his pretensions, and rejoicing that innate delicacy and prudence had prevented what might have involved the lady’s feelings more deeply in the misfortune of his family: representing himself in all good faith as having retreated from her proffered sympathy out of devoted consideration for her, and closing with elaborate thanks for her exertions on behalf of ‘his unhappy brother.’
The letter had the honour of being infinitely lauded by Mrs. Ledwich, who dwelt on its nobleness and tenderness in many a tete-a-tete, and declared her surprise and thankfulness at the immunity of her dear Matilda’s heart. In strict confidence, too, Dr. Spencer (among others) learnt that—though it was not to be breathed till the year was out, above all till the poor Wards were gone—the dear romantic girl had made her hand the guerdon for obtaining Leonard’s life.
‘So there’s your fate, Dick,’ concluded his friend.
‘You forget the influence of the press,’ returned Dr. May. ‘People don’t propose such guerdons without knowing who is to earn them.’
‘Yes, she has long believed in King John,’ said Ethel.
Meantime Averil Ward was acquiescing in all Henry’s projects with calm desperate passiveness. She told Mary that she had resolved that she would never again contend with Henry, but would let him do what he would with herself and her sisters. Nor had his tenderness during her illness been in vain; it had inspired reliance and affection, such as to give her the instinct of adherence to him as the one stay left to her. With Leonard shut up, all places were the same to her, except that she was in haste to escape from the scenes connected with her lost brother; and she looked forward with dull despairing acquiescence to the new life with which Henry hoped to shake off the past.
A colony was not change enough for Henry’s wishes; even there he made sure of being recognized as the convict’s brother, and was resolved to seek his new home in the wide field of America, disguising his very name, as Warden, and keeping up no communication with the prisoner except under cover to Dr. May.
To this unfailing friend was committed the charge of the brother. He undertook to watch over the boy, visit him from time to time, take care of his health, and obtain for him any alleviations permitted by the prison rules; and as Henry reiterated to Averil, it was absolutely certain that everything possible from external kindness was thus secured. What more could they themselves have done, but show him their faces at the permitted intervals? which would be mere wear and tear of feeling, very bad for both parties.
Averil drooped, and disputed not—guessing, though not yet understanding, the heart hunger she should feel even for such a dreary glimpse.
Every hour seemed to be another turn of the wheel that hurried on the departure. The successor wished to take house and furniture as they stood, and to enter into possession as soon as possible, as he already had taken the practice. This coincided with Henry’s burning impatience to be quit of everything, and to try to drown the sense of his own identity in the crowds of London. He was his sisters’ only guardian, their property was entirely in his hands, and no one had the power of offering any obstacle, so that no delay could be interposed; and the vague design passed with startling suddenness to a fixed decision, to be carried into execution immediately. It came in one burst upon the May household that Averil and her sisters were coming to spend a last evening before their absolute packing to go on the Saturday to London, where they would provide their outfit, and start in a month for America.
The tidings were brought by Mary, who had, as usual, been spending part of the morning with Averil. No one seemed to be so much taken by surprise as Tom, whose first movement was to fall on his sisters for not having made him aware of such a preposterous scheme. They thought he knew. He knew that all the five quarters of the world had been talked of in a wild sort of a way; but how could he suppose that any man could be crazed enough to prefer to be an American citizen, when he might remain a British subject?
Repugnance to America was naturally strong in Tom, and had of late been enhanced by conversations with an Eton friend, who, while quartered in Canada, had made excursions into the States, and acquired such impressions as high-bred young officers were apt to bring home from a superficial view of them. Thus fortified, he demanded whether any reasonable person had tried to bring Henry Ward to his senses.
Ethel believed that papa had advised otherwise.
‘Advised! It should have been enforced! If he is fool enough to alter his name, and throw up all his certificates what is to become of him? He will get no practice in any civilized place, and will have to betake himself to some pestilential swamp, will slave his sisters to death, spend their money, and destroy them with ague. How can you sit still and look on, Ethel?’
‘But what could I do?’
‘Stir up my father to interfere.’
‘I thought you always warned us against interfering with Henry Ward.’
He treated this speech as maliciously designed to enrage him. ‘Ethel!’ he stammered, ‘in a case like this— where the welfare—the very life—of one—of your dearest friend—of Mary’s, I mean—I did think you would have been above—’
‘But, Tom, I would do my utmost, and so would papa, if it were possible to do anything; but it is quite in vain. Henry is resolved against remaining under British rule, and America seems to be the only field for him.’
‘Much you know or care!’ cried Tom. ‘Well, if no one else will, I must!’
With which words he departed, leaving his sister surprised at his solicitude, and dubious of the efficacy of his remonstrance, though she knew by experience that Tom was very different in a great matter from what he was in a small one.
Tom betook himself to Bankside, and the first person he encountered there was his little friend Ella, who ran up to him at once.
‘Oh, Mr. Tom, we are going to America! Shall you be sorry?’
‘Very sorry,’ said Tom, as the little hand was confidingly thrust into his.
‘I should not mind it, if you were coming too, Mr. Tom!’
‘What, to play at French billiards?’
‘No, indeed! To find objects for the microscope. I shall save all the objects I meet, and send them home in a letter.’
