The Old Helmet. Volume II

Perhaps he said this only because he wanted to have her go on talking; perhaps Eleanor divined that; however she hesitated a moment and went on.

"Lord Cushley, with some other friends, has just provided for the emigration to Australia of near a dozen promising cases of these boys."

"Was Eleanor Powle another of the friends?"

"No; I had not that honour. These are reclaimed boys, mind; reclaimed from the very lowest and most miserable condition; and they are going out with every prospect of respectability and every promise of doing well. Do you want to know the antecedents of one among them?"

"By all means!"

"Notice them. First, slavery under two drunken people, one of them his mother, who sent him out to steal for them; and refused him even the shelter of their wretched home if he came to it with empty hands. At such times, thrust out houseless and hungry, to wander where he could, he led a life of such utter wretchedness, that at length he determined to steal for himself, and to go home no more. Then came years of struggling vagrancy – during which, Mr. Carlisle, the prison was his pleasantest home and only comfortable shelter; and whenever he was turned out of it he stood in London streets helpless and hopeless but to renew his old ways of thieving and starvation. Nobody had told him better; no one had shewed the child kindness; was he to blame?"

"Somebody shewed him kindness at last," said Mr. Carlisle, looking into the lustrous eyes which were so full of their subject.

"Who, do you think?"

"Impossible for me to guess – since you were not here."

"One of the most noted thieves in London went to one of the city missionaries and told him of the boy and recommended him to his kindness."

"Impelled by what earthly motive?"

"The misery of the case."

"Why did he not teach him his own trade?"

"The question the missionary put to him. The thief answered that he knew a thief's life too well."

"I should like to see you before a committee of the House of Commons," said Mr. Carlisle, taking two or three steps away and then returning. "Well?"

"Well – the missionary put the child with some decent people, where he was washed and clothed. But it is impossible for met to tell, as it was too bad to be told to me, the state to which squalor, starvation, and all that goes with it, had brought the child. He went to school; and two years after was well, healthy, flourishing, intelligent, one of the best and most useful lads at the establishment where he was employed. Now Lord Cushley has sent him to Australia."

"Eleanor, I will never say anything against Ragged schools again."

"Then I have not spoken in vain," said Eleanor rising.

He took her hand, held it, bowed his lips to it, held it still, too firmly for Eleanor to disengage it without violence.

"Will you grant me one little favour?"

"You take without asking, Mr. Carlisle!"

He smiled and kissed her hand again, not releasing it, however.

"Let me go with you to Field-Lane in future."

"What would you do there?"

"Take care of you."

"As I do not need it, you would be exceedingly bored; finding yourself without either business or pleasure."

"Do you think that what interests you will not interest me?"

A change came over her face – a high grave light, as she answered, – "Not till you love the Master I do. Not till his service is your delight, as it is mine. – Mr. Carlisle, if you will allow me, I will ring the bell for tea."

He rang the bell for her instantly, and then came to her side again, and waited till the servant was withdrawn.

"Eleanor, seriously, I am not satisfied to have you go to that place alone."

"I do not. I am always attended."

"By a servant. Have you never been frightened?"

"Never."

"Do you not meet a very ugly sort of crowd sometimes, on your way?"

"Yes – sometimes."

"And never feel afraid?"

"No. Mr. Carlisle, would you like a cup of tea, if you could get it?"

She had met his questions with a full clear look of her eyes, in which certainly there lay no lurking shadow. He read them, and drank his tea rather moodily.

"So, Eleanor," said Mrs. Powle the next day, "you have enlisted Mr. Carlisle on your side as usual, and he will have you go to your absurd school as you want to do. How did people get along before Ragged schools were invented, I should like to know?"

"You would not like to know, mamma. It was in misery and ignorance and crime, such as you would be made sick to hear of."

"Well, they live in it yet, I suppose; or are they all reclaimed already?"

"They live in it yet – many a one."

"And it is among such people you go! Well, I wash my hands of it. Mr.

Carlisle will not have you molested. He must have his own way."

"What has he to do with it, mamma?" Eleanor asked, a little indignantly.

"A good deal, I should say. You are not such a fool as not to know what he is with you all the time for, Eleanor."

A hot colour came up in Eleanor's cheeks.

"It is not by my wish, mamma."

"It is rather late to say so. Don't you like him, Eleanor?"

"Yes, ma'am – very much – if only he would be content with that."