Having slipped on his nether garment, the butler unlocked the area door, as from that position he could hold safer converse, having the palisades between him and the intruder.
Never did an unhappy quaker find greater difficulty to establish his identity; for Mr. Costigan was not an impartial judge, he having already fully determined to reject all evidence the claimant might adduce. But one doubt presented itself to the worthy butler--could the person he had carried up to bed have been a phantom? Oh, no; the burden was “too, too, solid flesh,”--a fact his aching back attested.
“Of a truth, friend Costigan,” said the youth, “I am thy master’s son.”
“Arrah, _na boolish!_” returned the incredulous pantler.
“Open the wicket,” pursued the suppliant; “thy look is good-natured; and wouldst thou expose me to my father’s anger?”
“Arrah, none of ye’r soft solder with me,” responded Mr. Costigan. “Divil a toe you’ll put into the house, good nor bad. Be off wid ye; give ye’r rags a gallop, or, be this book, I’ll charge ye on the watch.”
The loud tone in which the indignant butler repudiated the real Simon Pure had reached his father’s ears, and brought the _tête-à-tête_ to a close. The window opened; and Mr. Pryme demanded, “What caused the noise beneath?”
“Nothing,” returned Mr. Costigan; “only here’s a rambler on the street, that, right or wrong, wants me to let him in, and swares he’s a son of yours into the bargain.”
“Who art thou, friend? demanded the elder quaker.”
“Thy erring son,” returned a voice, choked with shame, and almost inaudible.
“Impossible!” exclaimed a female voice; and Mrs. Pryme’s nightcap came popping through another window. “Our son Samuel is long since a-bed.”
Alas! one glance confirmed the identity of the applicant; and to Mr. Pryme the discovery was most painful--while it passed the understanding of Mr. Costigan altogether. Doubtingly, at the bidding of his master, the butler unclosed the door, while the old man descended to the hall to receive his erring child, and learn the particulars of an occurrence with which so much mystery seemed to be involved.
To the heart of a fond father, how irresistibly come the pleadings of a first offence! The word of pardon passed the old man’s lips--the young offender was folded in his parent’s arms--and it would be doubtful to determine, whether the happier of the twain was he who received, or he who had extended forgiveness.