He took her hand in his, and said in a low whisper, “Mother, let me see him?”
“Not now, dearest Julian; wait till to-morrow, for our sakes.”
“What was the cause of death, mother?”
“Disease of the heart;” and once more the widow’s strength seemed likely to give way. But this time it was Julian’s turn to whisper, “God’s will be done.”
Next morning Mrs. Home, with Julian and Violet, entered the room of death. Flowers were scattered on the bed, and on that face, calm as marble yet soft as life, the happy wondering smile had not yet even died away. And there Julian received from his mother a slip of paper, on which his father’s dying hand had traced the last messages of undying love and when they had left him there alone, he opened and read these words, written with weak and wavering pen—
“My own dearest boy, in this world we shall never meet again. But I die happy, Julian, for my trust is in God, who cares for the widow and the fatherless. And you, Julian, will take my place with Violet, Cyril, and dear Frankie—I need say nothing of a mother to such a son. God bless you, my own boy. Be brave, and honest, and pure, and God will be with you. Your dying father,
“Henry Home.”
The last part was almost illegible, but Julian bent reverently over his father’s corpse, and it seemed that the smile brightened on those dead lips as he bowed his young head in prayer.
Reader, for many reasons we must not linger there. But I had to tell you of that death and of those dying words which Julian knew by heart through life, and which he kept always with him as the amulet against temptation. He never forgot them; and oh! how often in the hours of trial did it seem as if that dying message was whispered in his ear, “Be brave, and honest, and pure, and God will be with you.”
The concluding arrangements were soon made. The family left the rectory, but continued to reside at Ildown, a spot which they loved, and where they were known and loved. Mr. Home had insured his life for a sum, not large indeed, but sufficient to save them from absolute penury, and had besides laid by sufficient to continue Julian’s education. It was determined that he should return to Harton, and there try for the Newry scholarship in time. If he should be successful in getting this, there would be no further difficulty in his going to college, for it was expected that a wealthy aunt of his would assist him. His guardians, however, were kind enough to determine that, even in case of his failing to obtain the Newry, they would provide for his university expenses, although they did not conceal from him the great importance of his earnestly studying with a view to gain this pecuniary aid. Cyril was sent to Marlby, and Frank, who was but ten years old, remained for the present at Ildown grammar school.
After the funeral Julian returned to Harton with a sadder and wiser heart. Though never an idle boy, he had not as yet realised the necessity of throwing himself fully into the studies of the place, but had rather given the reins to his fancy, and luxuriated in the gorgeous day-dreams of poetry and romance. Henceforward, he became a most earnest and diligent student, and day by day felt that his intellectual powers grew stronger and more developed by this healthier nourishment. At the end of that quarter he gained his first head-remove, and Mr. Carden rejoiced heartily in the success of his favourite pupil.
“Why, Julian, you will beat us all if you go on at this rate,” said he, after reading over the trial verses which Julian asked him to criticise after the examination. “You always showed taste, but here we have vigour too; and for a wonder, you haven’t made any mistakes.”
“I’m afraid I shall be ‘stumped’ in the Greek ‘Iambi,’ sir, as Mr. Clarke calls them.”
“Ah! well, you must take pains. You’ve improved, though, since you had to translate Milton’s—
“Smoothing the raven down
Of darkness, till it smiled;
“when, you remember, I gave you a literal version of your ‘Iambi,’ which meant ‘pounding a pea-green fog.’ Eh?”
“Oh, yes,” said Julian, “I remember too that I rendered ‘the moon-beams’ by ‘the moon’s rafters.’ ”
“Never mind,” said Mr. Carden, laughing, “improve in them as much as you have in Latin verse, and we shall see you Newry scholar yet.”
A thrill of joy went through the boy’s heart as he heard these words.
Chapter Four.
How Julian lost a Fortune.
“Most like a step-dame or a dowager
Long withering out a young man’s revenue.”
Shakespeare.
I must not chronicle Julian’s school-life, much as I should have to tell about him, and strong as the temptation is, but another event happened during his stay at Harton which affected so materially his future years that I must proceed to narrate it now.
Julian’s father had a sister much older than himself, who many years before had married a baronet-farmer, Sir Thomas Vinsear of Lonstead Abbey. It was certainly not a love match on the lady’s side, for the baronet was twenty years her senior, and his tastes in no respect resembled hers. But she was already of “a certain age,” and despairing of a lover, accepted the good old country squire, and was located for the rest of her life as mistress of Lonstead Abbey.
As long as he lived all was well; Lady Vinsear, like a sensible wife, conformed herself to all his wishes and peculiarities, and won in no slight degree his gratitude and affection. But he did not long survive his marriage, and after a few years the lady found herself alone and childless in the solitary grandeur of her husband’s home.
Her brother Henry, the Rector of Ildown, had always been her special favourite, and she looked to his frequent visits to enliven her loneliness. But she was piqued by his having married without consulting her, and behaved so uncourteously to Mrs. Home, that for a long time the intercourse between them was broken.
One day, however, shortly before his death, she had written to announce an intended visit, and in due time her carriage stood before the rectory door. It so happened that it was Julian’s holiday-time, and he was at home. Changed as the old lady had become by years and disappointment, and the ennui of an aimless widowhood, little relieved by the unceasing attendance of a confidante, yet Lady Vinsear’s childless and withered heart seemed to be touched to life again when she gazed on her brother’s beautiful and modest boy. Courteous without subservience, and attentive without servility, Julian, by his graceful and unselfish demeanour, won her complete affection, and she dropped to the family no ambiguous hints, that, for Julian’s sake, she should renew her intercourse with them, and make him her heir. Circumstanced as he was, Mr. Home could not but rejoice in this determination, and the more so from his proud consciousness that not even the vilest detractor could charge him with having courted his rich sister’s favour by open or secret arts. From Julian he would have concealed Lady Vinsear’s intention, but she had herself made him tolerably aware of it, after a fit of violent spleen against Miss Sprong, her confidante, who, seeing how the wind lay, had tried to drop little malicious hints against the favourite nephew, until the old lady had cut them short, by a peremptory order that Miss Sprong should leave the room. That little rebuff the lady never forgot and never forgave, and, under the guise of admiration, she nursed her enmity against the unconscious Julian until due opportunity should have occurred to give it vent.
Every now and then, Julian, when wearied with study, would be tempted to think in his secret heart, “What does it matter my working so hard, when I shall be master of Lonstead Abbey some day?” And then perhaps would follow a rather inconsistent