is, probably, some message from Mr Horner,” said Lady Ludlow, with just a shade of annoyance in her manner; for it was against all etiquette to send a message to her, and by such a messenger too!
“No! please your ladyship, I asked him if he had any message, and he said no, he had none; but he must see your ladyship for all that.”
“You had better show him in then, without more words,” said her ladyship, quietly, but still, as I have said, rather annoyed.
As if in mockery of the humble visitor, the footman threw open both battants of the door, and in the opening there stood a lithe, wiry lad, with a thick head of hair, standing out in every direction, as if stirred by some electrical current, a short, brown face, red now from affright and excitement, wide, resolute mouth, and bright, deep-set eyes, which glanced keenly and rapidly round the room, as if taking in everything (and all was new and strange), to be thought and puzzled over at some future time. He knew enough of manners not to speak first to one above him in rank, or else he was afraid.
“What do you want with me?” asked my lady; in so gentle a tone that it seemed to surprise and stun him.
“An’t please your ladyship?” said he, as if he had been deaf.
“You come from Mr Horner’s: why do you want to see me?” again asked she, a little more loudly.
“An’t please your ladyship, Mr Horner was sent for all on a sudden to Warwick this morning.”
His face began to work; but he felt it, and closed his lips into a resolute form.
“Well?”
“And he went off all on a sudden like.”
“Well?”
“And he left a note for your ladyship with me, your ladyship.”
“Is that all? You might have given it to the footman.”
“Please your ladyship, I’ve clean gone and lost it.”
He never took his eyes off her face. If he had not kept his look fixed, he would have burst out crying.
“That was very careless,” said my lady gently. “But I am sure you are very sorry for it. You had better try and find it; it may have been of consequence.
“Please, mum – please your ladyship – I can say it off by heart.”
“You! What do you mean?” I was really afraid now. My lady’s blue eyes absolutely gave out light, she was so much displeased, and, moreover, perplexed. The more reason he had for affright, the more his courage rose. He must have seen, – so sharp a lad must have perceived her displeasure; but he went on quickly and steadily.
“Mr Horner, my lady, has taught me to read, write, and cast accounts, my lady. And he was in a hurry, and he folded his paper up, but he did not seal it; and I read it, my lady; and now, my lady, it seems like as if I had got it off by heart;” and he went on with a high pitched voice, saying out very loud what, I have no doubt, were the identical words of the letter, date, signature and all: it was merely something about a deed, which required my lady’s signature.
When he had done, he stood almost as if he expected commendation for his accurate memory.
My lady’s eyes contracted till the pupils were as needle points; it was a way she had when much disturbed. She looked at me and said –
“Margaret Dawson, what will this world come to?” And then she was silent.
The lad, beginning to perceive he had given deep offence, stood stock still – as if his brave will had brought him into this presence, and impelled him to confession, and the best amends he could make, but had now deserted him, or was extinct, and left his body motionless, until some one else with word or deed made him quit the room. My lady looked again at him, and saw the frowning, dumbfoundering terror at his misdeed, and the manner in which his confession had been received.
“My poor lad!” said she, the angry look leaving her face, “into whose hands have you fallen?”
The boy’s lips began to quiver.
“Don’t you know what tree we read of in Genesis? – No! I hope you have not got to read so easily as that.” A pause. “Who has taught you to read and write?”
“Please, my lady, I meant no harm, my lady.” He was fairly blubbering, overcome by her evident feeling of dismay and regret, the soft repression of which was more frightening to him than any strong or violent words would have been.
“Who taught you, I ask?”
“It were Mr Horner’s clerk who learned me, my lady.”
“And did Mr Horner know of it?”
“Yes, my lady. And I am sure I thought for to please him.”
“Well! perhaps you were not to blame for that. But I wonder at Mr Horner. However, my boy, as you have got possession of edge tools, you must have some rules how to use them. Did you never hear that you were not to open letters?”
“Please, my lady, it were open. Mr Horner forgot for to seal it, in his hurry to be off.”
“But you must not read letters that are not intended for you. You must never try to read any letters that are not directed to you, even if they be open before you.”
“Please, my lady, I thought it were good for practice, all as one as a book.”
My lady looked bewildered as to what way she could farther explain to him the laws of honour as regarded letters.
“You would not listen, I am sure,” said she, “to anything you were not intended to hear?”
He hesitated for a moment, partly because he did not fully comprehend the question. My lady repeated it. The light of intelligence came into his eager eyes, and I could see that he was not certain if he could tell the truth.
“Please, my lady, I always hearken when I hear folk talking secrets; but I mean no harm.”
My poor lady sighed: she was not prepared to begin a long way off in morals. Honour was, to her, second nature, and she had never tried to find out on what principle its laws were based. So, telling the lad that she wished to see Mr Horner when he returned from Warwick, she dismissed him with a despondent look; he, meanwhile, right glad to be out of the awful gentleness of her presence.
“What is to be done?” said she, half to herself and half to me. I could not answer, for I was puzzled myself.
“It was a right word,” she continued, “that I used, when I called reading and writing ‘edge tools.’ If our lower orders have these edge tools given to them, we shall have the terrible scenes of the French Revolution acted over again in England. When I was a girl, one never heard of the rights of men, one only heard of the duties. Now, here was Mr Gray, only last night, talking of the right every child had to instruction. I could hardly keep my patience with him, and at length we fairly came to words; and I told him I would have no such thing as a Sunday school (or a Sabbath school, as he calls it, just like a Jew) in my village.”
“And what
