CHAPTER XVII.--CONTAINS MUCH FOLLY AND A LITTLE COMMON SENSE.

“The truth of the matter is this, Mr. Arundel,” began General Grant. “From a mistaken policy your future pupil has been indulged in every caprice of his weak intellect, till the slightest opposition to his wishes irritates him beyond all control that has yet been exercised over him; but as his only attendants are an old female domestic who was his nurse, and her son, a lad younger than Sir Walter himself, whom he has been foolishly permitted to look upon in the light of a companion, this is not so much to be wondered at.”

“It will be a difficult task to eradicate faults of temper which have been allowed to become habitual, especially where the reasoning faculties are defective,” observed Lewis thoughtfully.

“You may well say that, sir,” chimed in Miss Livingstone. “His reasoning faculties (as you please to term them) are so _defective_, that in my humble opinion the boy is neither more nor less than a fool; and you may as well try to drive a pig straight as to talk sense to a fool. But how a man so particular as General Grant can have brought such an inmate into his family, and then expect that things are to go on with the order and precision that----”

“Madam!” began the General in a voice of thunder, his stock of patience utterly exhausted by this indirect mode of attack. But Annie, with a degree of tact and moral courage for which Lewis had by no means been disposed to give her credit, laid her hand imploringly on her father’s arm, and whispered a few magical words which served to avert the storm that had appeared inevitable. An awkward pause ensued, which was broken by the General, who, rising majestically from his chair, informed Lewis that he should request his attendance in half-an-hour; then casting a withering glance at Miss Livingstone, which caused that respectable porcupine of private life to bristle up if possible more fiercely than before, he quitted the room. No sooner had her nephew-in-law’s retreating footsteps ceased to echo through the long corridor than the good lady, freed from the restraint of his presence, did then and there openly, avowedly, and with much vehemence, utter a declaration of war to the knife with that gallant officer, issued a protest against the introduction of “rampant idiots” into that heretofore peaceful family, and finally assert her own liberty of action by promulgating her determination to depart forthwith, leaving her companions to contemplate the agreeable contingencies of “being frightened out of their wits every day, and murdered in their beds all night.”

Having in some degree relieved her mind by this explosion, she applied the superfluous steam still remaining to the purpose of locomotion, her crisp schako rending the air, and her high-heeled shoes knocking sharp little double knocks, as of an angry postman, against the polished oak floor as she swept along.

And these “pleasant passages” were the first votive offering which Lewis saw presented to the Lares and Penates of Broadhurst.

General Grant sat bolt upright in his easy-chair, as if he were on his charger, and his face wore an expression of scrutinising authority, as of a commander about to review his troops, when Lewis, in obedience to his summons, entered the library.

“Take a chair, Mr. Arundel. I have desired the attendance of Sir Walter Desborough, and expect he will be here immediately.”

In compliance with this request, Lewis seated himself to await the arrival of his future pupil; but the minutes glided by, and still no pupil appeared. At length, just as the General’s small stock of patience became exhausted and he had begged Lewis to ring the bell, the butler returned, saying that it was impossible to induce Sir Walter to leave his room unless his female attendant might come with him. General Grant frowned portentously, glanced expressively towards Lewis, muttering, “Some of the evil effects of a grievous system of neglect,” then added, to the servant, “You may desire Mrs. Peters to accompany Sir Walter Desborough.”

“One of the first points to which you will have to direct your attention, Mr. Arundel,” continued the General as the domestic quitted the apartment, “is to induce my ward to dispense with the society of this person and her son. He may retain their services as attendants, but must be taught no longer to regard them as companions.”

As he spoke the door opened and admitted three individuals. Of these, the first who claims our notice was the unfortunate young baronet who was to be Lewis’s future charge. He appeared about fourteen, but was tall for that age; his figure was slight and not ungraceful, and his features were handsome; his forehead was high, but narrow and receding; his eyes were bright and clear, though totally devoid of expression, and there was an appearance of weakness and irresolution about the mouth, which too clearly indicated his want of intellect. Mrs. Peters was a very stout old lady, on whom the cares of life and a rare specimen of the female costume of some bygone age appeared to sit easily; her outline might have suggested to an imaginative beholder the idea of a huge pillow which had “come alive” and made itself a gown out of one of the chintz bed-curtains, forgetting the waist. Her conversation was embellished by a redundancy of mild ejaculations, amongst which a benediction on her own “heart alive,” and an apostrophe to a solitary possessive pronoun which had lost its noun, and agreed with nothing in particular, stood pre-eminent. Her stock of ideas, which was by no means inconveniently large, had been presented to her in her youth, and required altering to suit the present fashion. Still she was a good old woman in her way; her “heart alive” was a very kind one; and she doated on poor Walter, spoiling and indulging him till she had made even a greater fool of him than nature had intended. The trio was completed by her hopeful son Robert, or, as he was more familiarly termed, Bob Peters, who, one year younger than Sir Walter, was as clever and mischievous an imp as ever indued a page’s livery and bore a splendid crop of buttons to fascinate society. Pressing close to his nurse’s side and dragging the pretty page after him by the wrist, Walter entered the alarming presence of his guardian and his tutor, hanging back like a startled colt the moment he perceived a stranger.

“Walter, come here; I want to introduce you to this gentleman,” exclaimed General Grant in the blandest tone he could command; but in vain--Walter only hung his head and shrank closer to his protectress.

“Oh, my! Walter dearie, go to the General. Bless my heart alive, you ain’t so silly as to be afraid of _him_,” exclaimed Mrs. Peters, emphasising the _him_. as though it referred to a pet lamb or a tame rabbit.

“Go in and win, Master Walter; the gentleman won’t bite yer,” suggested Bob in an audible whisper.

But their remonstrances produced no effect upon Walter, and served only to increase General Grant’s irritation.

“He must be taught obedience, sir,” he remarked quickly, appealing to Lewis. “Nothing can be done until he becomes obedient;” then turning to the old nurse, he continued, “Mrs. Peters, Sir Walter will not require your attendance at present; you may leave the room, and take your son with you.”

“I’m afeard, sir, you won’t be able to do nothing with Master Walter without one of us stops with him. You see, he’s kind of used to us,” urged Mrs. Peters.

“I shall feel obliged by your leaving the room, Mrs. Peters. When I require your advice! will inform you of the fact,” returned the General, walking with stately steps towards the door, which he held partially open to permit the egress of the servants, while he prevented Walter from following them.

As he saw his friends depart the boy raised his eyes, which gleamed with mingled fear and anger, to General Grant’s face, but cold inflexibility was written there so unmistakably that even the darkened perceptions of the idiot could not fail to perceive it; and apparently feeling instinctively that resistance would be unavailing, his countenance assumed a sulky, dogged expression, and he suffered himself to be led to a seat without opposition. But, despite this success, the General seemed as far from gaining his point as ever; neither kindness nor coercion could induce Walter to pay the slightest attention to the remarks addressed to him, or to utter a single word. Any one, to have seen him at that moment, would have imagined him to be hopelessly imbecile. That such was not the case, however, Lewis, who without interfering openly had been closely observing him from the moment of his entrance, felt convinced. He had particularly watched the play of his features, and had remarked when he first came in that they were characterised by an expression of fear and shyness rather than of stupidity, and that it was not until his guardian had banished those whom he knew well, and in whom he had confidence, that they assumed the look of stolid sulkiness which they now wore. After making several unsuccessful attempts to elicit from his ward some proof of intelligence, General Grant at length quitted the room in search of his daughter, actuated thereunto by a vague consciousness that his own manner might possibly be deficient in conciliatory power, and that Annie, from the fact of her belonging to the softer sex, possessed a decided advantage over him in this particular. Availing himself of this opportunity, Lewis caught up a young kitten which was playing about the room, towards which he had observed Walter cast several furtive glances; and caressing the little animal as he held it in his arms, he approached his pupil, saying quietly--

“I’m sure you like the kitten, Walter, she is so playful and pretty?”

The boy made no answer, but the sullen look in his face gradually gave place to a milder expression, and he glanced from Lewis to the kitten with an appearance of intelligence, for which any one who had seen him a minute before would not have given him credit. Lewis saw that he had touched the right string, and continued in the same kind and gentle manner--

“We must make a great pet of the kitten. She will play with us and amuse us nicely.”

As he said this Walter drew closer to him, and seeming, in his interest about the kitten, to forget his fear of the stranger, held out his hands for the little creature to be given to him.

“Will you be kind to her if I let you have her?” continued Lewis.

Walter nodded in token of assent, and Lewis handed him the kitten, which he immediately began to fondle and play with, laughing with childish glee at its gambols. After amusing himself in this manner for several minutes he suddenly turned to Lewis and asked in a half-whisper--

“Do you like ponies, too?”

Delighted at this proof of the success of his attempt to win his pupil’s confidence, Lewis signified his intense affection for ponies in general, and inquired whether Walter possessed one. On receiving an affirmative nod he continued--

“And are you very fond of riding it?”

This question seemed to perplex the boy, for he made no reply, and a half-puzzled, vacant expression banished the gleam of intelligence which had lighted up his features. Lewis repeated the inquiry in two or three different forms, but with no better success. A pause ensued, during which the young tutor pondered with himself the best means of calling forth and strengthening the faint germs of intellect which evidently existed in the clouded mind of the poor idiot, when Walter again looked up and exclaimed abruptly--

“Bob says I’m to ride the pony when somebody comes to take care of me.”

“And I am that somebody,” returned Lewis, smiling good-naturedly. “You shall ride the pony to-day if you like.”

This seemed to please him, for he nodded and laughed, and resumed his gambols with the kitten. Suddenly a new idea appeared to strike him, for his face became clouded, and drawing close to Lewis, he whispered, pointing to the door by which General Grant had left the apartment--

“Don’t tell him, or he won’t let me go.”

“Why should you think so, Walter? That gentleman is your guardian, and means to be very kind to you,” returned Lewis; but Walter shook his head and repeated--

“Don’t tell him; he won’t let me go.”

At this moment the General returned, accompanied by Annie, whose feelings of sympathy and pity were slightly tempered by the fears which Miss Livingstone had laboured industriously to instil into her mind. Lewis drew the General on one side and gave him an outline of all that had passed during his absence, adding, that although it was of course too soon for him to judge with any degree of accuracy to what extent they might proceed, it was evident his pupil possessed some reasoning powers which cultivation might develop. And he was going on to add that harshness appeared to him likely rather to increase than diminish the evil, when his attention was attracted by an exclamation of anger from Walter.

The moment General Grant returned his ward had relapsed into his former state of sullen apathy, and all Annie’s attempts to induce him to notice her only appeared to increase his obstinacy, till at length she began to stroke the kitten, which he still held in his arms. This, for some unexplained cause (probably because he fancied she might be about to injure his favourite, or to deprive him of it), irritated him beyond control, and forgetting his fear in his anger, he uttered the exclamation above alluded to, and struck at her fiercely with a riding-whip which he had brought in with him. Springing forward, however, before the blow could descend, Lewis caught his uplifted arm and held it in an iron grasp, while in a grave but stern voice he said--

“Walter, I am surprised at you. Attempt to strike a lady! You must never do such a thing again.”

The calm, impressive manner in which he uttered these words appeared to produce a beneficial effect in subduing the boy’s irritation; for after making one furious but unavailing attempt to free himself, he sat perfectly still and unresisting. Nothing, however, could induce him to make friends with Annie, or to allow her to touch his beloved kitten, though when Lewis caressed it, and even took it in his arms, he appeared well contented.

A fortnight’s careful study of the young baronet’s character only served to confirm the impressions Lewis had received during this first interview. That he possessed some powers of reasoning and reflection was evident; but the great difficulty lay in finding a key to the workings of his mind by aid of which these powers might be strengthened and developed. Any direct question seemed to puzzle and confuse him, and the only plan which appeared to offer any hope of success was, if possible, to discover some train of thought (if the vague and desultory fancies which flitted across his feeble brain deserved to be so called), and then to lead him gently on by suggesting new ideas, some of which he might adopt and retain. But it was an up-hill task; and often when Lewis, with a degree of calm perseverance which in one of his eager and impetuous disposition could scarcely have been looked for, had succeeded in making him acquire, as he believed, a leading idea on which he hoped to base some superstructure of elementary knowledge, a look of hopeless vacuity would show that no progress had been made, and that the labour must all be gone through again. At other times some shrewd remark or pertinent question would take Lewis as it were by surprise, and induce him to imagine that he had underrated his pupil’s mental capacity, and that the fault must lie in his own inexperience of such cases. But there was much to be unlearned as well as to be taught. As is often the case in persons of weak intellect, the mere animal tendencies were unusually strong. He was subject to violent bursts of passion, if his will were in the slightest degree thwarted, which it required all Lewis’s firmness and strength of character to contend against successfully. Occasionally fits of melancholy would seize him, during which he would sit for hours without speaking, his head resting dejectedly on his hand, and nothing appearing able to interest or amuse him. If not prevented, he would eat so voraciously as to injure his health. He was also indolent and averse to active exertion of any kind. But Lewis took much pains to teach him to ride, and the exercise thus obtained tended greatly to strengthen his constitution. His fondness for animals was one of the most amiable points in his disposition. He and Faust ere long became inseparable, and Lewis found the dog a most useful auxiliary in inculcating--by example, not precept, for Faust could not _quite_ talk--the necessity of implicit obedience.

A month soon glided by, and at its expiration Lewis informed General Grant that if he still wished him to undertake the care of his ward he was willing to do so; an offer of which that noble commander joyfully availed himself, being in his secret soul equally surprised and pleased at the degree of success which had already attended Lewis’s efforts, and only too glad to secure the services of one who could and would save him all further difficulty in regard to the onerous and troublesome responsibility which he had taken upon himself. For the next six months of his residence at Broadhurst Lewis saw but little of the family. During the greater part of that time the General was absent on a visit to some relations in Scotland, whither his daughter accompanied him. Miss Livingstone, having supplied herself with a resident victim in the person of Miss Susan Pinner, an unhappy little fourteen-year-old cousin once removed (the further the better from such a relative, we should imagine), spent her time very much to her own satisfaction in daily offering up the helpless sacrifice thus acquired at the altar of her evil temper, and in tyrannising over the poor of the neighbourhood with most excruciating benevolence. A sick family was a rare treat to this venerable scourge. Nauseous were the medicines she forced down the throats of the destitute, aggravating the directions with which she tortured the suffering, hateful the dietary on which she nourished all sick persons and young children! Truly an irritating poor man’s plaster was that sphinx of modern society, Minerva Livingstone, and Odipus himself would never have guessed at one-half her modes of ingeniously tormenting indigent merit. Fortunately, working out the details of this ferocious philanthropy occupied so much of the good lady’s time that Lewis enjoyed a happy immunity from her attentions, and was allowed to put in practice his theories for the improvement of his pupil without let or hindrance; and it was with a degree of pleasure, which was in itself sufficient reward for his trouble, that he perceived his plans likely to succeed beyond his most sanguine expectations. Affairs were in this position when--but such an interesting disclosure requires a fresh chapter.