That Boy Of Norcott's. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ when this difficulty can be got over; but any imprudence now – the smallest mistake – would destroy this chance. Of course it’s very hard on you, my poor fellow, to be debarred from the very theme you ‘d like best to dwell on; but when you know the danger – not merely danger, but the positive certainty of mischief – a chance word might bring about, I read you very ill, or you ‘ll profit by my warning.”

      I bent my head to mean assent, but I could not speak.

      “Papa will question you whether you have been to school, and what books you are reading, and your answer will be, ‘Never at school; had all my lessons at home.’ Not a word more, mind that, Digby. Say it now after me, that I may see if you can be exact to a syllable.”

      I repeated the words correctly, and he patted me affectionately on the shoulder, and said, —

      “You and I are sure to get on well together. When I meet with a boy, who, besides being intelligent, is a born gentleman, I never hesitate about treating him as my equal, save in that knowledge of life I ‘m quite ready to share with him. I don’t want to be a Pope with my pupil, and say, ‘You are not to do this, or think that,’ and give no reason why. You ‘ll always find me ready to discuss with you, and talk over anything that puzzles you. I was not treated in that fashion myself, and I know well what the repressive system has cost me. You follow me, don’t you, in what I say?”

      “Yes, sir; I think I understand it all.”

      Whether I looked as if my words had more meaning than they expressed, or that some sort of misgiving was working within him that he had been hasty in his confidence, I know not; but he arose suddenly, and said, “I must go and get a cigarette.” And with that he left me.

      CHAPTER IV. THE VILLA MALIBRAN

      For some hours I wandered over the house, admiring the pictures and the bronzes and the statuettes, and the hundreds of odd knick-knacks of taste or curiosity that filled the salons. The treasures of art were all new to me, and I thought I could never weary of gazing on some grand landscape by Both, or one of those little interiors of Dutch life by Ostade or Mieris. It seemed to me the very summit of luxury, that all these glorious objects should be there, awaiting as it were the eye of him who owned them, patient slaves of his pleasure, to be rewarded by, perhaps, a hurried glance as he passed. The tempered light, the noiseless footsteps, as one trod the triple-piled carpet, the odor of rich flowers everywhere, imparted a dreaminess to the sense of enjoyment that, after long, long years, I can recall and almost revive by an effort of memory.

      I met no one as I loitered through the rooms, for I was in a part of the house only opened on great occasions or for large receptions; and so I strayed on, lost in wonderment at the extent and splendor of a scene which, to my untutored senses, seemed of an actually royal magnificence. Having reached what I believed to be the limit of the suite of rooms, I was about to retrace my steps, when I saw that a small octagon tower opened from an angle of the room, though no apparent doorway led into it. This puzzle interested me at once, and I set about to resolve it, if I might. I opened one of the windows to inspect the tower on the outside, and saw that no stairs led up to it, nor any apparent communication existed with the rest of the house. I bethought me of the sliding mirror which in my own room concealed the bookcase, and set to work to see if some similar contrivance had not been employed here; but I searched in vain. Defeated and disappointed, I was turning away when, passing my hand along the margin of a massive picture-frame, I touched a small button; and as I did so, with a faint sound like a wail, the picture moved slowly, like an opening door, and disclosed the interior of the tower. I entered at once, my curiosity now raised to a point of intensity to know what had been so carefully and cunningly guarded from public view. What a blank disappointment was mine! The little room, about nine or ten feet in diameter, contained but a few straw-bottomed chairs, and a painted table on which a tea-service of common blue-ware stood. A Dutch clock was on a bracket at one side of the window, and a stuffed bird – a grouse, I believe – occupied another. A straight-backed old sofa, covered with a vulgar chintz, stood against the wall; an open book, with a broken fan in the leaves, to mark the place, lay on the sofa. The book was “Paul and Virginia”. A common sheet almanac was nailed against the wall, but over the printed columns of the months a piece of white paper was pasted, on which, in large letters, was written “June 11, 18 – . Dies infausta.”

      I started. I had read that date once before in my mother’s prayer-book, and had learned it was her marriage-day. As a ray of sunlight displays in an instant every object within its beam, I at once saw the meaning of every detail around me. These were the humble accessories of that modest home from which my dear mother was taken; these were the grim reminders of the time my father desired to perpetuate as an undying sorrow. I trembled to think what a nature I should soon be confronted with, and how terrible must be the temper of a man whose resentments asked for such aliment to maintain them! I stole away abashed at my own intrusiveness, and feeling that I was rightfully punished by the misery that overwhelmed me. How differently now did all the splendor appear to me as I retraced my steps! how defiantly I gazed on that magnificence which seemed to insult the poverty I had just quitted! What a contrast to the nurtured spitefulness of his conduct was my poor mother’s careful preservation of a picture representing my father in his uniform. A badly painted thing it was; but with enough of likeness to recall him. And as such, in defiance of neglect and ill-usage and insult, she preserved it, – a memorial, not of happier days, but of a time when she dreamed of happiness to come. While I was thus thinking, seeking in my mind comparisons between them, which certainly redounded but little to his credit, Nixon came up to me, saying, “Oh, Master Digby, we ‘ve been looking for you in every direction. Sir Roger has asked over and over why you have not been to see him; and I ‘m afraid you ‘ll find him displeased at your delay.”

      “I ‘m ready now,” said I, drily, and followed him.

      My father was in his study, lying on a sofa, and cutting the leaves of a new book as I entered; and he did not interrupt the operation to offer me his hand.

      “So, sir,” said he, calmly and coldly, “you have taken your time to present yourself to me? Apparently you preferred making acquaintance with the house and the grounds.”

      “I am very sorry, sir,” I began; “but I did not know you had risen. Nixon told me about one or two – ”

      “Indeed! I was not aware that you and Mr. Nixon had been discussing my habits. Come nearer; nearer still. What sort of dress is this? Is it a smock-frock you have on?”

      “No, sir. It’s a blouse to keep my jacket clean. I have got but one.”

      “And these shoes; are they of your own making?”

      “No, sir. I could n’t make even as good as these.”

      “You are a very poor-looking object, I must say. What was Antoine about that he did n’t, at least, make you look like a gentleman, eh? Can you answer me that?”

      “No, sir, I cannot”

      “Nor I, either,” said he, sighing. “Have you been equally neglected inside as out? Have you learned to read?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And to write?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Write my name, then, there, on that piece of paper, and let me see it.”

      I drew nigh, and wrote in a fall, bold hand, Roger Norcott.

      “Why not Sir Roger Norcott, boy? Why not give me my name and title too?”

      “You said your name, sir, and I thought – ”

      “No СКАЧАТЬ