The Wizard's Son

She was utterly disappointed. She had thought that the great and beneficial shock of this new life would turn his character altogether, and c

alked, and she languidly replied, maintaining a conversation from the lips outward, so poor a substitute for the evening’s talking over and happy consultation she had dreamed of—Mrs. Methven was more just to her son. She tried always to be just, poor lady. She placed before herself all the reasons for his conduct. That he should entertain the men who, much against her wish and his own good, yet in their way had been kind to and entertained him, was natural. But to do it this first evening was hard, and she could not easily accept her disappointment. Afterwards she reminded herself with a certain stern philosophy that because Walter had owned a touch of natural emotion, and had drawn near to her and confessed himself in the wrong, that was no reason why his character should be changed in a moment. There we

ndent habits, would have done for himself—his linen, his portmanteau, most of the things he wanted, except the tailor part of the business; but it was not until the last evening that there was any of the confidential consultation, for which her heart had longed. Even on that last day Walter had been very little indoors. He had been busy with a hundred trifles, and she had begun to make up her mind to his going away without a word said as to their future relations, as to whe

Sloebury, and to change her household in consequence of an alteration of fortune which, according to all appearances, would not concern her, was, she had proudly decided, quite out of the question. She packed for him as in the days when he was going to school, when he was a boy, and liked everything better that had been done by his mother. A woman may be pardoned for feeling such a difference with a passionate soreness and sense of downfall. In those days how she had thought of the time when he would be grown up, when he would understand all her difficulties and share all her cares, and in his own advancement make her triumphant and happy! God forgive me, she said to herself, now he has got advancement far above my hopes, and I am making myself wretched thinking of myself. She stopped and cried a little over his new linen. No, he w

and wanted her at every turn, but as he never did now. This touched and weakened her again in her steady resolution to let him see no repining in her. “Are you pack

in her own mind, closing her book, in the same sense. “Now she will just go and hold him at arm’s length while the boy’s heart is melting, and then break her own,” Miss Merivale said to herself. Thus everybody was against her and in favour of the fortunate young fellow who had been supping on homage and flattery, and now came in easy and careless to make everything straight at the last moment. Mrs. Methven on her side was very tired, and tremulous with the exertion of packing. It would have been impos

” he said, throwing his arm round her and leading her down-stairs. He brought her some wine first of all and a footstool, and th

s part—or rather quite old, belongi

e for that?” she sai

rst of all to Kinloch-houran, which Milnathort says is not a place for you. Indeed, I hear——” here he paused a little as if h

ar?” she said, wi

are prejudiced against him. Yes, it is prejudice, though I don’t wonder at it. I care nothing for the fellow; b

he mother quickly, “the

thing of his old sullenness; but then he added—“The same thought has

e desire to aggrandise himself. For heaven’s sake, don’t have a

opinion of me, mother,” he

ove everything; and yet perhaps in that wrath with those we love which works like madness in the brain, it was true what he said—th

he said. “I care nothing for the fellow; he

of promotion in rank. Lord Erradeen saw with the utmost distinctness what Walter Methven had only glimpsed by intervals. And it is i

ome house, but it’s November, and naturally it is colder in the north. Do you think you would care to go there now, or wai

s—you must first think, my dear. Are you sure it will be for your comfort to have me with yo

tood facing her, with a sudden paleness and fiery eyes that seemed to dazzle her. He had almost kicked her footstool out

. I thought that was what—you meant

mother! mother! what a poor opinion you must have of me!” he cried; and so stung was he with this blow that sudden tears sprang to his eyes. “All because I’m a foo

th. That he should be Lord Erradeen was nothing in comparison of being, as he thus proved himself, good and true, open to the influences of affection and nature. She could not speak, but her eyes were full of a thousand things; they asked him mutely to forgive her. They repented, and were abashed and rejoiced all in one glance. Th

id. “I don’t wonder you lo

as a moment of exquisite silence, in which, without a wo

land and seen his new property, and brought her full particulars. After he had investigated everything and knew exactly the capabilities of the house, and the condition in which it was, and all the necessities and expediencies, they would then decide as to the best thing t

e,” she said. “There will be charities and hos

had not much more experience than Walter himself had in this respect; indeed, if the truth must be told, both of them drew their chief information from novels, those much-abused sources of information, in which the life of rural potentates is a favourite subject, and not always descri

he said, with a judicial tone. “Milnatho

palace at Sloebury,” Mrs. Methven said: “and you

I hope,” he said; “and I must look f

an air of easy indifference as if it were the most natural thing in the worl

what is best for yourself,” she said, as prou

going to be comfortable, and you must ha

h they do not enjoy it in their own persons. Mrs. Methven had never imagined that this would come to her, but lo! in a moment it was pouring upon her in floods of consolation. So absorbing was this

p to this hour talking, and a long jou

age were not the occasions of his mother’s blessedness. “Poor mother,” he said to himself softly. He might have made her a great deal more happy if he had chosen before these fine things were dreamt of. But Mrs. Methven remembered that no more. She begged pardon of God on her knees for misjudging her boy, and for once in her life was profoundly, undoubtingly happy, with a perfection and fulness of content which perhaps could only come after long experi

s. He had, however, a disappointed look—as if he had failed in some object. Mrs. Methven, whose faculties were all sharpened by her position, and who felt herself able to exercise a toleration which, in former circumstances, would have been impossible to her, permitted him to overtake her as she left the place, and acknowledged his greeting with more cordiality, or, at least, with a less forbidding civility than usual. And then a wonderful sight was seen in Sloebury. This béte noir of the feminine world, this man whom every lady frowned upon, was seen walking along the High Street, side by side, in earnest conversation with one of the women who had been most unfavourable to him. Was she listening to

e Erradeens, my son tells me

the heir, which few, except yourselves, did,” the captain said.

ter did not know, and I had forgotten. I had, indeed, lost sigh

zzling possibility, had been her guiding influence. She spoke with such modest gravity that Captain Underwood, not used to delusion under that form, was tempted into a so

? Sloebury has talked of nothing else, I need not tell you, for several da

,” Mrs. Methven s

satisfaction of perceiving that this e

ith me in wishing him well out of it: y

y husband’s chances in his own li

suppose. I have been there. I’ve seen the mysterious light, you know. Nobody can ever tell what window it shows at, or if it is any window at all. I was once with the late man—the late lord, he who di

. She had not the remotest idea what this was, but if she could find o

rtake to say. He never would stand any questioning about it. He was a good fellow enough, but he never would put up with anything on that point. So I ca

meet an emergency. Perhaps you think him younger than he is.” She propounded this

we’ll hope so; but a business of that kind will upset the steadiest brain, you know. Old Erradeen had not a bad spirit of his own, and he funked it. I confess I feel a little anxious for your boy; he’s a nice fellow, but he’s nervous. I was in a dozen

he strange manifestations under which envy shows itself. But she went home somewhat pale, and could not dismiss it from her mind as she wished to do. Well out of it! And there were moments when, she remembered, she had surprised a very serious look on the countenance of Mr. Milnathort. Was Walter going unwarned, in the elation and happy confidence of his heart, into some danger unknown and unforeseen? This took her