Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

H7,'/-,Y'A7'.'.0 A.\f> A'.lJ7v7>.
to get up Kom~ little plan to serve you, but wo fool no
"
tKiii when we beg n.
"Thank;yon," Kail Peter. "You will never than
thoilgl.tfnl for me, I know. But it is of no use to think of too
many things at a time. I am going to St. IK moor to-morrow,
and I shall get Mr. Brewar.i's leave to spend a week at Fath< r
Joseph's. Mrs. Beanchamp says I can be usi ful, and befme
the week is over I shall know more than I know now. And just
at present I'd rather be among old friends."
Peter's voice failed. He could not say a word more, nnd
Mrs. Mills loved him all the better f< r his emotion. "I only
wanted to prepare you lor anything that James might say. He
is sure to say something. He has worked himself up, and he
is hard on some points ; he always was yes, very hard. Here
lie is."
And James Gardener at this moment sauntered into the
room, holding his empty pip". "Good evening," he said; " I
have been having thoughts about you all day."
"Thank you," said Peter.
You know that,
" Next Monday you begin life for yourself.
I suppose?"
"
Indeed I don't," said Peter.
" We 1, 1 do," said James Gardener, in a voice that had some
smothered anger in it; "I don't let my lodgings
without secu-
rity for the payment. I 1 old myself free to let my pretty bedroom
next week, and I have a man iu my eye who will d:> for
the purpose. I can't afford to lose mo ey. I have worked
hard for what I have got, and a man naturally values worth
and beauty which he has stored for himself, and arranged to
Lis own tat-te and fancy. I don't suppose that, for its siz %
there is a prettier tenement than this in the whole country. I
am proud of my place, and pr^ud of myself for having made it
what it is. I don't wish to be hard on you, Peter. You have
grown up under tiiis r .of, and strengthened your limbs at play
in that garden; you are young to be left to your own resources,
and this place may be above you n .w. You n;ust have learned
to rough it one day, and as you have lost your patron you will
have to begin at once. Don't be downhearted ;
I will stand
s >. It has
your friend all my life, and I am honest in saying
been a sore struggle wi:h me all day and the women have
leen vexed with me but I can't keep things wearirg out my
mind. I have o-her matters to dw< 11 upon. I felt obliged to
speak out, f.nd so I s lit Mary to bring you here. Perh..ps she
did not say that I sent her ?"
"
No; she did not say that," answered Peter.
" Wei , that's no matter; she br ught y >u, and there you
are. There is nothing disagreeable betwe* n us, I hope ?"
"Nothing at all," said Peter "
bravely. All you say is true.
It !s more than I have had time to think of. It would have a 1
come to me to-morrow, I am sure. Of course I know that I
have the g eatest possible loss in Colonel Penwarue's death."
He felt surprised at himself that he was able to s iy those
words quite calm y. "Of course I know that I have no chance
now of many advantages that, had he lived, might have been
mine. But I can't say that I feel cast down on that account.
I suall be very sorry to leave this pretty pi. ce, for I have n^ver
had any other home O, I sha.l ba very sorry ! I love it
dearly !"
" Well, then, it's all square and straight. We, who have
been always like father and son, can go on in our friendship ;
and I hope that, wherever you go, yo i will never pass us by,
but look in upou us whenever you can, and ri^ht glad shall we
be to se;' you. I suppose you will make some bargain with
Mr. Breward, and stay at Stonemoor. B..J you will often be
here on Sundays. Come in, and be at home here if you do.
But, my lad, I'm truly sorry for yon. You can't be one of such
a house as Breward's without money. He wants many hands,
but not the hands of young learners like you. A h, fourteen is
early years at whica to beg n a self-sui porting life, Keep
steady, Peter, and let me lie:i-w :i yofl fettle on. Good-
night, lad." So they shook hands, and Peter walked away
thinking.
CHAPTER VI.
By eight o'clock the next morning Peter Sands was at Penwarno,
and the first person he Biiw there was Mr. Bloomfitld;
he was butler at the mansion. His cliild, a girl of about
teen, waited < n Lady Edith, and did many thing iu the I
under L idy lYnwarne's maid, who was a widow, a woman of
true piety, and very clever. She liked Helen Bloomfiel.l very
much, and Helen liked Mrs. Brading. Of course they all knew
Peter Sands.
Peter and Mr. Bloomfield served Mass together that morning.
The but er was a man of full fifty years of age ; he hud
been in India with the Colonel, and had lived with him both
bef.Teand after his marriage. Howas, in fact, quite one of the
family, and his conduct had a' ways shown that their confidence
in his goodness had not been in any way misplaced. Mr.
Bloomfield liked Peter, and had a real interest iu him, and
Peter himself rejoiced in this good man's opinion.
The household and Mrs. Penwarne were at Mass.
Aft rwards, Father Joseph took Peter to a room where he
saw Mrs. Penwarne it mado him tremble to look at her.
;
She was wrapped up iu a warm cloak, though the summer sun
already shone hotly she looked worn and ; shrunk, and she
smiled so sad y when she saw Peter that it required all his
strength to keep him from shedding tears.
There v as not a single moment of awkwardness. Lady
Edith was tuer J and M s. Bradiag, and they stood by the dear
lady's chair, and Fath r Joseph began to speak to Peter.
of that last inter-
By a few q estions ) e opeue 1 the subject
view, and the boy knowing what was desired, a d being helped
by the priest, toid in a connected manner how everything had
happened. His voice faltered once or tw^ce ; he could not
venture to look at Mrs. Peuwarne, but he went on bravely,
answering the priest's que tions, and getting on to that part of
the story where he h -d to speak of 1 he rosary, which, as he
spoke, he took from his breast-pocket, and placed in the hand
tue listening la..y eagerly extended for it.
Up to this moment Mrs. Penwarne had never spoken. But
when she took \ he rosary in her hand, and found thu.t Peter's
story was ended, she
"
said, Come here."
Peter went to her, and stood by her chair, Mrs. Brading
making room for him.
" Take this again," she
"
said a better ;
gift no man could
give to you. Kemember what he said, and be good. I will
"
never forget you.
Then sue got up. It seemed to Peter as if she had suddenly
grown old and infirm. But she was gone, and Mr. Bloom-
field cama iu and i eckoned Pefxr to follow him. Everything
was ordered for Peter as it' he had been one of the household.
And then a note was given to Lim.
"You must take this to Mr. Breward," said Father Joseph.
"
It is to ask him to come here to speak to me about you on
Saturday next it will be the day after the funeral. And
think over everythin c yourself, as well as yju are able, and
tell me all that yon may have in your mind. Mrs. Penwarne
will have to go away f roui this place. With as little delay as
possible she -wishes to fulfil her husbana's wishes and carry
out his intentions. He always intended to help you on in life.
Say your prayers and think ; but don't talk. Idle words are
lost s rength ; and you will want all your strength at this
cris s in your life."
The expjrie ca of the evening before had been sufficient to
make Peter acknowledge the wisdom of Father Joseph's advice.
He had felt very oddly he could not explain to himself how
he had felt at James Gard HIT'S, hen the ue-v position iu
which the death of Colonel Ptnwarne had placed hiu
brought before him in plain words.
He was not able to support himself. A conceited ignorant
lad might have said that he was. But Peter knew be. ter. He
in the world
knew that he was being brought up f..r a place
which x.e couid not occupy independently for years to come,
And in the mean time he knew that he must depend on the