posing his brother to ruinous
temptation with his eyes open. The lad was destroyed body and soul, as
much as if he had been set down in Satan's own clutches; and if they
did not mind what they were about, he would drag Aubrey after him! As
sure as his name was Dick May, he would sooner have cut his hand off
than have sent the boys to Coombe together, could he have guessed that
this was to be the result.
Such discourses did not tend to make Ethel comfortable. If she had
been silly enough to indulge in a dream of her influence availing to
strengthen Leonard against temptation, she must still have refrained
from exerting it through her wonted medium, since it was her father's
express desire that Aubrey, for his own sake, should be detached from
his friend as much as possible.
Aubrey was the greatest present difficulty. Long before their illness
the boys had been the resource of each other's leisure, and Coombe had
made their intimacy a friendship of the warmest nature. Aubrey was at
an age peculiarly dependent on equal companionship, and in the absence
of his brothers, the loss of his daily intercourse with Leonard took
away all the zest of life. Even the volunteer practice lost its charm
without the rival with whom he chiefly contended, yet whose success
against others was hotter to him than his own; his other occupations
all wanted partnership, and for the first time in his life he showed
weariness and contempt of his sisters' society and pursuits. He rushed
off on Sunday evenings for a walk with Leonard; and though Dr. May did
not interfere, the daughters saw that the abstinence was an effort of
prudence, and were proportionately disturbed when one day at dinner, in
his father's absence, Aubrey, who had been overlooking his
fishing-flies with some reviving interest, refused all his sisters'
proposals for the afternoon, and when they represented that it was not
a good fishing-day, owned that it was not, but that he was going over
to consult Leonard Ward about some gray hackles.
'But you mustn't, Aubrey,' cried Gertrude, aghast.
Aubrey made her a low mocking bow.
'I am sure papa would be very much vexed,' added she, conclusively.
'I believe it was luckless Hal that the mill-wheel tore in your nursery
rhymes, eh, Daisy,' said Aubrey.
'Nursery rhymes, indeed!' returned the offended young lady; 'you know
it is a very wicked place, and papa would be very angry at your going
there.' She looked at Ethel, e
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