Mr. Effingham’s impulsive heart was stirred within him, at these words, to a degree which he himself would hardly have admitted. The actual presentment of this cadet of an old family—once the object of a mother’s care, a mother’s prayers—fallen from his position and compelled to wander over the country, meanly dressed and carrying a burden in this hot weather, touched him to the heart. He walked up to the speaker, and laying his hand upon his arm, said in tones of deep feeling:
‘My dear fellow, will you let me advise you, as I should thank any Christian man to do for my son in like need? Stay with us for a time. I may be able to assist you indirectly, if not otherwise. At the worst, the hospitality of this house—of your old home—is open to you as long as you please to accept it.’
‘You are kind—too kind, sir,’ said the wanderer, while his bold eyes softened, and for a moment he turned his face towards the lake. ‘The old place makes me feel like a boy again. But it will never do—_it’s too late_. You don’t know the ways of this country yet, and you might come to repent being so soft—I mean so good-natured.’
‘I will take the risk,’ persisted Effingham. ‘Let me see you restored to your proper standing in society, and following any occupation befitting a gentleman, and I shall hold myself fully repaid.’
The stranger smiled, half-sadly, half-humorously, as he seated himself on a fence-rail.
‘That is not so easy as you think, sir,’ he said. ‘Though there’s very few people in this country would bother about trying. When a fellow’s been rambling about the bush, working and living with the men, for years and years, it is not so easy to turn him into a gentleman again. Worst of all when he’s come short of education, and has half-forgotten how to behave himself before ladies. Ladies! I swear, when I saw your daughters, looking like rosebuds in the old verandah, I felt like a blackfellow.’
‘That a feeling of—of rusticity—would be one of the consequences of a roving life, I can understand; but you are young—a mere boy yet. Believe one who has seen something of the world, that the awkwardness you refer to would soon disappear were you once more among your equals.’
‘Too late—too late!’ said the man gloomily. ‘Gyp Warleigh must remain in the state he has brought himself to. I know him better than you do, worse luck! There’s another reason why I’m afraid to trust myself in a decent house.’