I must judge of the instructions which you have received. Two of my family to be guilty of deliberate falsehood!—Sir,” he continued, turning towards Mr. Ewart, “you have heard my unalterable decision. You quit the castle to-morrow.”
Mr. Ewart bowed gravely, and retired60 to his own apartment, followed by the almost heart-broken boys.
Not only the castle, but all the neighbourhood, was in a ferment2, for this was to be a hotly contested election. For some years Mr. Hope had quietly sat as member for the adjacent town of Allborough; but it was now known that he must have a desperate struggle for his place—a wealthy, popular man, had come forward to oppose him: Mr. Stacey was the supporter of a very popular measure, and though the truth was scarcely acknowledged at Fontonore, the chances in favour of
[216]
the pink were considered equal to those in favour of the blue.
Nothing was talked of at the castle, scarcely anything thought of, but the election. Mr. Hope exerted himself as if his life depended upon success; his lady was, if possible, more anxious than himself, she was so proud of being the wife of an M.P., she thought that it added so much to her dignity in society. Even Clementina employed her delicate fingers with a little more energy than she usually thought “refined,” to make up cockades of blue satin ribbon. She wished the colours had been reversed, “as pink is so much more becoming;” but as her complexion3 had never been consulted in the choice, she made up her mind to appear in blue.
The boys naturally caught the infection of the time. Charles was wild for the Blues4, and accompanied his uncle very often on his canvassing5 rounds. He felt ready to knock down any one who dared express a doubt of Mr. Hope’s success. And though Ernest had suffered too much, and had reflected too much, to be quite so violent in his emotions, besides wanting even the smattering of politics which his brother had naturally picked up, he also took his part with interest in the proceedings6, and watched with almost as much pleasure the erection of the polling-booth, covered with gaudy7 placards of red and blue, on which “Hope for Ever!” and “Vote for Stacey!” appeared in large, staring letters,
[217]
as he did the conversion8 of a barn into a little school which he was preparing for the cottagers around.
Sometimes, indeed, the thought would cross the mind of the boy, as he looked on excited faces, and listened to animated9 conversation on the all-engrossing theme,—“How strange it is that so much more interest is taken in the things of this life than in what regards another! It is as though pilgrims to the celestial10 city should exert all their efforts, strain every nerve, to gain possession of some hillock by the way!”
The day before the election was one of those mild bright days which sometimes occur in the midst of winter, like a little green oasis11 in a desert, to remind us of the spring which is to come. The air felt almost balmy and warm, and Mr. Ewart and his two pupils walked out to enjoy the sweet sunshine in the park. There was a rustic12 chair beneath one of the fine old trees, on which the clergyman sat down, while the boys, on the other and more sheltered side of the huge tree, amused themselves with gathering13 and examining some peculiar14 moss15.
Mr. Ewart had scarcely taken his seat when a step was heard on the dry withered16 leaves with which the turf was thickly strewn. A rough-looking man approached and touched his hat; Mr. Ewart recognized the butcher who supplied the castle, and in his usual courteous17 manner, wished Mr. Staines good morning.
The tradesman replied to the salutation, but stood
[218]
lingering as if he had something to say, and yet felt difficulty in beginning the conversation.
MR. STAINES AND THE TUTOR.
“Did you wish to speak to me?” said Mr. Ewart, observing his hesitation18.
“Why, sir, I have been wishing very much to say a word to you about to-morrow’s election.”
“You must be aware,” replied the clergyman, “that I make it my rule to take no part in politics.”
[219]
“I wished to consult you, sir,—”
“I must decline giving advice on these subjects.”
“But, sir, it is a matter of conscience!”
“If so, then I am ready to hear you.”
“As you of course know, sir,” said the butcher, rubbing his head, “Mr. Hope expects me to give him my vote. I have the custom of the castle here, and that’s a great matter for a man like me. But you see, sir,”—he stopped and scraped the ground with his foot, then, as the clergyman waited patiently for the rest of his speech, continued with a good deal of embarrassment,—“you see I think all the other way from Mr. Hope, and I did promise to vote for Mr. Stacey.”
“Then what brings you now to me? You cannot be ignorant that in my position as tutor to Lord Fontonore, this is a most delicate affair for me to interfere19 in.”
“I know it, I know it, sir,” said the tradesman, lowering his voice; “but I have never received from any person in the world the advice that I have received from you. A man needs good counsel, you see, at a pass like this, when one is afraid of going against a customer on the one hand, and—and—conscience upon the other.”
“Conscience before interest always,” said Mr. Ewart.
“You don’t mean that I should vote against Mr. Hope?” cried the butcher, who perhaps secretly wished that the tutor of the candidate’s nephews might find some means
[220]
of relieving his scruples20, or take on himself the responsibility of silencing them at once.
“Do ever what is right, and leave the event to a higher hand,” replied the clergyman, rising to conclude so annoying an interview, and motioning to the tradesman to leave him.
“My uncle would not thank you for your counsel,” said Charles, coming forward as soon as the voter had departed.
“I hope that he may never know of it,” subjoined Ernest; “he would be wounded in his tenderest point.”
“I much regret that I was consulted,” said Mr. Ewart, gravely; “but, being so, I do not see what other answer I could have given.”
“Oh, you did right, as you always do!” exclaimed Charles; “but I hope that that vote may not lose us the election—it would be almost enough to drive one wild.”
There was a sudden change in the weather before the next morning dawned: the snow was falling fast, mantling21 the earth with white; the sky was of one dull gray; the wind shrieked22 through the leafless branches. It was a day when it might have been imagined that no one would have willingly quitted a warm hearth23 to face the inclemency24 of the weather; yet no one in Castle Fontonore seemed to regard either frost, wind, or snow.
[221]
There were banners flying, bands playing, crowds gathering, the tramp of horses, and the noise of shouting. The snow that fell so soft and white became hardened and brown beneath the hurried tread of many feet. To the poll, from the poll—on horseback, on foot—eager messengers crossed each other, to rouse wavering partisans25 to exertion26, or carry tidings to eager listeners.
The candidates had been proposed, their speeches had been made; all that now remained was for the voters to hasten to the poll. Great was the excitement in the castle when, at the end of the first hour, the statement of numbers was brought in. Mrs. Hope stood flushed and panting with anxiety, and looked half surprised, half mortified27, to hear that her husband was but thirteen ahead of his opponent.
The next hour his success appeared yet more doubtful—the thirteen had diminished to seven. Then again Mr. Hope’s majority rose; and his lady, as if assured of triumph, glanced proudly around and repeated for the hundredth time her assertion that she had never for a moment doubted of victory.
Ernest and Charles rode on their ponies28 amidst the gathered crowds. Every cheer that rose as the Lord of Fontonore and his bright-haired young brother appeared, with large blue cockades on their breasts, seemed a pledge of the success of their uncle.
At length the eventful moment for the close of the
[222]
poll drew near. Mrs. Hope could hardly endure to await the result in the castle; but such was the desire of her husband. Restlessly she paced up and down the hall, starting at every sound, watching with breathless anxiety for news from the polling-place. Not that she would admit that she had the slightest fear of defeat. It was impossible that Mr. Hope could fail of election, with his connections, his talents, his standing29: she only wondered at the audacity30 of his opponent, and stopped repeatedly, in her impatient walk to and fro, to desire Ernest to write down the name of some titled friend to whom she must write by the very first post, to communicate the news of her triumph.
“Hark! that’s the sound of a horse’s quick tramp,” exclaimed Ernest, starting to his feet. “That’s Charles, I am sure. He brings tidings.” The next moment the hoofs31 clattered32 through the archway, and the rider flung himself off the saddle, even before the panting animal stopped at the door.
Mrs. Hope and Ernest hurried to meet him; but the eager question died on the lips of the lady, as she saw the expression on her nephew’s face.
“Lost! all lost!” exclaimed Charles, almost stamping with impatience33; “lost by a minority of one!”
“Impossible! It cannot be!” cried Mrs. Hope. “There must be some mistake, or some treachery.”
But no; there was neither treachery nor mistake.
[223]
Every new-comer confirmed the tidings, and Ernest had an opportunity of again witnessing how heavily disappointment falls on the citizens of Vanity Fair. Would that the citizens of a more glorious place lived so far above the world that its trials should never have power to drag them down to the level of its slaves! Are the trifles which so often ruffle34 our tempers and depress our spirits worth such anxious thought from those who profess35 that their hearts and their treasures are above?
Mr. Hope’s disappointment, anger, and irritation36 knew no bounds. He was ill able to afford the expense of a contested election. He had spared no trouble, no exertion, no cost; and to lose it after all, and by a minority of one, was more than the worldly man could endure.
Mr. Hope talked over the events of the day with his wife in the evening; Ernest and Charles sitting at a little distance, with the chess-table before them, but too much interested in the conversation to attend to their game. Their uncle spoke37 in a rapid and excited manner, accusing this person of bribery38 and that of perjury39, and declaring that he would demand a scrutiny40.
“I say, Ernest,” whispered Charles, in a very low voice, bending towards his brother, so that no one else should hear him, “I would not for ten thousand pounds that our uncle should know of Mr. Ewart’s conversation with the butcher.”
[224]
“Nor I,” replied Ernest, in the same tone. “What do you think would happen if he did?”
“Mr. Ewart would be dismissed at once from the castle. I know that Uncle Hope would be glad of an opportunity to do this. I am certain that he dislikes our friend, and so does Aunt Matilda.”
“Oh, I hope and trust that he never may know it!” exclaimed Ernest, startled at the idea of such a misfortune—one of the greatest, he felt, which could befall him, for his affection towards his tutor was deep and sincere.
“I am afraid,” said Charles, still whispering, “that my uncle will hear something about the affair. He is aware that Staines was the last man to vote, and that he turned the scale against him: and Jones told us that the butcher had been seen yesterday in our park; and my uncle, who was very angry indeed, declared that he would sift41 the matter to the bottom.”
“You make me very uneasy,” said Ernest. “What should we say if we were questioned? You know that we overheard all.”
“I wish that we had been anywhere else,” cried Charles; “but I had no idea that the man had come about anything secret. What should we say if we were questioned?”
“We could not betray our friend. Oh, Charles, if he were to leave us, how could we ever stand firm against
[225]
all the temptations which we should be certain to meet?”
“Who would help you to carry out your plans of usefulness?”
“Who would be our guide in our pilgrimage?”
“And it might be ruin to Mr. Ewart to be sent away. You know that he supports his aged42 mother. His voice is not strong enough for severe clerical duty; he might never be able to get a church.”
“I would do anything to prevent such a misfortune happening,” cried Ernest.
“Anything? Would you tell an untruth?”
“In such a case as this, I hardly think that it would be wrong?”
Charles looked very doubtfully at his brother.
“Why, consider, Charles, all the evil that might follow if my uncle knew the truth—evil to us, to all around us, to our dear friend himself. Nothing should make us swerve43 from strict candour where only our own interests are concerned; but when a good man may be ruined—”
Here the conversation was suddenly broken off by Mr. Hope’s turning towards them, and exclaiming, in a loud tone,—
“And there’s something which you may help me to clear up, young gentlemen. I have heard a rumour44—a very strange rumour, one that it is scarcely possible to
[226]
credit—that that fellow Staines was hanging about the park yesterday, and had a consultation45 with Mr. Ewart, who advised him to vote against me. Were you with your tutor at the time?”
“We were with Mr. Ewart all the afternoon,” replied Ernest, his heart throbbing46 very fast.
“We never left him,” added Charles, as his uncle glanced towards him.
“And do you know nothing of this pretended interview, which may have been—which probably is—nothing but a malicious47 calumny48, a fable49? Was there any such conversation held in your presence?—a thing almost impossible to conceive.”
“No, sir; there was none,” replied Ernest, in a low tone.
“None,” repeated Charles, looking down and blushing.
Mr. Hope surveyed them both with a piercing eye. How uneasy they felt under his glance! He questioned them no more, however, but turned round again towards the fire, and was soon engaged once more in animated conversation with his wife.
“Have we done right?” whispered Charles to his brother.
“I don’t exactly know. I hope so, for we acted from a good motive50. We could not have spoken out, and ruined our friend. I am sure that God will not severely51 judge an act of kindness and gratitude52.”
[227]
Ah! vain confidence, how many have you led astray! who judge of the Almighty53 by their own false ideas, instead of His pure unerring Word! Where do we find in the Bible that any sin, committed from any motive whatsoever54, finds indulgence from the God of holiness and truth?
“I do not feel quite easy,” murmured Charles.
“Nor I. Yet I hope that we have not really wandered from the way. I hardly see what else we could have done.”
The servants now brought in tea and coffee. Clementina, looking tired and out of spirits, came into the drawing-room, and was almost immediately followed by Mr. Ewart.
“Mr. Ewart,” exclaimed Mr. Hope, stopping suddenly in what he was saying on perceiving the entrance of the clergyman, and addressing him in a sharp, stern, decided55 manner, “allow me to ask you one question.”
The tutor silently bowed.
“Did you, or did you not, converse56 yesterday in the park with the butcher Staines?”
“I did do so,” replied Mr. Ewart, without hesitation.
Ernest bit his lip, till he almost brought blood.
“Did you, or did you not, advise him to vote against me?” continued Mr. Hope, in a tone of suppressed fury.
“I advised him to vote according to his conscience.”
“And you advised these two boys to speak according
[228]
to their conscience!” exclaimed Mr. Hope, in a voice that made the room ring. “You, the instructor57 of youth—you, the pattern of strict morality—you have taught your pupils to be hypocrites and liars58; you have corrupted59 their unsuspicious minds—”
THE DISMISSAL.
“Sir,” said Mr. Ewart, with dignity; but Mr. Hope was too furious to listen.
“I say that you have corrupted them—ruined their principles. Your conduct to me I could pass over; but I cannot leave my nephews one day longer in the hands of one who would teach them to be hypocrites. You leave the castle to-morrow, sir,—”
[229]
“Oh, uncle!—Mr. Hope!” cried Ernest and Charles, springing forward, “Mr. Ewart knew nothing of it; it was we—it was I.”
“There is no use speaking,” cried the indignant candidate. “From your conduct, I must judge of the instructions which you have received. Two of my family to be guilty of deliberate falsehood!—Sir,” he continued, turning towards Mr. Ewart, “you have heard my unalterable decision. You quit the castle to-morrow.”
Mr. Ewart bowed gravely, and retired60 to his own apartment, followed by the almost heart-broken boys.
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1
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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2
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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3
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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4
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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5
canvassing
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的现在分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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6
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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7
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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8
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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9
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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10
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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11
oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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12
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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13
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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14
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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15
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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16
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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17
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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18
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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19
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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20
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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21
mantling
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| 覆巾 | |
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22
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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24
inclemency
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| n.险恶，严酷 | |
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25
partisans
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| 游击队员( partisan的名词复数 )； 党人； 党羽； 帮伙 | |
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26
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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27
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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28
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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29
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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30
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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31
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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33
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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34
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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35
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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36
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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37
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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38
bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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39
perjury
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| n.伪证；伪证罪 | |
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40
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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41
sift
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| v.筛撒，纷落，详察 | |
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42
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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43
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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44
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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45
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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46
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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47
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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48
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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49
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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50
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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51
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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52
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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53
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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54
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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55
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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56
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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57
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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58
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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59
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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60
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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