Wilfrid Cumbermede by George MacDonald (free ebook reader for iphone .TXT) 📖

did not make me think that God was unjust, for my uncle, not Mr Forest, was my type of Christian. The harm it did was of another sort-and to Charley, not to me.

Of course, while under the hands of the executioner, I could not observe what was going on around me. When I began to awake from the absorption of my pain and indignation, I found myself in my room. I had been ordered thither, and had mechanically obeyed. I was on my bed, staring at the door, at which I had become aware of a gentle tapping.

'Come in,' I said; and Charley-who, although it was his room as much as mine, never entered when he thought I was there without knocking at the door-appeared, with the face of a dead man. Sore as I was, I jumped up.

'The brute has not been thrashing you , Charley!' I cried, in a wrath that gave me the strength of a giant. With that terrible bruise above his temple from Home's fist, none but a devil could have dared to lay hands upon him!

'No, Wilfrid,' he answered; 'no such honour for me! I am disgraced for ever!'

He hid his wan face in his thin hands.

'What do you mean, Charley?' I said. 'You cannot have told a lie!'

'No, Wilfrid. But it doesn't matter now. I don't care for myself any more.'

'Then, Charley, what have you done?'

'You are always so kind, Wilfrid!' he returned, with a hopelessness which seemed almost coldness.

'Charley,' I said, 'if you don't tell me what has happened-'

'Happened!' he cried. 'Hasn't that man been lashing at you like a dog, and I didn't rush at him, and if I couldn't fight, being a milksop, then bite and kick and scratch, and take my share of it? O God!' he cried, in agony, 'if I had but a chance again! But nobody ever has more than one chance in this world. He may damn me now when he likes: I don't care!'

'Charley! Charley!' I cried; 'you're as bad as Mr Forest. Are you to say such things about God, when you know nothing of him? He may be as good a God, after all, as even we should like him to be.'

'But Mr Forest is a clergyman.'

'And God was the God of Abraham before ever there was a clergyman to take his name in vain,' I cried; for I was half mad with the man who had thus wounded my Charley. ' I am content with you, Charley. You are my best and only friend. That is all nonsense about attacking Forest. What could you have done, you know? Don't talk such rubbish.'

'I might have taken my share with you,' said Charley, and again buried his face in his hands.

'Come, Charley,' I said, and at the moment a fresh wave of manhood swept through my soul; 'you and I will take our share together a hundred times yet. I have done my part now; yours will come next.'

'But to think of not sharing your disgrace, Wilfrid!'

'Disgrace!' I said, drawing myself up, 'where was that?'

'You've been beaten,' he said.

'Every stripe was a badge of honour,' I said, 'for I neither deserved it nor cried out against it. I feel no disgrace.'

'Well, I've missed the honour,' said Charley; 'but that's nothing, so you have it. But not to share your disgrace would have been mean. And it's all one; for I thought it was disgrace, and I did not share it. I am a coward for ever, Wilfrid.'

'Nonsense! He never gave you a chance. I never thought of striking back: how should you? '

'I will be your slave, Wilfrid! You are so good, and I am so unworthy.'

He put his arms round me, laid his head on my shoulder, and sobbed. I did what more I could to comfort him, and gradually he grew calm. At length he whispered in my ear-

'After all, Wilfrid, I do believe I was horror-struck, and it wasn't cowardice pure and simple.'

'I haven't a doubt of it,' I said. 'I love you more than ever.'

'Oh, Wilfrid! I should have gone mad by this time but for you. Will you be my friend whatever happens?-Even if I should be a coward after all?'

'Indeed I will, Charley.-What do you think Forest will do next?'

We resolved not to go down until we were sent for; and then to be perfectly quiet, not speaking to any one unless we were spoken to; and at dinner we carried out our resolution.

When bed-time came, we went as usual to make our bow to Mr Forest.

'Cumbermede,' he said sternly, 'you sleep in No. 5 until further orders.'

'Very well, sir,' I said, and went, but lingered long enough to hear the fate of Charley.

'Home,' said Mr Forest, 'you go to No. 3.'

That was our room.

'Home,' I said, having lingered on the stairs until he appeared, 'you don't bear me a grudge, do you?'

'It was my fault,' said Home. 'I had no right to pitch into you. Only you're such a cool beggar! But, by Jove! I didn't think Forest would have been so unfair. If you forgive me, I'll forgive you.'

'If I hadn't stood up to you, I couldn't,' I returned. 'I knew I hadn't a chance. Besides, I hadn't any breakfast.'

'I was a brute,' said Home.

'Oh, I don't mind for myself; but there's Osborne! I wonder you could hit him .'

'He shouldn't have jawed me,' said Home.

'But you did first.'

We had reached the door of the room which had been Home's and was now to be mine, and went in together.

'Didn't you now?' I insisted.

'Well, I did; I confess I did. And it was very plucky of him.'

'Tell him that, Home,' I said. 'For God's sake tell him that. It will comfort him. You must be kind to him, Home. We're not so bad as Forest takes us for.'

'I will,' said Home.

And he kept his word.

We were never allowed to share the same room again, and school was not what it had been to either of us.

Within a few weeks Charley's father, to our common dismay, suddenly appeared, and the next morning took him away. What he said to Charley I do not know. He did not take the least notice of me, and I believe would have prevented Charley from saying good-bye to me. But just as they were going Charley left his father's side, and came up to me with a flush on his face and a flash in his eye that made him look more manly and handsome than I had ever seen him, and shook hands with me, saying-

'It's all right-isn't it, Wilfrid?'

'It is all right, Charley, come what will,' I answered.

'Good-bye then, Wilfrid.'

'Good-bye, Charley.'

And so we parted.

I do not care to say one word more about the school. I continued there for another year and a half. Partly in misery, partly in growing eagerness after knowledge, I gave myself to my studies with more diligence. Mr Forest began to be pleased with me, and I have no doubt plumed himself on the vigorous measures by which he had nipped the bud of my infidelity. For my part I drew no nearer to him, for I could not respect or trust him after his injustice. I did my work for its own sake, uninfluenced by any desire to please him. There was, in fact, no true relation between us any more.

I communicated nothing of what had happened to my uncle, because Mr Forest's custom was to read every letter before it left the house. But I longed for the day when I could tell the whole story to the great, simple-hearted man.


CHAPTER XXIII.


ONLY A LINK.

Before my return to England, I found that familiarity with the sights and sounds of a more magnificent nature had removed my past life to a great distance. What had interested my childhood had strangely dwindled, yet gathered a new interest from its far-off and forsaken look. So much did my past wear to me now the look of something read in a story, that I am haunted with a doubt whether I may not have communicated too much of this appearance to my description of it, although I have kept as true as my recollections would enable me. The outlines must be correct: if the colouring be unreal, it is because of the haze which hangs about the memories of the time.

The revisiting of old scenes is like walking into a mausoleum. Everything is a monument of something dead and gone. For we die daily. Happy those who daily come to life as well!

I returned with a clear conscience, for not only had I as yet escaped corruption, but for the greater part of the time at least I had worked well. If Mr Forest's letter which I carried to my uncle contained any hint intended to my disadvantage, it certainly fell dead on his mind; for he treated me with a consideration and respect which at once charmed and humbled me.

One day as we were walking together over the fields, I told him the whole story of the loss of the weapon at Moldwarp Hall. Up to the time of my leaving for Switzerland I had shrunk from any reference to the subject, so painful was it to me, and so convinced was I that his sympathy would be confined to a compassionate smile and a few words of condolence.

But glancing at his face now and then as I told the tale, I discovered more of interest in the play of his features than. I had expected; and when he learned that it was absolutely gone from me, his face flushed with what seemed anger. For some moments after I had finished he was silent. At length he said,

'It is a strange story, Wilfrid, my boy. There must be some explanation of it, however.'

He then questioned me about Mr Close, for suspicion pointed in his direction. I was in great hopes he would follow my narrative with what he knew of the sword, but he was still silent, and I could not question him, for I had long suspected that its history had to do with the secret which he wanted me to keep from myself.

The very day of my arrival I went up to my grandmother's room, which I found just as she had left it. There stood her easy-chair, there her bed, there the old bureau. The room looked far less mysterious now that she was not there; but it looked painfully deserted. One thing alone was still as it were enveloped in its ancient atmosphere-the bureau. I tried to open it-with some trembling, I confess; but only the drawers below were unlocked, and in them I found nothing but garments of old-fashioned stuffs, which I dared not touch.

But the day of childish romance was over, and life itself was too strong and fresh to allow me to brood on the past for more than an occasional half-hour. My thoughts were full of Oxford, whither my uncle had resolved I should go; and I worked hard in preparation.

'I have not