Amos Huntingdon

  CHAPTER TWO.

  UNDER A CLOUD.

  Mr Huntingdon was a country gentleman of good fortune and popularmanners, warm in his temper, hasty in his speech, upright in histransactions, and liberal in his dealings. No man could make a betterspeech, when he had those to address who substantially agreed with him;while in ordinary conversation he generally succeeded in silencing anopponent, though, perhaps, more by the vehemence of his utterances thanby the cogency of his reasonings. He had a considerable knowledge offield-sports and farming, rather less of literature, and less still ofcharacter. Naturally, he had a high opinion of his own judgment, inwhich opinion his dependants agreed with him before his face, butdiffered from it behind his back. However, every one allowed that hewas a worthy man, a good landlord, a kind master, and a faithful friend.A cloud, however, rested on his home.

  He had married early, and had made, in the estimation of his friends andof the county generally, an excellent choice of a wife in the person ofthe eldest daughter of a neighbouring squire. The marriage wasapparently a very happy one; for the bride brought her husband a fairface, a loving heart, and a good fortune, and entertained his friendswith due courtesy and cordiality. Moreover, she neither thwarted histastes nor squandered his money; while he, on his part, pursued hishunting, shooting, and fishing, and his occasional magisterial duties,with due consideration for his wife's domestic and social engagements,so that their married life ran its course with as little friction orcreaking as could reasonably be expected. Then there came, in due time,the children: first, a little girl, the object of her mother'spassionate love, and as dear to her father as the mistake of her nothaving been a boy would allow her to be; then, after an interval ofthree years, came a son.

  Now it so happened that at the time of this son's birth there wasresiding as a guest at the Manor-house a middle-aged gentleman reputedto be very rich. His name was Amos Sutterby. Mr Huntingdon had methim abroad in the second year after his marriage when taking a tour inSwitzerland with his wife. Mr Sutterby was an old bachelor, ratherbluff in his manners, but evidently in easy circumstances. TheHuntingdons and himself had met on the Rigi, and the squire had taken tohim at once--in a great measure, it may be, because Mr Amos was a goodlistener, and was very ready to ask Mr Huntingdon's opinion and advice.So the squire gave his new acquaintance a general invitation toFlixworth Manor, which the other cordially accepted: and in a littlewhile this acquaintanceship ripened into a steady friendship, though byno means entirely to the satisfaction of Mrs Huntingdon. The result,however, was that Mr Sutterby spent several weeks of every year, at theclose of the summer and beginning of the autumn, at the Manor, and wasthe constant companion of the squire in his field-sports. MrHuntingdon had taken care to satisfy himself that his new friend, thoughsomewhat of an oddity, was a man of substance. True, he was only livingin bachelor style, and possessed no landed property; but then he wasable at all times to command ready money, and was reputed by persons whohad long known him to be the holder of a large amount in the funds, animpression which seemed to be justified by some elegant and costlypresents of which Mr Sutterby begged his friend's acceptance, as atoken of his esteem and a mark of his appreciation of that kindhospitality which, as he said, an eccentric old bachelor living inlodgings in London was unable to return in kind.

  Now it was, as has been said, during a visit of Mr Sutterby toFlixworth Manor that a son and heir was given to the Huntingdons. Ofcourse there were great rejoicings, and no one seemed more glad than MrSutterby; and when he was asked if he would stand godfather to thechild, he declared that nothing could please him more. So thechristening day was fixed, and now the question of a name for the childwas discussed, as father, mother, and their guest were sitting round thefire after dinner on the first day of Mrs Huntingdon's appearingdownstairs.

  "Of course he must be `Walter,' after yourself," said the lady.

  "Unless you would like to call him `Amos,' after his godfather," saidthe squire, laughing.

  "Capital!" exclaimed Mr Sutterby, with a roar of merriment. "In thatcase, of course, I shall feel it nothing less than my duty to make himmy heir."

  Now these words of their guest, though spoken just on the spur of themoment, and probably only in jest, made an impression on the mind of MrHuntingdon which he could not get rid of. Why should not his friendhave really meant what he said? He was rich, and an old bachelor, andhad no near relations, so far as the squire knew; and though MrHuntingdon's estate and fortune were large, yet his open-house way ofliving left him little to spare at the year's end, so that MrSutterby's money would be very acceptable, should he see fit to leave itto his godson. He therefore represented this view of the matter to hiswife in private; but she would not hear of such a name as Amos beinggiven to her son.

  "Better lose a thousand fortunes, and quarrel with every friend they hador might have, rather than bring such an odious combination as `AmosHuntingdon' into the family genealogy." The squire's temper, however,was roused by this opposition, and he wound up the only sharpaltercation which had occurred between himself and his wife since theirmarriage by a vehement asseveration that "Amos" and nothing but "Amos"should be the Christian name of his first-born son.

  Sorely against her will, his wife was obliged to yield; for though MrHuntingdon had his own secret regrets that he had gone so far, yet hewas one of those who, wanting that true greatness of character whichleads its possessor to change a hastily adopted decision for oneresulting from a maturer judgment, abide by what they have said simplybecause they have said it, and thus mistake obstinacy for a right-mindedfirmness. "Amos," therefore, was the name given, considerably to thesatisfaction of Mr Sutterby, who made his godson handsome presents fromtime to time, and often spoke of him playfully as "my godson and heir."His mother, however, never forgave his name, and it was clear to allthat the poor child himself had but a cold place in that mother's heart.

  What wonder, then, that the boy grew up shy and reserved, dreading thesound of his own name, and shrinking within himself; for seldom was hegladdened by a father's or mother's smile. Added to this, he was notnaturally of a lively temperament, and so never exhibited thoseboisterous spirits which might have won for him in a measure hisfather's heart. So he was brought up with all due care, as was suitablefor an eldest son, and was sent to a public school as soon as he couldbe safely trusted from home. Indeed, all his wants were supplied butone, and that one was what his heart craved with a painful intensity--love. They gave him no real love, at least none that came like sunshineto his spirit. Such love as they did measure out to him was rather likethe feeble sunlight on a cloudy winter day, that seems to chill as itscarcely struggles through the mists that almost quench it.

  Such was Amos Huntingdon in his early childhood. But the cloud grewdarker over him when he had reached the age of ten. It was then thatthe news came one morning that Mr Sutterby had died, leaving no will,for indeed he had nothing to bequeath except a few small personaleffects, which went to some distant cousin. The fact was that, havingan eye to his own personal comfort and well-doing, he had sunk a nicelittle fortune, which he had inherited from a maiden aunt, in a handsomeannuity. Thus he was able to travel and spend his money like a man ofwealth, and was very glad of the opportunity of making Mr Huntingdon'sacquaintance, which gave him access to a house where he could spend aportion of every year amidst bountiful hospitality and in good society.He had no deliberate intention of deceiving Mr Huntingdon about hisson, but having once given him the impression that he would leave thatson a fortune, he did not trouble himself to undeceive his friend on thesubject; but being a man in whom self-interest spoke with a louder voicethan conscience, he was not sorry to find the conviction strongly rootedin the squire's mind that Amos was to be his godfather's heir, as thisconviction evidently added to the warmth of the welcome with which hewas received at the Manor-house whenever he chose to take up hisquarters there. And as he had always carefully avoided making anydefinite statement of his intentions, and had only thr
own out hints fromtime to time, which might be either serious or playful, he was contentthat a state of things should continue which brought considerablesatisfaction to himself, and could not deprive the squire or his son ofanything to which either had a legal claim. The disgust, however, ofMr Huntingdon, when he found out how he had, as he considered it, beentaken advantage of and imposed upon, was intense in the extreme. No onedared refer to Mr Sutterby in his presence, while the very name of thepoor boy Amos was scarcely ever spoken by him except in a tone ofbitterness; and even his mother looked forward to his holidays with moreof apprehension than rejoicing.

  There was one, however, who felt for that desolate-hearted child, andloved him with a mother's tenderness. This was his aunt, MissHuntingdon, his father's unmarried and only sister. Half his holidayswould be spent at her house; and oh, what happy days they were for him!Happy, too, at last in the brightest and fullest sense; for that lovingfriend was privileged to lead her nephew gently to Him who says to theshy schoolboy, as much as to the mature man, in his sorrows, "Come untome, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."

  In the meanwhile, when Amos was five years old, another son was born atFlixworth Manor. The baby was christened Walter, and nearly all thelove that was the share of the elder brother was poured by both fatherand mother on the younger son. Years rolled on, and when our storyopens Amos was twenty-two years of age. He had passed creditablythrough the university course at Oxford, but had not settled down to anyprofession. Walter was seventeen; his father's delight and constantcompanion in his holidays; full of life, energy, and fun, with anunlimited good opinion of himself, and a very limited good opinion ofhis brother; while all around who knew him only a little were loud inhis praises, which were not, however, echoed by those who knew him morethoroughly. At present he was remaining at home, after completing hisschool education, neither his father nor himself being able to make uptheir minds as to the sphere in which his abilities would shine thebest.

  And where was his sister, the eldest of the three, who was now twenty-five years of age? Alas! she had grievously disappointed the hopes ofboth father and mother, having clandestinely married, when not yetarrived at womanhood, a man altogether beneath her in position. Fromthe day of that marriage Mr Huntingdon's heart and house were closedagainst her. Not so the heart of her mother; but that mother pleadedwith her husband in vain for a reconciliation, for permission even tohave a single meeting with her erring child. And so the poor mother'smind came under partial eclipse, and herself had been some years awayfrom home under private superintendence, when the accident aboverecorded occurred to her husband and his sister.