Chester A. Arthur - "State of the Union Addresses of Chester A. Arthur"

William Shakespeare - "Much adoe about Nothing"

Unknown - "The World English Bible (WEB): 2 Thessalonians"

Arthur B. Reeve - "The Dream Doctor"

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The Trial

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Trial




'I don't fancy many clerks in her Majesty's dominions have so big and
airy an apartment to boast of,' said Leonard. 'Let's see these flies
of yours.'

Their mysteries occupied the boys for some space; but Aubrey returned
to the charge. 'What is it that Hardy says you'll never put up with,
Leonard?'

'What did the old fellow say?' asked Leonard, laughing; and as Aubrey
repeated the conversation, ending with the oracular prediction, he
laughed again, but said proudly, 'He'll see himself wrong then. I'll
put up with whatever I've undertaken.'

'But what does he mean?'

'Serving one's apprenticeship, I suppose,' said Leonard; 'they all
think me a fine gentleman, and above the work, I know, though I've
never stuck at anything yet. If I take to the business, I suppose it
is capable of being raised up to me--it need not pull me down to it,
eh?'

'There need be no down in the case,' said Aubrey. 'My father always
says there is no down except in meanness and wrong. But,' as if that
mention brought a recollection to his mind, 'what o'clock is it? I
must not stay much longer.'

'I'll walk a bit of the way home with you,' said Leonard, 'but I must
be back by five for dinner. I go to rifle practice two days in the
week, and I don't like to miss the others, for Sam's often out, and
the poor old man does not like being left alone at meals.'

The two boys were at the room door, when Aubrey heard a step, felt
the fustiness enlivened by the odour of a cigar, and saw a figure at
the top of the stairs.

'I say, Ward,' observed Mr. Sam, in a rude domineering voice,
'Spelman's account must be all looked over to-night; he says that
there is a blunder. D'ye hear?'

'Very well.'

'Who have you got there?'

'It is Aubrey May.'

'Oh! good morning to you,' making a kind of salutation; 'have you
been looking at the water? We've got some fine fish there, if you
like to throw a line any day.--Well, that account must be done to-
night, and if you can't find the error, you'll only have to do it
over again.'

Leonard's colour had risen a good deal, but he said nothing, and his
cousin ran down-stairs and drove off in his dog-cart.

'Is it much of a business?' said Aubrey, feeling extremely indignant.

'Look here,' said Leonard, leading the way down-stairs and into the
office, where he pointed to two huge account books. 'Every page in
that one must I turn over this blessed night; and if he had only told
me three hours ago, I could have done the chief of it, instead of
kicking my heels all the afternoon.'

'Has he any right to order you about, out of office hours, and
without a civil word either? Why do you stand it?'

'Because I can stand anything better than being returned on Henry's
hands,' said Leonard, 'and he has spite enough for that. The thing
must be done, and if he won't do it, I must, that's all. Come
along.'

As they went out the unwieldy figure of the elder Mr. Axworthy was
seen, leaning out of his open window, smoking a clay pipe. He spoke
in a much more friendly tone, as he said, 'Going out, eh? Mind the
dinner-time.'

'Yes, sir,' said Leonard, coming nearer, 'I'm not going far.'

'Who have you got there?' was again asked.

'One of the young Mays, sir. I was going to walk part of the way
back.'

Aubrey thought the grunt not very civil; and as the boys and Mab
passed under the gateway, Leonard continued, 'There's not much love
lost between him and your father; he hates the very name.'

'I should expect he would,' said Aubrey, as if his hatred were an
honour.

'I fancy there's some old grievance,' said Leonard, 'where he was
wrong of course. Not that that need hinder your coming over, Aubrey;
I've a right to my own friends, but--'

'And so have I to mine,' said Aubrey eagerly.

'But you see,' added Leonard, 'I wouldn't have you do it--if--if it
vexes your sister. I can see you every Sunday, you know, and we can
have some fun together on Saturdays when the evenings get longer.'

Aubrey's face fell; he had a strong inclination for Leonard's
company, and likewise for the trout in the mill tail, and he did not
like his independence to be unappreciated.

'You see,' said Leonard, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder, 'it
is very jolly of you, but I know they would hate it in the High
Street if you were often here, and it is not worth that. Besides,
Aubrey, to tell the plain truth, Sam's not fit company for any decent
fellow.'

'I can't think how he came to ask me to fish.'

'Just to show he is master, because he knew the poor old man would
not like it! It is one reason he is so savage with me, because his
uncle took me without his consent.'

'But, Leonard, it must be worse than the living at home ever was.'

Leonard laughed. 'It's different being jawed in the way of business
and at one's own home. I'd go through a good deal more than I do
here in the week to have home what it is now on Sunday. Why, Henry
really seems glad to see me, and we have not had the shadow of a row
since I came over here. Don't you tell Ave all this, mind, and you
may just as well not talk about it at home, you know, or they will
think I'm going to cry off.'

Aubrey was going to ask what he looked to; but Leonard saw, or
thought he saw, a weasel in the hedge, and the consequent charge and
pursuit finished the dialogue, the boys parted, and Aubrey walked
home, his satisfaction in his expedition oozing away at every step,
though his resolve to assert his liberty grew in proportion.

Of course it had not been possible to conceal from Dr. May where
Aubrey was gone, and his annoyance had burst out vehemently, the
whole round of objurgations against the Wards, the Vintry Mill, and
his own folly in fostering the friendship, were gone through, and
Ethel had come in for more than she could easily bear, for not having
prevented the escapade. Gertrude had hardly ever seen her father so
angry, and sat quaking for her brother; and Ethel meekly avoided
answering again, with the happy trustfulness of experienced love.

At last, as the tea was nearly over, Aubrey walked in, quite ready
for self-defence. Nobody spoke for a little while, except to supply
him with food; but presently Dr. May said, not at all in the tone in
which he had talked of his son's journey, 'You might as well have
told me of your intentions, Aubrey.'

'I didn't think they mattered to anybody,' said Aubrey; 'we generally
go our own way in the afternoon.'

'Oh!' said Dr. May. 'Interference with the liberty of the subject?'

Aubrey coloured, and felt he had not quite spoken truth. 'I could
not give him up, father,' he said, less defiantly.

'No, certainly not; but I had rather you only saw him at home. It
will be more for our peace of mind.'

'Well, father,' said Aubrey, 'I am not going there any more. He told
me not himself:' and then with laughing eyes he added, 'He said you
would not like it, Ethel.'

'Poor boy!' said Ethel, greatly touched.

'Very right of him,' said Dr. May, well pleased. 'He is a fine lad,
and full of proper feeling. What sort of a berth has the old rogue
given him, Aubrey?'

Much relieved that matters had taken this course, Aubrey tried to
tell only as much as his friend would approve, but the medium was not
easily found, and pretty nearly the whole came out. Dr. May was
really delighted to hear how Sam treated him.

'If that fellow takes the oppressive line, there may be some hope,'
he said. 'His friendship is the worse danger than his enmity.'

When the sisters had bidden good night, the Doctor detained Aubrey to
say very kindly, 'My boy, I do not like to hear of your running
counter to your sister.

'I'm not going there again,' said Aubrey, willing to escape.

'Wait a minute, Aubrey,' said Dr. May; 'I want to tell you that I
feel for you in this matter more than my way of talking may have made
it seem to you. I have a great regard for your friend Leonard, and
think he has been scandalously used, and I don't want to lessen your
attachment to him. Far be it from me to think lightly of a
friendship, especially of one formed at your age. Your very name, my
boy, shows that I am not likely to do that!'

Aubrey smiled frankly, his offended self-assertion entirely melted.

'I know it is very hard on you, but you can understand that the very
reasons that made me so averse to Leonard's taking this situation,
would make me anxious to keep you away from his relations there, not
necessarily from him. As long as he is what he is now, I would not
lift a finger to keep you from him. Have I ever done so, Aubrey?'

'No, papa.'

'Nor will I, as long as he is what I see him now. After this,
Aubrey, is it too much to ask of you to keep out of the way of the
persons with whom he is thrown?'

'I will do so, papa. He wishes it himself.' Then with an effort, he
added, 'I am sorry I went to-day; I ought not, but--' and he looked a
little foolish.

'You did not like taking orders from the girls? No wonder, Aubrey; I
have been very thankful to you for bearing it as you have done. It
is the worst of home education that these spirits of manliness
generally have no vent but mischief. But you are old enough now to
be thankful for such a friend and adviser as Ethel, and I don't
imagine that she orders you.'

'No,' said Aubrey, smiling and mumbling; 'but Daisy--'

'Oh, I can quite understand the aggravation of Daisy happening to be
right; but you must really be man enough to mind your own conscience,
even if Daisy is imprudent enough to enforce it.'

'It was not only that,' said Aubrey, 'but I could not have Ward
thinking I turned up my nose at his having got into business.'

'No, Aubrey, he need never fancy it is the business that I object to,
but the men. Make that clear to him, and ask him to this house as
much as you please. The more "thorough" he is in his business, the
more I shall respect him.'

Aubrey smiled, and thanked his father with a cleared brow, wondering
at himself for having gone without consulting him.

'Good night, my boy. May this friendship of yours be a lifelong stay
and blessing to you both, even though it may cost you some pain and
self-command, as all good things must, Aubrey.'

That evening Ethel had been writing to Cambridge. Tom had passed his
examination with great credit, and taken an excellent degree, after
which he projected a tour in Germany, for which he had for some time
been economizing, as a well-earned holiday before commencing his
course of hospitals and lectures. Tom was no great correspondent,
and had drilled his sisters into putting nothing but the essential
into their letters, instead, as he said, of concealing it in
flummery. This is a specimen of the way Tom liked to be written to.


'Stoneborough, Feb. 20th.
'My Dear Tom,

'Dr. Spencer says nothing answers so well as a knapsack. Get one at
--. The price is L. s. d. Order extra fittings as required,
including a knife and fork. Letters from N. Z. of the 1st of
November, all well. I wish Aubrey was going with you; he misses
Leonard Ward so sorely, as to be tempted to follow him to the Vintry
Mill. I suspect your words are coming true, and the days of
petticoat government ending. However, even if he would not be in
your way, he could not afford to lose six months' study before going
into residence.

'Your affectionate sister,
'Etheldred May.'


Tom wrote that he should spend a night in London and come home. When
he came, the family exclaimed that his microscope, whose handsome
case he carried in his hand, was much grown. 'And improved too, I
hope' said Tom, proceeding to show off various new acquisitions and
exchanges in the way of eye-pieces, lenses, and other appliances of
the most expensive order, till his father exclaimed,

'Really, Tom, I wish I had the secret of your purse.'

'The fact is,' said Tom, 'that I thought more would be gained by
staying at home, so I turned my travels into a binocular tube,' &C.

Aubrey and Gertrude shouted that Tom certainly did love the
microscope better than any earthly thing; and he coolly accepted the
inference.

Somewhat later, he announced that he had decided that he should be
better able to profit by the London lectures and hospitals, if he
first studied for half a year at the one at Stoneborough, under the
direction of his father and Dr. Spencer.

Dr. May was extremely gratified, and really esteemed this one of the
greatest compliments his science had ever received; Dr. Spencer could
not help observing, 'I did not think it was in him to do such a wise
thing. I never can fathom the rogue. I hope he was not bitten
during his benevolent exertions last winter.'

Meantime, Tom had observed that he had time to see that Aubrey was
decently prepared for Cambridge, and further promoted the boy to be
his out-of-door companion, removing all the tedium and perplexity of
the last few weeks, though apparently merely indulging his own
inclinations. Ethel recognized the fruit of her letter, and could
well forgive the extra care in housekeeping required for Tom's
critical tastes, nay, the cool expulsion of herself and Gertrude from
her twenty years' home, the schoolroom, and her final severance from
Aubrey's studies, though at the cost of a pang that reminded her of
her girlhood's sorrow at letting Norman shoot ahead of her. She gave
no hint; she knew that implicit reserve was the condition of his
strange silent confidence in her, and that it would be utterly
forfeited unless she allowed his fraternal sacrifice to pass for mere
long-headed prudence.

Aubrey's Saturday and Sunday meetings with his friend were not
yielded, even to Tom, who endeavoured to interfere with them, and
would fain have cut the connection with the entire family, treating
Miss Ward with the most distant and supercilious bows on the
unpleasantly numerous occasions of meeting her in the street, and
contriving to be markedly scornful in his punctilious civility to
Henry Ward when they met at the hospital. His very look appeared a
sarcasm, to the fancy of the Wards; and he had a fashion of kindly
inquiring after Leonard, that seemed to both a deliberate reproach
and insult.

Disputes had become less frequent at Bankside since Leonard's
departure, and few occasions of actual dissension arose; but the
spirit of party was not extinguished, and the brother and sister had
adopted lines that perhaps clashed less because they diverged more.

Averil had, in reply to the constant exhortations to economize,
resolved to decline all invitations, and this kept her constantly at
home, or with her harmonium, whereas Henry made such constant
engagements, that their dining together was the exception, not the
rule. After conscientiously teaching her sisters in the morning, she
devoted the rest of her day to their walk, and to usefulness in the
parish. She liked her tasks, and would have been very happy in them,
but for the constant anxiety that hung over her lest her home should
soon cease to be her home.

Henry's devotion to Mrs. Pugh could no longer be mistaken. The
conviction of his intentions grew upon his sister, first from a mere
absurd notion, banished from her mind with derision, then from a
misgiving angrily silenced, to a fixed expectation, confirmed by the
evident opinion of all around her, and calling for decision and self-
command on her own part.

Perhaps her feelings were unnecessarily strong, and in some degree
unjust to Mrs. Pugh; but she had the misfortune to be naturally proud
and sensitive, as well as by breeding too refined in tone for most of
those who surrounded her. She had taken a personal dislike to Mrs.
Pugh from the first; she regarded pretension as insincerity, and
officiousness as deliberate insult, and she took the recoil of her
taste for the judgment of principle. To see such a woman ruling in
her mother's, her own, home would be bad enough; but to be ruled by
her, and resign to her the management of the children, would be
intolerable beyond measure. Too unhappy to speak of her
anticipations even to Leonard or to Mary May, she merely endeavoured
to throw them off from day to day, till one evening, when the days
had grown so long that she could linger in the twilight in the garden
before her singing practice, she was joined by Henry, with the long
apprehended 'I want to speak to you, Ave.'

Was it coming? Her heart beat so fast, that she could hardly hear
his kind commencement about her excellent endeavours, and the house's
unhappy want of a mistress, the children's advantage, and so on. She
knew it could only tend to one point, and longed to have it reached
and passed. Of course she would be prepared to hear who was the
object of his choice, and she could not but murmur 'Yes,' and 'Well.'

'And, Ave, you will, I hope, be gratified to hear that I am not
entirely rejected. The fact is, that I spoke too soon.' Averil
could have jumped for joy, and was glad it was too dusk for her face
to be seen. 'I do not believe that her late husband could have had
any strong hold on her affections; but she has not recovered the
shock of his loss, and entreated, as a favour granted to her
sentiments of respect for his memory, not to hear the subject
mentioned for at least another year. I am permitted to visit at the
house as usual, and no difference is to be made in the terms on which
we stand. Now, Ave, will you--may I ask of you, to do what you can
to remove any impression that she might not be welcome in the
family?'

'I never meant--' faltered Averil, checked by sincerity.

'You have always been--so--so cold and backward in cultivating her
acquaintance, that I cannot wonder if she should think it
disagreeable to you; but, Ave, when you consider my happiness, and
the immense advantage to all of you, I am sure you will do what is in
your power in my behalf.' He spoke more affectionately and earnestly
than he had done for months; and Averil was touched, and felt that to
hang back would be unkind.

'I will try,' she said. 'I do hope it may turn out for your
happiness, Henry.'

'For all our happiness,' said Henry, walking down to the gate and
along the road with her, proving all the way that he was acting
solely for the good of the others, and that Averil and the children
would find their home infinitely happier.

A whole year--a year's reprieve--was the one thought in Averil's
head, that made her listen so graciously, and answer so amiably, that
Henry parted with her full of kind, warm feeling.

As the sage said, who was to be beheaded if he could not in a year
teach the king's ass to speak--what might not happen in a year; the
king might die, the ass might die, or he might die--any way there was
so much gained: and Averil, for the time, felt as light-hearted as if
Mrs. Pugh had vanished into empty air. To be sure, her own life had,
of late, been far from happy; but this extension of it was bailed
with suppressed ecstasy--almost as an answer to her prayers. Ah,
Ave, little did you know what you wished in hoping for anything to
prevent the marriage!

She did obey her brother so far as to call upon Mrs. Pugh, whom she
found in ordinary mourning, and capless--a sign that dismayed her;
but, on the other hand, the lady, though very good-natured and
patronizing, entertained her with the praises of King John, and
showed her a copy of Magna Charta in process of illumination. Also,
during her call, Tom May walked in with a little book on drops of
water; and Averil found the lady had become inspired with a
microscopic furore, and was thinking of setting up a lens, and
preparing objects for herself, under good tuition.

Though Averil was very desirous that Mrs. Pugh should refuse her
brother, yet this was the last service she wished the May family to
render her. She was sure Tom May must dislike and despise the widow
as much as she did; and since the whole town was unluckily aware of
Henry's intentions, any interference with them was base and
malicious, if in the way of mere amusement and flirtation. She was
resolved to see what the game was, but only did see that her presence
greatly disconcerted 'Mr. Thomas May.'

Henry was wretched and irritable in the velvet paws of the widow, who
encouraged him enough to give him hope, and then held him aloof, or
was equally amiable to some one else. Perhaps the real
interpretation was, that she loved attention. She was in all
sincerity resolved to observe a proper period of widowhood, and not
determined whether, when, or how, it should terminate: courtship
amused her, and though attracted by Henry and his good house, the
evidences of temper and harshness had made her unwilling to commit
herself; besides that, she was afraid of Averil, and she was more
flattered by the civilities of a lioncel like Harvey Anderson; or if
she could be sure of what Mr. Thomas May's intentions were, she would
have preferred an embryo physician to a full-grown surgeon--at any
rate, it was right by her poor dear Mr. Pugh to wait.

She need not have feared having Averil as an inmate. Averil talked
it over with Leonard, and determined that no power on earth should
make her live with Mrs. Pugh. If that were necessary to forward his
suit, she would make it plain that she was ready to depart.

'Oh, Leonard, if my uncle were but a nice sort of person, how
pleasant it would be for me and the children to live there, and keep
his house; and I could make him so comfortable, and nurse him!'

'Never, Ave!' cried Leonard; 'don't let the thing be talked of.'

'Oh no, I know it would not do with Samuel there; but should we be
too young for your old scheme of having a cottage together near?'

'I did not know what the Axworthys were like,' returned Leonard.

'But need we see them much?'

'I'll tell you what, Ave, I've heard them both--yes, the old man the
worst of the two--say things about women that made my blood boil.'
Leonard was quite red as he spoke. 'My father never let my mother
see any of the concern, and now I know why. I'll never let you do
so.'

'Then there is only one other thing to be done,' said Averil; 'and
that is for me to go back to school as a parlour boarder, and take
the children with me. It would be very good for them, and dear Mrs.
Wood would be very glad to have me.'

'Yes,' said Leonard, 'that is the only right thing, Ave; and the Mays
will say so, too. Have you talked it over with them!'

'No. I hate talking of this thing.'

'Well, you had better get their advice. It is the best thing going!'
said Leonard, with a sigh that sounded as if he wished he had taken
it.

But it was not to Averil that he said so. To her he spoke brightly
of serving the time for which he was bound to his uncle; then of
making a fresh engagement, that would open a home to her; or, better
still, suppose Sam did not wish to go on with the business, he might
take it, and make the mill the lovely place it might be. It was to
Aubrey May that the boy's real feelings came out, as, on the Sunday
evening, they slowly wandered along the bank of the river. Aubrey
had seen a specimen of his life at the mill, and had been kept up to
the knowledge of its events, and he well knew that Leonard was
heartily sick of it. That the occupation was uncongenial and tedious
in the extreme to a boy of good ability and superior education--nay,
that the drudgery was made unnecessarily oppressive, was not the
point he complained of, though it was more trying than he had
expected, that was the bed that he had made, and that he must lie
upon. It was the suspicion of frauds and tricks of the trade, and,
still worse, the company that he lived in. Sam Axworthy hated and
tyrannized over him too much to make dissipation alluring; and he was
only disgusted by the foul language, coarse manners, and the remains
of intemperance worked on in violent temper.

The old man, though helpless and past active vice, was even more
coarse in mind and conversation than his nephew; and yet his
feebleness, and Sam's almost savage treatment of him, enlisted
Leonard's pity on his side. In general, the old man was kind to
Leonard, but would abuse him roundly when the evidences of his better
principles and training, or his allegiance to Dr. May, came forward,
and Leonard, though greatly compassionating him, could not always
bear his reproaches with patience, and was held back from more
attention to him than common humanity required, by an unlucky
suggestion that he was currying favour in the hope of supplanting
Sam.

'Old Hardy is the only honest man in the place, I do believe,' said
Leonard. 'I'll tell you what, Aubrey, I have made up my mind, there
is one thing I will not do. If ever they want to make me a party to
any of their cheatings, I'll be off. That window and the cedar-tree
stand very handy. I've been out there to bathe in the early summer
mornings, plenty of times already, so never you be surprised if some
fine day you hear--non est inventus.'

'And where would you go?'

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