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16 THE TWO VICTORIES.
there he none to take his place ; bnt what of that ? He has
it 'ml the supremacy of his will has been vindicnt
1ms not given way,
his character is unblemished in the
>f the world and what is his own ; happiness, or that of
>vu child, in comparison with such a victory as this ? A
victory, surely ! Poor fool ! Well may old Brown rub
his hands, and chuckle till lie be black in the face. Well may
he go about from house to house amongst his friends, to toll
this wonderful tale of a father who loves his pride better
than his child. Yet it is not such an uncommon tale after all.
It has happened before, and probably will happen again and
;
therefore old Brown need not chuckle quite so much over it,
IK >v expose himself to be carried off by an attack of apoplexy
resulting from the exuberance of his feelings. Spite of all his
commendations, could the worthy old man transport himself in
imagination to Mr. Stanhope's lonely room, and see how that
proud face quivers and grows pale as he listens to the suppressed
voices that are bidding a tearful and sorrowful farewell to
their dear young master, and could he see how, as after listening
to the very last to a carriage as it drives away, Mr. Stanhope
locks the door of his room, and lays his weary head upon
his desk, and groans and weeps through the live-long night
for his lost, lost boy, even he, worthy old Mr. Brown, might,
perhaps, begin to doubt whether such a victory was worth
purchasing at such a price.
CHAPTER XIV.
A NEW HOME FATHER EUSTACE FINDS IT TOO MUCH FOB HTM.
AID IS NEABEST WHEN NEED IS GREATEST. FRANK SEYMOUR
AND HIS TALE.
POOR Edwin, half dead with grief and sorrow for the present,
and with anxiety for the future, after leaving the house which
was now no longer his home, drove at once to the residence of
Father Eustace, to whom he had despatched a hurried note
containing a brief account of what had happened. He had had
no time as yet to think of the future. He felt that all that had
been was passed away, and that there was a broad chasm between
himself and most of those who had been nearest and
dearest to him. He felt that the world the dark, dreary world
was all before him, and he saw not where he should find a
resting-place for his weary feet. Bashful and retiring as he
was, so little fitted to fight his way in the world which was now
before him, so full of the enthusiasm and romantic feeling
which are necessary ingredients in natures such as his, it is little
wonder if he were anxious and distressed. And yet he felt happier
than he had been for some months past. The step had
been taken, and had been taken for eternity ; the rest was
merely temporal, and he felt that God would carry him through
it all. His deepest, keenest sorrow was for the unforgiving
harshness of his father ; but it was a sorrow without anger, a
Borrow which hod for its object not his own wrongs, and the
harsh treatment he had received, but the thought that past love
could be so easily put away that the memory of the happy
days gone by could be so ruthlessly trampled upon, and himself
cast upon the world so sternly and so proudly, for daring
in do that which he found himself bound to do under the pain
of his own damnation. Now that they had parted, his heart
1 more than it had ever done before in their happiest
days towards the proud, stern man ; and if he wept as he
iit of him, they were, in truth, tears of forgiving sorrow
that in the sight of God heaped burning coals on the un-
forgiving heart that had cast him forth.
The sudden stoppage of the vehicle recalled him to himself
from the thoughts in which he had been plunged, and, looking
from the window, he saw that they had arrived at the door of
s idence of Father Eustace. Edwin knocked very timidly ;
for, although he knew much of the goodness of Father Eustace,
he felt very shy and awkward in coming to him thus, an outcast
He knew very well, however, how kindly the
'id .
priest would receive him, but \\-- i- uu-
'. xl for tin; reception which he did receive. He taw the
door open quickly ;
he saw the benevolent pitying face of him
who opened it; he saw the outstretched arms and the en;
look ;
he felt those arms fold him again and again to as war
heart as ever beat in human breast, and he saw and felt no
more till he found himself in Father Eustace's little room, sitting
in the softest place on the simple couch, with the some
kind arms clasping him closer and closer still, and pillowing i
aching head, as tenderly as his own mother might have dn
upon his breast. It was too much ; and, as he listened to i
soothing voice that whispered so gently in his ear, "My poor
boy, my dear, dear child, you are at home here. There, the
don't cry so my child ; don't give way so much ; you wil 1
happy here ; this is your home till you can find a better Fati
;
Eustace will never "
forsake you and as ;
he felt the arms I i
pressed him so tenderly again and again, the forced restraint
gave way, and, after trying several times to kiss one of the
hands that clasped his, but trying in vain, it was always m.
perversely drawn away, he laid his head down upon the friendly
breast and sobbed without restraint. Father Eustace did not
endeavor to check him, for he knew that it would do him good
to relieve his feelings in this manner ; very soon, however, it
became too much for Father Eustace too, for, after his countenance
had undergone some very curious contortions, he several
times blew his nose very loudly and very ostentatiously, as if
he had suddenly discovered that he had taken a very bad cold ;
but, finding this unavailing, he very simply put his h ami I.
chief aside altogether, and allowed the tears to run down his
kind old face without control, as if he were not in the least
ashamed of them, and as if they were not a disgrace to his gray
hairs ; only, ever and anon, as poor Edwin sobbed more vio-
lently, he made a mighty effort to recover himself, and succeeded
so well that several times he was able to articuhitf,
almost audibly and distinctly, " My poor boy, my brave child,'
you don't know how dearly poor old Father Eustace loves j-t
There, there, there ; don't cry, that's a dear child." But. un-
fortunately for the value of his advice, wheuever he got thus far
he infallibly began to cry himself harder than ever, and so at
last he gave it up as a bad business, and did not attempt to
speak at all, but contented himself with soothing the weeping
boy as best he might without the use of his tongue, which, BI
usual with that unruly member, had become altogether rebel-
lious, with this difference, however, that where it generally
will not be restrained from speaking too much, in this case it
absolutely refused to speak at all.
We have often heard, and we believe it to be true, that there
are angels always waiting to carry to the face of God such tears
as those shed by Father Eustace and poor Edwin on this oc,
sion ; but we must wait until we shall have entered " the better
land " before we can know how dear, how precious, and how
holy they are in His sight, and how carefully the remembrance
of them is treasured up in the Divine mind.
Father Eustace would not allow Edwin to speak all that day
of what hod happened, but next morning, when they were both
more composed, they had a long chat about Edwin's future
prospects. Edwin told his friend that ever since he had thought
about becoming a Catholic he had felt a very strong desire to
devote himself to the service of the altar, but that he saw no
immediate prospect of carrying his desire into effect but ; that
whatever he might do at present, he would not willingly lose
sight of this object. The answer of Father Eustace filled him
with gratitude and joy.
"My child," began Father Eustace, "you have :
throughout this affair with noble courage and resolution.
having thrown yourself so devotedly into the arms of Divine
Providence, He, who does not allow a sparrow to fall to t
ground without His permission, has not been behindhand with
you. Yes, my child, you may say with the holy Ps:<
'
My father and my mother have cast me off, but the Lord hath
I confess I have sometimes trembled for your
taken me up. '
resolution, when I considered the fearful odds opposed t