“You will go in alone, of course; I will wait
for you—”
“Not in the streets—oh, no! father,”
cried I, touched inexpressibly. For all this
was so unlike my father’s habits that I felt
remorse to have so communicated my young griefs to
the calm dignity of his serene life.
“My son, you do not know how I love you; I have
only known it myself lately. Look you, I am
living in you now, my first-born; not in my other
son,—the Great Book: I must have my
way. Go in; that is the door, is it riot?”
I pressed my father’s hand, and I felt then,
that while that hand could reply to mine, even the
loss of Fanny Trevanion could not leave the world
a blank. How much we have before us in life,
while we retain our parents! How much to strive
and to hope for! what a motive in the conquest of
our sorrow, that they may not sorrow with us!
I entered Trevanion’s study. It was an
hour in which he was rarely at home, but I had not
thought of that; and I saw without surprise that,
contrary to his custom, he was in his arm-chair, reading
one of his favorite classic authors, instead of being
in some committee-room of the House of Commons.
“A pretty fellow you are,” said he, looking
up, “to leave me all the morning, without rhyme
or reason! And my committee is postponed,—
chairman ill. People who get ill should not go
into the House of Commons. So here I am looking
into Propertius: Parr is right; not so elegant
a writer as Tibullus. But what the deuce are
you about?—why don’t you sit down?
Humph! you look grave; you have something to say,—
say it!”
And, putting down Propertius, the acute, sharp face
of Trevanion instantly became earnest and attentive.
“My dear Mr. Trevanion,” said I, with
as much steadiness as I could assume, “you have
been most kind to me; and out of my own family there
is no man I love and respect more.”
Trevanion.—“Humph! What’s
all this? [In an undertone]—Am I going
to be taken in?”
Pisistratus.—“Do not think me ungrateful,
then, when I say I come to resign my office,—to
leave the house where I have been so happy”
Trevanion.—“Leave the house!
Pooh! I have over-tasked you. I will be
more merciful in future. You must forgive a political
economist; it is the fault of my sect to look upon
men as machines.”
Pisistratus (smiling faintly).—“No,
indeed; that is not it! I have nothing to complain
of, nothing I could wish altered; could I stay.”
Trevanion (examining me thoughtfully).—“And
does your father approve of your leaving me thus?”
Pisistratus.—“Yes, fully.”
