Chapter XII

The one master who has been mentioned as having an influence over Henry Devereux for good was Stephen Fanshawe. The one time in his life when he received what could be called education was during his stay in his house.

About three years after his devoting himself to the education of boys, Stephen had met Henry while on a visit to one of his pupils, and a mutual attraction had taken place between the blind man and the madcap boy. Henry had looked with a kind of awful pity at the sightless eyes--moved by pity, had watched, and then wondered at the cheerful disposition and simple manners; and thus moved to attention, had been won. On the other hand, the heartfelt mirth and merriment of Henry’s character had caught the blind man’s fancy. There was in him a reckless yet innocent abandonment to thoughtlessness which was more like the mirth of a young animal than of a human being, and he speculated upon him with a fascinated attention.

Henry was at this time twelve years old. In his conversation with his new friend he soon betrayed the deficiencies of his education, and Stephen Fanshawe was filled with a desire to supply them. He heard enough of the character of Mr. Devereux to guess how the desire might be gratified; and while winning Henry to wish to come to him, he set before him the advantages of the offer he made.

These advantages were great. As his father had said, his work was done for love, not money; and though carefully guarding his house from the suspicion of being a charitable institution, he was able to make a reduction in his charges when he pleased, and this reduction he willingly offered to make in Henry’s case.

Having won Henry to wish, he left the affair alone, but was shortly gratified by receiving a letter from Mr. Devereux, asking him the lowest terms on which he would take his son as a pupil. Henry was a pertinacious youth, and although, in the first instance, he had met with a refusal, he continued to put forth his wish, and the advantages of his wish, until Mr. Devereux became himself convinced that he could do no better thing for his son.

Henry was placed under his care, and remained with him for nearly three years. The happy arrangement then came to an end by Henry’s own fault. During all the years of his stay he was a troublesome charge; but partly from the charm of his disposition, and partly from compassion for his neglected education, Stephen bore with him with patience and in hope. But a grave act of disobedience was at last committed, and justice acknowledged that further mercy would be a sin.

So ended the connection, and neither Henry nor his family either forgot or forgave. It was Henry’s last chance, and from that time, as has been related, he had led a life of amusement and idleness.

It was about three weeks after the conversations recorded in the last chapter that Mr. Devereux received a note from his banker, requesting to speak to him. On his appearing, the gentleman said that he had been desired to make known to him that a distant relation had placed seven hundred pounds to his account, and that he had been ordered to place three hundred pounds to the name of Mr. Henry Devereux, with whom he must open an account. He added that he had orders to say that the same sum would be paid yearly until further notice.

Mr. Devereux listened with an impassive face. He was surprised, but he had no intention of allowing his banker to discover this.

“From whom, did you say?” he asked carelessly.

“From a distant relation, who does not wish to be known.”

“There are several from whom, if I had my due, such a sum, and much more, might come. If, however, he or she is really unwilling to be named, I must submit.” He looked craftily in the banker’s face.

“She is unwilling,” said the unwary gentleman.

Mr. Devereux asked no more. He knew from whence it came, and yet did not desire to know it. He had a mean soul. He would have done Nora all the harm he could, but he was ready to receive a benefit from her.

With a cold and haughty manner, as if the intelligence had been without interest, he conversed for a while with the banker, and then returned home. As he walked he reflected. He knew that Henry had not a mean soul; he knew, also, that he had an impracticable temper, and he guessed that if he surmised from whence the money came, he would refuse to receive it. As _his_ acute mind had instantly guessed at the truth, so he feared might Henry’s. He walked and thought, and was perplexed how to act.

His anxiety that Henry should accept it was extreme. Henry was still making himself an unpleasant inmate of the family, and to all appearance would continue to do so until he obtained his wish. Yet, to accede to that wish was far from Mr. Devereux’s intention; was, indeed, unless he subjected the rest of the family, and, moreover, himself, to great inconveniences, out of his power. To have Henry provided for was indeed a boon.

He at length laid his plan, and the next morning called Henry into his room, and told him that he had just received information that a legacy of one thousand pounds a year had been left to him.

“I am sure I am very glad,” burst in Henry. “Then _now_, perhaps, you will let me go to college.”

“Exactly,” said his father. “It was for that reason that I sent for you. Three hundred pounds is to be paid to your account. You must give your signature at the bank, and draw it out as you find you want it. I think I need not impress upon you that you must be careful. Three hundred a year is a large, a very large allowance for a young man in your position, but it is easily frittered away.”

“I am sure I am very much obliged to you, my dear father!” Henry cried, with warmth and even affection. “I am afraid I have been very sullen and bad, but it was because I thought you _would_ not do it when you could. Now I see, and I am very sorry for having been so ill-tempered.”

Mr. Devereux calmly received his son’s apologies; then cleared his throat, and turned over some papers. He expected an inquiry as to the legacy, and was anxious to have the question put and answered as soon as possible.

But not such was Henry’s turn of mind. More thoughtless and careless than any child, a legacy seemed to him as natural as his daily bread. He and his father, and mother, and sister had often talked of legacies. It never so much as occurred to him to inquire whence it came. So as he went to college, that was the important thing.

When a question came it was on this subject alone. Had his name been put down as had been promised, and could he go next term; and when satisfied on these points, he again warmly thanked his father and retreated.

The question that he did not ask was asked both by Mrs. Devereux and Letitia. By Mrs. Devereux in private, and was easily satisfied. But Letitia asked it at dinner.

“Whom can the legacy be from, papa? I am sure no relation has died lately, or we must have heard of it?”

“Not must. Be sure if it was of any importance the name would be mentioned; but it is not so.”

Mr. Devereux spoke in a tone of mild parental authority uncommon to him. It was adopted because he had observed that, when he snapped, Henry invariably took up the cudgels for the person rebuked.

At this moment Henry was occupied in sliding some morsels of tart into a little boy’s mouth, who crouched at his side. This was a forbidden indulgence, and therefore the more favoured by Henry. Mr. Devereux perceived his occupation, but passed it over, in the hope that it would distract his attention from the conversation.

“I can’t think why you say of no importance, papa,” said Letitia. “There never is a mystery without a cause. And if there is a cause for this secret, it must be interesting to know it. Don’t you think so, Henry?”

“Don’t bother,” he replied shortly, unwilling to be brought into notice. For having crammed too large a bit of pastry into little Simon’s mouth, he was in momentary expectation of an explosion.

Letitia pursed up her sharp lips, and muttered something about idiots. But as no one assisted her, the conversation fell to the ground.