The International Monthly, Volume 4, No. 2, September, 1851Various
History
The International Monthly, Volume 4, No. 2, September, 1851
Various
Art, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- History -- Periodicals
Leonard obeyed mechanically, for indeed he was no longer able to
stand. He closed his eyes, and for a minute or two life seemed to pass
from him; then he recovered, and saw the good Doctor's gaze fixed on
him with great compassion. He silently stretched forth his hand
towards the letter. "Wait a few moments," said the physician
judiciously, "and hear me meanwhile. It is very unfortunate you should
have seen a letter never meant for your eye, and containing allusions
to a secret you were never to have known. But, if I tell you more,
will you promise me, on your word of honor, that you will hold the
confidence sacred from Mrs. Fairfield, the Avenels--from all? I myself
am pledged to conceal a secret, which I can only share with you on the
same condition."
"There is nothing," announced Leonard indistinctly, and with a bitter
smile on his lip,--"nothing, it seems, that I should be proud to boast
of. Yes, I promise--the letter, the letter!"
The Doctor placed it in Leonard's right hand, and quietly slipped to
the wrist of the left his forefinger and thumb, as physicians are said
to do when a victim is stretched on the rack. "Pulse decreasing," he
muttered; "wonderful thing, _Aconite_!" Meanwhile Leonard read as
follows, faults in spelling and all:--
"Dr. MORGAN--Sir: I received your favur duly, and am glad to hear that
the pore boy is safe and Well. But he has been behaving ill, and
ungrateful to my good son Richard, who is a credit to the whole
Family, and has made himself a Gentleman, and Was very kind and good
to the boy, not knowing who and What he is--God forbid! I don't want
never to see him again--the boy. Pore John was ill and Restless for
days afterwards.--John is a pore cretur now, and has had paralytiks.
And he Talked of nothing but Nora--the boy's eyes were so like his
Mother's. I cannot, cannot see the Child of Shame. He can't cum
here--for our Lord's sake, sir, don't ask it--he can't, so Respectable
as we've always been!--and such disgrace! Base born--base born. Keep
him where he is, bind him prentis, I'll pay anything for That. You
says, sir, he's clever, and quick at learning; so did Parson Dale, and
wanted him to go to Collidge, and make a Figur--then all would cum
out. It would be my death, sir; I could not sleep in my grave, sir.
Nora that we were all so proud of. Sinful creturs that we are! Nora's
good name that we've saved now, gone, gone. And Richard, who is so
grand, and who was so fond of pore, pore Nora! He would not hold up
his Head again. Don't let him make a Figur in the world--let him be a
tradesman, as we were afore him--any trade he Takes to--and not cross
us no more while he lives. Then I shall pray for him, and wish him
happy. And have not we had enuff of bringing up children to be above
their birth? Nora, that I used to say was like the first lady o' the
land--oh, but we were rightly punished! So now, sir, I leave all to
you, and will pay all you want for the boy. And be Sure that the
secret's kep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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