Kitabı oku: «Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster», sayfa 53
‘If not,’ said Owen, smiling, to hide deeper feelings, ‘I reserve to you the pleasure of maintaining me, nursing me, or what not! If my carcase be good for nothing, I hereby make it over to you. And now, Honor, I have not been without thought for you. I can tell you of a better successor for Brooks.’
‘Well!’ she said, almost crossly.
‘Humfrey Charlecote Randolf,’ said Owen, slowly, giving full effect to the two Christian names.
Honor started, gasped, and snatching at the first that occurred of her objections, exclaimed, ‘But, my dear, he is as much an engineer as yourself.’
‘From necessity, not choice. He farmed till last August.’
‘Canadian farming! Besides, what nonsense to offer a young man, with all the world before him, to be bailiff of this little place.’
‘It would, were he only to stand in Brooks’s position; but if he were the acknowledged heir, as he ought to be—yes, I know I am saying a dreadful thing—but, my good Queen Elizabeth, your Grace would be far wiser to accept Jamie at once than to keep your subjects fretting over your partialities. He will be a worthy Humfrey Charlecote if you catch and pin him down young. He will be worthy any way, but if you let him go levelling and roaming over the world for the best half of his life, this same Holt will lose its charms for him and his heirs for ever.’
‘But—but how can you tell that he would be caught and pinned?’
‘There is a very sufficient pin at the Underwood.’
‘My dear Owen, impossible!’
‘Mind, no one has told me in so many words, but Mervyn Fulmort gave me such an examination on Randolf as men used to do when matrimony is in the wind; and since that, he inferred the engagement, when he came to me in no end of a rage, because my backwoodsman had conscientious scruples against partaking in their concoction of evil spirits.’
‘Do you mean that Mervyn wants to employ him?’
‘To take him into partnership, on the consideration of a certain thirty thousand. You may judge whence that was to come! And he, like Robert, declined to live by murdering bodies and souls. I am afraid Mervyn has been persecuting them ever since.’
‘Ever since when?’
‘This last conversation was some three weeks ago. I suspect the principal parties settled it on that snowy Twelfth-day—’
‘But which of them, Owen?’
‘Which?’ exclaimed Owen, laughing. ‘The goggle or the squint?’
‘For shame, Owen. But I cannot believe that Phœbe would not have told me!’
‘Having a sister like Lady Bannerman may hinder confidences to friends.’
‘Now, Owen, are you sure?’
‘As sure as I was that it was a moonstruck man that slept in my room in Woolstone-lane. I knew that Cynthia’s darts had been as effective as though he had been a son of Niobe!’
‘I don’t believe it yet,’ cried Honor; ‘an honourable man—a sensible girl! Such a wild thing!’
‘Ah! Queen Elizabeth! Queen Elizabeth! shut up an honourable man and a sensible girl in a cedar parlour every evening for ten days, and then talk of wild things! Have you forgotten what it is to be under twenty-five?’
‘I hate Queen Elizabeth,’ said Honor, somewhat tartly.
He muttered something of an apology, and resumed his book. She worked on in silence, then looking up said, rather as if rejoicing in a valid objection, ‘How am I to know that this man is first in the succession? I am not suspecting him of imposition. I believe that, as you say, his mother was a Charlecote, but how do I know that she had not half-a-dozen brothers. There is no obligation on me to leave the place to any one, but this youth ought not to come before others.’
‘That is soon answered,’ said Owen. ‘The runaway, your grandfather’s brother, led a wild, Leather-Stocking life, till he was getting on in years, then married, luckily not a squaw, and died at the end of the first year, leaving one daughter, who married Major Randolf, and had this only son.’
‘The same relation to me as Humfrey! Impossible! And pray how do you prove this?’
‘I got Currie to make notes for me which I can get at in my room,’ said Owen. ‘You can set your lawyer to write to the places, and satisfy yourself without letting him know anything about it.’
‘Has he any expectations?’
‘I imagine not. I think he has never found out that our relationship is not on the Charlecote side.’
‘Then it is the more—impertinent, I really must say, in him to pay his addresses to Phœbe, if he have done so.’
‘I can’t agree with you. What was her father but an old distiller, who made his fortune and married an heiress. You sophisticated old Honey, to expect him to be dazzled with her fortune, and look at her from a respectful distance! I thought you believed that “a man’s a man for a’ that,” and would esteem the bold spirit of the man of progress.’
‘Progress, indeed!’ said Honor, ironically.
‘Listen, Honor,’ said Owen, ‘you had better accuse me of this fortune-hunting which offends you. I have only obeyed Fate, and so will you. From the moment I met him, he seemed as one I had known of old. It was Charlecotism, of course; and his signature filled me with presentiment. Nay, though the fire and the swamp have become mere hearsay to me now, I still retain the recollection of the impression throughout my illness that he was to be all that I might have been. His straightforward good sense and manly innocence brought Phœbe before me, and Currie tells me that I had fits of hatred to him as my supplanter, necessary as his care was to me.’
Honor just stopped herself from exclaiming, ‘Never!’ and changed it into, ‘My own dear, generous boy!’
‘You forget that I thought it was all over with me! The first sensations I distinctly remember were as I lay on my bed at Montreal, one Sunday evening, and saw him sitting in the window, his profile clearly cut against the light, and retracing all those old silhouettes over the mantelshelf. Then I remembered that it had been no sick delusion, but truth and verity, that he was the missing Charlecote! And feeling far more like death than life, I was glad that you should have some one to lean on of your own sort; for, Honor, it was his Bible that he was reading!—one that he had saved out of the fire. I thought it was a lucid interval allowed me for the sake of giving you a better son and support than I had been, and looked forward to your being happy with him. As soon as I could get Currie alone, I told him how it stood, and made him take notes of the evidence of his identity, and promise to make you understand it if I were dead or childish. My best hope was to see him accepted as my expiation; but when I got back, and you wouldn’t have him at any price, and I found myself living and lifelike, and had seen her again—’
‘Her? Phœbe? My poor boy, you do not mean—’
‘I do mean that I was a greater fool than you even took me for,’ said Owen, with rising colour. ‘First and last, that pure child’s face and honest, plain words had an effect on me which nothing else had. The other affair was a mere fever by comparison, and half against my will.’
‘Owen!’
‘Yes, it was. When I was with that poor thing, her fervour carried me along; and as to the marriage, it was out of shortsighted dread of the uproar that would have followed if I had not done it. Either she would have drowned herself, or her mother would have prosecuted me for breach of promise, or she would have proclaimed all to Lucy or Mr. Prendergast. I hadn’t courage for either; though, Honor, I had nearly told you the day I went to Ireland, when I felt myself done for.’
‘You were married then?’
‘Half-an-hour!’ said Owen, with something of a smile, and a deep sigh. ‘If I had spoken, it would have saved a life! but I could not bear to lose my place with you, nor to see that sweet face turned from me.’
‘You must have known that it would come out in time, Owen. I never could understand your concealment.’
‘I hardly can,’ said Owen, ‘except that one shuffles off unpleasant subjects! I did fancy I could stave it off till Oxford was over, and I was free of the men there; but that notion might have been a mere excuse to myself for putting off the evil day. I was too much in debt, too, for an open rupture with you; and as to her, I can truly say that my sole shadow of an excuse is that I was too young and selfish to understand what I was inflicting!’ He passed his hand over his face, and groaned, as he added—‘Well, that is over now; and at last I can bear to look at her child!’ Then recurring in haste to the former subject—‘You were asking about Phœbe! Yes, when I saw the fresh face ennobled but as simple as ever, the dog in the manger seemed to me a reasonable beast! Randolf’s admiration was a bitter pill. If I were to be nailed here for ever, I could not well spare the moonbeams from my prison! But that’s over now—it was a diseased fancy! I have got my boy now, and can move about; and when I get into harness, and am in the way of seeing people, and maturing my invention, I shall never think of it again.’
‘Ah! I am afraid that is all I can wish for you!’
‘Don’t wish it so pitifully, then,’ said Owen, smiling. ‘After having had no hope of her for five years, and being the poor object I am, this is no such great blow; and I am come to the mood of benevolence in which I really desire nothing so much as to see them happy.’
‘I will think about it,’ said Honor.
And though she was bewildered and disappointed, the interview had, on the whole, made her happier, by restoring the power of admiring as much as she loved. Yet it was hard to be required to sacrifice the interests of one whom she adored, her darling, who might need help so much, to do justice to a comparative stranger; and the more noble and worthy Owen showed himself, the less willing was she to decide on committing herself to his unconscious rival. Still, did the test of idolatry lie here?
She perceived how light-hearted this conversation had rendered Owen, as though he had thrown off a weight that had long been oppressing him. He was overflowing with fun and drollery throughout the journey; and though still needing a good deal of assistance at all changes of carriage, showed positive boyish glee in every feat he could accomplish for himself; and instead of shyly shrinking from the observation and casual help of fellow-travellers, gave ready smiles and thanks.
Exhilarated instead of wearied by the journey, he was full of enjoyment of the lodgings, the window, and the view; a new spring of youthfulness seemed to have come back to him, and his animation and enterprise carried Honor along with him. Assuredly she had never known more thorough present pleasure than in his mirthful, affectionate talk, and in the sight of his daily progress towards recovery; and a still greater happiness was in store for her. On the second day, he begged to accompany her to the week-day service at the neighbouring church, previously sending in a request for the offering of the thanks of Owen Charteris Sandbrook for preservation in great danger, and recovery from severe illness.
‘Dearest,’ she said, ‘were I to recount my causes of thanksgiving, I should not soon have done! This is best of all.’
‘Not fully best yet, is it?’ said Owen, looking up to her with eyes like those of his childhood.
‘No; but it soon will be.’
‘Not yet,’ said Owen; ‘I must think first; perhaps write or talk to Robert Fulmort. I feel as if I could now.’
‘You long for it?’
‘Yes, as I never even thought I did,’ said Owen, with much emotion. ‘It was strange, Honor, as soon as I came home to the old places, how the old feelings, that had been set aside so long, came back again. I would have given the world to recover them in Canada, but could only envy Randolf, till they woke up again of themselves at the sight of the study, and the big Bible we used to read with you.’
‘Yet you never spoke.’
‘No; I could not till I had proved to myself that there was no time-serving in them, if you must know the truth!’ said Owen, colouring a little. ‘Besides, having been told my wits would go, how did I know but that they were a symptom of my second childhood?’
‘How could any one have been so cruel as to utter such a horrible presage?’
‘One overhears and understands more than people imagine, when one has nothing to do but to lie on the broad of one’s back and count the flies,’ said Owen. ‘So, when I was convinced that my machine was as good as ever, but only would not stand application, I put off the profession, just to be sure what I should think of it when I could think.’
‘Well!’ was all Honor could say, gazing through glad tears.
‘And now, Honor dear,’ said he, with a smile, ‘I don’t know how it is. I’ve tried experiments on my brains. I have gone through half-a-dozen tough calculations. I have read over a Greek play, and made out a problem or two in mechanics, without being the worse for it; but, somehow, I can’t for the life of me hark back to the opinions that had such power over me at Oxford. I can’t even recollect the half of them. It is as if that hemlock spruce had battered them out of my head.’
‘Even like as a dream when one awaketh.’
‘Something like it! Why, even unknownst to you, Sweet Honey, I got at one or two of the books I used to swear by, and somehow I could not see the force of what they advanced. There’s a futility about it all, compared with the substance.’
‘Before, you did not believe with your heart, so your understanding failed to be convinced.’
‘Partly so,’ said Owen, thoughtfully. ‘The fact is, that religion is so much proved to the individual by personal experience and actual sensation, that those who reason from without are on different ground, and the avocato del diavolo has often apparently the advantage, because the other party’s security is that witness in his own breast which cannot be brought to light.’
‘Only apparently.’
‘Really, sometimes, with the lookers-on who have accepted the doctrines without feeling them. They, having no experience, feel the failure of evidence, where the tangible ends.’
‘Do you mean to say that this was the case with yourself, my dear? I should have thought, if ever child were good—’
‘So did I,’ said Owen, smiling. ‘I simulated the motions to myself and every one else: and there was a grain of reality, after all; but neither you nor I ever knew how much was mere imitation and personal influence. When I outgrew implicit faith in you, I am afraid my higher faith went with it—first through recklessness, then through questioning. After believing more than enough, the transition is easy to doubting what is worthy of credit at all.’
‘From superstition to rationalism.’
‘Yes; overdoing articles of faith and observances, while the mind and conscience are young and tender, brings a dangerous reaction when liberty and independent reflection begin.’
‘But, Owen, I may have overdone observances, yet I did not teach superstitions,’ said Honor.
‘Not consciously,’ said Owen. ‘You meant to teach me dogmatically only what you absolutely believed yourself. But you did not know how boundless is a child’s readiness to accept what comes as from a spiritual authority, or you would have drawn the line more strongly between doctrine and opinion, fact and allegory, the true and the edifying.’
‘In effect, I treated you as the Romish Church began by doing to the populace.’
‘Exactly so. Like the mediæval populace, I took legend for fact; and like the modern populace, doubted of the whole together, instead of sifting. There is my confession, Honor dear. I know you are happier for hearing it in full; but remember, my errors are not chargeable upon you. If I had ever been true towards myself or you, and acted out what I thought I felt, I should have had the personal experience that would have protected the truth when the pretty superstructure began to pass away.’
‘What you have undertaken now is an acting out!’
‘I hope it is. Therefore it is the first time that I have ever trusted myself to be in earnest. And after all, Honor, though it is a terrible past to look back on, it is so very pleasant to be coming home, and to realize mercy and pardon, and hopes of doing better, that I can’t feel half the broken-down sorrow that perhaps ought to be mine. It won’t stay with me, when I have you before me.’
Honor could not be uneasy. She was far too glad at heart for that. The repentance was proving itself true by its fruits, and who could be anxious because the gladness of forgiveness overpowered the pain of contrition?
Her inordinate affection had made her blind and credulous where her favourite was concerned, so as to lead to his seeming ruin, yet when the idol throne was overturned, she had learnt to find sufficiency in her Maker, and to do offices of love without excess. Then after her time of loneliness, the very darling of her heart had been restored, when it was safe for her to have him once more; but so changed that he himself guarded against any recurrence to the old exclusive worship.
CHAPTER XXXIII
But the pine woods waved,
And the white streams raved;
They told me in my need,
That softness and feeling
Were not soul-healing;
And so it was decreed—
That the marvellous flowers of woman’s duty
Should grow on the grave of buried beauty.
—Faber
Easter was at hand, and immediately after it Mr. Currie was to return to Canada to superintend the formation of the Grand Ottawa and Superior line. He and his assistants were hard at work on the specifications, when a heavy tap and tramp came up the stairs, and Owen Sandbrook stood before them, leaning on his crutch, and was greeted with joyful congratulations on being on his legs again.
‘Randolf,’ he said, hastily, ‘Miss Charlecote is waiting in the carriage to speak to you. Give me your pen.’
‘I shall be back in an instant.’
‘Time will show. Where are you?—“such sleepers to be—” I see. Down with you.’
‘Yes; never mind hurrying back,’ said the engineer; ‘we can get this done without you’—and as the door closed—‘and a good deal beside. I hear you have put it in train.’
‘I have every reason to hope so. Does he guess?’
‘Not a whit, as far as I can tell. He has been working hard, and improving himself in his leisure. He would have made a first-rate engineer. It is really hard to be robbed of two such assistants one after the other.’
Meanwhile Honor had spent those few moments in trepidation. She had brought herself to it at last! The lurking sense of injustice had persuaded her that it was crossing her conscience to withhold the recognition of her heir, so soon as she had received full evidence of his claims and his worthiness. Though she had the power, she felt that she had not the right to dispose of her property otherwise; and such being the case, it was a duty to make him aware of his prospects, and offer him such a course as should best enable him to take his future place in the county. Still it was a severe struggle. Even with her sense of insufficiency, it was hard to resign any part of the power that she had so long exercised; she felt that it was a risk to put her happiness into unknown hands, and perhaps because she had had this young man well-nigh thrust on her, and had heard him so much lauded, she almost felt antagonistic to him as rival of Owen, and could have been glad if any cause for repudiating him would have arisen. Even the favour that he had met with in Phœbe’s eyes was no recommendation. She was still sore at Phœbe’s want of confidence in her; she took Mervyn’s view of his presumption, and moreover it was another prize borne off from Owen. Poor dear Honor, she never made a greater sacrifice to principle than when she sent her William off to Normandy to summon her Edgar Atheling.
She did not imagine that she had it in her to have hated any one so much.
Yet, somehow, when the bright, open face appeared, it had the kindred, familiar air, and the look of eagerness so visibly fell at the sight of her alone in the carriage, that she could not defend herself from a certain amusement and interest, while she graciously desired him to get in, and drive with her round the Park, since she had something to tell him that could not be said in a hurry. Then as he looked up in inquiry, suspecting, perhaps, that she had heard of his engagement, she rushed at once to the point.
‘I believe you know,’ she said, ‘that I have no nearer relation than yourself?’
‘Not Sandbrook?’ he asked, in surprise.
‘He is on my mother’s side. I speak of my own family. When the Holt came to me, it was as a trust for my lifetime to do my best for it, and to find out to whom afterwards it should belong. I was told that the direct heir was probably in America. Owen Sandbrook has convinced me that you are that person.’
‘Thank you,’ began young Randolf, somewhat embarrassed; ‘but I hope that this will make little difference to me for many years!’
Did he underrate the Holt, the wretch, or was it civility? She spoke a little severely. ‘It is not a considerable property, but it gives a certain position, and it should make a difference to you to know what your prospects are.’
The colour flushed into his cheeks as he said, ‘True! It may have a considerable effect in my favour. Thank you for telling me;’ and then paused, as though considering whether to volunteer more, but as yet her manner was not encouraging, but had all the dryness of effort.
‘I have another reason for speaking,’ she continued. ‘It is due to you to warn you that the estate wants looking after. I am unequal to the requirements of modern agriculture, and my faithful old bailiff, who was left to me by my dear cousin, is past his work. Neither the land nor the people are receiving full justice.’
‘Surely Sandbrook could find a trustworthy steward,’ returned the young man.
‘Nay, had you not better, according to his suggestion, come and live on the estate yourself, and undertake the management, with an allowance in proportion to your position as the heir?’
Her heart beat high with the crisis, and she saw his colour deepen from scarlet to crimson as he said, ‘My engagement with Mr. Currie—’
‘Mr. Currie knows the state of things. Owen Sandbrook has been in communication with him, and he does not expect to take you back with him, unless you prefer the variety and enterprise of your profession to becoming a country gentleman of moderate means.’ She almost hoped that he would, as she named the rental and the proposed allowance, adding, ‘The estate must eventually come to you, but it is for you to consider whether it may not be better worth having if, in the interim, it be under your superintendence.’
He had had time to grow more familiar with the idea, and spoke readily and frankly. ‘Indeed, Miss Charlecote, I need no inducement. It is the life I should prefer beyond all others, and I can only hope to do my duty by you, and whatever you may think fit to intrust to me.’ And, almost against her will, the straightforward honesty of his look brought back to her the countenance where she had always sought for help.
‘Then your past misfortunes have not given you a distaste to farming?’
‘They did not come from farming, but speculation. I was brought up to farm work, and am more at home in it than in anything else, so that I hope I could be useful to you.’
She was silent. Oh, no; she had not the satisfaction of being displeased. He was ready enough, but not grasping; and she found herself seeing more of the Charlecote in him, and liking him better than she was ready to grant.
‘Miss Charlecote,’ he said after a few moments’ thought, ‘in the relations you are establishing between us, it is right that you should know the full extent of the benefits you are conferring.’
It was true, then? Well, it was better than a New World lady, and Honora contrived to look pleasantly expectant.
‘I know it was very presumptuous,’ he said; ‘but I could not help making my feelings known to one who is very dear to you—Miss Fulmort.’
‘Indeed she is,’ said Honor; though maybe poor Phœbe had of late been a shade less dear to her.
‘And with your consent,’ said be, perhaps a little disconcerted by her want of warmth, ‘I hope this kindness of yours may abridge the term of waiting to which we looked forward.’
‘What were you waiting for?’
‘Until such time as I could provide a home to which she could take her sister Maria. So you see what you have done for us.’
‘Maria!’
‘Yes. She promised her mother, on her death-bed, that Maria should be her charge, and no one could wish her to lay it aside.’
‘And the family are aware of the attachment?’
‘The brothers are, and have been kinder than I dared to expect. It was thought better to tell no one else until we could see our way; but you have a right to know now, and I have the more hope that you will find comfort in the arrangement, since I know how warmly and gratefully she feels towards you. I may tell her?’ he added, with a good deal of affirmation in his question.
‘What would you do if I told you not?’ she asked, thawing for the first time out of her set speeches.
‘I should feel very guilty and uncomfortable in writing.’
‘Then come home with me to-morrow, and let us talk it over,’ she said, acting on a mandate of Owen’s which she had strenuously refused to promise to obey. ‘You may leave your work in Owen’s hands. He wants to stay a few days in town, to arrange his plans, and, I do believe, to have the pleasure of independence; but he will come back on Saturday, and we will spend Easter together.’
‘Miss Charlecote,’ said Humfrey, suddenly, ‘I have no right to ask, but I cannot but fear that my having turned up is an injury to Sandbrook.’
‘I can only tell you that he has been exceedingly anxious for the recognition of your rights.’
‘I understand now!’ exclaimed Humfrey, turning towards her quickly; ‘he betrayed it when his mind was astray. I am thrusting him out of what would have been his!’
‘It cannot be helped,’ began Honor; ‘he never expected—’
‘I can say nothing against it,’ said the young man, with much emotion. ‘It is too generous to be talked of, and these are not matters of choice, but duty; but is it not possible to make some compensation?’
‘I have done my best to lay up for those children,’ said Honor; ‘but his sister will need her full half, and my City property has other claimants. I own I should be glad to secure that, after me, he should not be entirely dependent upon health which, I fear, will never be sound again.’
‘I know you would be happier in arranging it yourself, though he has every claim on my gratitude. Could not the estate be charged with an annuity to him?’
‘Thank you!’ said Honor, warmly. ‘Such a provision will suit him best. I see that London is his element; indeed, he is so much incapacitated for a country life that the estate would have been a burthen to him, could he have rightly inherited it. He is bent on self-maintenance; and all I wish is, that when I am gone, he should have sonething to fall back upon.’
‘I do not think that I can thank you more heartily for any of your benefits than for making me a party to this!’ he warmly said. ‘But there is no thanking you; I must try to do so by deeds.’
She was forced to allow that her Atheling was winning upon her!
‘Two points I liked,’ she said to Robert, who spent the evening with her, while Owen was dining with Mr. Currie—‘one that he accepted the Holt as a charge, not a gift—the other that he never professed to be marrying for my sake.’
‘Yes, he is as true as Phœbe,’ said Robert. ‘Both have real power of truth from never deceiving themselves. They perfectly suit one another.’
‘High praise from you, Robin. Yet how could you forgive his declaration from so unequal a position?’
‘I thought it part of his consistently honest dealing. Had she been a mere child, knowing nothing of the world, and subject to parents, it might have been otherwise; but independent and formed as she is, it was but just to avow his sentiments, and give her the choice of waiting.’
‘In spite of the obloquy of a poor man paying court to wealth?’
‘I fancy he was too single-minded for that idea, and that it was not wealth which he courted was proved by his rejection of Mervyn’s offer. Do you know, I think his refusal will do Mervyn a great deal of good. He is very restless to find out the remaining objections to his management, and Randolf will have more influence with him than I ever could, while he considers parsons as a peculiar species.’
‘If people would only believe the good of not compromising!’
‘They must often wait a good while to see the good!’
‘But, oh! the fruit is worth waiting for! Robin,’ she added, after a pause, ‘you have been in correspondence with my boy.’
‘Yes,’ said Robert; ‘and there, indeed, you may be satisfied. The seed you sowed in the morning is bearing its increase!’
‘I sowed! Ah, Robert! what I sowed was a false crop, that had almost caused the good seed to be rooted up together with it!’
‘Not altogether, said Robert. ‘If you made any mistakes that led to a confusion of real and unreal in his mind, still, the real good you did to him is incalculable.’
‘So he tells me, dear boy! But when I think what he was as a child, and what he has been as a youth, I cannot but charge it on myself.’
‘Then think what he is, and will be, I trust, as a man,’ said Robert. ‘Even at the worst, the higher, purer standard that had been impressed on him saved him from lower depths; and when “he came to himself,” it was not as if he had neither known his Father’s house nor the way to it. Oh, Miss Charlecote! you must not come to me to assure you that your training of him was in vain! I, who am always feeling the difference between trying to pull him and poor Mervyn upwards! There may be more excuse for Mervyn, but Owen knows where he is going, and springs towards it; while Mervyn wonders at himself at every stage, and always fancies the next some delusion of my strait-laced imagination.’
‘Ah! once I spurned, and afterwards grieved over, the saying that very religious little boys either die or belie their promise.’
‘There is some truth in it,’ said Robert. ‘Precocious piety is so beautiful that it is apt to be fostered so as to make it insensibly imitative and unreal, or depend upon some individual personal influence; and there is a certain reaction at one stage of growth against what has been overworked.’
