"People who are not fit often do teach them, and is not that worse than nothing?" said Helen; "I should think irreverence and false doctrine worse than ignorance."
"Certainly," said Lady Merton; "and happy it is, that, as in your case, Helen, the duty of obedience, or some other equally plain, teaches us when to take responsibility upon ourselves and when to shrink from it."
"I must say," said Anne, "I cannot recover from hearing Mamma and Lizzie talk of their "little victims," just in Gray"s tone."
"No," said Lady Merton; "I only say,
"If thou wouldst reap in love, First sow in holy fear.""
CHAPTER XIII.
On Monday morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Elizabeth and Katherine went to the school to receive the penny-club money, and to change the lending library books. They were occupied in this manner for about half an hour; and on their return, Elizabeth went to Mrs.
Woodbourne"s dressing-room, to put away the money, and to give her an account of her transactions. While she was so employed, her father came into the room with a newspaper in his hand.
"Look here, Mildred," said he, laying it down on the table before his wife, "this is what Walker has just brought me."
Mrs. Woodbourne glanced at the paragraph he pointed out, and exclaimed, "O Lizzie! this is a sad thing!"
Elizabeth advanced, she grew giddy with dismay as she read as follows:
"On Friday last, a most interesting and instructive lecture on the Rise and Progress of the Inst.i.tution of Chivalry was delivered at the Mechanics" Inst.i.tute, in this city, by Augustus Mills, Esq. This young gentleman, from whose elegant talents and uncommon eloquence we should augur no ordinary career in whatever profession may be honoured with his attention, enlarged upon the barbarous manners of the wild untutored hordes among whom the proud pageantry of pretended faith, false honour, and affected punctilio, had its rise. He traced it through its gilded course of blood and carnage, stripped of the fantastic and delusive mantle which romance delights to fling over its native deformity, to the present time, when the general civilization and protection enjoyed in this enlightened age, has left nought but the grim shadow of the destructive form which hara.s.sed and menaced our trembling ancestors. We are happy to observe that increasing attendance at the Mechanics" Inst.i.tute of Abbeychurch, seems to prove that the benefits of education are becoming more fully appreciated by all cla.s.ses. We observed last Friday, at the able lecture of Mr.
Mills, among a numerous a.s.semblage of the distinguished inhabitants and visitors of Abbeychurch, Miss Merton, daughter of Sir Edward Merton, of Merton Hall, Baronet, together with the fair and accomplished daughters of the Rev. H. Woodbourne, our respected Vicar."
"I shall certainly contradict it," continued Mr. Woodbourne, while Elizabeth was becoming sensible of the contents of the paragraph; "I did not care what Higgins chose to any of my principles, but this is a plain fact, which may be believed if it is not contradicted."
"O Mamma, have not you told him?" said Elizabeth faintly.
"What, do you mean to say that this is true?" exclaimed Mr. Woodbourne, in a voice which sounded to Elizabeth like a clap of thunder.
"Indeed, Papa," said she, once looking up in his face, and then bending her eyes on the ground, while the colour in her checks grew deeper and deeper; "I am sorry to say that it is quite true, that we did so very wrong and foolishly as to go. Helen and Lucy alone were sensible and strong-minded enough to refuse to go."
Mr. Woodbourne paced rapidly up and down the room, and Elizabeth plainly saw that his displeasure was great.
"But, Mr. Woodbourne," said her mamma, "she did not know that it was wrong. Do you not remember that she was not at home at the time that Socialist was here? and I never told her of all that pa.s.sed then. You see it was entirely my fault."
"Oh! no, no, Mamma, do not say so!" said Elizabeth; "it was entirely mine. I was led away by my foolish eagerness and self-will, I was bent on my own way, and cast aside all warnings, and now I see what mischief I have done. Cannot you do anything to repair it, Papa? cannot you say that it was all my doing, my wilfulness, my carelessness of warning, my perverseness?"
"I wish I had known it before," said Mr. Woodbourne, "I could at least have spoken to Mr. Turner on Sat.u.r.day, and prevented the Mertons" name from appearing."
"I did not tell you because I had no opportunity," said Mrs.
Woodbourne; "Lizzie came and told me all, the instant she knew that she had done wrong; but I thought it would hara.s.s you, and you were so much occupied that I had better wait till all this bustle was over, but she told me everything most candidly, and would have come to you, but that Mr. Roberts was with you at the time.--My dear Lizzie, do not distress yourself so much, I am sure you have suffered a great deal."
"O Mamma," said Elizabeth, "how can I ever suffer enough for such a tissue of ill-conduct? you never will see how wrong it was in me."
"Yet, Lizzie," said her father kindly, "we may yet rejoice over the remembrance of this unpleasant affair, if it has made you reflect upon the faults that have led to it."
"But what is any small advantage to my own character compared with the injury I have done?" said Elizabeth; "I have made it appear as if you had granted the very last thing you would ever have thought of; I have led Kate and Anne into disobedience. Oh! I have done more wrongly than I ever thought I could."
At this moment Katherine came into the room with some message for Mrs.
Woodbourne.
"Come here, Kate," said her father; "read this."
Katherine cast a frightened glance upon Elizabeth, who turned away from her. She read on, and presently exclaimed, "Fair and accomplished daughters! dear me! that is ourselves." Then catching Elizabeth by the arm, she whispered, "Does he know it?"
"Yes, Katherine," said Mr. Woodbourne sternly; "your sister has shewn a full conviction that she has done wrong, a feeling of which I am sorry to see that you do not partake."
"Indeed, indeed, Papa," cried Katherine, bursting into tears, "I am very sorry; I should never have gone if it had not been for the others."
"No excuses, if you please, Katherine," said Mr. Woodbourne; "I wish to hear exactly how it happened."
"First, Papa," said Elizabeth, "let me beg one thing of you, do not tell Mrs. Hazleby that Harriet went with us, for she could not know that it was wrong of us to go, and she is very much afraid of her mother"s anger."
Mr. Woodbourne made a sign of a.s.sent; and Elizabeth proceeded to give a full account of the indiscreet expedition, taking the blame so entirely upon herself, that although Katherine was on the watch to contradict anything that might tell unfavourably for her, she could not find a word to gainsay--speaking very highly of Helen, not attempting to make the slightest excuse, or to plead her sorrow for what had happened as a means of averting her father"s displeasure, and ending by asking permission to go to Mrs. Turner the instant the Hazlebys had left Abbeychurch, to tell her that the excursion had been entirely without Mr. Woodbourne"s knowledge or consent. "For," said she, "that is the least I can do towards repairing what can never be repaired."
"I am not sure that that would be quite a wise measure, my dear Lizzie," said Mrs. Woodbourne.
"Certainly not," said Mr. Woodbourne; "it would put Lizzie in a very unsuitable situation, and in great danger of being impertinent."
"Yes," said Elizabeth; "I see that I do wrong whichever way I turn."
"Come, Lizzie," said her father, "I see that I cannot be as much displeased with you as you are with yourself. I believe you are sincerely sorry for what has pa.s.sed, and now we will do our best to make it useful to you, and prevent it from having any of the bad consequences to my character which distress you so much."
Elizabeth was quite overcome by Mr. Woodbourne"s kindness, she sprung up, threw her arms round his neck, kissed him, and taking one more look to see that his eyes no longer wore the expression which she dreaded, she darted off to her own room, to give a free course to the tears with which she had long been struggling.
Katherine, who had been studying the newspaper all this time, seeing Elizabeth"s case so easily dismissed, and not considering herself as nearly so much to blame, now giggled out, "Mamma, did you ever see anyone so impertinent as this man? "Fair and accomplished daughters,"
indeed! was there ever anything so impertinent?"
"Yes, Katherine," said Mr. Woodbourne, "there is something far more impertinent in a young lady who thinks proper to defy my anger, and to laugh at the consequences of her giddy disobedience."
"Indeed, Papa," said Katherine, "I am very sorry, but I am sure it was not disobedience. I did not know we were not to go."
"Not when you had heard all that was said on the subject last year?"
said Mr. Woodbourne; "I am ashamed to see you resort to such a foolish subterfuge."
"I did not remember it," said Katherine; "I am sure I should never have gone if I had, but Lizzie was so bent upon it."
"Again throwing the blame upon others," said Mr. Woodbourne; "your sister has set you a far better example. She forbore from saying what I believe she might have said with perfect truth, that had you not chosen to forget my commands when they interfered with your fancies, she would not have thought of going; and this is the return which you make to her kindness."
"Well," sobbed Katherine, "I never heard you say we should not go, I do not remember it. You know Mamma says I have a very bad memory."
"Your memory is good enough for what pleases yourself," said Mr.
Woodbourne; "you have been for some time past filling your head with vanity and gossipping, without making the slightest attempt to improve yourself or strengthen your mind, and this is the consequence.
However, this you will remember if you please, that it is my desire that you a.s.sociate no more with that silly chattering girl, Miss Turner, than your sisters do. You know that I never approved of your making a friend of her, but you did not choose to listen to any warnings."