The Wizard's Son

oth left there so much after the usual time, and scrupulously cleared of everything that the others had used, and arranged at one end, with the dish kept hot for

bed in that occupation as if unconscious of his presence. Even scolding was better than this; Walter was perfectly conscious of all it was in her power to say. He knew by heart her remonstrances and appeals. But he disliked the silence more than all. He longed to take her by the shoulders, and cry, “What is it? What have you got to say to me? What do you mean by sitting there like a stone figure, and meaning it all the same!” He did not do this, knowing it would be foolish, and gave his constant antagonist a c

sible for you to write that letter to Mr. Milna

ible,” said Wal

very important to your interests. Wi

bout it,” W

It is nothing very difficult. I

or a moment with

s haste. It has stood over a good many da

has been a mistake. It should have b

went out of the room with a sense of having exas

ot a great thing to do, and he fully meant to do it; but after he had mused a little angrily upon the want of perception which made his mother adopt that cold and hectoring tone, when if she had asked him gently he would have done it in a minute, he put forth his hand and drew a book towards him. It was not either a new or an entertaining book, but it secured his idle

t if she had it to do over again she would change all that. How often do we think this, and with what bitter regret, in respect to the children whom people speak of as wax in our hands, till we suddenly wake up and find them iron! She had kept her difficulties out of Walter’s way, and instead of being grateful to her for so doing, he was simply indifferent, neither inquiring nor caring to know. Her own doing! It was easier to herself, yet bitter beyond telling, to acknowledge it to be so. Just at this time, when Christmas was approaching, the ends took a great deal of tugging and coaxing to bring them together. A few of Walter’s bills had come in unexpectedly, putting her poor balance altogether wrong. Miss Merivale contributed a little, but only a little, to the housekeeping; for Mrs. Methven was both proud and liberal, and understood giving better than receiving. She went back to the dining-room, where all her books lay upon the table, near the fire. Her reckoning h

ed to this game—of which there was a good deal at Sloebury—and skating, when it pleased Providence to send ice, which was too seldom. He looked in upon one or two of his cronies, and played a game of billiards, and hung about the High Street to see what was going on. There was nothing particular going on, but the air was fresh, and the sun shining, and a little pleasa

ews?” the ca

there be in this dead-al

o see whether he was quite sincere, an

y at his ease in the hotel—everything was open to him. Walter, who had but little money of his own, and coul

rritation with this, which seemed to him a very bad joke; but he went with the captain all the same, not without a recollection of the table at home, at which, after waiting three quarters of an hour or so, and watching at the window f

tter engage me at once as your guide, philosopher, and friend,” he said, with a lau

humouring the joke, though it

own table, and perhaps after all it was

into the world like a pigeon to be plucked. It would effect my personal honour if a pupil of mine—for I consider you as a pupil of

t gravity, though he tried to

aid. “I suppose in one’s

ys keenly watching the young man’s face, and perceiving that he was going too far. “But

le. Moral applause, indeed, may be taken with composure, but who could hear himself applauded for his whist-playing without an exhilaration of the hea

ned when he loses a few shillings as if it were thousands. But that’s one of the reasons why I feel you’re born to luck, my boy. I know a man of liberal breeding whenever I see him

So experienced a person could have “no motive” in thus paying court to a penniless and prospectless youth. Walter was perplexed, but he was gratified too. He had not seen many of the captain’s kind; nobody who knew so many people or who was so much at his ease with the world. Admiration of this vast acquaintance, and of the familiarity with which the captain treated things and people of which others spoke with bated breath, had varied in his mind with a fluctuating sense that Underwood was not exactly so elevated a person as he professed to be, and even that there were occasional vulgarities in this man of the world. Walter felt these, but in hi

ily?” said the captain with a nod

t I’ve got a fami

There are half-a-dozen baronets at least, and a

f him,” Walter said w

hat the strain of kindred was very far off, and he was at once too shy and too proud to claim it

; very likely he would do something for you. They are a curi

know everybod

he present lord at one time. He was a very queer man—they are all queer. If you are one of them you’ll have to bear your sha

the Err

ng curious about them. We all have; but those that last and continue keep it on record. I could tell you the wildest tales

f that sort. My people have always b

r four generations and how can you tell? We have all o

he said this, and perhaps there w

he said, “to have

ore of my revelations? Well, never mind, probably I shall have you coming to me some of these days quite humbly to beg for more informatio

h I take to be the very opposite. I know I’m wasting my time, but I mean to turn over a new l

watch; “the post has gone; twenty-four hour

ke themselves; and when the twilight yielded to the more cheerful light of the lamps, betook themselves to whist, which was sometimes played in the captain’s rooms at that immoral hour. Sloebury, even the most advanced portion of it, had been horrified at the thought of whist before dinner when the captain first suggested it, but that innocent alarm had long since melted away. There was nothing dangerous about it, no stakes which any one could be hurt by losing. When Walter, warned by the breaking up of the party that it was the hour for dinner, took his way home also, he was the winner of a sixpence or two, and no more: there had been nothing wrong in the play. But when he turned the corner of Underwood’s street and found himself with the wind in his face on his way home, the revulsion of feeling from something like gaiety to a rush of disagreeable anticipations, a crowd of uncomfortable thoughts, was pitiful. In spite of all our boastings of home and home influence, how many experience this change the moment they turn their face in the direction of that centre where it is conventional to suppose all comfort and shelter is! There is a chill, an abandonment of pleasant sensations, a preparation for those that are not pleasant. Walter foresaw what he would find there with an impatience and resentment which were almost intolerable. Behind the curtain, between the laths of the Venetian blind, his mother would be secretly on the outlook watching for his return; perhaps even she had stolen quietly to the door, and, sheltered in the darkness of the porch, was looking out; or, if not that, the maid who opened the door would look reproachfully at him, and ask if he was going to dress, or if she might

The window of the spare room was shining not only with candlelight, but with firelight, his own room was lighted up; the door was standing open, throwing out a warm flood of light into th

s, very likely, stepped into Captain Underwood’s, and h

he was speaking to some one behind her, a figure in a great coat. Walt

n,” he heard the voice of the muf

mother; and then she gave a little cry of pleasu

light in the open doorway. Mrs. Methven’s countenance was all radi

cried; “I have had a great surpris

face full of crotchets and intelligence, who stood with two great coats unbuttoned, and a comforter half unwoun

Mrs. Methven, with a thrill of excitement in her voice. “This is Walter. He has heard of you all his life. W

lity. A feeling that Mr. Milnathort must have come to look after that letter which had never been written came in with the most wonderfully confusing, hal

n the mean time the young gentleman h

again. “A moment—giv

on. Perhaps to his keen eyes it was revealed that it would be

f out of these trappings of a long journey; and in the mean time you will, perhaps, like to

g with a candle lighted in her hand. When he was gone, she seized Walter hurriedly by the arm, and drew him towards the little room, the nearest, which was his ordinary sitting

s. This useless life is all over for you, and another—oh, how different—an

t and fast-coming tears. She dr

happy and good? I have been no guide to you, but God will be

“I did not write that letter: I have done nothing I promised or meant to do. I am sick to the h