Mary Seaham: A Novel. Volume 2 of 3Grey, Mrs. (Elizabeth Caroline)
General
Mary Seaham: A Novel. Volume 2 of 3
Grey, Mrs. (Elizabeth Caroline)
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Mate selection -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
It would have been easy to have committed them at once to the flames,
if any such means of destruction had been provided; and thus every
memento of his son's guilt might have perished for ever; but though a
chilly April evening, no fire at such an advanced period was suffered to
burn upon the miser's cheerless hearth. So he looked from that hopeless
quarter for some other resource; and going to his _escritoire_, unlocked
it, and in one of its most secret recesses deposited those deeds of
intended wrong, destined to afford long, long after their very existence
was forgotten, a striking example of the fact, that sin, however at the
time covered or concealed, seldom fails to bear forth some fruit of woe,
be it to ourselves or others, in future years.
Mr. Trevor then proceeded to open another drawer, and glancing towards
his son, carefully selected some bank-notes therefrom, brought them to
Eugene, and thrust them hastily into his hand, as if he feared the
impulse might have evaporated ere the act was accomplished. They were
the exact number of those he had counted of the forged notes.
The young man looked on them at first with a bewildered and uncertain
gaze; then, overcome probably by the reaction of feeling, burst forth
into a paroxysm of tears, with which he covered his father's hand, as he
gave vent to a torrent of thanks and deprecations against such
undeserved generosity.
The aged man--for even then, though scarce past sixty, Mr. Trevor from
appearance might have been so denominated--that old, old heart having
long imparted the influence of years to his character and demeanour, he
seemed by this fervent recognition of his unjust--indeed, under the
circumstances of the case--iniquitous indulgence, to be spurred on to an
effusion of warmth towards his favourite, almost monomaniacal in its
extent. Again he seized his keys, and, one after another, threw open
wide chest after chest, drawer after drawer of his spacious treasures;
showing, with layers of notes to a great amount, heaps of shining
gold--the gathered hoards of years; with which, besides the enormous
deposits with which the bank of Maynard and Co. was enriched, this
"exceeding rich man" kept to feast his eyes and delight his heart with
their sensible and tangible presence.
"There boy--there," he exclaimed, observing with a kind of exulting
gratification the impression this display made upon the young man's
countenance--how his eye kindled, and his breath came short and quick,
as if with the covetous delight which found such sympathy in his own
breast, "is not that worth living for, think ye.... Well, well, never
forget again, nor waste and want, as you have lately begun to do; but
wait, and watch, and learn to do like me, and who knows but some day or
another...."
He paused, and glanced significantly from his coffers to his son, from
his son to his coffers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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