Amos Huntingdon | Page 9

had
introduced the two sons into the family. Not that Walter really hated his
brother; he would have been shocked to admit to himself the faintest
shadow of such a feeling, for he was naturally generous and of warm
affections; but he clearly looked upon his elder brother as decidedly in
his way and in the wrong place, and often made a butt of him,
considering it quite fair to play off his sarcasms and jokes on one who
had stolen a march upon him by coming into the world before him as
heir of the family estate. And now that their mother--who had made no
secret of her preference of Walter to her elder son--was removed from
them, the cords of Mr Huntingdon's affections were wound tighter than
ever round his younger son, in whom he could scarce see a fault,
however glaringly visible it might be to others; while poor Amos's
shortcomings received the severest censure, and his weaknesses were
visited on him as sins. No wonder, then, that, spite of the difference in
their ages and order of birth, Walter Huntingdon looked upon himself
as a colossal figure in the household, and on his poor brother as a
cipher.
On the other hand, Amos, if he had been of a similar temperament to

his brother, would have been inevitably more or less cowed and driven
into himself by the circumstances which surrounded him, and the
treatment which he undeservedly received at the hands of his parents
and younger brother. Being, however, naturally of a shy and nervous
disposition, he would have been completely crushed under the burden
of heartless neglect, and his heart frozen up by the withholding of a
father's and mother's love, had it not been for the gentle and deep
affection of his aunt, Miss Huntingdon, who was privileged to lead that
poor, desolate, craving heart to Him whose special office it is to pour a
heavenly balm into the wounded spirit. In herself, too, he found a
source of comfort from her pitying love, which in a measure took the
place of that which his nearest ought to have given him, but did not.
And so, as boy and young man, Amos Huntingdon learned, under the
severe discipline of his earthly home, lessons which were moulding his
character to a nobility which few suspected, who, gazing on that timid,
shrinking youth, went on their way with a glance or shrug of pity. But
so it was.
Amos had formed a mighty purpose; it was to be the one object of his
earthly life, to which everything was to bend till he had accomplished it.
But who would have thought of such an iron resolution of will in a
breast like that poor boy's? For to him an ordinary conversation was a
trial, and to speak in company an effort, though it was but to answer a
simple question. If a stranger asked his opinion, a nervous blush
covered his face as he forced out a reply. The solitude which others
found irksome had special charms for him. With one person only in his
own home did he feel really at ease,--that person was his aunt, for he
believed that she in a measure really understood and sympathised with
him. And yet that shy, nervous, retiring young man, down-trodden and
repulsed as he was, was possessed by one grand and all-absorbing
purpose: it was this, to bring back his sister to her father's home
forgiven, and his mother to that same home with the cloud removed
from her mind and spirit.
That both these objects might be accomplished he was firmly persuaded.
At the same time, he was fully aware that to every one else who knew
his father and the circumstances which had led to the sad estrangement

of the daughter and removal of the mother, such a restoration as he
contemplated bringing about would appear absolutely hopeless. Yet he
himself had no doubts on the subject. The conviction that his purpose
might and would be accomplished was stamped into his soul as by an
indelible brand. He was perfectly sure that every hindrance could be
removed, though how he could not tell. But there stood up this
conviction ever facing him, ever beckoning him on, as though a
messenger from an unseen world. Not that he was ignorant of nor
underrated the magnitude of the obstacles in his way. He knew and felt
most oppressively that everything almost was against him. The very
thought of speaking to his father on the subject made a chill shudder
creep over him. To move a single step in the direction of the attainment
of his object required an effort from which his retiring nature shrank as
if stung by a spark of white heat. The opposition, direct