CHAPTER XIII.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it, Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,

* * * * *

Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence.--OTHELLO.

Adam Graeme and Hew Murray were sitting together in the large, low room in the Tower of Mossgray, which they both knew so well. Bishop Berkeley was still upon the table, but the visitor had no interest in the bishop; neither was he looking at the chymic tools or the instruments of science. He was casting long, loving glances into the dim corners of the room; the old fishing-rods, the superannuated bows and arrows, the ancient skates, they were all there, those worn-out tokens of the fair youth which was past.

“And now, Hew,” said Mossgray, drawing one of those large, heavy, lumbering chairs to the unoccupied side of the hearth, “now, Hew, for this wonderful history. What have you been doing? where have you been?”

Mossgray placed himself in front of the cheerful, glowing fire; on the other side stood the low carved chair, turned mournfully aside as if some one had risen from it newly. Its position had never been changed; it still stood where the pale sunbeams could touch it, but it was turned away from the living fireside circle; for the old occupant could never return to Charlie’s chair. Strangely pathetic sometimes are these dumb things about us--mournfully estranged and standing apart it touched the gentle heart of Adam Graeme.

Hew paused to spread his hands over the fire. It was a peat fire, and the glowing intense red and homelike fragrance warmed the very heart of the exile.

“Well, you heard I was robbed and killed, Adam,” said Hew; “and so I was--as near it, at least, as one could be, who is now so blessed as to be at home. Such things, you know, are not unusual in India. I was carrying rich presents. I had not a very sufficient escort, and the chances were all rather that I should have filled a hidden grave in the desert long ago, than that, even now, I should be beside you again.

“I was very severely wounded. These Affghan fellows do not play at fighting; but I was not quite dead, as you see, Adam, and I was young. The old, martial Border spirit had excited me, I suppose, for I stood on my defence desperately, until there was nothing left but the feeblest spark of life.

“Why they did not at once extinguish it I cannot tell. Perhaps they had pity on me for my youth’s sake; at all events, they spared the life, and after a journey which I shudder still to recollect, we reached their head-quarters, and my long captivity began.

“Their chief was a hater of the English, stern and desperate--not by any means the usual type of man to be met with among his countrymen: less treacherous, less supple, and if not less a tyrant, at least more tyrannically wise. Liberty for his subjects he did not at all conceive of, of course, but the wild liberty of despotism was an instinct and necessity with our Rajah; he hated foreign domination with an energetic hatred, such as one could not fail to respect, even though one suffered by it.

“The Rajah fancied my services might be of use to him. You will smile when I tell you how, Adam. He thought of the De Boignys, and Skinners, and the native troops they drilled, and despotized, and inspired with the mechanical heroism of mercenary soldiers; and he believed that I could drill his wild followers for him, could teach them the unfaltering British discipline, could form them into mechanical pipe-clayed battalions like their European enemies.

“And I tried to do it, Adam, for at six-and-twenty one would not choose to die; if I had known perhaps the long probation which awaited me, I might have shrunk and desired the end at once; but this end is not naturally desired ever, I think--I should still choose to live, I believe, were I placed in the same circumstances again; and I hoped more warmly then.

“I began to be artful like themselves. I intrigued and schemed to have a share in the education of the young chief, and at last I attained my object. Ahmed, the future Rajah--the presumptive heir--I was to have the honour of teaching him my language.

“And I taught him my language, Adam; and Ahmed at the head of his tribe speaks English, which has the fragrance of the Scottish border upon it. I used to smile when I heard him.

“We grew very good friends, my pupil and I. Heathen and stranger as Ahmed is, he was my boy, Adam, and we came to like each other--so much so--” said Hew Murray, averting his head a little, “that if I had not heard of you all at home, and only my place vacant, I scarcely think I should have cared for my new freedom.”

There was a pause.

“We had but one book,” said Hew, resuming, “my Bible, which I had managed to preserve with great difficulty. If I had been teaching the father instead of the son, in that glowing Eastern country, and with that Bible, I could have made a poet of him, Adam!

“But Ahmed was not the stuff to make poets of. He was cowed and humbled in his father’s presence--overpowered by a force which he could not understand, and though he grew up a gentle lad--weak folk learn wiles, you know--there was the national policy, the tendency to intrigue and deceit; the defective sense of truth and honour constantly displaying themselves. I could not hedge my Affghan boy about with the higher principles, so much more noble and pure than the natural instincts which yet suit our humanity so well--and I could not give him the savage virtues of his father; but I only clung to him the more, because he perplexed and grieved me.”

“A difficult matter,” said Mossgray, “and how about religion, Hew?”

“Ahmed is not brave,” was the answer. “He is a Mussulman still; the intellectual conviction is not strong enough, ever, I fancy, to break the old hereditary chains of the creed in which we are born. But Ahmed is like multitudes of those quick Indian youths in the great cities of our Eastern empire. He knows it all; the wonderful histories of the old time with their grand types and emblems, and the wonderful fulfilment they had. Did any one ever open that little volume, think you, Adam, and rise from it without a secret conviction that this was true? not my boy--not my Ahmed. The enchantment of the human life in which its Divinity is clothed charmed the mind of my pupil; for when one knows how men describe God, it quickens one’s apprehension of the wonderful difference when God reveals himself.

“And my boy knows it all, Adam, yet in outward form is an unbeliever still; and other youths by the hundred in Bombay, and Madras, and Calcutta, as they tell me, are like him: knowing the extraordinary intellectual truth, and ready, if but the divine spark came, to burst the green withes that hold them, and worship the Saviour of the Gospel under His own free heaven. May it come soon! they are prepared for it, these lads--may the divine impulse come soon! I would fain know that my work has prospered, though I never see Ahmed more.”

There was another interval of silence. The subject impressed them both; but Mossgray had not seen the singular state of society of which his friend spoke, and did not know how those young, quick, intelligent spirits, like the old sacrifices on the altars of the patriarchs, were unconsciously waiting for the fire from heaven, ready to be offered to the Lord.

In a short time Hew resumed:

“This imprisonment and work of mine continued all the father’s lifetime. I did what I could to drill his soldiers, and I communicated the Fendie accent to his son; but my captivity was not lightened--and so we went on until that fatal affray which made Ahmed chief of the tribe. The lad liked me, I told you; he felt too, in the consciousness of his new power, the advantage of securing an alliance with those powerful English whom his father hated; and so, in compassion, he brought his wounded captives back to me.

“I knew none of them, but Hew’s face struck me. He was the weakest of all, poor fellow, and some natural instinct drew me to him--and then, Adam--then, after my thirty years’ entire separation from all that I held dear, fancy what my feelings were, when the stranger told me that _his_ name too was Hew, and that he was Lucy Murray’s son!

“It was a strange meeting;” Hew Murray wiped away the pleasant moisture which dimmed those happy eyes of his; “and Ahmed had given me my freedom. That wily, politic boy! I wonder if he was getting wearied of his old Dominie after all, or if his reluctance to part with me was real. I wish affection was as blind as they call it, Adam, for I think my eyes, being so solicitous about him, were only quickened to see his weakness; but I could not have remained. I could not have done him any service even if I had remained.

“So I gave him my Bible, Adam, and he gave me jewels and shawls more than I knew what to do with. I was bringing them all home innocently to Lucy,” said Hew, with his old frank laugh. “Lucy would have been as magnificent as a Begum had no one interfered, but we got into a mercantile atmosphere before we left India, and so some of Ahmed’s pretty things were converted into coined monies. There is enough to make the old house habitable, I think; but I have come home as I went away, Adam. I always thought I should; there has no bilious fortune fallen to my share; only they have given me a pension--and better than the pension--give me your hand, Adam--I am at home.”

And the two gray-haired men grasped each other’s hands.

Lucy Murray had entered the room unheard. She came forward with her gentle, gliding step, and leaned over the carved back of Charlie’s chair, looking at them as they sat together by the fireside.

“What are you doing, boys?” said Lucy, with the voice and the smile of her youth. Boys--the young composed grave girl, long ago, had called them by that name. They were both older than she was; but the assumed dignity of the earlier maturing woman sat gracefully on her then, as that smile did now.

“We were talking of that merchant boy of yours, and how he would not let me bring home Ahmed’s jewels to his mother, Lucy,” said Hew.

“I wonder Hew did not remember the bride that will soon be,” said Lucy. “Adam, I like your Lily; I was a little afraid--may I tell you? a little afraid when I began to guess what the conjunction of her two names pointed to. You look grave, Adam--I should not have said so much?”

“No, Lucy,” said Mossgray, “they are dead; how far we might err in our early dreams, let us not question. I forget all that is evil when I look back. Let us lay the errors of their youth beside them in the grave.”

Lucy Murray bowed her head silently in acquiescence, and folding her hands over Charlie’s chair, pitifully thought of the dead.

The dead who wounded hearts and had no power to heal them--who broke faith, and went away with their treachery in their hearts to the grave; who disenchanted youthful eyes and darkened lives which were not bright before--evils that the doer never can atone--alas for them, unhappy! Alas for the false--the cruel--the heart-breakers! The hearts broken will heal; the suffering will pass away like clouds; but woe for those who inflict--woe for the seedmen of sin, whose harvest shall not fail.

“And you, Lucy,” said Mossgray. “I must question you, and blame you as I cannot blame Hew. Why have I never heard from you? where have you been?”

“We came from France to Orkney,” said Lucy; “was not that a change, Adam? and there I have been very glad and very sorrowful. They both lie yonder--my husband and my father, and there my Hew was born. I should have written to you, Adam, but I have told you before how long my father lived, and how he retained his old pride; and when he was dead, and James was dead, and Hew away from me, forgive me that I was very listless, very sad, Adam. I could write to no one but my son.”

“Not even to Lilias; when you knew who she was, Lucy?” said Mossgray.

“Not even to Lilias, Adam. I did not know _herself_, and I had some fears, I confess, of Hew’s early decision on a matter so important; and when they sent me word that my son was dead, and when I got her simple, touching letter, I was jealous, Adam, that any one should mourn for him but myself. I became selfish as grief does sometimes; I would not believe that any other heart could break as mine did. He was mine--my son. I was jealous of her, Adam, when I thought she claimed a right to share with me my boy’s grave.”

“And afterwards?” said Mossgray, smiling. He too seemed in a jealous mood--jealous for his ward and her new position.

“Afterwards I fell into my old indolent, listless mood again,” said Lucy; “Hew was coming home--the two Hews--it filled all my mind. I went to meet them at London, promising myself that I should atone to Lilias for my neglect, and she accepts my apology. Will not you accept it, Adam? You do not know how listless and powerless one becomes whose life has been so overcast as mine. I think it will be otherwise now--I think it is all past, Adam, and we will travel to the sunsetting together.”