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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2324-0.txt b/2324-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac56302 --- /dev/null +++ b/2324-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4153 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of A House to Let, by Charles Dickens, et al + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: A House to Let + +Author: Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Elizabeth Gaskell, Adelaide +Ann Procter + +Release Date: September 1, 2000 [eBook #2324] +[Most recently updated: April 14, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall edition by +David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Proofed by David, Edgar +Howard, Dawn Smith, Terry Jeffress and Jane Foster. Updated by Richard +Tonsing + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HOUSE TO LET *** + + + + +A HOUSE TO LET (FULL TEXT) +by Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Elizabeth Gaskell, Adelaide Ann +Procter + + +Contents: + +Over the Way +The Manchester Marriage +Going into Society +Three Evenings in the House +Trottle’s Report +Let at Last + + + + +OVER THE WAY + + +I had been living at Tunbridge Wells and nowhere else, going on for ten +years, when my medical man—very clever in his profession, and the +prettiest player I ever saw in my life of a hand at Long Whist, which was +a noble and a princely game before Short was heard of—said to me, one +day, as he sat feeling my pulse on the actual sofa which my poor dear +sister Jane worked before her spine came on, and laid her on a board for +fifteen months at a stretch—the most upright woman that ever lived—said +to me, “What we want, ma’am, is a fillip.” + +“Good gracious, goodness gracious, Doctor Towers!” says I, quite startled +at the man, for he was so christened himself: “don’t talk as if you were +alluding to people’s names; but say what you mean.” + +“I mean, my dear ma’am, that we want a little change of air and scene.” + +“Bless the man!” said I; “does he mean we or me!” + +“I mean you, ma’am.” + +“Then Lard forgive you, Doctor Towers,” I said; “why don’t you get into a +habit of expressing yourself in a straightforward manner, like a loyal +subject of our gracious Queen Victoria, and a member of the Church of +England?” + +Towers laughed, as he generally does when he has fidgetted me into any of +my impatient ways—one of my states, as I call them—and then he began,— + +“Tone, ma’am, Tone, is all you require!” He appealed to Trottle, who +just then came in with the coal-scuttle, looking, in his nice black suit, +like an amiable man putting on coals from motives of benevolence. + +Trottle (whom I always call my right hand) has been in my service +two-and-thirty years. He entered my service, far away from England. +He is the best of creatures, and the most respectable of men; but, +opinionated. + +“What you want, ma’am,” says Trottle, making up the fire in his quiet and +skilful way, “is Tone.” + +“Lard forgive you both!” says I, bursting out a-laughing; “I see you are +in a conspiracy against me, so I suppose you must do what you like with +me, and take me to London for a change.” + +For some weeks Towers had hinted at London, and consequently I was +prepared for him. When we had got to this point, we got on so +expeditiously, that Trottle was packed off to London next day but one, to +find some sort of place for me to lay my troublesome old head in. + +Trottle came back to me at the Wells after two days’ absence, with +accounts of a charming place that could be taken for six months certain, +with liberty to renew on the same terms for another six, and which really +did afford every accommodation that I wanted. + +“Could you really find no fault at all in the rooms, Trottle?” I asked +him. + +“Not a single one, ma’am. They are exactly suitable to you. There is +not a fault in them. There is but one fault outside of them.” + +“And what’s that?” + +“They are opposite a House to Let.” + +“O!” I said, considering of it. “But is that such a very great +objection?” + +“I think it my duty to mention it, ma’am. It is a dull object to look +at. Otherwise, I was so greatly pleased with the lodging that I should +have closed with the terms at once, as I had your authority to do.” + +Trottle thinking so highly of the place, in my interest, I wished not to +disappoint him. Consequently I said: + +“The empty House may let, perhaps.” + +“O, dear no, ma’am,” said Trottle, shaking his head with decision; “it +won’t let. It never does let, ma’am.” + +“Mercy me! Why not?” + +“Nobody knows, ma’am. All I have to mention is, ma’am, that the House +won’t let!” + +“How long has this unfortunate House been to let, in the name of +Fortune?” said I. + +“Ever so long,” said Trottle. “Years.” + +“Is it in ruins?” + +“It’s a good deal out of repair, ma’am, but it’s not in ruins.” + +The long and the short of this business was, that next day I had a pair +of post-horses put to my chariot—for, I never travel by railway: not +that I have anything to say against railways, except that they came in +when I was too old to take to them; and that they made ducks and drakes +of a few turnpike-bonds I had—and so I went up myself, with Trottle in +the rumble, to look at the inside of this same lodging, and at the +outside of this same House. + +As I say, I went and saw for myself. The lodging was perfect. That, I +was sure it would be; because Trottle is the best judge of comfort I +know. The empty house was an eyesore; and that I was sure it would be +too, for the same reason. However, setting the one thing against the +other, the good against the bad, the lodging very soon got the victory +over the House. My lawyer, Mr. Squares, of Crown Office Row; Temple, +drew up an agreement; which his young man jabbered over so dreadfully +when he read it to me, that I didn’t understand one word of it except my +own name; and hardly that, and I signed it, and the other party signed +it, and, in three weeks’ time, I moved my old bones, bag and baggage, up +to London. + +For the first month or so, I arranged to leave Trottle at the Wells. I +made this arrangement, not only because there was a good deal to take +care of in the way of my school-children and pensioners, and also of a +new stove in the hall to air the house in my absence, which appeared to +me calculated to blow up and burst; but, likewise because I suspect +Trottle (though the steadiest of men, and a widower between sixty and +seventy) to be what I call rather a Philanderer. I mean, that when any +friend comes down to see me and brings a maid, Trottle is always +remarkably ready to show that maid the Wells of an evening; and that I +have more than once noticed the shadow of his arm, outside the room door +nearly opposite my chair, encircling that maid’s waist on the landing, +like a table-cloth brush. + +Therefore, I thought it just as well, before any London Philandering took +place, that I should have a little time to look round me, and to see what +girls were in and about the place. So, nobody stayed with me in my new +lodging at first after Trottle had established me there safe and sound, +but Peggy Flobbins, my maid; a most affectionate and attached woman, who +never was an object of Philandering since I have known her, and is not +likely to begin to become so after nine-and-twenty years next March. + +It was the fifth of November when I first breakfasted in my new rooms. +The Guys were going about in the brown fog, like magnified monsters of +insects in table-beer, and there was a Guy resting on the door-steps of +the House to Let. I put on my glasses, partly to see how the boys were +pleased with what I sent them out by Peggy, and partly to make sure that +she didn’t approach too near the ridiculous object, which of course was +full of sky-rockets, and might go off into bangs at any moment. In this +way it happened that the first time I ever looked at the House to Let, +after I became its opposite neighbour, I had my glasses on. And this +might not have happened once in fifty times, for my sight is uncommonly +good for my time of life; and I wear glasses as little as I can, for fear +of spoiling it. + +I knew already that it was a ten-roomed house, very dirty, and much +dilapidated; that the area-rails were rusty and peeling away, and that +two or three of them were wanting, or half-wanting; that there were +broken panes of glass in the windows, and blotches of mud on other panes, +which the boys had thrown at them; that there was quite a collection of +stones in the area, also proceeding from those Young Mischiefs; that +there were games chalked on the pavement before the house, and likenesses +of ghosts chalked on the street-door; that the windows were all darkened +by rotting old blinds, or shutters, or both; that the bills “To Let,” had +curled up, as if the damp air of the place had given them cramps; or had +dropped down into corners, as if they were no more. I had seen all this +on my first visit, and I had remarked to Trottle, that the lower part of +the black board about terms was split away; that the rest had become +illegible, and that the very stone of the door-steps was broken across. +Notwithstanding, I sat at my breakfast table on that Please to Remember +the fifth of November morning, staring at the House through my glasses, +as if I had never looked at it before. + +All at once—in the first-floor window on my right—down in a low corner, +at a hole in a blind or a shutter—I found that I was looking at a secret +Eye. The reflection of my fire may have touched it and made it shine; +but, I saw it shine and vanish. + +The eye might have seen me, or it might not have seen me, sitting there +in the glow of my fire—you can take which probability you prefer, +without offence—but something struck through my frame, as if the sparkle +of this eye had been electric, and had flashed straight at me. It had +such an effect upon me, that I could not remain by myself, and I rang for +Flobbins, and invented some little jobs for her, to keep her in the room. +After my breakfast was cleared away, I sat in the same place with my +glasses on, moving my head, now so, and now so, trying whether, with the +shining of my fire and the flaws in the window-glass, I could reproduce +any sparkle seeming to be up there, that was like the sparkle of an eye. +But no; I could make nothing like it. I could make ripples and crooked +lines in the front of the House to Let, and I could even twist one window +up and loop it into another; but, I could make no eye, nor anything like +an eye. So I convinced myself that I really had seen an eye. + +Well, to be sure I could not get rid of the impression of this eye, and +it troubled me and troubled me, until it was almost a torment. I don’t +think I was previously inclined to concern my head much about the +opposite House; but, after this eye, my head was full of the house; and I +thought of little else than the house, and I watched the house, and I +talked about the house, and I dreamed of the house. In all this, I fully +believe now, there was a good Providence. But, you will judge for +yourself about that, bye-and-bye. + +My landlord was a butler, who had married a cook, and set up +housekeeping. They had not kept house longer than a couple of years, and +they knew no more about the House to Let than I did. Neither could I +find out anything concerning it among the trades-people or otherwise; +further than what Trottle had told me at first. It had been empty, some +said six years, some said eight, some said ten. It never did let, they +all agreed, and it never would let. + +I soon felt convinced that I should work myself into one of my states +about the House; and I soon did. I lived for a whole month in a flurry, +that was always getting worse. Towers’s prescriptions, which I had +brought to London with me, were of no more use than nothing. In the cold +winter sunlight, in the thick winter fog, in the black winter rain, in +the white winter snow, the House was equally on my mind. I have heard, +as everybody else has, of a spirit’s haunting a house; but I have had my +own personal experience of a house’s haunting a spirit; for that House +haunted mine. + +In all that month’s time, I never saw anyone go into the House nor come +out of the House. I supposed that such a thing must take place +sometimes, in the dead of the night, or the glimmer of the morning; but, +I never saw it done. I got no relief from having my curtains drawn when +it came on dark, and shutting out the House. The Eye then began to shine +in my fire. + +I am a single old woman. I should say at once, without being at all +afraid of the name, I am an old maid; only that I am older than the +phrase would express. The time was when I had my love-trouble, but, it +is long and long ago. He was killed at sea (Dear Heaven rest his blessed +head!) when I was twenty-five. I have all my life, since ever I can +remember, been deeply fond of children. I have always felt such a love +for them, that I have had my sorrowful and sinful times when I have +fancied something must have gone wrong in my life—something must have +been turned aside from its original intention I mean—or I should have +been the proud and happy mother of many children, and a fond old +grandmother this day. I have soon known better in the cheerfulness and +contentment that God has blessed me with and given me abundant reason +for; and yet I have had to dry my eyes even then, when I have thought of +my dear, brave, hopeful, handsome, bright-eyed Charley, and the trust +meant to cheer me with. Charley was my youngest brother, and he went to +India. He married there, and sent his gentle little wife home to me to +be confined, and she was to go back to him, and the baby was to be left +with me, and I was to bring it up. It never belonged to this life. It +took its silent place among the other incidents in my story that might +have been, but never were. I had hardly time to whisper to her “Dead my +own!” or she to answer, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust! O lay it on my +breast and comfort Charley!” when she had gone to seek her baby at Our +Saviour’s feet. I went to Charley, and I told him there was nothing left +but me, poor me; and I lived with Charley, out there, several years. He +was a man of fifty, when he fell asleep in my arms. His face had changed +to be almost old and a little stern; but, it softened, and softened when +I laid it down that I might cry and pray beside it; and, when I looked at +it for the last time, it was my dear, untroubled, handsome, youthful +Charley of long ago. + +—I was going on to tell that the loneliness of the House to Let brought +back all these recollections, and that they had quite pierced my heart +one evening, when Flobbins, opening the door, and looking very much as if +she wanted to laugh but thought better of it, said: + +“Mr. Jabez Jarber, ma’am!” + +Upon which Mr. Jarber ambled in, in his usual absurd way, saying: + +“Sophonisba!” + +Which I am obliged to confess is my name. A pretty one and proper one +enough when it was given to me: but, a good many years out of date now, +and always sounding particularly high-flown and comical from his lips. So +I said, sharply: + +“Though it is Sophonisba, Jarber, you are not obliged to mention it, that +_I_ see.” + +In reply to this observation, the ridiculous man put the tips of my five +right-hand fingers to his lips, and said again, with an aggravating +accent on the third syllable: + +“Sophon_is_ba!” + +I don’t burn lamps, because I can’t abide the smell of oil, and wax +candles belonged to my day. I hope the convenient situation of one of my +tall old candlesticks on the table at my elbow will be my excuse for +saying, that if he did that again, I would chop his toes with it. (I am +sorry to add that when I told him so, I knew his toes to be tender.) But, +really, at my time of life and at Jarber’s, it is too much of a good +thing. There is an orchestra still standing in the open air at the +Wells, before which, in the presence of a throng of fine company, I have +walked a minuet with Jarber. But, there is a house still standing, in +which I have worn a pinafore, and had a tooth drawn by fastening a thread +to the tooth and the door-handle, and toddling away from the door. And +how should I look now, at my years, in a pinafore, or having a door for +my dentist? + +Besides, Jarber always was more or less an absurd man. He was sweetly +dressed, and beautifully perfumed, and many girls of my day would have +given their ears for him; though I am bound to add that he never cared a +fig for them, or their advances either, and that he was very constant to +me. For, he not only proposed to me before my love-happiness ended in +sorrow, but afterwards too: not once, nor yet twice: nor will we say how +many times. However many they were, or however few they were, the last +time he paid me that compliment was immediately after he had presented me +with a digestive dinner-pill stuck on the point of a pin. And I said on +that occasion, laughing heartily, “Now, Jarber, if you don’t know that +two people whose united ages would make about a hundred and fifty, have +got to be old, I do; and I beg to swallow this nonsense in the form of +this pill” (which I took on the spot), “and I request to, hear no more of +it.” + +After that, he conducted himself pretty well. He was always a little +squeezed man, was Jarber, in little sprigged waistcoats; and he had +always little legs and a little smile, and a little voice, and little +round-about ways. As long as I can remember him he was always going +little errands for people, and carrying little gossip. At this present +time when he called me “Sophonisba!” he had a little old-fashioned +lodging in that new neighbourhood of mine. I had not seen him for two or +three years, but I had heard that he still went out with a little +perspective-glass and stood on door-steps in Saint James’s Street, to see +the nobility go to Court; and went in his little cloak and goloshes +outside Willis’s rooms to see them go to Almack’s; and caught the +frightfullest colds, and got himself trodden upon by coachmen and +linkmen, until he went home to his landlady a mass of bruises, and had to +be nursed for a month. + +Jarber took off his little fur-collared cloak, and sat down opposite me, +with his little cane and hat in his hand. + +“Let us have no more Sophonisbaing, if _you_ please, Jarber,” I said. +“Call me Sarah. How do you do? I hope you are pretty well.” + +“Thank you. And you?” said Jarber. + +“I am as well as an old woman can expect to be.” + +Jarber was beginning: + +“Say, not old, Sophon—” but I looked at the candlestick, and he left +off; pretending not to have said anything. + +“I am infirm, of course,” I said, “and so are you. Let us both be +thankful it’s no worse.” + +“Is it possible that you look worried?” said Jarber. + +“It is very possible. I have no doubt it is the fact.” + +“And what has worried my Soph-, soft-hearted friend,” said Jarber. + +“Something not easy, I suppose, to comprehend. I am worried to death by +a House to Let, over the way.” + +Jarber went with his little tip-toe step to the window-curtains, peeped +out, and looked round at me. + +“Yes,” said I, in answer: “that house.” + +After peeping out again, Jarber came back to his chair with a tender air, +and asked: “How does it worry you, S-arah?” + +“It is a mystery to me,” said I. “Of course every house _is_ a mystery, +more or less; but, something that I don’t care to mention” (for truly the +Eye was so slight a thing to mention that I was more than half ashamed of +it), “has made that House so mysterious to me, and has so fixed it in my +mind, that I have had no peace for a month. I foresee that I shall have +no peace, either, until Trottle comes to me, next Monday.” + +I might have mentioned before, that there is a lone-standing jealousy +between Trottle and Jarber; and that there is never any love lost between +those two. + +“_Trottle_,” petulantly repeated Jarber, with a little flourish of his +cane; “how is _Trottle_ to restore the lost peace of Sarah?” + +“He will exert himself to find out something about the House. I have +fallen into that state about it, that I really must discover by some +means or other, good or bad, fair or foul, how and why it is that that +House remains To Let.” + +“And why Trottle? Why not,” putting his little hat to his heart; “why +not, Jarber?” + +“To tell you the truth, I have never thought of Jarber in the matter. And +now I do think of Jarber, through your having the kindness to suggest +him—for which I am really and truly obliged to you—I don’t think he +could do it.” + +“Sarah!” + +“I think it would be too much for you, Jarber.” + +“Sarah!” + +“There would be coming and going, and fetching and carrying, Jarber, and +you might catch cold.” + +“Sarah! What can be done by Trottle, can be done by me. I am on terms +of acquaintance with every person of responsibility in this parish. I am +intimate at the Circulating Library. I converse daily with the Assessed +Taxes. I lodge with the Water Rate. I know the Medical Man. I lounge +habitually at the House Agent’s. I dine with the Churchwardens. I move +to the Guardians. Trottle! A person in the sphere of a domestic, and +totally unknown to society!” + +“Don’t be warm, Jarber. In mentioning Trottle, I have naturally relied +on my Right-Hand, who would take any trouble to gratify even a whim of +his old mistress’s. But, if you can find out anything to help to unravel +the mystery of this House to Let, I shall be fully as much obliged to you +as if there was never a Trottle in the land.” + +Jarber rose and put on his little cloak. A couple of fierce brass lions +held it tight round his little throat; but a couple of the mildest Hares +might have done that, I am sure. “Sarah,” he said, “I go. Expect me on +Monday evening, the Sixth, when perhaps you will give me a cup of +tea;—may I ask for no Green? Adieu!” + +This was on a Thursday, the second of December. When I reflected that +Trottle would come back on Monday, too, I had my misgivings as to the +difficulty of keeping the two powers from open warfare, and indeed I was +more uneasy than I quite like to confess. However, the empty House +swallowed up that thought next morning, as it swallowed up most other +thoughts now, and the House quite preyed upon me all that day, and all +the Saturday. + +It was a very wet Sunday: raining and blowing from morning to night. When +the bells rang for afternoon church, they seemed to ring in the commotion +of the puddles as well as in the wind, and they sounded very loud and +dismal indeed, and the street looked very dismal indeed, and the House +looked dismallest of all. + +I was reading my prayers near the light, and my fire was growing in the +darkening window-glass, when, looking up, as I prayed for the fatherless +children and widows and all who were desolate and oppressed,—I saw the +Eye again. It passed in a moment, as it had done before; but, this time, +I was inwardly more convinced that I had seen it. + +Well to be sure, I _had_ a night that night! Whenever I closed my own +eyes, it was to see eyes. Next morning, at an unreasonably, and I should +have said (but for that railroad) an impossibly early hour, comes +Trottle. As soon as he had told me all about the Wells, I told him all +about the House. He listened with as great interest and attention as I +could possibly wish, until I came to Jabez Jarber, when he cooled in an +instant, and became opinionated. + +“Now, Trottle,” I said, pretending not to notice, “when Mr. Jarber comes +back this evening, we must all lay our heads together.” + +“I should hardly think that would be wanted, ma’am; Mr. Jarber’s head is +surely equal to anything.” + +Being determined not to notice, I said again, that we must all lay our +heads together. + +“Whatever you order, ma’am, shall be obeyed. Still, it cannot be +doubted, I should think, that Mr. Jarber’s head is equal, if not +superior, to any pressure that can be brought to bear upon it.” + +This was provoking; and his way, when he came in and out all through the +day, of pretending not to see the House to Let, was more provoking still. +However, being quite resolved not to notice, I gave no sign whatever that +I did notice. But, when evening came, and he showed in Jarber, and, when +Jarber wouldn’t be helped off with his cloak, and poked his cane into +cane chair-backs and china ornaments and his own eye, in trying to +unclasp his brazen lions of himself (which he couldn’t do, after all), I +could have shaken them both. + +As it was, I only shook the tea-pot, and made the tea. Jarber had +brought from under his cloak, a roll of paper, with which he had +triumphantly pointed over the way, like the Ghost of Hamlet’s Father +appearing to the late Mr. Kemble, and which he had laid on the table. + +“A discovery?” said I, pointing to it, when he was seated, and had got +his tea-cup.—“Don’t go, Trottle.” + +“The first of a series of discoveries,” answered Jarber. “Account of a +former tenant, compiled from the Water Rate, and Medical Man.” + +“Don’t go, Trottle,” I repeated. For, I saw him making imperceptibly to +the door. + +“Begging your pardon, ma’am, I might be in Mr. Jarber’s way?” + +Jarber looked that he decidedly thought he might be. I relieved myself +with a good angry croak, and said—always determined not to notice: + +“Have the goodness to sit down, if you please, Trottle. I wish you to +hear this.” + +Trottle bowed in the stiffest manner, and took the remotest chair he +could find. Even that, he moved close to the draught from the keyhole of +the door. + +“Firstly,” Jarber began, after sipping his tea, “would my Sophon—” + +“Begin again, Jarber,” said I. + +“Would you be much surprised, if this House to Let should turn out to be +the property of a relation of your own?” + +“I should indeed be very much surprised.” + +“Then it belongs to your first cousin (I learn, by the way, that he is +ill at this time) George Forley.” + +“Then that is a bad beginning. I cannot deny that George Forley stands +in the relation of first cousin to me; but I hold no communication with +him. George Forley has been a hard, bitter, stony father to a child now +dead. George Forley was most implacable and unrelenting to one of his +two daughters who made a poor marriage. George Forley brought all the +weight of his band to bear as heavily against that crushed thing, as he +brought it to bear lightly, favouringly, and advantageously upon her +sister, who made a rich marriage. I hope that, with the measure George +Forley meted, it may not be measured out to him again. I will give +George Forley no worse wish.” + +I was strong upon the subject, and I could not keep the tears out of my +eyes; for, that young girl’s was a cruel story, and I had dropped many a +tear over it before. + +“The house being George Forley’s,” said I, “is almost enough to account +for there being a Fate upon it, if Fate there is. Is there anything +about George Forley in those sheets of paper?” + +“Not a word.” + +“I am glad to hear it. Please to read on. Trottle, why don’t you come +nearer? Why do you sit mortifying yourself in those arctic regions? Come +nearer.” + +“Thank you, ma’am; I am quite near enough to Mr. Jarber.” + +Jarber rounded his chair, to get his back full to my opinionated friend +and servant, and, beginning to read, tossed the words at him over his +(Jabez Jarber’s) own ear and shoulder. + +He read what follows: + + + + +THE MANCHESTER MARRIAGE + + +Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw came from Manchester to London and took the House +To Let. He had been, what is called in Lancashire, a Salesman for a +large manufacturing firm, who were extending their business, and opening +a warehouse in London; where Mr. Openshaw was now to superintend the +business. He rather enjoyed the change of residence; having a kind of +curiosity about London, which he had never yet been able to gratify in +his brief visits to the metropolis. At the same time he had an odd, +shrewd, contempt for the inhabitants; whom he had always pictured to +himself as fine, lazy people; caring nothing but for fashion and +aristocracy, and lounging away their days in Bond Street, and such +places; ruining good English, and ready in their turn to despise him as a +provincial. The hours that the men of business kept in the city +scandalised him too; accustomed as he was to the early dinners of +Manchester folk, and the consequently far longer evenings. Still, he was +pleased to go to London; though he would not for the world have confessed +it, even to himself, and always spoke of the step to his friends as one +demanded of him by the interests of his employers, and sweetened to him +by a considerable increase of salary. His salary indeed was so liberal +that he might have been justified in taking a much larger House than this +one, had he not thought himself bound to set an example to Londoners of +how little a Manchester man of business cared for show. Inside, however, +he furnished the House with an unusual degree of comfort, and, in the +winter time, he insisted on keeping up as large fires as the grates would +allow, in every room where the temperature was in the least chilly. +Moreover, his northern sense of hospitality was such, that, if he were at +home, he could hardly suffer a visitor to leave the house without forcing +meat and drink upon him. Every servant in the house was well warmed, +well fed, and kindly treated; for their master scorned all petty saving +in aught that conduced to comfort; while he amused himself by following +out all his accustomed habits and individual ways in defiance of what any +of his new neighbours might think. + +His wife was a pretty, gentle woman, of suitable age and character. He +was forty-two, she thirty-five. He was loud and decided; she soft and +yielding. They had two children or rather, I should say, she had two; +for the elder, a girl of eleven, was Mrs. Openshaw’s child by Frank +Wilson her first husband. The younger was a little boy, Edwin, who could +just prattle, and to whom his father delighted to speak in the broadest +and most unintelligible Lancashire dialect, in order to keep up what he +called the true Saxon accent. + +Mrs. Openshaw’s Christian-name was Alice, and her first husband had been +her own cousin. She was the orphan niece of a sea-captain in Liverpool: +a quiet, grave little creature, of great personal attraction when she was +fifteen or sixteen, with regular features and a blooming complexion. But +she was very shy, and believed herself to be very stupid and awkward; and +was frequently scolded by her aunt, her own uncle’s second wife. So when +her cousin, Frank Wilson, came home from a long absence at sea, and first +was kind and protective to her; secondly, attentive and thirdly, +desperately in love with her, she hardly knew how to be grateful enough +to him. It is true she would have preferred his remaining in the first +or second stages of behaviour; for his violent love puzzled and +frightened her. Her uncle neither helped nor hindered the love affair +though it was going on under his own eyes. Frank’s step-mother had such +a variable temper, that there was no knowing whether what she liked one +day she would like the next, or not. At length she went to such extremes +of crossness, that Alice was only too glad to shut her eyes and rush +blindly at the chance of escape from domestic tyranny offered her by a +marriage with her cousin; and, liking him better than any one in the +world except her uncle (who was at this time at sea) she went off one +morning and was married to him; her only bridesmaid being the housemaid +at her aunt’s. The consequence was, that Frank and his wife went into +lodgings, and Mrs. Wilson refused to see them, and turned away Norah, the +warm-hearted housemaid; whom they accordingly took into their service. +When Captain Wilson returned from his voyage, he was very cordial with +the young couple, and spent many an evening at their lodgings; smoking +his pipe, and sipping his grog; but he told them that, for quietness’ +sake, he could not ask them to his own house; for his wife was bitter +against them. They were not very unhappy about this. + +The seed of future unhappiness lay rather in Frank’s vehement, passionate +disposition; which led him to resent his wife’s shyness and want of +demonstration as failures in conjugal duty. He was already tormenting +himself, and her too, in a slighter degree, by apprehensions and +imaginations of what might befall her during his approaching absence at +sea. At last he went to his father and urged him to insist upon Alice’s +being once more received under his roof; the more especially as there was +now a prospect of her confinement while her husband was away on his +voyage. Captain Wilson was, as he himself expressed it, “breaking up,” +and unwilling to undergo the excitement of a scene; yet he felt that what +his son said was true. So he went to his wife. And before Frank went to +sea, he had the comfort of seeing his wife installed in her old little +garret in his father’s house. To have placed her in the one best spare +room was a step beyond Mrs. Wilson’s powers of submission or generosity. +The worst part about it, however, was that the faithful Norah had to be +dismissed. Her place as housemaid had been filled up; and, even had it +not, she had forfeited Mrs. Wilson’s good opinion for ever. She +comforted her young master and mistress by pleasant prophecies of the +time when they would have a household of their own; of which, in whatever +service she might be in the meantime, she should be sure to form part. +Almost the last action Frank Wilson did, before setting sail, was going +with Alice to see Norah once more at her mother’s house. And then he +went away. + +Alice’s father-in-law grew more and more feeble as winter advanced. She +was of great use to her step-mother in nursing and amusing him; and, +although there was anxiety enough in the household, there was perhaps +more of peace than there had been for years; for Mrs. Wilson had not a +bad heart, and was softened by the visible approach of death to one whom +she loved, and touched by the lonely condition of the young creature, +expecting her first confinement in her husband’s absence. To this +relenting mood Norah owed the permission to come and nurse Alice when her +baby was born, and to remain to attend on Captain Wilson. + +Before one letter had been received from Frank (who had sailed for the +East Indies and China), his father died. Alice was always glad to +remember that he had held her baby in his arms, and kissed and blessed it +before his death. After that, and the consequent examination into the +state of his affairs, it was found that he had left far less property +than people had been led by his style of living to imagine; and, what +money there was, was all settled upon his wife, and at her disposal after +her death. This did not signify much to Alice, as Frank was now first +mate of his ship, and, in another voyage or two, would be captain. +Meanwhile he had left her some hundreds (all his savings) in the bank. + +It became time for Alice to hear from her husband. One letter from the +Cape she had already received. The next was to announce his arrival in +India. As week after week passed over, and no intelligence of the ship’s +arrival reached the office of the owners, and the Captain’s wife was in +the same state of ignorant suspense as Alice herself, her fears grew most +oppressive. At length the day came when, in reply to her inquiry at the +Shipping Office, they told her that the owners had given up Hope of ever +hearing more of the Betsy-Jane, and had sent in their claim upon the +underwriters. Now that he was gone for ever, she first felt a yearning, +longing love for the kind cousin, the dear friend, the sympathising +protector, whom she should never see again,—first felt a passionate +desire to show him his child, whom she had hitherto rather craved to have +all to herself—her own sole possession. Her grief was, however, +noiseless, and quiet—rather to the scandal of Mrs. Wilson; who bewailed +her step-son as if he and she had always lived together in perfect +harmony, and who evidently thought it her duty to burst into fresh tears +at every strange face she saw; dwelling on his poor young widow’s +desolate state, and the helplessness of the fatherless child, with an +unction, as if she liked the excitement of the sorrowful story. + +So passed away the first days of Alice’s widowhood. Bye-and-bye things +subsided into their natural and tranquil course. But, as if this young +creature was always to be in some heavy trouble, her ewe-lamb began to be +ailing, pining and sickly. The child’s mysterious illness turned out to +be some affection of the spine likely to affect health; but not to +shorten life—at least so the doctors said. But the long dreary +suffering of one whom a mother loves as Alice loved her only child, is +hard to look forward to. Only Norah guessed what Alice suffered; no one +but God knew. + +And so it fell out, that when Mrs. Wilson, the elder, came to her one day +in violent distress, occasioned by a very material diminution in the +value the property that her husband had left her,—a diminution which +made her income barely enough to support herself, much less Alice—the +latter could hardly understand how anything which did not touch health or +life could cause such grief; and she received the intelligence with +irritating composure. But when, that afternoon, the little sick child +was brought in, and the grandmother—who after all loved it well—began a +fresh moan over her losses to its unconscious ears—saying how she had +planned to consult this or that doctor, and to give it this or that +comfort or luxury in after yearn but that now all chance of this had +passed away—Alice’s heart was touched, and she drew near to Mrs. Wilson +with unwonted caresses, and, in a spirit not unlike to that of Ruth, +entreated, that come what would, they might remain together. After much +discussion in succeeding days, it was arranged that Mrs. Wilson should +take a house in Manchester, furnishing it partly with what furniture she +had, and providing the rest with Alice’s remaining two hundred pounds. +Mrs. Wilson was herself a Manchester woman, and naturally longed to +return to her native town. Some connections of her own at that time +required lodgings, for which they were willing to pay pretty handsomely. +Alice undertook the active superintendence and superior work of the +household. Norah, willing faithful Norah, offered to cook, scour, do +anything in short, so that, she might but remain with them. + +The plan succeeded. For some years their first lodgers remained with +them, and all went smoothly,—with the one sad exception of the little +girl’s increasing deformity. How that mother loved that child, is not +for words to tell! + +Then came a break of misfortune. Their lodgers left, and no one +succeeded to them. After some months they had to remove to a smaller +house; and Alice’s tender conscience was torn by the idea that she ought +not to be a burden to her mother-in-law, but ought to go out and seek her +own maintenance. And leave her child! The thought came like the +sweeping boom of a funeral bell over her heart. + +Bye-and-bye, Mr. Openshaw came to lodge with them. He had started in +life as the errand-boy and sweeper-out of a warehouse; had struggled +up through all the grades of employment in the place, fighting his way +through the hard striving Manchester life with strong pushing energy +of character. Every spare moment of time had been sternly given up to +self-teaching. He was a capital accountant, a good French and German +scholar, a keen, far-seeing tradesman; understanding markets, and the +bearing of events, both near and distant, on trade: and yet, with such +vivid attention to present details, that I do not think he ever saw a +group of flowers in the fields without thinking whether their colours +would, or would not, form harmonious contrasts in the coming spring +muslins and prints. He went to debating societies, and threw himself +with all his heart and soul into politics; esteeming, it must be owned, +every man a fool or a knave who differed from him, and overthrowing his +opponents rather by the loud strength of his language than the calm +strength if his logic. There was something of the Yankee in all this. +Indeed his theory ran parallel to the famous Yankee motto—“England +flogs creation, and Manchester flogs England.” Such a man, as may be +fancied, had had no time for falling in love, or any such nonsense. At +the age when most young men go through their courting and matrimony, he +had not the means of keeping a wife, and was far too practical to think +of having one. And now that he was in easy circumstances, a rising man, +he considered women almost as incumbrances to the world, with whom a +man had better have as little to do as possible. His first impression +of Alice was indistinct, and he did not care enough about her to make +it distinct. “A pretty yea-nay kind of woman,” would have been his +description of her, if he had been pushed into a corner. He was rather +afraid, in the beginning, that her quiet ways arose from a listlessness +and laziness of character which would have been exceedingly discordant +to his active energetic nature. But, when he found out the punctuality +with which his wishes were attended to, and her work was done; when +he was called in the morning at the very stroke of the clock, his +shaving-water scalding hot, his fire bright, his coffee made exactly +as his peculiar fancy dictated, (for he was a man who had his theory +about everything, based upon what he knew of science, and often +perfectly original)—then he began to think: not that Alice had any +peculiar merit; but that he had got into remarkably good lodgings: his +restlessness wore away, and he began to consider himself as almost +settled for life in them. + +Mr. Openshaw had been too busy, all his life, to be introspective. He +did not know that he had any tenderness in his nature; and if he had +become conscious of its abstract existence, he would have considered it +as a manifestation of disease in some part of his nature. But he was +decoyed into pity unawares; and pity led on to tenderness. That little +helpless child—always carried about by one of the three busy women of +the house, or else patiently threading coloured beads in the chair from +which, by no effort of its own, could it ever move; the great grave blue +eyes, full of serious, not uncheerful, expression, giving to the small +delicate face a look beyond its years; the soft plaintive voice dropping +out but few words, so unlike the continual prattle of a child—caught Mr. +Openshaw’s attention in spite of himself. One day—he half scorned +himself for doing so—he cut short his dinner-hour to go in search of +some toy which should take the place of those eternal beads. I forget +what he bought; but, when he gave the present (which he took care to do +in a short abrupt manner, and when no one was by to see him) he was +almost thrilled by the flash of delight that came over that child’s face, +and could not help all through that afternoon going over and over again +the picture left on his memory, by the bright effect of unexpected joy on +the little girl’s face. When he returned home, he found his slippers +placed by his sitting-room fire; and even more careful attention paid to +his fancies than was habitual in those model lodgings. When Alice had +taken the last of his tea-things away—she had been silent as usual till +then—she stood for an instant with the door in her hand. Mr. Openshaw +looked as if he were deep in his book, though in fact he did not see a +line; but was heartily wishing the woman would be gone, and not make any +palaver of gratitude. But she only said: + +“I am very much obliged to you, sir. Thank you very much,” and was gone, +even before he could send her away with a “There, my good woman, that’s +enough!” + +For some time longer he took no apparent notice of the child. He even +hardened his heart into disregarding her sudden flush of colour, and +little timid smile of recognition, when he saw her by chance. But, after +all, this could not last for ever; and, having a second time given way to +tenderness, there was no relapse. The insidious enemy having thus +entered his heart, in the guise of compassion to the child, soon assumed +the more dangerous form of interest in the mother. He was aware of this +change of feeling, despised himself for it, struggled with it nay, +internally yielded to it and cherished it, long before he suffered the +slightest expression of it, by word, action, or look, to escape him. He +watched Alice’s docile obedient ways to her stepmother; the love which +she had inspired in the rough Norah (roughened by the wear and tear of +sorrow and years); but above all, he saw the wild, deep, passionate +affection existing between her and her child. They spoke little to any +one else, or when any one else was by; but, when alone together, they +talked, and murmured, and cooed, and chattered so continually, that Mr. +Openshaw first wondered what they could find to say to each other, and +next became irritated because they were always so grave and silent with +him. All this time, he was perpetually devising small new pleasures for +the child. His thoughts ran, in a pertinacious way, upon the desolate +life before her; and often he came back from his day’s work loaded with +the very thing Alice had been longing for, but had not been able to +procure. One time it was a little chair for drawing the little sufferer +along the streets, and many an evening that ensuing summer Mr. Openshaw +drew her along himself, regardless of the remarks of his acquaintances. +One day in autumn he put down his newspaper, as Alice came in with the +breakfast, and said, in as indifferent a voice as he could assume: + +“Mrs. Frank, is there any reason why we two should not put up our horses +together?” + +Alice stood still in perplexed wonder. What did he mean? He had resumed +the reading of his newspaper, as if he did not expect any answer; so she +found silence her safest course, and went on quietly arranging his +breakfast without another word passing between them. Just as he was +leaving the house, to go to the warehouse as usual, he turned back and +put his head into the bright, neat, tidy kitchen, where all the women +breakfasted in the morning: + +“You’ll think of what I said, Mrs. Frank” (this was her name with the +lodgers), “and let me have your opinion upon it to-night.” + +Alice was thankful that her mother and Norah were too busy talking +together to attend much to this speech. She determined not to think +about it at all through the day; and, of course, the effort not to think +made her think all the more. At night she sent up Norah with his tea. +But Mr. Openshaw almost knocked Norah down as she was going out at the +door, by pushing past her and calling out “Mrs. Frank!” in an impatient +voice, at the top of the stairs. + +Alice went up, rather than seem to have affixed too much meaning to his +words. + +“Well, Mrs. Frank,” he said, “what answer? Don’t make it too long; for I +have lots of office-work to get through to-night.” + +“I hardly know what you meant, sir,” said truthful Alice. + +“Well! I should have thought you might have guessed. You’re not new at +this sort of work, and I am. However, I’ll make it plain this time. Will +you have me to be thy wedded husband, and serve me, and love me, and +honour me, and all that sort of thing? Because if you will, I will do as +much by you, and be a father to your child—and that’s more than is put +in the prayer-book. Now, I’m a man of my word; and what I say, I feel; +and what I promise, I’ll do. Now, for your answer!” + +Alice was silent. He began to make the tea, as if her reply was a matter +of perfect indifference to him; but, as soon as that was done, he became +impatient. + +“Well?” said he. + +“How long, sir, may I have to think over it?” + +“Three minutes!” (looking at his watch). “You’ve had two already—that +makes five. Be a sensible woman, say Yes, and sit down to tea with me, +and we’ll talk it over together; for, after tea, I shall be busy; say No” +(he hesitated a moment to try and keep his voice in the same tone), “and +I shan’t say another word about it, but pay up a year’s rent for my rooms +to-morrow, and be off. Time’s up! Yes or no?” + +“If you please, sir,—you have been so good to little Ailsie—” + +“There, sit down comfortably by me on the sofa, and let us have our tea +together. I am glad to find you are as good and sensible as I took you +for.” + +And this was Alice Wilson’s second wooing. + +Mr. Openshaw’s will was too strong, and his circumstances too good, for +him not to carry all before him. He settled Mrs. Wilson in a comfortable +house of her own, and made her quite independent of lodgers. The little +that Alice said with regard to future plans was in Norah’s behalf. + +“No,” said Mr. Openshaw. “Norah shall take care of the old lady as long +as she lives; and, after that, she shall either come and live with us, +or, if she likes it better, she shall have a provision for life—for your +sake, missus. No one who has been good to you or the child shall go +unrewarded. But even the little one will be better for some fresh stuff +about her. Get her a bright, sensible girl as a nurse: one who won’t go +rubbing her with calf’s-foot jelly as Norah does; wasting good stuff +outside that ought to go in, but will follow doctors’ directions; which, +as you must see pretty clearly by this time, Norah won’t; because they +give the poor little wench pain. Now, I’m not above being nesh for other +folks myself. I can stand a good blow, and never change colour; but, set +me in the operating-room in the infirmary, and I turn as sick as a girl. +Yet, if need were, I would hold the little wench on my knees while she +screeched with pain, if it were to do her poor back good. Nay, nay, +wench! keep your white looks for the time when it comes—I don’t say it +ever will. But this I know, Norah will spare the child and cheat the +doctor if she can. Now, I say, give the bairn a year or two’s chance, +and then, when the pack of doctors have done their best—and, maybe, the +old lady has gone—we’ll have Norah back, or do better for her.” + +The pack of doctors could do no good to little Ailsie. She was beyond +their power. But her father (for so he insisted on being called, and +also on Alice’s no longer retaining the appellation of Mama, but becoming +henceforward Mother), by his healthy cheerfulness of manner, his clear +decision of purpose, his odd turns and quirks of humour, added to his +real strong love for the helpless little girl, infused a new element of +brightness and confidence into her life; and, though her back remained +the same, her general health was strengthened, and Alice—never going +beyond a smile herself—had the pleasure of seeing her child taught to +laugh. + +As for Alice’s own life, it was happier than it had ever been. Mr. +Openshaw required no demonstration, no expressions of affection from her. +Indeed, these would rather have disgusted him. Alice could love deeply, +but could not talk about it. The perpetual requirement of loving words, +looks, and caresses, and misconstruing their absence into absence of +love, had been the great trial of her former married life. Now, all went +on clear and straight, under the guidance of her husband’s strong sense, +warm heart, and powerful will. Year by year their worldly prosperity +increased. At Mrs. Wilson’s death, Norah came back to them, as nurse to +the newly-born little Edwin; into which post she was not installed +without a pretty strong oration on the part of the proud and happy +father; who declared that if he found out that Norah ever tried to screen +the boy by a falsehood, or to make him nesh either in body or mind, she +should go that very day. Norah and Mr. Openshaw were not on the most +thoroughly cordial terms; neither of them fully recognising or +appreciating the other’s best qualities. + +This was the previous history of the Lancashire family who had now +removed to London, and had come to occupy the House. + +They had been there about a year, when Mr. Openshaw suddenly informed his +wife that he had determined to heal long-standing feuds, and had asked +his uncle and aunt Chadwick to come and pay them a visit and see London. +Mrs. Openshaw had never seen this uncle and aunt of her husband’s. Years +before she had married him, there had been a quarrel. All she knew was, +that Mr. Chadwick was a small manufacturer in a country town in South +Lancashire. She was extremely pleased that the breach was to be healed, +and began making preparations to render their visit pleasant. + +They arrived at last. Going to see London was such an event to them, +that Mrs. Chadwick had made all new linen fresh for the occasion-from +night-caps downwards; and, as for gowns, ribbons, and collars, she might +have been going into the wilds of Canada where never a shop is, so large +was her stock. A fortnight before the day of her departure for London, +she had formally called to take leave of all her acquaintance; saying she +should need all the intermediate time for packing up. It was like a +second wedding in her imagination; and, to complete the resemblance which +an entirely new wardrobe made between the two events, her husband brought +her back from Manchester, on the last market-day before they set off, a +gorgeous pearl and amethyst brooch, saying, “Lunnon should see that +Lancashire folks knew a handsome thing when they saw it.” + +For some time after Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick arrived at the Openshaws’, +there was no opportunity for wearing this brooch; but at length they +obtained an order to see Buckingham Palace, and the spirit of loyalty +demanded that Mrs. Chadwick should wear her best clothes in visiting the +abode of her sovereign. On her return, she hastily changed her dress; +for Mr. Openshaw had planned that they should go to Richmond, drink tea +and return by moonlight. Accordingly, about five o’clock, Mr. and Mrs. +Openshaw and Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick set off. + +The housemaid and cook sate below, Norah hardly knew where. She was +always engrossed in the nursery, in tending her two children, and +in sitting by the restless, excitable Ailsie till she fell asleep. +Bye-and-bye, the housemaid Bessy tapped gently at the door. Norah went +to her, and they spoke in whispers. + +“Nurse! there’s some one down-stairs wants you.” + +“Wants me! Who is it?” + +“A gentleman—” + +“A gentleman? Nonsense!” + +“Well! a man, then, and he asks for you, and he rung at the front door +bell, and has walked into the dining-room.” + +“You should never have let him,” exclaimed Norah, “master and missus +out—” + +“I did not want him to come in; but when he heard you lived here, he +walked past me, and sat down on the first chair, and said, ‘Tell her to +come and speak to me.’ There is no gas lighted in the room, and supper +is all set out.” + +“He’ll be off with the spoons!” exclaimed Norah, putting the housemaid’s +fear into words, and preparing to leave the room, first, however, giving +a look to Ailsie, sleeping soundly and calmly. + +Down-stairs she went, uneasy fears stirring in her bosom. Before she +entered the dining-room she provided herself with a candle, and, with it +in her hand, she went in, looking round her in the darkness for her +visitor. + +He was standing up, holding by the table. Norah and he looked at each +other; gradual recognition coming into their eyes. + +“Norah?” at length he asked. + +“Who are you?” asked Norah, with the sharp tones of alarm and +incredulity. “I don’t know you:” trying, by futile words of disbelief, +to do away with the terrible fact before her. + +“Am I so changed?” he said, pathetically. “I daresay I am. But, Norah, +tell me!” he breathed hard, “where is my wife? Is she—is she alive?” + +He came nearer to Norah, and would have taken her hand; but she backed +away from him; looking at him all the time with staring eyes, as if he +were some horrible object. Yet he was a handsome, bronzed, good-looking +fellow, with beard and moustache, giving him a foreign-looking aspect; +but his eyes! there was no mistaking those eager, beautiful eyes—the +very same that Norah had watched not half-an-hour ago, till sleep stole +softly over them. + +“Tell me, Norah—I can bear it—I have feared it so often. Is she dead?” +Norah still kept silence. “She is dead!” He hung on Norah’s words and +looks, as if for confirmation or contradiction. + +“What shall I do?” groaned Norah. “O, sir! why did you come? how did you +find me out? where have you been? We thought you dead, we did, indeed!” +She poured out words and questions to gain time, as if time would help +her. + +“Norah! answer me this question, straight, by yes or no—Is my wife +dead?” + +“No, she is not!” said Norah, slowly and heavily. + +“O what a relief! Did she receive my letters? But perhaps you don’t +know. Why did you leave her? Where is she? O Norah, tell me all +quickly!” + +“Mr. Frank!” said Norah at last, almost driven to bay by her terror lest +her mistress should return at any moment, and find him there—unable to +consider what was best to be done or said—rushing at something decisive, +because she could not endure her present state: “Mr. Frank! we never +heard a line from you, and the shipowners said you had gone down, you and +every one else. We thought you were dead, if ever man was, and poor Miss +Alice and her little sick, helpless child! O, sir, you must guess it,” +cried the poor creature at last, bursting out into a passionate fit of +crying, “for indeed I cannot tell it. But it was no one’s fault. God +help us all this night!” + +Norah had sate down. She trembled too much to stand. He took her hands +in his. He squeezed them hard, as if by physical pressure, the truth +could be wrung out. + +“Norah!” This time his tone was calm, stagnant as despair. “She has +married again!” + +Norah shook her head sadly. The grasp slowly relaxed. The man had +fainted. + +There was brandy in the room. Norah forced some drops into Mr. Frank’s +mouth, chafed his hands, and—when mere animal life returned, before the +mind poured in its flood of memories and thoughts—she lifted him up, and +rested his head against her knees. Then she put a few crumbs of bread +taken from the supper-table, soaked in brandy into his mouth. Suddenly +he sprang to his feet. + +“Where is she? Tell me this instant.” He looked so wild, so mad, so +desperate, that Norah felt herself to be in bodily danger; but her time +of dread had gone by. She had been afraid to tell him the truth, and +then she had been a coward. Now, her wits were sharpened by the sense of +his desperate state. He must leave the house. She would pity him +afterwards; but now she must rather command and upbraid; for he must +leave the house before her mistress came home. That one necessity stood +clear before her. + +“She is not here; that is enough for you to know. Nor can I say exactly +where she is” (which was true to the letter if not to the spirit). “Go +away, and tell me where to find you to-morrow, and I will tell you all. +My master and mistress may come back at any minute, and then what would +become of me with a strange man in the house?” + +Such an argument was too petty to touch his excited mind. + +“I don’t care for your master and mistress. If your master is a man, he +must feel for me poor shipwrecked sailor that I am—kept for years a +prisoner amongst savages, always, always, always thinking of my wife and +my home—dreaming of her by night, talking to her, though she could not +hear, by day. I loved her more than all heaven and earth put together. +Tell me where she is, this instant, you wretched woman, who salved over +her wickedness to her, as you do to me.” + +The clock struck ten. Desperate positions require desperate measures. + +“If you will leave the house now, I will come to you to-morrow and tell +you all. What is more, you shall see your child now. She lies sleeping +up-stairs. O, sir, you have a child, you do not know that as yet—a +little weakly girl—with just a heart and soul beyond her years. We have +reared her up with such care: We watched her, for we thought for many +a year she might die any day, and we tended her, and no hard thing has +come near her, and no rough word has ever been said to her. And now +you, come and will take her life into your hand, and will crush it. +Strangers to her have been kind to her; but her own father—Mr. Frank, I +am her nurse, and I love her, and I tend her, and I would do anything +for her that I could. Her mother’s heart beats as hers beats; and, if +she suffers a pain, her mother trembles all over. If she is happy, it +is her mother that smiles and is glad. If she is growing stronger, +her mother is healthy: if she dwindles, her mother languishes. If she +dies—well, I don’t know: it is not every one can lie down and die when +they wish it. Come up-stairs, Mr. Frank, and see your child. Seeing her +will do good to your poor heart. Then go away, in God’s name, just this +one night—to-morrow, if need be, you can do anything—kill us all if you +will, or show yourself—a great grand man, whom God will bless for ever +and ever. Come, Mr. Frank, the look of a sleeping child is sure to give +peace.” + +She led him up-stairs; at first almost helping his steps, till they came +near the nursery door. She had almost forgotten the existence of little +Edwin. It struck upon her with affright as the shaded light fell upon +the other cot; but she skilfully threw that corner of the room into +darkness, and let the light fall on the sleeping Ailsie. The child had +thrown down the coverings, and her deformity, as she lay with her back to +them, was plainly visible through her slight night-gown. Her little +face, deprived of the lustre of her eyes, looked wan and pinched, and had +a pathetic expression in it, even as she slept. The poor father looked +and looked with hungry, wistful eyes, into which the big tears came +swelling up slowly, and dropped heavily down, as he stood trembling and +shaking all over. Norah was angry with herself for growing impatient of +the length of time that long lingering gaze lasted. She thought that she +waited for full half-an-hour before Frank stirred. And then—instead of +going away—he sank down on his knees by the bedside, and buried his face +in the clothes. Little Ailsie stirred uneasily. Norah pulled him up in +terror. She could afford no more time even for prayer in her extremity +of fear; for surely the next moment would bring her mistress home. She +took him forcibly by the arm; but, as he was going, his eye lighted on +the other bed: he stopped. Intelligence came back into his face. His +hands clenched. + +“His child?” he asked. + +“Her child,” replied Norah. “God watches over him,” said she +instinctively; for Frank’s looks excited her fears, and she needed to +remind herself of the Protector of the helpless. + +“God has not watched over me,” he said, in despair; his thoughts +apparently recoiling on his own desolate, deserted state. But Norah had +no time for pity. To-morrow she would be as compassionate as her heart +prompted. At length she guided him downstairs and shut the outer door +and bolted it—as if by bolts to keep out facts. + +Then she went back into the dining-room and effaced all traces of his +presence as far as she could. She went upstairs to the nursery and sate +there, her head on her hand, thinking what was to come of all this +misery. It seemed to her very long before they did return; yet it was +hardly eleven o’clock. She so heard the loud, hearty Lancashire voices +on the stairs; and, for the first time, she understood the contrast of +the desolation of the poor man who had so lately gone forth in lonely +despair. + +It almost put her out of patience to see Mrs. Openshaw come in, calmly +smiling, handsomely dressed, happy, easy, to inquire after her children. + +“Did Ailsie go to sleep comfortably?” she whispered to Norah. + +“Yes.” + +Her mother bent over her, looking at her slumbers with the soft eyes of +love. How little she dreamed who had looked on her last! Then she went +to Edwin, with perhaps less wistful anxiety in her countenance, but more +of pride. She took off her things, to go down to supper. Norah saw her +no more that night. + +Beside the door into the passage, the sleeping-nursery opened out of Mr. +and Mrs. Openshaw’s room, in order that they might have the children more +immediately under their own eyes. Early the next summer morning Mrs. +Openshaw was awakened by Ailsie’s startled call of “Mother! mother!” She +sprang up, put on her dressing-gown, and went to her child. Ailsie was +only half awake, and in a not uncommon state of terror. + +“Who was he, mother? Tell me!” + +“Who, my darling? No one is here. You have been dreaming love. Waken +up quite. See, it is broad daylight.” + +“Yes,” said Ailsie, looking round her; then clinging to her mother, said, +“but a man was here in the night, mother.” + +“Nonsense, little goose. No man has ever come near you!” + +“Yes, he did. He stood there. Just by Norah. A man with hair and a +beard. And he knelt down and said his prayers. Norah knows he was here, +mother” (half angrily, as Mrs. Openshaw shook her head in smiling +incredulity). + +“Well! we will ask Norah when she comes,” said Mrs. Openshaw, soothingly. +“But we won’t talk any more about him now. It is not five o’clock; it is +too early for you to get up. Shall I fetch you a book and read to you?” + +“Don’t leave me, mother,” said the child, clinging to her. So Mrs. +Openshaw sate on the bedside talking to Ailsie, and telling her of what +they had done at Richmond the evening before, until the little girl’s +eyes slowly closed and she once more fell asleep. + +“What was the matter?” asked Mr. Openshaw, as his wife returned to bed. +“Ailsie wakened up in a fright, with some story of a man having been in +the room to say his prayers,—a dream, I suppose.” And no more was said +at the time. + +Mrs. Openshaw had almost forgotten the whole affair when she got up about +seven o’clock. But, bye-and-bye, she heard a sharp altercation going on +in the nursery. Norah speaking angrily to Ailsie, a most unusual thing. +Both Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw listened in astonishment. + +“Hold your tongue, Ailsie! let me hear none of your dreams; never let me +hear you tell that story again!” Ailsie began to cry. + +Mr. Openshaw opened the door of communication before his wife could say a +word. + +“Norah, come here!” + +The nurse stood at the door, defiant. She perceived she had been heard, +but she was desperate. + +“Don’t let me hear you speak in that manner to Ailsie again,” he said +sternly, and shut the door. + +Norah was infinitely relieved; for she had dreaded some questioning; +and a little blame for sharp speaking was what she could well bear, if +cross-examination was let alone. + +Down-stairs they went, Mr. Openshaw carrying Ailsie; the sturdy Edwin +coming step by step, right foot foremost, always holding his mother’s +hand. Each child was placed in a chair by the breakfast-table, and then +Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw stood together at the window, awaiting their +visitors’ appearance and making plans for the day. There was a pause. +Suddenly Mr. Openshaw turned to Ailsie, and said: + +“What a little goosy somebody is with her dreams, waking up poor, tired +mother in the middle of the night with a story of a man being in the +room.” + +“Father! I’m sure I saw him,” said Ailsie, half crying. “I don’t want +to make Norah angry; but I was not asleep, for all she says I was. I had +been asleep,—and I awakened up quite wide awake though I was so +frightened. I kept my eyes nearly shut, and I saw the man quite plain. A +great brown man with a beard. He said his prayers. And then he looked +at Edwin. And then Norah took him by the arm and led him away, after +they had whispered a bit together.” + +“Now, my little woman must be reasonable,” said Mr. Openshaw, who was +always patient with Ailsie. “There was no man in the house last night at +all. No man comes into the house as you know, if you think; much less +goes up into the nursery. But sometimes we dream something has happened, +and the dream is so like reality, that you are not the first person, +little woman, who has stood out that the thing has really happened.” + +“But, indeed it was not a dream!” said Ailsie, beginning to cry. + +Just then Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick came down, looking grave and discomposed. +All during breakfast time they were silent and uncomfortable. As soon as +the breakfast things were taken away, and the children had been carried +up-stairs, Mr. Chadwick began in an evidently preconcerted manner to +inquire if his nephew was certain that all his servants were honest; for, +that Mrs. Chadwick had that morning missed a very valuable brooch, which +she had worn the day before. She remembered taking it off when she came +home from Buckingham Palace. Mr. Openshaw’s face contracted into hard +lines: grew like what it was before he had known his wife and her child. +He rang the bell even before his uncle had done speaking. It was +answered by the housemaid. + +“Mary, was any one here last night while we were away?” + +“A man, sir, came to speak to Norah.” + +“To speak to Norah! Who was he? How long did he stay?” + +“I’m sure I can’t tell, sir. He came—perhaps about nine. I went up to +tell Norah in the nursery, and she came down to speak to him. She let +him out, sir. She will know who he was, and how long he stayed.” + +She waited a moment to be asked any more questions, but she was not, so +she went away. + +A minute afterwards Openshaw made as though he were going out of the +room; but his wife laid her hand on his arm: + +“Do not speak to her before the children,” she said, in her low, quiet +voice. “I will go up and question her.” + +“No! I must speak to her. You must know,” said he, turning to his uncle +and aunt, “my missus has an old servant, as faithful as ever woman was, I +do believe, as far as love goes,—but, at the same time, who does not +always speak truth, as even the missus must allow. Now, my notion is, +that this Norah of ours has been come over by some good-for-nothin chap +(for she’s at the time o’ life when they say women pray for +husbands—‘any, good Lord, any,’) and has let him into our house, and the +chap has made off with your brooch, and m’appen many another thing +beside. It’s only saying that Norah is soft-hearted, and does not stick +at a white lie—that’s all, missus.” + +It was curious to notice how his tone, his eyes, his whole face changed +as he spoke to his wife; but he was the resolute man through all. She +knew better than to oppose him; so she went up-stairs, and told Norah her +master wanted to speak to her, and that she would take care of the +children in the meanwhile. + +Norah rose to go without a word. Her thoughts were these: + +“If they tear me to pieces they shall never know through me. He may +come,—and then just Lord have mercy upon us all: for some of us are dead +folk to a certainty. But he shall do it; not me.” + +You may fancy, now, her look of determination as she faced her master +alone in the dining-room; Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick having left the affair in +their nephew’s hands, seeing that he took it up with such vehemence. + +“Norah! Who was that man that came to my house last night?” + +“Man, sir!” As if infinitely; surprised but it was only to gain time. + +“Yes; the man whom Mary let in; whom she went up-stairs to the nursery to +tell you about; whom you came down to speak to; the same chap, I make no +doubt, whom you took into the nursery to have your talk out with; whom +Ailsie saw, and afterwards dreamed about; thinking, poor wench! she saw +him say his prayers, when nothing, I’ll be bound, was farther from his +thoughts; who took Mrs. Chadwick’s brooch, value ten pounds. Now, Norah! +Don’t go off! I am as sure as that my name’s Thomas Openshaw, that you +knew nothing of this robbery. But I do think you’ve been imposed on, and +that’s the truth. Some good-for-nothing chap has been making up to you, +and you’ve been just like all other women, and have turned a soft place +in your heart to him; and he came last night a-lovyering, and you had him +up in the nursery, and he made use of his opportunities, and made off +with a few things on his way down! Come, now, Norah: it’s no blame to +you, only you must not be such a fool again. Tell us,” he continued, +“what name he gave you, Norah? I’ll be bound it was not the right one; +but it will be a clue for the police.” + +Norah drew herself up. “You may ask that question, and taunt me with my +being single, and with my credulity, as you will, Master Openshaw. You’ll +get no answer from me. As for the brooch, and the story of theft and +burglary; if any friend ever came to see me (which I defy you to prove, +and deny), he’d be just as much above doing such a thing as you yourself, +Mr. Openshaw, and more so, too; for I’m not at all sure as everything you +have is rightly come by, or would be yours long, if every man had his +own.” She meant, of course, his wife; but he understood her to refer to +his property in goods and chattels. + +“Now, my good woman,” said he, “I’ll just tell you truly, I never trusted +you out and out; but my wife liked you, and I thought you had many a good +point about you. If you once begin to sauce me, I’ll have the police to +you, and get out the truth in a court of justice, if you’ll not tell it +me quietly and civilly here. Now the best thing you can do is quietly to +tell me who the fellow is. Look here! a man comes to my house; asks for +you; you take him up-stairs, a valuable brooch is missing next day; we +know that you, and Mary, and cook, are honest; but you refuse to tell us +who the man is. Indeed you’ve told one lie already about him, saying no +one was here last night. Now I just put it to you, what do you think a +policeman would say to this, or a magistrate? A magistrate would soon +make you tell the truth, my good woman.” + +“There’s never the creature born that should get it out of me,” said +Norah. “Not unless I choose to tell.” + +“I’ve a great mind to see,” said Mr. Openshaw, growing angry at the +defiance. Then, checking himself, he thought before he spoke again: + +“Norah, for your missus’s sake I don’t want to go to extremities. Be a +sensible woman, if you can. It’s no great disgrace, after all, to have +been taken in. I ask you once more—as a friend—who was this man whom +you let into my house last night?” + +No answer. He repeated the question in an impatient tone. Still no +answer. Norah’s lips were set in determination not to speak. + +“Then there is but one thing to be done. I shall send for a policeman.” + +“You will not,” said Norah, starting forwards. “You shall not, sir! No +policeman shall touch me. I know nothing of the brooch, but I know this: +ever since I was four-and-twenty I have thought more of your wife than of +myself: ever since I saw her, a poor motherless girl put upon in her +uncle’s house, I have thought more of serving her than of serving myself! +I have cared for her and her child, as nobody ever cared for me. I don’t +cast blame on you, sir, but I say it’s ill giving up one’s life to any +one; for, at the end, they will turn round upon you, and forsake you. Why +does not my missus come herself to suspect me? Maybe she is gone for the +police? But I don’t stay here, either for police, or magistrate, or +master. You’re an unlucky lot. I believe there’s a curse on you. I’ll +leave you this very day. Yes! I leave that poor Ailsie, too. I will! +No good will ever come to you!” + +Mr. Openshaw was utterly astonished at this speech; most of which was +completely unintelligible to him, as may easily be supposed. Before he +could make up his mind what to say, or what to do, Norah had left the +room. I do not think he had ever really intended to send for the police +to this old servant of his wife’s; for he had never for a moment doubted +her perfect honesty. But he had intended to compel her to tell him who +the man was, and in this he was baffled. He was, consequently, much +irritated. He returned to his uncle and aunt in a state of great +annoyance and perplexity, and told them he could get nothing out of the +woman; that some man had been in the house the night before; but that she +refused to tell who he was. At this moment his wife came in, greatly +agitated, and asked what had happened to Norah; for that she had put on +her things in passionate haste, and had left the house. + +“This looks suspicious,” said Mr. Chadwick. “It is not the way in which +an honest person would have acted.” + +Mr. Openshaw kept silence. He was sorely perplexed. But Mrs. Openshaw +turned round on Mr. Chadwick with a sudden fierceness no one ever saw in +her before. + +“You don’t know Norah, uncle! She is gone because she is deeply hurt at +being suspected. O, I wish I had seen her—that I had spoken to her +myself. She would have told me anything.” Alice wrung her hands. + +“I must confess,” continued Mr. Chadwick to his nephew, in a lower voice, +“I can’t make you out. You used to be a word and a blow, and oftenest +the blow first; and now, when there is every cause for suspicion, you +just do nought. Your missus is a very good woman, I grant; but she may +have been put upon as well as other folk, I suppose. If you don’t send +for the police, I shall.” + +“Very well,” replied Mr. Openshaw, surlily. “I can’t clear Norah. She +won’t clear herself, as I believe she might if she would. Only I wash my +hands of it; for I am sure the woman herself is honest, and she’s lived a +long time with my wife, and I don’t like her to come to shame.” + +“But she will then be forced to clear herself. That, at any rate, will +be a good thing.” + +“Very well, very well! I am heart-sick of the whole business. Come, +Alice, come up to the babies they’ll be in a sore way. I tell you, +uncle!” he said, turning round once more to Mr. Chadwick, suddenly and +sharply, after his eye had fallen on Alice’s wan, tearful, anxious face; +“I’ll have none sending for the police after all. I’ll buy my aunt twice +as handsome a brooch this very day; but I’ll not have Norah suspected, +and my missus plagued. There’s for you.” + +He and his wife left the room. Mr. Chadwick quietly waited till he was +out of hearing, and then aid to his wife; “For all Tom’s heroics, I’m +just quietly going for a detective, wench. Thou need’st know nought +about it.” + +He went to the police-station, and made a statement of the case. He was +gratified by the impression which the evidence against Norah seemed to +make. The men all agreed in his opinion, and steps were to be +immediately taken to find out where she was. Most probably, as they +suggested, she had gone at once to the man, who, to all appearance, was +her lover. When Mr. Chadwick asked how they would find her out? they +smiled, shook their heads, and spoke of mysterious but infallible ways +and means. He returned to his nephew’s house with a very comfortable +opinion of his own sagacity. He was met by his wife with a penitent +face: + +“O master, I’ve found my brooch! It was just sticking by its pin in the +flounce of my brown silk, that I wore yesterday. I took it off in a +hurry, and it must have caught in it; and I hung up my gown in the +closet. Just now, when I was going to fold it up, there was the brooch! +I’m very vexed, but I never dreamt but what it was lost!” + +Her husband muttering something very like “Confound thee and thy brooch +too! I wish I’d never given it thee,” snatched up his hat, and rushed +back to the station; hoping to be in time to stop the police from +searching for Norah. But a detective was already gone off on the errand. + +Where was Norah? Half mad with the strain of the fearful secret, she had +hardly slept through the night for thinking what must be done. Upon this +terrible state of mind had come Ailsie’s questions, showing that she had +seen the Man, as the unconscious child called her father. Lastly came +the suspicion of her honesty. She was little less than crazy as she ran +up-stairs and dashed on her bonnet and shawl; leaving all else, even her +purse, behind her. In that house she would not stay. That was all she +knew or was clear about. She would not even see the children again, for +fear it should weaken her. She feared above everything Mr. Frank’s +return to claim his wife. She could not tell what remedy there was for a +sorrow so tremendous, for her to stay to witness. The desire of escaping +from the coming event was a stronger motive for her departure than her +soreness about the suspicions directed against her; although this last +had been the final goad to the course she took. She walked away almost +at headlong speed; sobbing as she went, as she had not dared to do during +the past night for fear of exciting wonder in those who might hear her. +Then she stopped. An idea came into her mind that she would leave London +altogether, and betake herself to her native town of Liverpool. She felt +in her pocket for her purse, as she drew near the Euston Square station +with this intention. She had left it at home. Her poor head aching, her +eyes swollen with crying, she had to stand still, and think, as well as +she could, where next she should bend her steps. Suddenly the thought +flashed into her mind that she would go and find out poor Mr. Frank. She +had been hardly kind to him the night before, though her heart had bled +for him ever since. She remembered his telling her as she inquired for +his address, almost as she had pushed him out of the door, of some hotel +in a street not far distant from Euston Square. Thither she went: with +what intention she hardly knew, but to assuage her conscience by telling +him how much she pitied him. In her present state she felt herself unfit +to counsel, or restrain, or assist, or do ought else but sympathise and +weep. The people of the inn said such a person had been there; had +arrived only the day before; had gone out soon after his arrival, leaving +his luggage in their care; but had never come back. Norah asked for +leave to sit down, and await the gentleman’s return. The landlady—pretty +secure in the deposit of luggage against any probable injury—showed her +into a room, and quietly locked the door on the outside. Norah was +utterly worn out, and fell asleep—a shivering, starting, uneasy slumber, +which lasted for hours. + +The detective, meanwhile, had come up with her some time before she +entered the hotel, into which he followed her. Asking the landlady to +detain her for an hour or so, without giving any reason beyond showing +his authority (which made the landlady applaud herself a good deal for +having locked her in), he went back to the police-station to report his +proceedings. He could have taken her directly; but his object was, if +possible, to trace out the man who was supposed to have committed the +robbery. Then he heard of the discovery of the brooch; and consequently +did not care to return. + +Norah slept till even the summer evening began to close in. Then up. +Some one was at the door. It would be Mr. Frank; and she dizzily pushed +back her ruffled grey hair, which had fallen over her eyes, and stood +looking to see him. Instead, there came in Mr. Openshaw and a policeman. + +“This is Norah Kennedy,” said Mr. Openshaw. + +“O, sir,” said Norah, “I did not touch the brooch; indeed I did not. O, +sir, I cannot live to be thought so badly of;” and very sick and faint, +she suddenly sank down on the ground. To her surprise, Mr. Openshaw +raised her up very tenderly. Even the policeman helped to lay her on the +sofa; and, at Mr. Openshaw’s desire, he went for some wine and +sandwiches; for the poor gaunt woman lay there almost as if dead with +weariness and exhaustion. + +“Norah!” said Mr. Openshaw, in his kindest voice, “the brooch is found. +It was hanging to Mrs. Chadwick’s gown. I beg your pardon. Most truly I +beg your pardon, for having troubled you about it. My wife is almost +broken-hearted. Eat, Norah,—or, stay, first drink this glass of wine,” +said he, lifting her head, pouring a little down her throat. + +As she drank, she remembered where she was, and who she was waiting for. +She suddenly pushed Mr. Openshaw away, saying, “O, sir, you must go. You +must not stop a minute. If he comes back he will kill you.” + +“Alas, Norah! I do not know who ‘he’ is. But some one is gone away who +will never come back: someone who knew you, and whom I am afraid you +cared for.” + +“I don’t understand you, sir,” said Norah, her master’s kind and +sorrowful manner bewildering her yet more than his words. The policeman +had left the room at Mr. Openshaw’s desire, and they two were alone. + +“You know what I mean, when I say some one is gone who will never come +back. I mean that he is dead!” + +“Who?” said Norah, trembling all over. + +“A poor man has been found in the Thames this morning, drowned.” + +“Did he drown himself?” asked Norah, solemnly. + +“God only knows,” replied Mr. Openshaw, in the same tone. “Your name and +address at our house, were found in his pocket: that, and his purse, were +the only things, that were found upon him. I am sorry to say it, my poor +Norah; but you are required to go and identify him.” + +“To what?” asked Norah. + +“To say who it is. It is always done, in order that some reason may be +discovered for the suicide—if suicide it was. I make no doubt he was +the man who came to see you at our house last night. It is very sad, I +know.” He made pauses between each little clause, in order to try and +bring back her senses; which he feared were wandering—so wild and sad +was her look. + +“Master Openshaw,” said she, at last, “I’ve a dreadful secret to tell +you—only you must never breathe it to any one, and you and I must hide +it away for ever. I thought to have done it all by myself, but I see I +cannot. Yon poor man—yes! the dead, drowned creature is, I fear, Mr. +Frank, my mistress’s first husband!” + +Mr. Openshaw sate down, as if shot. He did not speak; but, after a +while, he signed to Norah to go on. + +“He came to me the other night—when—God be thanked—you were all away +at Richmond. He asked me if his wife was dead or alive. I was a brute, +and thought more of our all coming home than of his sore trial: spoke out +sharp, and said she was married again, and very content and happy: I all +but turned him away: and now he lies dead and cold!” + +“God forgive me!” said Mr. Openshaw. + +“God forgive us all!” said Norah. “Yon poor man needs forgiveness +perhaps less than any one among us. He had been among the +savages—shipwrecked—I know not what—and he had written letters which +had never reached my poor missus.” + +“He saw his child!” + +“He saw her—yes! I took him up, to give his thoughts another start; for +I believed he was going mad on my hands. I came to seek him here, as I +more than half promised. My mind misgave me when I heard he had never +come in. O, sir I it must be him!” + +Mr. Openshaw rang the bell. Norah was almost too much stunned to wonder +at what he did. He asked for writing materials, wrote a letter, and then +said to Norah: + +“I am writing to Alice, to say I shall be unavoidably absent for a few +days; that I have found you; that you are well, and send her your love, +and will come home to-morrow. You must go with me to the Police Court; +you must identify the body: I will pay high to keep name and details out +of the papers.” + +“But where are you going, sir?” + +He did not answer her directly. Then he said: + +“Norah! I must go with you, and look on the face of the man whom I have +so injured,—unwittingly, it is true; but it seems to me as if I had +killed him. I will lay his head in the grave, as if he were my only +brother: and how he must have hated me! I cannot go home to my wife till +all that I can do for him is done. Then I go with a dreadful secret on +my mind. I shall never speak of it again, after these days are over. I +know you will not, either.” He shook hands with her: and they never +named the subject again, the one to the other. + +Norah went home to Alice the next day. Not a word was said on the cause +of her abrupt departure a day or two before. Alice had been charged by +her husband in his letter not to allude to the supposed theft of the +brooch; so she, implicitly obedient to those whom she loved both by +nature and habit, was entirely silent on the subject, only treated Norah +with the most tender respect, as if to make up for unjust suspicion. + +Nor did Alice inquire into the reason why Mr. Openshaw had been absent +during his uncle and aunt’s visit, after he had once said that it was +unavoidable. He came back, grave and quiet; and, from that time forth, +was curiously changed. More thoughtful, and perhaps less active; quite +as decided in conduct, but with new and different rules for the guidance +of that conduct. Towards Alice he could hardly be more kind than he had +always been; but he now seemed to look upon her as some one sacred and to +be treated with reverence, as well as tenderness. He throve in business, +and made a large fortune, one half of which was settled upon her. + +* * * * * + +Long years after these events,—a few months after her mother died, +Ailsie and her “father” (as she always called Mr. Openshaw) drove to +a cemetery a little way out of town, and she was carried to a certain +mound by her maid, who was then sent back to the carriage. There was a +head-stone, with F. W. and a date. That was all. Sitting by the grave, +Mr. Openshaw told her the story; and for the sad fate of that poor +father whom she had never seen, he shed the only tears she ever saw +fall from his eyes. + +* * * * * + +“A most interesting story, all through,” I said, as Jarber folded up the +first of his series of discoveries in triumph. “A story that goes +straight to the heart—especially at the end. But”—I stopped, and +looked at Trottle. + +Trottle entered his protest directly in the shape of a cough. + +“Well!” I said, beginning to lose my patience. “Don’t you see that I +want you to speak, and that I don’t want you to cough?” + +“Quite so, ma’am,” said Trottle, in a state of respectful obstinacy which +would have upset the temper of a saint. “Relative, I presume, to this +story, ma’am?” + +“Yes, Yes!” said Jarber. “By all means let us hear what this good man +has to say.” + +“Well, sir,” answered Trottle, “I want to know why the House over the way +doesn’t let, and I don’t exactly see how your story answers the question. +That’s all I have to say, sir.” + +I should have liked to contradict my opinionated servant, at that moment. +But, excellent as the story was in itself, I felt that he had hit on the +weak point, so far as Jarber’s particular purpose in reading it was +concerned. + +“And that is what you have to say, is it?” repeated Jarber. “I enter +this room announcing that I have a series of discoveries, and you jump +instantly to the conclusion that the first of the series exhausts my +resources. Have I your permission, dear lady, to enlighten this obtuse +person, if possible, by reading Number Two?” + +“My work is behindhand, ma’am,” said Trottle, moving to the door, the +moment I gave Jarber leave to go on. + +“Stop where you are,” I said, in my most peremptory manner, “and give Mr. +Jarber his fair opportunity of answering your objection now you have made +it.” + +Trottle sat down with the look of a martyr, and Jarber began to read with +his back turned on the enemy more decidedly than ever. + + + + +GOING INTO SOCIETY + + +At one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupation of a +Showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish books of +the time when he rented the House, and there was therefore no need of any +clue to his name. But, he himself was less easy to be found; for, he had +led a wandering life, and settled people had lost sight of him, and +people who plumed themselves on being respectable were shy of admitting +that they had ever known anything of him. At last, among the marsh lands +near the river’s level, that lie about Deptford and the neighbouring +market-gardens, a Grizzled Personage in velveteen, with a face so cut up +by varieties of weather that he looked as if he had been tattooed, was +found smoking a pipe at the door of a wooden house on wheels. The wooden +house was laid up in ordinary for the winter, near the mouth of a muddy +creek; and everything near it, the foggy river, the misty marshes, and +the steaming market-gardens, smoked in company with the grizzled man. In +the midst of this smoking party, the funnel-chimney of the wooden house +on wheels was not remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in a +companionable manner. + +On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let, +Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name was +Magsman? That was it, Toby Magsman—which lawfully christened Robert; +but called in the line, from a infant, Toby. There was nothing agin Toby +Magsman, he believed? If there was suspicion of such—mention it! + +There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But, some +inquiries were making about that House, and would he object to say why he +left it? + +Not at all; why should he? He left it, along of a Dwarf. + +Along of a Dwarf? + +Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, Along of a Dwarf. + +Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman’s inclination and convenience to +enter, as a favour, into a few particulars? + +Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars. + +It was a long time ago, to begin with;—afore lotteries and a deal more +was done away with. Mr. Magsman was looking about for a good pitch, and +he see that house, and he says to himself, “I’ll have you, if you’re to +be had. If money’ll get you, I’ll have you.” + +The neighbours cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman don’t +know what they _would_ have had. It was a lovely thing. First of all, +there was the canvass, representin the picter of the Giant, in Spanish +trunks and a ruff, who was himself half the heighth of the house, and was +run up with a line and pulley to a pole on the roof, so that his Ed was +coeval with the parapet. Then, there was the canvass, representin the +picter of the Albina lady, showing her white air to the Army and Navy in +correct uniform. Then, there was the canvass, representin the picter of +the Wild Indian a scalpin a member of some foreign nation. Then, there +was the canvass, representin the picter of a child of a British Planter, +seized by two Boa Constrictors—not that _we_ never had no child, nor no +Constrictors neither. Similarly, there was the canvass, representin the +picter of the Wild Ass of the Prairies—not that _we_ never had no wild +asses, nor wouldn’t have had ’em at a gift. Last, there was the canvass, +representin the picter of the Dwarf, and like him too (considerin), with +George the Fourth in such a state of astonishment at him as His Majesty +couldn’t with his utmost politeness and stoutness express. The front of +the House was so covered with canvasses, that there wasn’t a spark of +daylight ever visible on that side. “MAGSMAN’S AMUSEMENTS,” fifteen foot +long by two foot high, ran over the front door and parlour winders. The +passage was a Arbour of green baize and gardenstuff. A barrel-organ +performed there unceasing. And as to respectability,—if threepence +ain’t respectable, what is? + +But, the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth the +money. He was wrote up as MAJOR TPSCHOFFKI, OF THE IMPERIAL BULGRADERIAN +BRIGADE. Nobody couldn’t pronounce the name, and it never was intended +anybody should. The public always turned it, as a regular rule, into +Chopski. In the line he was called Chops; partly on that account, and +partly because his real name, if he ever had any real name (which was +very dubious), was Stakes. + +He was a uncommon small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he +was made out to be, but where _is_ your Dwarf as is? He was a most +uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and what he had inside +that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin himself to have +ever took stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him +to do. + +The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When +he travelled with the Spotted Baby—though he knowed himself to be a +nat’ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby’s spots to be put upon him artificial, +he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name +to a Giant. He _did_ allow himself to break out into strong language +respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the ’art; +and when a man’s ’art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference +giv to a Indian, he ain’t master of his actions. + +He was always in love, of course; every human nat’ral phenomenon is. And +he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as +could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep ’em the +Curiosities they are. + +One sing’ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant +something, or it wouldn’t have been there. It was always his opinion +that he was entitled to property. He never would put his name to +anything. He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms, +who got his living with his toes (quite a writing master _he_ was, and +taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death, afore +he’d have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is +the more curious to bear in mind, because HE had no property, nor hope of +property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean +the box, painted and got up outside like a reg’lar six-roomer, that he +used to creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on +his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public believed to +be the Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney +sarser in which he made a collection for himself at the end of every +Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: “Ladies and gentlemen, +the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire +behind the curtain.” When he said anything important, in private life, +he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and they was generally the +last thing he said to me at night afore he went to bed. + +He had what I consider a fine mind—a poetic mind. His ideas respectin +his property never come upon him so strong as when he sat upon a +barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run +through him a little time, he would screech out, “Toby, I feel my +property coming—grind away! I’m counting my guineas by thousands, +Toby—grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I feel the Mint a +jingling in me, Toby, and I’m swelling out into the Bank of England!” +Such is the influence of music on a poetic mind. Not that he was +partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated +it. + +He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a thing +you may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out of it. What +riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that it kep him out of +Society. He was continiwally saying, “Toby, my ambition is, to go into +Society. The curse of my position towards the Public is, that it keeps +me hout of Society. This don’t signify to a low beast of a Indian; he +an’t formed for Society. This don’t signify to a Spotted Baby; _he_ an’t +formed for Society.—I am.” + +Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had a +good salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came round, +besides having the run of his teeth—and he was a Woodpecker to eat—but +all Dwarfs are. The sarser was a little income, bringing him in so +many halfpence that he’d carry ’em for a week together, tied up in a +pocket-handkercher. And yet he never had money. And it couldn’t be +the Fat Lady from Norfolk, as was once supposed; because it stands to +reason that when you have a animosity towards a Indian, which makes you +grind your teeth at him to his face, and which can hardly hold you from +Goosing him audible when he’s going through his War-Dance—it stands +to reason you wouldn’t under them circumstances deprive yourself, to +support that Indian in the lap of luxury. + +Most unexpected, the mystery come out one day at Egham Races. The Public +was shy of bein pulled in, and Chops was ringin his little bell out of +his drawing-room winder, and was snarlin to me over his shoulder as he +kneeled down with his legs out at the back-door—for he couldn’t be +shoved into his house without kneeling down, and the premises wouldn’t +accommodate his legs—was snarlin, “Here’s a precious Public for you; why +the Devil don’t they tumble up?” when a man in the crowd holds up a +carrier-pigeon, and cries out, “If there’s any person here as has got a +ticket, the Lottery’s just drawed, and the number as has come up for the +great prize is three, seven, forty-two! Three, seven, forty-two!” I was +givin the man to the Furies myself, for calling off the Public’s +attention—for the Public will turn away, at any time, to look at +anything in preference to the thing showed ’em; and if you doubt it, get +’em together for any indiwidual purpose on the face of the earth, and +send only two people in late, and see if the whole company an’t far more +interested in takin particular notice of them two than of you—I say, I +wasn’t best pleased with the man for callin out, and wasn’t blessin him +in my own mind, when I see Chops’s little bell fly out of winder at a old +lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, exposin the whole secret, +and he catches hold of the calves of my legs and he says to me, “Carry me +into the wan, Toby, and throw a pail of water over me or I’m a dead man, +for I’ve come into my property!” + +Twelve thousand odd hundred pound, was Chops’s winnins. He had bought a +half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and it had come up. The +first use he made of his property, was, to offer to fight the Wild Indian +for five hundred pound a side, him with a poisoned darnin-needle and the +Indian with a club; but the Indian being in want of backers to that +amount, it went no further. + +Arter he had been mad for a week—in a state of mind, in short, in +which, if I had let him sit on the organ for only two minutes, I +believe he would have bust—but we kep the organ from him—Mr. Chops +come round, and behaved liberal and beautiful to all. He then sent +for a young man he knowed, as had a wery genteel appearance and was a +Bonnet at a gaming-booth (most respectable brought up, father havin +been imminent in the livery stable line but unfort’nate in a commercial +crisis, through paintin a old gray, ginger-bay, and sellin him with a +Pedigree), and Mr. Chops said to this Bonnet, who said his name was +Normandy, which it wasn’t: + +“Normandy, I’m a goin into Society. Will you go with me?” + +Says Normandy: “Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate that the +’ole of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?” + +“Correct,” says Mr. Chops. “And you shall have a Princely allowance +too.” + +The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair, to shake hands with him, and +replied in poetry, with his eyes seemingly full of tears: + +“My boat is on the shore, +And my bark is on the sea, +And I do not ask for more, +But I’ll Go:—along with thee.” + +They went into Society, in a chay and four grays with silk jackets. They +took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away. + +In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the +autumn of next year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk-white +cords and tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one evening +appinted. The gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and Mr. Chops’s +eyes was more fixed in that Ed of his than I thought good for him. +There was three of ’em (in company, I mean), and I knowed the third +well. When last met, he had on a white Roman shirt, and a bishop’s +mitre covered with leopard-skin, and played the clarionet all wrong, in +a band at a Wild Beast Show. + +This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said: “Gentlemen, this +is a old friend of former days:” and Normandy looked at me through a +eye-glass, and said, “Magsman, glad to see you!”—which I’ll take my oath +he wasn’t. Mr. Chops, to git him convenient to the table, had his chair +on a throne (much of the form of George the Fourth’s in the canvass), +but he hardly appeared to me to be King there in any other pint of +view, for his two gentlemen ordered about like Emperors. They was all +dressed like May-Day—gorgeous!—And as to Wine, they swam in all sorts. + +I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had done it), +and then mixed ’em all together (to say I had done it), and then tried +two of ’em as half-and-half, and then t’other two. Altogether, I passed +a pleasin evenin, but with a tendency to feel muddled, until I considered +it good manners to get up and say, “Mr. Chops, the best of friends must +part, I thank you for the wariety of foreign drains you have stood so +’ansome, I looks towards you in red wine, and I takes my leave.” Mr. +Chops replied, “If you’ll just hitch me out of this over your right arm, +Magsman, and carry me down-stairs, I’ll see you out.” I said I couldn’t +think of such a thing, but he would have it, so I lifted him off his +throne. He smelt strong of Maideary, and I couldn’t help thinking as I +carried him down that it was like carrying a large bottle full of wine, +with a rayther ugly stopper, a good deal out of proportion. + +When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kep me close to him by +holding on to my coat-collar, and he whispers: + +“I ain’t ’appy, Magsman.” + +“What’s on your mind, Mr. Chops?” + +“They don’t use me well. They an’t grateful to me. They puts me on the +mantel-piece when I won’t have in more Champagne-wine, and they locks me +in the sideboard when I won’t give up my property.” + +“Get rid of ’em, Mr. Chops.” + +“I can’t. We’re in Society together, and what would Society say?” + +“Come out of Society!” says I. + +“I can’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about. When you have once +gone into Society, you mustn’t come out of it.” + +“Then if you’ll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops,” were my remark, shaking +my head grave, “I think it’s a pity you ever went in.” + +Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his, to a surprisin extent, and slapped +it half a dozen times with his hand, and with more Wice than I thought +were in him. Then, he says, “You’re a good fellow, but you don’t +understand. Good-night, go along. Magsman, the little man will now walk +three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain.” The last +I see of him on that occasion was his tryin, on the extremest werge of +insensibility, to climb up the stairs, one by one, with his hands and +knees. They’d have been much too steep for him, if he had been sober; +but he wouldn’t be helped. + +It warn’t long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. Chops’s +being presented at court. It was printed, “It will be recollected”—and +I’ve noticed in my life, that it is sure to be printed that it _will_ be +recollected, whenever it won’t—“that Mr. Chops is the individual of +small stature, whose brilliant success in the last State Lottery +attracted so much attention.” Well, I says to myself, Such is Life! He +has been and done it in earnest at last. He has astonished George the +Fourth! + +(On account of which, I had that canvass new-painted, him with a bag of +money in his hand, a presentin it to George the Fourth, and a lady in +Ostrich Feathers fallin in love with him in a bag-wig, sword, and buckles +correct.) + +I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries—though not the +honour of bein acquainted—and I run Magsman’s Amusements in it thirteen +months—sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin +particular, but always all the canvasses outside. One night, when we had +played the last company out, which was a shy company, through its raining +Heavens hard, I was takin a pipe in the one pair back along with the +young man with the toes, which I had taken on for a month (though he +never drawed—except on paper), and I heard a kickin at the street door. +“Halloa!” I says to the young man, “what’s up!” He rubs his eyebrows +with his toes, and he says, “I can’t imagine, Mr. Magsman”—which he +never could imagine nothin, and was monotonous company. + +The noise not leavin off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle, +and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street; but +nothin could I see, and nothin was I aware of, until I turned round +quick, because some creetur run between my legs into the passage. There +was Mr. Chops! + +“Magsman,” he says, “take me, on the old terms, and you’ve got me; if +it’s done, say done!” + +I was all of a maze, but I said, “Done, sir.” + +“Done to your done, and double done!” says he. “Have you got a bit of +supper in the house?” + +Bearin in mind them sparklin warieties of foreign drains as we’d +guzzled away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassages +and gin-and-water; but he took ’em both and took ’em free; havin a +chair for his table, and sittin down at it on a stool, like hold times. +I, all of a maze all the while. + +It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and to the +best of my calculations two pound and a quarter), that the wisdom as was +in that little man began to come out of him like prespiration. + +“Magsman,” he says, “look upon me! You see afore you, One as has both +gone into Society and come out.” + +“O! You _are_ out of it, Mr. Chops? How did you get out, sir?” + +“SOLD OUT!” says he. You never saw the like of the wisdom as his Ed +expressed, when he made use of them two words. + +“My friend Magsman, I’ll impart to you a discovery I’ve made. It’s +wallable; it’s cost twelve thousand five hundred pound; it may do you +good in life—The secret of this matter is, that it ain’t so much that a +person goes into Society, as that Society goes into a person.” + +Not exactly keepin up with his meanin, I shook my head, put on a deep +look, and said, “You’re right there, Mr. Chops.” + +“Magsman,” he says, twitchin me by the leg, “Society has gone into me, to +the tune of every penny of my property.” + +I felt that I went pale, and though nat’rally a bold speaker, I couldn’t +hardly say, “Where’s Normandy?” + +“Bolted. With the plate,” said Mr. Chops. + +“And t’other one?” meaning him as formerly wore the bishop’s mitre. + +“Bolted. With the jewels,” said Mr. Chops. + +I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me. + +“Magsman,” he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got +hoarser; “Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of St. +James’s, they was all a doing my old business—all a goin three times +round the Cairawan, in the hold court-suits and properties. Elsewheres, +they was most of ’em ringin their little bells out of make-believes. +Everywheres, the sarser was a goin round. Magsman, the sarser is the +uniwersal Institution!” + +I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortunes, and I +felt for Mr. Chops. + +“As to Fat Ladies,” he says, giving his head a tremendious one agin the +wall, “there’s lots of _them_ in Society, and worse than the original. +_Hers_ was a outrage upon Taste—simply a outrage upon Taste—awakenin +contempt—carryin its own punishment in the form of a Indian.” Here he +giv himself another tremendious one. “But _theirs_, Magsman, _theirs_ is +mercenary outrages. Lay in Cashmeer shawls, buy bracelets, strew ’em and +a lot of ’andsome fans and things about your rooms, let it be known that +you give away like water to all as come to admire, and the Fat Ladies +that don’t exhibit for so much down upon the drum, will come from all the +pints of the compass to flock about you, whatever you are. They’ll drill +holes in your ’art, Magsman, like a Cullender. And when you’ve no more +left to give, they’ll laugh at you to your face, and leave you to have +your bones picked dry by Wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of the Prairies +that you deserve to be!” Here he giv himself the most tremendious one of +all, and dropped. + +I thought he was gone. His Ed was so heavy, and he knocked it so hard, +and he fell so stoney, and the sassagerial disturbance in him must have +been so immense, that I thought he was gone. But, he soon come round +with care, and he sat up on the floor, and he said to me, with wisdom +comin out of his eyes, if ever it come: + +“Magsman! The most material difference between the two states of +existence through which your unhappy friend has passed;” he reached out +his poor little hand, and his tears dropped down on the moustachio which +it was a credit to him to have done his best to grow, but it is not in +mortals to command success,—“the difference this. When I was out of +Society, I was paid light for being seen. When I went into Society, I +paid heavy for being seen. I prefer the former, even if I wasn’t forced +upon it. Give me out through the trumpet, in the hold way, to-morrow.” + +Arter that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had been iled +all over. But the organ was kep from him, and no allusions was ever +made, when a company was in, to his property. He got wiser every day; +his views of Society and the Public was luminous, bewilderin, awful; and +his Ed got bigger and bigger as his Wisdom expanded it. + +He took well, and pulled ’em in most excellent for nine weeks. At the +expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed one +evenin, the last Company havin been turned out, and the door shut, a wish +to have a little music. + +“Mr. Chops,” I said (I never dropped the “Mr.” with him; the world might +do it, but not me); “Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in a state of +mind and body to sit upon the organ?” + +His answer was this: “Toby, when next met with on the tramp, I forgive +her and the Indian. And I am.” + +It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; but he +sat like a lamb. I will be my belief to my dying day, that I see his Ed +expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great his thoughts was. He +sat out all the changes, and then he come off. + +“Toby,” he says, with a quiet smile, “the little man will now walk three +times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain.” + +When we called him in the morning, we found him gone into a much better +Society than mine or Pall Mall’s. I giv Mr. Chops as comfortable a +funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as Chief, and had the George +the Fourth canvass carried first, in the form of a banner. But, the +House was so dismal arterwards, that I giv it up, and took to the Wan +again. + +* * * * * + +“I don’t triumph,” said Jarber, folding up the second manuscript, and +looking hard at Trottle. “I don’t triumph over this worthy creature. I +merely ask him if he is satisfied now?” + +“How can he be anything else?” I said, answering for Trottle, who sat +obstinately silent. “This time, Jarber, you have not only read us a +delightfully amusing story, but you have also answered the question about +the House. Of course it stands empty now. Who would think of taking it +after it had been turned into a caravan?” I looked at Trottle, as I said +those last words, and Jarber waved his hand indulgently in the same +direction. + +“Let this excellent person speak,” said Jarber. “You were about to say, +my good man?”— + +“I only wished to ask, sir,” said Trottle doggedly, “if you could kindly +oblige me with a date or two in connection with that last story?” + +“A date!” repeated Jarber. “What does the man want with dates!” + +“I should be glad to know, with great respect,” persisted Trottle, “if +the person named Magsman was the last tenant who lived in the House. It’s +my opinion—if I may be excused for giving it—that he most decidedly was +not.” + +With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room. + +There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked sadly +discomposed. He had evidently forgotten to inquire about dates; and, in +spite of his magnificent talk about his series of discoveries, it was +quite as plain that the two stories he had just read, had really and +truly exhausted his present stock. I thought myself bound, in common +gratitude, to help him out of his embarrassment by a timely suggestion. +So I proposed that he should come to tea again, on the next Monday +evening, the thirteenth, and should make such inquiries in the meantime, +as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of Trottle’s objection. + +He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment, +and took his leave. For the rest of the week I would not encourage +Trottle by allowing him to refer to the House at all. I suspected he was +making his own inquiries about dates, but I put no questions to him. + +On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber came, +punctual to the appointed time. He looked so terribly harassed, that he +was really quite a spectacle of feebleness and fatigue. I saw, at a +glance, that the question of dates had gone against him, that Mr. Magsman +had not been the last tenant of the House, and that the reason of its +emptiness was still to seek. + +“What I have gone through,” said Jarber, “words are not eloquent enough +to tell. O Sophonisba, I have begun another series of discoveries! +Accept the last two as stories laid on your shrine; and wait to blame me +for leaving your curiosity unappeased, until you have heard Number +Three.” + +Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as much. +Jarber explained to me that we were to have some poetry this time. In +the course of his investigations he had stepped into the Circulating +Library, to seek for information on the one important subject. All the +Library-people knew about the House was, that a female relative of the +last tenant, as they believed, had, just after that tenant left, sent a +little manuscript poem to them which she described as referring to events +that had actually passed in the House; and which she wanted the +proprietor of the Library to publish. She had written no address on her +letter; and the proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to be given back +to her (the publishing of poems not being in his line) when she might +call for it. She had never called for it; and the poem had been lent to +Jarber, at his express request, to read to me. + +Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined to have +him present at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his obstinacy. To +my surprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, that Trottle had +stepped out without saying where. I instantly felt the strongest +possible conviction that he was at his old tricks: and that his stepping +out in the evening, without leave, meant—Philandering. + +Controlling myself on my visitor’s account, I dismissed Peggy, stifled my +indignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to listen to Jarber. + + + + +THREE EVENINGS IN THE HOUSE + + +NUMBER ONE. + + +I. + +Yes, it look’d dark and dreary +That long and narrow street: +Only the sound of the rain, +And the tramp of passing feet, +The duller glow of the fire, +And gathering mists of night +To mark how slow and weary +The long day’s cheerless flight! + +II. + +Watching the sullen fire, +Hearing the dreary rain, +Drop after drop, run down +On the darkening window-pane; +Chill was the heart of Bertha, +Chill as that winter day,— +For the star of her life had risen +Only to fade away. + +III. + +The voice that had been so strong +To bid the snare depart, +The true and earnest will, +And the calm and steadfast heart, +Were now weigh’d down by sorrow, +Were quivering now with pain; +The clear path now seem’d clouded, +And all her grief in vain. + +IV. + +Duty, Right, Truth, who promised +To help and save their own, +Seem’d spreading wide their pinions +To leave her there alone. +So, turning from the Present +To well-known days of yore, +She call’d on them to strengthen +And guard her soul once more. + +V. + +She thought how in her girlhood +Her life was given away, +The solemn promise spoken +She kept so well to-day; +How to her brother Herbert +She had been help and guide, +And how his artist-nature +On her calm strength relied. + +VI. + +How through life’s fret and turmoil +The passion and fire of art +In him was soothed and quicken’d +By her true sister heart; +How future hopes had always +Been for his sake alone; +And now, what strange new feeling +Possess’d her as its own? + +VII. + +Her home; each flower that breathed there; +The wind’s sigh, soft and low; +Each trembling spray of ivy; +The river’s murmuring flow; +The shadow of the forest; +Sunset, or twilight dim; +Dear as they were, were dearer +By leaving them for him. + +VIII. + +And each year as it found her +In the dull, feverish town, +Saw self still more forgotten, +And selfish care kept down +By the calm joy of evening +That brought him to her side, +To warn him with wise counsel, +Or praise with tender pride. + +IX. + +Her heart, her life, her future, +Her genius, only meant +Another thing to give him, +And be therewith content. +To-day, what words had stirr’d her, +Her soul could not forget? +What dream had fill’d her spirit +With strange and wild regret? + +X. + +To leave him for another: +Could it indeed be so? +Could it have cost such anguish +To bid this vision go? +Was this her faith? Was Herbert +The second in her heart? +Did it need all this struggle +To bid a dream depart? + +XI. + +And yet, within her spirit +A far-off land was seen; +A home, which might have held her; +A love, which might have been; +And Life: not the mere being +Of daily ebb and flow, +But Life itself had claim’d her, +And she had let it go! + +XII. + +Within her heart there echo’d +Again the well-known tune +That promised this bright future, +And ask’d her for its own: +Then words of sorrow, broken +By half-reproachful pain; +And then a farewell, spoken +In words of cold disdain. + +XIII. + +Where now was the stern purpose +That nerved her soul so long? +Whence came the words she utter’d, +So hard, so cold, so strong? +What right had she to banish +A hope that God had given? +Why must she choose earth’s portion, +And turn aside from Heaven? + +XIV. + +To-day! Was it this morning? +If this long, fearful strife +Was but the work of hours, +What would be years of life? +Why did a cruel Heaven +For such great suffering call? +And why—O, still more cruel!— +Must her own words do all? + +XV. + +Did she repent? O Sorrow! +Why do we linger still +To take thy loving message, +And do thy gentle will? +See, her tears fall more slowly; +The passionate murmurs cease, +And back upon her spirit +Flow strength, and love, and peace. + +XVI. + +The fire burns more brightly, +The rain has passed away, +Herbert will see no shadow +Upon his home to-day; +Only that Bertha greets him +With doubly tender care, +Kissing a fonder blessing +Down on his golden hair. + + +NUMBER TWO. + + +I. + +The studio is deserted, +Palette and brush laid by, +The sketch rests on the easel, +The paint is scarcely dry; +And Silence—who seems always +Within her depths to bear +The next sound that will utter— +Now holds a dumb despair. + +II. + +So Bertha feels it: listening +With breathless, stony fear, +Waiting the dreadful summons +Each minute brings more near: +When the young life, now ebbing, +Shall fail, and pass away +Into that mighty shadow +Who shrouds the house to-day. + +III. + +But why—when the sick chamber +Is on the upper floor— +Why dares not Bertha enter +Within the close-shut door? +If he—her all—her Brother, +Lies dying in that gloom, +What strange mysterious power +Has sent her from the room? + +IV. + +It is not one week’s anguish +That can have changed her so; +Joy has not died here lately, +Struck down by one quick blow; +But cruel months have needed +Their long relentless chain, +To teach that shrinking manner +Of helpless, hopeless pain. + +V. + +The struggle was scarce over +Last Christmas Eve had brought: +The fibres still were quivering +Of the one wounded thought, +When Herbert—who, unconscious, +Had guessed no inward strife— +Bade her, in pride and pleasure, +Welcome his fair young wife. + +VI. + +Bade her rejoice, and smiling, +Although his eyes were dim, +Thank’d God he thus could pay her +The care she gave to him. +This fresh bright life would bring her +A new and joyous fate— +O Bertha, check the murmur +That cries, Too late! too late! + +VII. + +Too late! Could she have known it +A few short weeks before, +That his life was completed, +And needing hers no more, +She might—O sad repining! +What “might have been,” forget; +“It was not,” should suffice us +To stifle vain regret. + +VIII. + +He needed her no longer, +Each day it grew more plain; +First with a startled wonder, +Then with a wondering pain. +Love: why, his wife best gave it; +Comfort: durst Bertha speak? +Counsel: when quick resentment +Flush’d on the young wife’s cheek. + +IX. + +No more long talks by firelight +Of childish times long past, +And dreams of future greatness +Which he must reach at last; +Dreams, where her purer instinct +With truth unerring told +Where was the worthless gilding, +And where refinèd gold. + +X. + +Slowly, but surely ever, +Dora’s poor jealous pride, +Which she call’d love for Herbert, +Drove Bertha from his side; +And, spite of nervous effort +To share their alter’d life, +She felt a check to Herbert, +A burden to his wife. + +XI. + +This was the least; for Bertha +Fear’d, dreaded, _knew_ at length, +How much his nature owed her +Of truth, and power, and strength; +And watch’d the daily failing +Of all his nobler part: +Low aims, weak purpose, telling +In lower, weaker art. + +XII. + +And now, when he is dying, +The last words she could hear +Must not be hers, but given +The bride of one short year. +The last care is another’s; +The last prayer must not be +The one they learnt together +Beside their mother’s knee. + +XIII. + +Summon’d at last: she kisses +The clay-cold stiffening hand; +And, reading pleading efforts +To make her understand, +Answers, with solemn promise, +In clear but trembling tone, +To Dora’s life henceforward +She will devote her own. + +XIV. + +Now all is over. Bertha +Dares not remain to weep, +But soothes the frightened Dora +Into a sobbing sleep. +The poor weak child will need her: +O, who can dare complain, +When God sends a new Duty +To comfort each new Pain! + + +NUMBER THREE. + + +I. + +The House is all deserted +In the dim evening gloom, +Only one figure passes +Slowly from room to room; +And, pausing at each doorway, +Seems gathering up again +Within her heart the relics +Of bygone joy and pain. + +II. + +There is an earnest longing +In those who onward gaze, +Looking with weary patience +Towards the coming days. +There is a deeper longing, +More sad, more strong, more keen: +Those know it who look backward, +And yearn for what has been. + +III. + +At every hearth she pauses, +Touches each well-known chair; +Gazes from every window, +Lingers on every stair. +What have these months brought Bertha +Now one more year is past? +This Christmas Eve shall tell us, +The third one and the last. + +IV. + +The wilful, wayward Dora, +In those first weeks of grief, +Could seek and find in Bertha +Strength, soothing, and relief. +And Bertha—last sad comfort +True woman-heart can take— +Had something still to suffer +And do for Herbert’s sake. + +V. + +Spring, with her western breezes, +From Indian islands bore +To Bertha news that Leonard +Would seek his home once more. +What was it—joy, or sorrow? +What were they—hopes, or fears? +That flush’d her cheeks with crimson, +And fill’d her eyes with tears? + +VI. + +He came. And who so kindly +Could ask and hear her tell +Herbert’s last hours; for Leonard +Had known and loved him well. +Daily he came; and Bertha, +Poor wear heart, at length, +Weigh’d down by other’s weakness, +Could rest upon his strength. + +VII. + +Yet not the voice of Leonard +Could her true care beguile, +That turn’d to watch, rejoicing, +Dora’s reviving smile. +So, from that little household +The worst gloom pass’d away, +The one bright hour of evening +Lit up the livelong day. + +VIII. + +Days passed. The golden summer +In sudden heat bore down +Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness +Upon the scorching town. +And sights and sounds of country +Came in the warm soft tune +Sung by the honey’d breezes +Borne on the wings of June. + +IX. + +One twilight hour, but earlier +Than usual, Bertha thought +She knew the fresh sweet fragrance +Of flowers that Leonard brought; +Through open’d doors and windows +It stole up through the gloom, +And with appealing sweetness +Drew Bertha from her room. + +X. + +Yes, he was there; and pausing +Just near the open’d door, +To check her heart’s quick beating, +She heard—and paused still more— +His low voice Dora’s answers— +His pleading—Yes, she knew +The tone—the words—the accents: +She once had heard them too. + +XI. + +“Would Bertha blame her?” Leonard’s +Low, tender answer came: +“Bertha was far too noble +To think or dream of blame.” +“And was he sure he loved her?” +“Yes, with the one love given +Once in a lifetime only, +With one soul and one heaven!” + +XII. + +Then came a plaintive murmur,— +“Dora had once been told +That he and Bertha—” “Dearest, +Bertha is far too cold +To love; and I, my Dora, +If once I fancied so, +It was a brief delusion, +And over,—long ago.” + +XIII. + +Between the Past and Present, +On that bleak moment’s height, +She stood. As some lost traveller +By a quick flash of light +Seeing a gulf before him, +With dizzy, sick despair, +Reels to clutch backward, but to find +A deeper chasm there. + +XIV. + +The twilight grew still darker, +The fragrant flowers more sweet, +The stars shone out in heaven, +The lamps gleam’d down the street; +And hours pass’d in dreaming +Over their new-found fate, +Ere they could think of wondering +Why Bertha was so late. + +XV. + +She came, and calmly listen’d; +In vain they strove to trace +If Herbert’s memory shadow’d +In grief upon her face. +No blame, no wonder show’d there, +No feeling could be told; +Her voice was not less steady, +Her manner not more cold. + +XVI. + +They could not hear the anguish +That broke in words of pain +Through that calm summer midnight,— +“My Herbert—mine again!” +Yes, they have once been parted, +But this day shall restore +The long lost one: she claims him: +“My Herbert—mine once more!” + +XVII. + +Now Christmas Eve returning, +Saw Bertha stand beside +The altar, greeting Dora, +Again a smiling bride; +And now the gloomy evening +Sees Bertha pale and worn, +Leaving the house for ever, +To wander out forlorn. + +XVIII. + +Forlorn—nay, not so. Anguish +Shall do its work at length; +Her soul, pass’d through the fire, +Shall gain still purer strength. +Somewhere there waits for Bertha +An earnest noble part; +And, meanwhile, God is with her,— +God, and her own true heart! + +* * * * * + +I could warmly and sincerely praise the little poem, when Jarber had done +reading it; but I could not say that it tended in any degree towards +clearing up the mystery of the empty House. + +Whether it was the absence of the irritating influence of Trottle, or +whether it was simply fatigue, I cannot say, but Jarber did not strike +me, that evening, as being in his usual spirits. And though he declared +that he was not in the least daunted by his want of success thus far, and +that he was resolutely determined to make more discoveries, he spoke in a +languid absent manner, and shortly afterwards took his leave at rather an +early hour. + +When Trottle came back, and when I indignantly taxed him with +Philandering, he not only denied the imputation, but asserted that he had +been employed on my service, and, in consideration of that, boldly asked +for leave of absence for two days, and for a morning to himself +afterwards, to complete the business, in which he solemnly declared that +I was interested. In remembrance of his long and faithful service to me, +I did violence to myself, and granted his request. And he, on his side, +engaged to explain himself to my satisfaction, in a week’s time, on +Monday evening the twentieth. + +A day or two before, I sent to Jarber’s lodgings to ask him to drop in to +tea. His landlady sent back an apology for him that made my hair stand +on end. His feet were in hot water; his head was in a flannel petticoat; +a green shade was over his eyes; the rheumatism was in his legs; and a +mustard-poultice was on his chest. He was also a little feverish, and +rather distracted in his mind about Manchester Marriages, a Dwarf, and +Three Evenings, or Evening Parties—his landlady was not sure which—in +an empty House, with the Water Rate unpaid. + +Under these distressing circumstances, I was necessarily left alone with +Trottle. His promised explanation began, like Jarber’s discoveries, with +the reading of a written paper. The only difference was that Trottle +introduced his manuscript under the name of a Report. + + + + +TROTTLE’S REPORT + + +The curious events related in these pages would, many of them, most +likely never have happened, if a person named Trottle had not presumed, +contrary to his usual custom, to think for himself. + +The subject on which the person in question had ventured, for the first +time in his life, to form an opinion purely and entirely his own, was one +which had already excited the interest of his respected mistress in a +very extraordinary degree. Or, to put it in plainer terms still, the +subject was no other than the mystery of the empty House. + +Feeling no sort of objection to set a success of his own, if possible, +side by side with a failure of Mr. Jarber’s, Trottle made up his mind, +one Monday evening, to try what he could do, on his own account, towards +clearing up the mystery of the empty House. Carefully dismissing from +his mind all nonsensical notions of former tenants and their histories, +and keeping the one point in view steadily before him, he started to +reach it in the shortest way, by walking straight up to the House, and +bringing himself face to face with the first person in it who opened the +door to him. + +It was getting towards dark, on Monday evening, the thirteenth of the +month, when Trottle first set foot on the steps of the House. When he +knocked at the door, he knew nothing of the matter which he was about to +investigate, except that the landlord was an elderly widower of good +fortune, and that his name was Forley. A small beginning enough for a +man to start from, certainly! + +On dropping the knocker, his first proceeding was to look down cautiously +out of the corner of his right eye, for any results which might show +themselves at the kitchen-window. There appeared at it immediately the +figure of a woman, who looked up inquisitively at the stranger on the +steps, left the window in a hurry, and came back to it with an open +letter in her hand, which she held up to the fading light. After looking +over the letter hastily for a moment or so, the woman disappeared once +more. + +Trottle next heard footsteps shuffling and scraping along the bare hall +of the house. On a sudden they ceased, and the sound of two voices—a +shrill persuading voice and a gruff resisting voice—confusedly reached +his ears. After a while, the voices left off speaking—a chain was +undone, a bolt drawn back—the door opened—and Trottle stood face to +face with two persons, a woman in advance, and a man behind her, leaning +back flat against the wall. + +“Wish you good evening, sir,” says the woman, in such a sudden way, and +in such a cracked voice, that it was quite startling to hear her. “Chilly +weather, ain’t it, sir? Please to walk in. You come from good Mr. +Forley, don’t you, sir?” + +“Don’t you, sir?” chimes in the man hoarsely, making a sort of gruff echo +of himself, and chuckling after it, as if he thought he had made a joke. + +If Trottle had said, “No,” the door would have been probably closed in +his face. Therefore, he took circumstances as he found them, and boldly +ran all the risk, whatever it might be, of saying, “Yes.” + +“Quite right sir,” says the woman. “Good Mr. Forley’s letter told us +his particular friend would be here to represent him, at dusk, on +Monday the thirteenth—or, if not on Monday the thirteenth, then on +Monday the twentieth, at the same time, without fail. And here you +are on Monday the thirteenth, ain’t you, sir? Mr. Forley’s particular +friend, and dressed all in black—quite right, sir! Please to step into +the dining-room—it’s always kep scoured and clean against Mr. Forley +comes here—and I’ll fetch a candle in half a minute. It gets so dark +in the evenings, now, you hardly know where you are, do you, sir? And +how is good Mr. Forley in his health? We trust he is better, Benjamin, +don’t we? We are so sorry not to see him as usual, Benjamin, ain’t we? +In half a minute, sir, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll be back with the +candle. Come along, Benjamin.” + +“Come along, Benjamin,” chimes in the echo, and chuckles again as if he +thought he had made another joke. + +Left alone in the empty front-parlour, Trottle wondered what was coming +next, as he heard the shuffling, scraping footsteps go slowly down the +kitchen-stairs. The front-door had been carefully chained up and bolted +behind him on his entrance; and there was not the least chance of his +being able to open it to effect his escape, without betraying himself by +making a noise. + +Not being of the Jarber sort, luckily for himself, he took his situation +quietly, as he found it, and turned his time, while alone, to account, by +summing up in his own mind the few particulars which he had discovered +thus far. He had found out, first, that Mr. Forley was in the habit of +visiting the house regularly. Second, that Mr. Forley being prevented by +illness from seeing the people put in charge as usual, had appointed a +friend to represent him; and had written to say so. Third, that the +friend had a choice of two Mondays, at a particular time in the evening, +for doing his errand; and that Trottle had accidentally hit on this time, +and on the first of the Mondays, for beginning his own investigations. +Fourth, that the similarity between Trottle’s black dress, as servant out +of livery, and the dress of the messenger (whoever he might be), had +helped the error by which Trottle was profiting. So far, so good. But +what was the messenger’s errand? and what chance was there that he might +not come up and knock at the door himself, from minute to minute, on that +very evening? + +While Trottle was turning over this last consideration in his mind, he +heard the shuffling footsteps come up the stairs again, with a flash of +candle-light going before them. He waited for the woman’s coming in with +some little anxiety; for the twilight had been too dim on his getting +into the house to allow him to see either her face or the man’s face at +all clearly. + +The woman came in first, with the man she called Benjamin at her heels, +and set the candle on the mantel-piece. Trottle takes leave to describe +her as an offensively-cheerful old woman, awfully lean and wiry, and +sharp all over, at eyes, nose, and chin—devilishly brisk, smiling, and +restless, with a dirty false front and a dirty black cap, and short +fidgetty arms, and long hooked finger-nails—an unnaturally lusty old +woman, who walked with a spring in her wicked old feet, and spoke with a +smirk on her wicked old face—the sort of old woman (as Trottle thinks) +who ought to have lived in the dark ages, and been ducked in a +horse-pond, instead of flourishing in the nineteenth century, and taking +charge of a Christian house. + +“You’ll please to excuse my son, Benjamin, won’t you, sir?” says this +witch without a broomstick, pointing to the man behind her, propped +against the bare wall of the dining-room, exactly as he had been propped +against the bare wall of the passage. “He’s got his inside dreadful bad +again, has my son Benjamin. And he won’t go to bed, and he will follow +me about the house, up-stairs and downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber, +as the song says, you know. It’s his indisgestion, poor dear, that sours +his temper and makes him so agravating—and indisgestion is a wearing +thing to the best of us, ain’t it, sir?” + +“Ain’t it, sir?” chimes in agravating Benjamin, winking at the +candle-light like an owl at the sunshine. + +Trottle examined the man curiously, while his horrid old mother was +speaking of him. He found “My son Benjamin” to be little and lean, and +buttoned-up slovenly in a frowsy old great-coat that fell down to his +ragged carpet-slippers. His eyes were very watery, his cheeks very pale, +and his lips very red. His breathing was so uncommonly loud, that it +sounded almost like a snore. His head rolled helplessly in the monstrous +big collar of his great-coat; and his limp, lazy hands pottered about the +wall on either side of him, as if they were groping for a imaginary +bottle. In plain English, the complaint of “My son Benjamin” was +drunkenness, of the stupid, pig-headed, sottish kind. Drawing this +conclusion easily enough, after a moment’s observation of the man, +Trottle found himself, nevertheless, keeping his eyes fixed much longer +than was necessary on the ugly drunken face rolling about in the +monstrous big coat collar, and looking at it with a curiosity that he +could hardly account for at first. Was there something familiar to him +in the man’s features? He turned away from them for an instant, and then +turned back to him again. After that second look, the notion forced +itself into his mind, that he had certainly seen a face somewhere, of +which that sot’s face appeared like a kind of slovenly copy. “Where?” +thinks he to himself, “where did I last see the man whom this agravating +Benjamin, here, so very strongly reminds me of?” + +It was no time, just then—with the cheerful old woman’s eye searching +him all over, and the cheerful old woman’s tongue talking at him, +nineteen to the dozen—for Trottle to be ransacking his memory for small +matters that had got into wrong corners of it. He put by in his mind +that very curious circumstance respecting Benjamin’s face, to be taken up +again when a fit opportunity offered itself; and kept his wits about him +in prime order for present necessities. + +“You wouldn’t like to go down into the kitchen, would you?” says the +witch without the broomstick, as familiar as if she had been Trottle’s +mother, instead of Benjamin’s. “There’s a bit of fire in the grate, and +the sink in the back kitchen don’t smell to matter much to-day, and it’s +uncommon chilly up here when a person’s flesh don’t hardly cover a +person’s bones. But you don’t look cold, sir, do you? And then, why, +Lord bless my soul, our little bit of business is so very, very little, +it’s hardly worth while to go downstairs about it, after all. Quite a +game at business, ain’t it, sir? Give-and-take that’s what I call +it—give-and-take!” + +With that, her wicked old eyes settled hungrily on the region round about +Trottle’s waistcoat-pocket, and she began to chuckle like her son, +holding out one of her skinny hands, and tapping cheerfully in the palm +with the knuckles of the other. Agravating Benjamin, seeing what she was +about, roused up a little, chuckled and tapped in imitation of her, got +an idea of his own into his muddled head all of a sudden, and bolted it +out charitably for the benefit of Trottle. + +“I say!” says Benjamin, settling himself against the wall and nodding his +head viciously at his cheerful old mother. “I say! Look out. She’ll +skin you!” + +Assisted by these signs and warnings, Trottle found no difficulty in +understanding that the business referred to was the giving and taking of +money, and that he was expected to be the giver. It was at this stage of +the proceedings that he first felt decidedly uncomfortable, and more than +half inclined to wish he was on the street-side of the house-door again. + +He was still cudgelling his brains for an excuse to save his pocket, when +the silence was suddenly interrupted by a sound in the upper part of the +house. + +It was not at all loud—it was a quiet, still, scraping sound—so faint +that it could hardly have reached the quickest ears, except in an empty +house. + +“Do you hear that, Benjamin?” says the old woman. “He’s at it again, +even in the dark, ain’t he? P’raps you’d like to see him, sir!” says +she, turning on Trottle, and poking her grinning face close to him. “Only +name it; only say if you’d like to see him before we do our little bit of +business—and I’ll show good Forley’s friend up-stairs, just as if he was +good Mr. Forley himself. _My_ legs are all right, whatever Benjamin’s +may be. I get younger and younger, and stronger and stronger, and +jollier and jollier, every day—that’s what I do! Don’t mind the stairs +on my account, sir, if you’d like to see him.” + +“Him?” Trottle wondered whether “him” meant a man, or a boy, or a +domestic animal of the male species. Whatever it meant, here was a +chance of putting off that uncomfortable give-and-take-business, and, +better still, a chance perhaps of finding out one of the secrets of the +mysterious House. Trottle’s spirits began to rise again and he said +“Yes,” directly, with the confidence of a man who knew all about it. + +Benjamin’s mother took the candle at once, and lighted Trottle briskly to +the stairs; and Benjamin himself tried to follow as usual. But getting +up several flights of stairs, even helped by the bannisters, was more, +with his particular complaint, than he seemed to feel himself inclined to +venture on. He sat down obstinately on the lowest step, with his head +against the wall, and the tails of his big great-coat spreading out +magnificently on the stairs behind him and above him, like a dirty +imitation of a court lady’s train. + +“Don’t sit there, dear,” says his affectionate mother, stopping to snuff +the candle on the first landing. + +“I shall sit here,” says Benjamin, agravating to the last, “till the milk +comes in the morning.” + +The cheerful old woman went on nimbly up the stairs to the first floor, +and Trottle followed, with his eyes and ears wide open. He had seen +nothing out of the common in the front-parlour, or up the staircase, so +far. The House was dirty and dreary and close-smelling—but there was +nothing about it to excite the least curiosity, except the faint scraping +sound, which was now beginning to get a little clearer—though still not +at all loud—as Trottle followed his leader up the stairs to the second +floor. + +Nothing on the second-floor landing, but cobwebs above and bits of broken +plaster below, cracked off from the ceiling. Benjamin’s mother was not a +bit out of breath, and looked all ready to go to the top of the monument +if necessary. The faint scraping sound had got a little clearer still; +but Trottle was no nearer to guessing what it might be, than when he +first heard it in the parlour downstairs. + +On the third, and last, floor, there were two doors; one, which was shut, +leading into the front garret; and one, which was ajar, leading into the +back garret. There was a loft in the ceiling above the landing; but the +cobwebs all over it vouched sufficiently for its not having been opened +for some little time. The scraping noise, plainer than ever here, +sounded on the other side of the back garret door; and, to Trottle’s +great relief, that was precisely the door which the cheerful old woman +now pushed open. + +Trottle followed her in; and, for once in his life, at any rate, was +struck dumb with amazement, at the sight which the inside of the room +revealed to him. + +The garret was absolutely empty of everything in the shape of furniture. +It must have been used at one time or other, by somebody engaged in a +profession or a trade which required for the practice of it a great deal +of light; for the one window in the room, which looked out on a wide open +space at the back of the house, was three or four times as large, every +way, as a garret-window usually is. Close under this window, kneeling on +the bare boards with his face to the door, there appeared, of all the +creatures in the world to see alone at such a place and at such a time, a +mere mite of a child—a little, lonely, wizen, strangely-clad boy, who +could not at the most, have been more than five years old. He had a +greasy old blue shawl crossed over his breast, and rolled up, to keep the +ends from the ground, into a great big lump on his back. A strip of +something which looked like the remains of a woman’s flannel petticoat, +showed itself under the shawl, and, below that again, a pair of rusty +black stockings, worlds too large for him, covered his legs and his +shoeless feet. A pair of old clumsy muffetees, which had worked +themselves up on his little frail red arms to the elbows, and a big +cotton nightcap that had dropped down to his very eyebrows, finished off +the strange dress which the poor little man seemed not half big enough to +fill out, and not near strong enough to walk about in. + +But there was something to see even more extraordinary than the clothes +the child was swaddled up in, and that was the game which he was playing +at, all by himself; and which, moreover, explained in the most unexpected +manner the faint scraping noise that had found its way down-stairs, +through the half-opened door, in the silence of the empty house. + +It has been mentioned that the child was on his knees in the garret, when +Trottle first saw him. He was not saying his prayers, and not crouching +down in terror at being alone in the dark. He was, odd and unaccountable +as it may appear, doing nothing more or less than playing at a +charwoman’s or housemaid’s business of scouring the floor. Both his +little hands had tight hold of a mangy old blacking-brush, with hardly +any bristles left in it, which he was rubbing backwards and forwards on +the boards, as gravely and steadily as if he had been at scouring-work +for years, and had got a large family to keep by it. The coming-in of +Trottle and the old woman did not startle or disturb him in the least. He +just looked up for a minute at the candle, with a pair of very bright, +sharp eyes, and then went on with his work again, as if nothing had +happened. On one side of him was a battered pint saucepan without a +handle, which was his make-believe pail; and on the other a morsel of +slate-coloured cotton rag, which stood for his flannel to wipe up with. +After scrubbing bravely for a minute or two, he took the bit of rag, and +mopped up, and then squeezed make-believe water out into his make-believe +pail, as grave as any judge that ever sat on a Bench. By the time he +thought he had got the floor pretty dry, he raised himself upright on his +knees, and blew out a good long breath, and set his little red arms +akimbo, and nodded at Trottle. + +“There!” says the child, knitting his little downy eyebrows into a frown. +“Drat the dirt! I’ve cleaned up. Where’s my beer?” + +Benjamin’s mother chuckled till Trottle thought she would have choked +herself. + +“Lord ha’ mercy on us!” says she, “just hear the imp. You would never +think he was only five years old, would you, sir? Please to tell good +Mr. Forley you saw him going on as nicely as ever, playing at being me +scouring the parlour floor, and calling for my beer afterwards. That’s +his regular game, morning, noon, and night—he’s never tired of it. Only +look how snug we’ve been and dressed him. That’s my shawl a keepin his +precious little body warm, and Benjamin’s nightcap a keepin his precious +little head warm, and Benjamin’s stockings, drawed over his trowsers, a +keepin his precious little legs warm. He’s snug and happy if ever a imp +was yet. ‘Where’s my beer!’—say it again, little dear, say it again!” + +If Trottle had seen the boy, with a light and a fire in the room, clothed +like other children, and playing naturally with a top, or a box of +soldiers, or a bouncing big India-rubber ball, he might have been as +cheerful under the circumstances as Benjamin’s mother herself. But +seeing the child reduced (as he could not help suspecting) for want of +proper toys and proper child’s company, to take up with the mocking of an +old woman at her scouring-work, for something to stand in the place of a +game, Trottle, though not a family man, nevertheless felt the sight +before him to be, in its way, one of the saddest and the most pitiable +that he had ever witnessed. + +“Why, my man,” says he, “you’re the boldest little chap in all England. +You don’t seem a bit afraid of being up here all by yourself in the +dark.” + +“The big winder,” says the child, pointing up to it, “sees in the dark; +and I see with the big winder.” He stops a bit, and gets up on his legs, +and looks hard at Benjamin’s mother. “I’m a good ’un,” says he, “ain’t +I? I save candle.” + +Trottle wondered what else the forlorn little creature had been brought +up to do without, besides candle-light; and risked putting a question as +to whether he ever got a run in the open air to cheer him up a bit. O, +yes, he had a run now and then, out of doors (to say nothing of his runs +about the house), the lively little cricket—a run according to good Mr. +Forley’s instructions, which were followed out carefully, as good Mr. +Forley’s friend would be glad to hear, to the very letter. + +As Trottle could only have made one reply to this, namely, that good Mr. +Forley’s instructions were, in his opinion, the instructions of an +infernal scamp; and as he felt that such an answer would naturally prove +the death-blow to all further discoveries on his part, he gulped down his +feelings before they got too many for him, and held his tongue, and +looked round towards the window again to see what the forlorn little boy +was going to amuse himself with next. + +The child had gathered up his blacking-brush and bit of rag, and had put +them into the old tin saucepan; and was now working his way, as well as +his clothes would let him, with his make-believe pail hugged up in his +arms, towards a door of communication which led from the back to the +front garret. + +“I say,” says he, looking round sharply over his shoulder, “what are you +two stopping here for? I’m going to bed now—and so I tell you!” + +With that, he opened the door, and walked into the front room. Seeing +Trottle take a step or two to follow him, Benjamin’s mother opened her +wicked old eyes in a state of great astonishment. + +“Mercy on us!” says she, “haven’t you seen enough of him yet?” + +“No,” says Trottle. “I should like to see him go to bed.” + +Benjamin’s mother burst into such a fit of chuckling that the loose +extinguisher in the candlestick clattered again with the shaking of her +hand. To think of good Mr. Forley’s friend taking ten times more trouble +about the imp than good Mr. Forley himself! Such a joke as that, +Benjamin’s mother had not often met with in the course of her life, and +she begged to be excused if she took the liberty of having a laugh at it. + +Leaving her to laugh as much as she pleased, and coming to a pretty +positive conclusion, after what he had just heard, that Mr. Forley’s +interest in the child was not of the fondest possible kind, Trottle +walked into the front room, and Benjamin’s mother, enjoying herself +immensely, followed with the candle. + +There were two pieces of furniture in the front garret. One, an old +stool of the sort that is used to stand a cask of beer on; and the other +a great big ricketty straddling old truckle bedstead. In the middle of +this bedstead, surrounded by a dim brown waste of sacking, was a kind of +little island of poor bedding—an old bolster, with nearly all the +feathers out of it, doubled in three for a pillow; a mere shred of +patchwork counter-pane, and a blanket; and under that, and peeping out a +little on either side beyond the loose clothes, two faded chair cushions +of horsehair, laid along together for a sort of makeshift mattress. When +Trottle got into the room, the lonely little boy had scrambled up on the +bedstead with the help of the beer-stool, and was kneeling on the outer +rim of sacking with the shred of counterpane in his hands, just making +ready to tuck it in for himself under the chair cushions. + +“I’ll tuck you up, my man,” says Trottle. “Jump into bed, and let me +try.” + +“I mean to tuck myself up,” says the poor forlorn child, “and I don’t +mean to jump. I mean to crawl, I do—and so I tell you!” + +With that, he set to work, tucking in the clothes tight all down the +sides of the cushions, but leaving them open at the foot. Then, getting +up on his knees, and looking hard at Trottle as much as to say, “What do +you mean by offering to help such a handy little chap as me?” he began to +untie the big shawl for himself, and did it, too, in less than half a +minute. Then, doubling the shawl up loose over the foot of the bed, he +says, “I say, look here,” and ducks under the clothes, head first, +worming his way up and up softly, under the blanket and counterpane, till +Trottle saw the top of the large nightcap slowly peep out on the bolster. +This over-sized head-gear of the child’s had so shoved itself down in the +course of his journey to the pillow, under the clothes, that when he got +his face fairly out on the bolster, he was all nightcap down to his +mouth. He soon freed himself, however, from this slight encumbrance by +turning the ends of the cap up gravely to their old place over his +eyebrows—looked at Trottle—said, “Snug, ain’t it? Good-bye!”—popped +his face under the clothes again—and left nothing to be seen of him but +the empty peak of the big nightcap standing up sturdily on end in the +middle of the bolster. + +“What a young limb it is, ain’t it?” says Benjamin’s mother, giving +Trottle a cheerful dig with her elbow. “Come on! you won’t see no more +of him to-night!” + +“And so I tell you!” sings out a shrill, little voice under the +bedclothes, chiming in with a playful finish to the old woman’s last +words. + +If Trottle had not been, by this time, positively resolved to follow the +wicked secret which accident had mixed him up with, through all its +turnings and windings, right on to the end, he would have probably +snatched the boy up then and there, and carried him off from his garret +prison, bed-clothes and all. As it was, he put a strong check on +himself, kept his eye on future possibilities, and allowed Benjamin’s +mother to lead him down-stairs again. + +“Mind them top bannisters,” says she, as Trottle laid his hand on them. +“They are as rotten as medlars every one of ’em.” + +“When people come to see the premises,” says Trottle, trying to feel his +way a little farther into the mystery of the House, “you don’t bring many +of them up here, do you?” + +“Bless your heart alive!” says she, “nobody ever comes now. The outside +of the house is quite enough to warn them off. Mores the pity, as I say. +It used to keep me in spirits, staggering ’em all, one after another, +with the frightful high rent—specially the women, drat ’em. ‘What’s the +rent of this house?’—‘Hundred and twenty pound a-year!’—‘Hundred and +twenty? why, there ain’t a house in the street as lets for more than +eighty!’—‘Likely enough, ma’am; other landlords may lower their rents if +they please; but this here landlord sticks to his rights, and means to +have as much for his house as his father had before him!’—‘But the +neighbourhood’s gone off since then!’—‘Hundred and twenty pound, +ma’am.’—‘The landlord must be mad!’—‘Hundred and twenty pound, +ma’am.’—‘Open the door you impertinent woman!’ Lord! what a happiness +it was to see ’em bounce out, with that awful rent a-ringing in their +ears all down the street!” + +She stopped on the second-floor landing to treat herself to another +chuckle, while Trottle privately posted up in his memory what he had just +heard. “Two points made out,” he thought to himself: “the house is kept +empty on purpose, and the way it’s done is to ask a rent that nobody will +pay.” + +“Ah, deary me!” says Benjamin’s mother, changing the subject on a +sudden, and twisting back with a horrid, greedy quickness to those +awkward money-matters which she had broached down in the parlour. “What +we’ve done, one way and another for Mr. Forley, it isn’t in words to +tell! That nice little bit of business of ours ought to be a bigger bit +of business, considering the trouble we take, Benjamin and me, to make +the imp upstairs as happy as the day is long. If good Mr. Forley would +only please to think a little more of what a deal he owes to Benjamin +and me—” + +“That’s just it,” says Trottle, catching her up short in desperation, and +seeing his way, by the help of those last words of hers, to slipping +cleverly through her fingers. “What should you say, if I told you that +Mr. Forley was nothing like so far from thinking about that little matter +as you fancy? You would be disappointed, now, if I told you that I had +come to-day without the money?”—(her lank old jaw fell, and her +villainous old eyes glared, in a perfect state of panic, at that!)—“But +what should you say, if I told you that Mr. Forley was only waiting for +my report, to send me here next Monday, at dusk, with a bigger bit of +business for us two to do together than ever you think for? What should +you say to that?” + +The old wretch came so near to Trottle, before she answered, and jammed +him up confidentially so close into the corner of the landing, that his +throat, in a manner, rose at her. + +“Can you count it off, do you think, on more than that?” says she, +holding up her four skinny fingers and her long crooked thumb, all of a +tremble, right before his face. + +“What do you say to two hands, instead of one?” says he, pushing past +her, and getting down-stairs as fast as he could. + +What she said Trottle thinks it best not to report, seeing that the old +hypocrite, getting next door to light-headed at the golden prospect +before her, took such liberties with unearthly names and persons which +ought never to have approached her lips, and rained down such an awful +shower of blessings on Trottle’s head, that his hair almost stood on end +to hear her. He went on down-stairs as fast as his feet would carry him, +till he was brought up all standing, as the sailors say, on the last +flight, by agravating Benjamin, lying right across the stair, and fallen +off, as might have been expected, into a heavy drunken sleep. + +The sight of him instantly reminded Trottle of the curious half likeness +which he had already detected between the face of Benjamin and the face +of another man, whom he had seen at a past time in very different +circumstances. He determined, before leaving the House, to have one more +look at the wretched muddled creature; and accordingly shook him up +smartly, and propped him against the staircase wall, before his mother +could interfere. + +“Leave him to me; I’ll freshen him up,” says Trottle to the old woman, +looking hard in Benjamin’s face, while he spoke. + +The fright and surprise of being suddenly woke up, seemed, for about a +quarter of a minute, to sober the creature. When he first opened his +eyes, there was a new look in them for a moment, which struck home to +Trottle’s memory as quick and as clear as a flash of light. The old +maudlin sleepy expression came back again in another instant, and blurred +out all further signs and tokens of the past. But Trottle had seen +enough in the moment before it came; and he troubled Benjamin’s face with +no more inquiries. + +“Next Monday, at dusk,” says he, cutting short some more of the old +woman’s palaver about Benjamin’s indisgestion. “I’ve got no more time to +spare, ma’am, to-night: please to let me out.” + +With a few last blessings, a few last dutiful messages to good Mr. +Forley, and a few last friendly hints not to forget next Monday at +dusk, Trottle contrived to struggle through the sickening business of +leave-taking; to get the door opened; and to find himself, to his own +indescribable relief, once more on the outer side of the House To Let. + + + + +LET AT LAST + + +“There, ma’am!” said Trottle, folding up the manuscript from which he had +been reading, and setting it down with a smart tap of triumph on the +table. “May I venture to ask what you think of that plain statement, as +a guess on my part (and not on Mr. Jarber’s) at the riddle of the empty +House?” + +For a minute or two I was unable to say a word. When I recovered a +little, my first question referred to the poor forlorn little boy. + +“To-day is Monday the twentieth,” I said. “Surely you have not let a +whole week go by without trying to find out something more?” + +“Except at bed-time, and meals, ma’am,” answered Trottle, “I have not let +an hour go by. Please to understand that I have only come to an end of +what I have written, and not to an end of what I have done. I wrote down +those first particulars, ma’am, because they are of great importance, and +also because I was determined to come forward with my written documents, +seeing that Mr. Jarber chose to come forward, in the first instance, with +his. I am now ready to go on with the second part of my story as shortly +and plainly as possible, by word of mouth. The first thing I must clear +up, if you please, is the matter of Mr. Forley’s family affairs. I have +heard you speak of them, ma’am, at various times; and I have understood +that Mr. Forley had two children only by his deceased wife, both +daughters. The eldest daughter married, to her father’s entire +satisfaction, one Mr. Bayne, a rich man, holding a high government +situation in Canada. She is now living there with her husband, and her +only child, a little girl of eight or nine years old. Right so far, I +think, ma’am?” + +“Quite right,” I said. + +“The second daughter,” Trottle went on, “and Mr. Forley’s favourite, set +her father’s wishes and the opinions of the world at flat defiance, by +running away with a man of low origin—a mate of a merchant-vessel, named +Kirkland. Mr. Forley not only never forgave that marriage, but vowed +that he would visit the scandal of it heavily in the future on husband +and wife. Both escaped his vengeance, whatever he meant it to be. The +husband was drowned on his first voyage after his marriage, and the wife +died in child-bed. Right again, I believe, ma’am?” + +“Again quite right.” + +“Having got the family matter all right, we will now go back, ma’am, +to me and my doings. Last Monday, I asked you for leave of absence for +two days; I employed the time in clearing up the matter of Benjamin’s +face. Last Saturday I was out of the way when you wanted me. I played +truant, ma’am, on that occasion, in company with a friend of mine, who +is managing clerk in a lawyer’s office; and we both spent the morning +at Doctors’ Commons, over the last will and testament of Mr. Forley’s +father. Leaving the will-business for a moment, please to follow me +first, if you have no objection, into the ugly subject of Benjamin’s +face. About six or seven years ago (thanks to your kindness) I had +a week’s holiday with some friends of mine who live in the town of +Pendlebury. One of those friends (the only one now left in the place) +kept a chemist’s shop, and in that shop I was made acquainted with +one of the two doctors in the town, named Barsham. This Barsham was a +first-rate surgeon, and might have got to the top of his profession, if +he had not been a first-rate blackguard. As it was, he both drank and +gambled; nobody would have anything to do with him in Pendlebury; and, +at the time when I was made known to him in the chemist’s shop, the +other doctor, Mr. Dix, who was not to be compared with him for surgical +skill, but who was a respectable man, had got all the practice; and +Barsham and his old mother were living together in such a condition of +utter poverty, that it was a marvel to everybody how they kept out of +the parish workhouse.” + +“Benjamin and Benjamin’s mother!” + +“Exactly, ma’am. Last Thursday morning (thanks to your kindness, again) +I went to Pendlebury to my friend the chemist, to ask a few questions +about Barsham and his mother. I was told that they had both left the +town about five years since. When I inquired into the circumstances, +some strange particulars came out in the course of the chemist’s answer. +You know I have no doubt, ma’am, that poor Mrs. Kirkland was confined +while her husband was at sea, in lodgings at a village called Flatfield, +and that she died and was buried there. But what you may not know is, +that Flatfield is only three miles from Pendlebury; that the doctor who +attended on Mrs. Kirkland was Barsham; that the nurse who took care of +her was Barsham’s mother; and that the person who called them both in, +was Mr. Forley. Whether his daughter wrote to him, or whether he heard +of it in some other way, I don’t know; but he was with her (though he had +sworn never to see her again when she married) a month or more before her +confinement, and was backwards and forwards a good deal between Flatfield +and Pendlebury. How he managed matters with the Barshams cannot at +present be discovered; but it is a fact that he contrived to keep the +drunken doctor sober, to everybody’s amazement. It is a fact that +Barsham went to the poor woman with all his wits about him. It is a fact +that he and his mother came back from Flatfield after Mrs. Kirkland’s +death, packed up what few things they had, and left the town mysteriously +by night. And, lastly, it is also a fact that the other doctor, Mr. Dix, +was not called in to help, till a week after the birth _and burial_ of +the child, when the mother was sinking from exhaustion—exhaustion (to +give the vagabond, Barsham, his due) not produced, in Mr. Dix’s opinion, +by improper medical treatment, but by the bodily weakness of the poor +woman herself—” + +“Burial of the child?” I interrupted, trembling all over. “Trottle! you +spoke that word ‘burial’ in a very strange way—you are fixing your eyes +on me now with a very strange look—” + +Trottle leaned over close to me, and pointed through the window to the +empty house. + +“The child’s death is registered, at Pendlebury,” he said, “on Barsham’s +certificate, under the head of Male Infant, Still-Born. The child’s +coffin lies in the mother’s grave, in Flatfield churchyard. The child +himself—as surely as I live and breathe, is living and breathing now—a +castaway and a prisoner in that villainous house!” + +I sank back in my chair. + +“It’s guess-work, so far, but it is borne in on my mind, for all that, as +truth. Rouse yourself, ma’am, and think a little. The last I hear of +Barsham, he is attending Mr. Forley’s disobedient daughter. The next I +see of Barsham, he is in Mr. Forley’s house, trusted with a secret. He +and his mother leave Pendlebury suddenly and suspiciously five years +back; and he and his mother have got a child of five years old, hidden +away in the house. Wait! please to wait—I have not done yet. The will +left by Mr. Forley’s father, strengthens the suspicion. The friend I +took with me to Doctors’ Commons, made himself master of the contents of +that will; and when he had done so, I put these two questions to him. +‘Can Mr. Forley leave his money at his own discretion to anybody he +pleases?’ ‘No,’ my friend says, ‘his father has left him with only a +life interest in it.’ ‘Suppose one of Mr. Forley’s married daughters has +a girl, and the other a boy, how would the money go?’ ‘It would all go,’ +my friend says, ‘to the boy, and it would be charged with the payment of +a certain annual income to his female cousin. After her death, it would +go back to the male descendant, and to his heirs.’ Consider that, ma’am! +The child of the daughter whom Mr. Forley hates, whose husband has been +snatched away from his vengeance by death, takes his whole property in +defiance of him; and the child of the daughter whom he loves, is left a +pensioner on her low-born boy-cousin for life! There was good—too good +reason—why that child of Mrs. Kirkland’s should be registered stillborn. +And if, as I believe, the register is founded on a false certificate, +there is better, still better reason, why the existence of the child +should be hidden, and all trace of his parentage blotted out, in the +garret of that empty house.” + +He stopped, and pointed for the second time to the dim, dust-covered +garret-windows opposite. As he did so, I was startled—a very slight +matter sufficed to frighten me now—by a knock at the door of the room in +which we were sitting. + +My maid came in, with a letter in her hand. I took it from her. The +mourning card, which was all the envelope enclosed, dropped from my +hands. + +George Forley was no more. He had departed this life three days since, +on the evening of Friday. + +“Did our last chance of discovering the truth,” I asked, “rest with +_him_? Has it died with _his_ death?” + +“Courage, ma’am! I think not. Our chance rests on our power to make +Barsham and his mother confess; and Mr. Forley’s death, by leaving them +helpless, seems to put that power into our hands. With your permission, +I will not wait till dusk to-day, as I at first intended, but will make +sure of those two people at once. With a policeman in plain clothes to +watch the house, in case they try to leave it; with this card to vouch +for the fact of Mr. Forley’s death; and with a bold acknowledgment on my +part of having got possession of their secret, and of being ready to use +it against them in case of need, I think there is little doubt of +bringing Barsham and his mother to terms. In case I find it impossible +to get back here before dusk, please to sit near the window, ma’am, and +watch the house, a little before they light the street-lamps. If you see +the front-door open and close again, will you be good enough to put on +your bonnet, and come across to me immediately? Mr. Forley’s death may, +or may not, prevent his messenger from coming as arranged. But, if the +person does come, it is of importance that you, as a relative of Mr. +Forley’s should be present to see him, and to have that proper influence +over him which I cannot pretend to exercise.” + +The only words I could say to Trottle as he opened the door and left me, +were words charging him to take care that no harm happened to the poor +forlorn little boy. + +Left alone, I drew my chair to the window; and looked out with a beating +heart at the guilty house. I waited and waited through what appeared to +me to be an endless time, until I heard the wheels of a cab stop at the +end of the street. I looked in that direction, and saw Trottle get out +of the cab alone, walk up to the house, and knock at the door. He was +let in by Barsham’s mother. A minute or two later, a decently-dressed +man sauntered past the house, looked up at it for a moment, and sauntered +on to the corner of the street close by. Here he leant against the post, +and lighted a cigar, and stopped there smoking in an idle way, but +keeping his face always turned in the direction of the house-door. + +I waited and waited still. I waited and waited, with my eyes riveted to +the door of the house. At last I thought I saw it open in the dusk, and +then felt sure I heard it shut again softly. Though I tried hard to +compose myself, I trembled so that I was obliged to call for Peggy to +help me on with my bonnet and cloak, and was forced to take her arm to +lean on, in crossing the street. + +Trottle opened the door to us, before we could knock. Peggy went back, +and I went in. He had a lighted candle in his hand. + +“It has happened, ma’am, as I thought it would,” he whispered, leading me +into the bare, comfortless, empty parlour. “Barsham and his mother have +consulted their own interests, and have come to terms. My guess-work is +guess-work no longer. It is now what I felt it was—Truth!” + +Something strange to me—something which women who are mothers must often +know—trembled suddenly in my heart, and brought the warm tears of my +youthful days thronging back into my eyes. I took my faithful old +servant by the hand, and asked him to let me see Mrs. Kirkland’s child, +for his mother’s sake. + +“If you desire it, ma’am,” said Trottle, with a gentleness of manner that +I had never noticed in him before. “But pray don’t think me wanting in +duty and right feeling, if I beg you to try and wait a little. You are +agitated already, and a first meeting with the child will not help to +make you so calm, as you would wish to be, if Mr. Forley’s messenger +comes. The little boy is safe up-stairs. Pray think first of trying to +compose yourself for a meeting with a stranger; and believe me you shall +not leave the house afterwards without the child.” + +I felt that Trottle was right, and sat down as patiently as I could in a +chair he had thoughtfully placed ready for me. I was so horrified at the +discovery of my own relation’s wickedness that when Trottle proposed to +make me acquainted with the confession wrung from Barsham and his mother, +I begged him to spare me all details, and only to tell me what was +necessary about George Forley. + +“All that can be said for Mr. Forley, ma’am, is, that he was just +scrupulous enough to hide the child’s existence and blot out its +parentage here, instead of consenting, at the first, to its death, or +afterwards, when the boy grew up, to turning him adrift, absolutely +helpless in the world. The fraud has been managed, ma’am, with the +cunning of Satan himself. Mr. Forley had the hold over the Barshams, +that they had helped him in his villany, and that they were dependent on +him for the bread they eat. He brought them up to London to keep them +securely under his own eye. He put them into this empty house (taking it +out of the agent’s hands previously, on pretence that he meant to manage +the letting of it himself); and by keeping the house empty, made it the +surest of all hiding places for the child. Here, Mr. Forley could come, +whenever he pleased, to see that the poor lonely child was not absolutely +starved; sure that his visits would only appear like looking after his +own property. Here the child was to have been trained to believe himself +Barsham’s child, till he should be old enough to be provided for in some +situation, as low and as poor as Mr. Forley’s uneasy conscience would let +him pick out. He may have thought of atonement on his death-bed; but not +before—I am only too certain of it—not before!” + +A low, double knock startled us. + +“The messenger!” said Trottle, under his breath. He went out instantly +to answer the knock; and returned, leading in a respectable-looking +elderly man, dressed like Trottle, all in black, with a white cravat, but +otherwise not at all resembling him. + +“I am afraid I have made some mistake,” said the stranger. + +Trottle, considerately taking the office of explanation into his own +hands, assured the gentleman that there was no mistake; mentioned to him +who I was; and asked him if he had not come on business connected with +the late Mr. Forley. Looking greatly astonished, the gentleman answered, +“Yes.” There was an awkward moment of silence, after that. The stranger +seemed to be not only startled and amazed, but rather distrustful and +fearful of committing himself as well. Noticing this, I thought it best +to request Trottle to put an end to further embarrassment, by stating all +particulars truthfully, as he had stated them to me; and I begged the +gentleman to listen patiently for the late Mr. Forley’s sake. He bowed +to me very respectfully, and said he was prepared to listen with the +greatest interest. + +It was evident to me—and, I could see, to Trottle also—that we were not +dealing, to say the least, with a dishonest man. + +“Before I offer any opinion on what I have heard,” he said, earnestly and +anxiously, after Trottle had done, “I must be allowed, in justice to +myself, to explain my own apparent connection with this very strange and +very shocking business. I was the confidential legal adviser of the late +Mr. Forley, and I am left his executor. Rather more than a fortnight +back, when Mr. Forley was confined to his room by illness, he sent for +me, and charged me to call and pay a certain sum of money here, to a man +and woman whom I should find taking charge of the house. He said he had +reasons for wishing the affair to be kept a secret. He begged me so to +arrange my engagements that I could call at this place either on Monday +last, or to-day, at dusk; and he mentioned that he would write to warn +the people of my coming, without mentioning my name (Dalcott is my name), +as he did not wish to expose me to any future importunities on the part +of the man and woman. I need hardly tell you that this commission struck +me as being a strange one; but, in my position with Mr. Forley, I had no +resource but to accept it without asking questions, or to break off my +long and friendly connection with my client. I chose the first +alternative. Business prevented me from doing my errand on Monday +last—and if I am here to-day, notwithstanding Mr. Forley’s unexpected +death, it is emphatically because I understood nothing of the matter, on +knocking at this door; and therefore felt myself bound, as executor, to +clear it up. That, on my word of honour, is the whole truth, so far as I +am personally concerned.” + +“I feel quite sure of it, sir,” I answered. + +“You mentioned Mr. Forley’s death, just now, as unexpected. May I +inquire if you were present, and if he has left any last instructions?” + +“Three hours before Mr. Forley’s death,” said Mr. Dalcott, “his medical +attendant left him apparently in a fair way of recovery. The change for +the worse took place so suddenly, and was accompanied by such severe +suffering, to prevent him from communicating his last wishes to any one. +When I reached his house, he was insensible. I have since examined his +papers. Not one of them refers to the present time or to the serious +matter which now occupies us. In the absence of instructions I must act +cautiously on what you have told me; but I will be rigidly fair and just +at the same time. The first thing to be done,” he continued, addressing +himself to Trottle, “is to hear what the man and woman, down-stairs, have +to say. If you can supply me with writing-materials, I will take their +declarations separately on the spot, in your presence, and in the +presence of the policeman who is watching the house. To-morrow I will +send copies of those declarations, accompanied by a full statement of the +case, to Mr. and Mrs. Bayne in Canada (both of whom know me well as the +late Mr. Forley’s legal adviser); and I will suspend all proceedings, on +my part, until I hear from them, or from their solicitor in London. In +the present posture of affairs this is all I can safely do.” + +We could do no less than agree with him, and thank him for his frank and +honest manner of meeting us. It was arranged that I should send over the +writing-materials from my lodgings; and, to my unutterable joy and +relief, it was also readily acknowledged that the poor little orphan boy +could find no fitter refuge than my old arms were longing to offer him, +and no safer protection for the night than my roof could give. Trottle +hastened away up-stairs, as actively as if he had been a young man, to +fetch the child down. + +And he brought him down to me without another moment of delay, and I went +on my knees before the poor little Mite, and embraced him, and asked him +if he would go with me to where I lived? He held me away for a moment, +and his wan, shrewd little eyes looked sharp at me. Then he clung close +to me all at once, and said: + +“I’m a-going along with you, I am—and so I tell you!” + +For inspiring the poor neglected child with this trust in my old self, I +thanked Heaven, then, with all my heart and soul, and I thank it now! + +I bundled the poor darling up in my own cloak, and I carried him in my +own arms across the road. Peggy was lost in speechless amazement to +behold me trudging out of breath up-stairs, with a strange pair of poor +little legs under my arm; but, she began to cry over the child the moment +she saw him, like a sensible woman as she always was, and she still cried +her eyes out over him in a comfortable manner, when he at last lay fast +asleep, tucked up by my hands in Trottle’s bed. + +“And Trottle, bless you, my dear man,” said I, kissing his hand, as he +looked on: “the forlorn baby came to this refuge through you, and he will +help you on your way to Heaven.” + +Trottle answered that I was his dear mistress, and immediately went and +put his head out at an open window on the landing, and looked into the +back street for a quarter of an hour. + +That very night, as I sat thinking of the poor child, and of another poor +child who is never to be thought about enough at Christmas-time, the idea +came into my mind which I have lived to execute, and in the realisation +of which I am the happiest of women this day. + +“The executor will sell that House, Trottle?” said I. + +“Not a doubt of it, ma’am, if he can find a purchaser.” + +“I’ll buy it.” + +I have often seen Trottle pleased; but, I never saw him so perfectly +enchanted as he was when I confided to him, which I did, then and there, +the purpose that I had in view. + +To make short of a long story—and what story would not be long, coming +from the lips of an old woman like me, unless it was made short by main +force!—I bought the House. Mrs. Bayne had her father’s blood in her; +she evaded the opportunity of forgiving and generous reparation that was +offered her, and disowned the child; but, I was prepared for that, and +loved him all the more for having no one in the world to look to, but me. + +I am getting into a flurry by being over-pleased, and I dare say I am as +incoherent as need be. I bought the House, and I altered it from the +basement to the roof, and I turned it into a Hospital for Sick Children. + +Never mind by what degrees my little adopted boy came to the knowledge of +all the sights and sounds in the streets, so familiar to other children +and so strange to him; never mind by what degrees he came to be pretty, +and childish, and winning, and companionable, and to have pictures and +toys about him, and suitable playmates. As I write, I look across the +road to my Hospital, and there is the darling (who has gone over to play) +nodding at me out of one of the once lonely windows, with his dear chubby +face backed up by Trottle’s waistcoat as he lifts my pet for “Grandma” to +see. + +Many an Eye I see in that House now, but it is never in solitude, never +in neglect. Many an Eye I see in that House now, that is more and more +radiant every day with the light of returning health. As my precious +darling has changed beyond description for the brighter and the better, +so do the not less precious darlings of poor women change in that House +every day in the year. For which I humbly thank that Gracious Being whom +the restorer of the Widow’s son and of the Ruler’s daughter, instructed +all mankind to call their Father. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HOUSE TO LET *** + +***** This file should be named 2324-0.txt or 2324-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/2/2324/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A House to Let</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Charles Dickens, Wilkie +Collins, Elizabeth Gaskell, Adelaide Ann Procter</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 1, 2000 [eBook #2324]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 14, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Proofed by David, Edgar Howard, Dawn +Smith, Terry Jeffress and Jane Foster. Revised by Richard Tonsing</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HOUSE TO LET ***</div> + + + + +<h1>A HOUSE TO LET (FULL TEXT)<br /> +by Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Elizabeth Gaskell, Adelaide Ann +Procter</h1> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>Over the Way<br /> +The Manchester Marriage<br /> +Going into Society<br /> +Three Evenings in the House<br /> +Trottle’s Report<br /> +Let at Last</p> +<div class='chapter' /><h2>OVER THE WAY</h2> +<p>I had been living at Tunbridge Wells and nowhere else, going on for +ten years, when my medical man—very clever in his profession, +and the prettiest player I ever saw in my life of a hand at Long Whist, +which was a noble and a princely game before Short was heard of—said +to me, one day, as he sat feeling my pulse on the actual sofa which +my poor dear sister Jane worked before her spine came on, and laid her +on a board for fifteen months at a stretch—the most upright woman +that ever lived—said to me, “What we want, ma’am, +is a fillip.”</p> +<p>“Good gracious, goodness gracious, Doctor Towers!” says +I, quite startled at the man, for he was so christened himself: “don’t +talk as if you were alluding to people’s names; but say what you +mean.”</p> +<p>“I mean, my dear ma’am, that we want a little change +of air and scene.”</p> +<p>“Bless the man!” said I; “does he mean we or me!”</p> +<p>“I mean you, ma’am.”</p> +<p>“Then Lard forgive you, Doctor Towers,” I said; “why +don’t you get into a habit of expressing yourself in a straightforward +manner, like a loyal subject of our gracious Queen Victoria, and a member +of the Church of England?”</p> +<p>Towers laughed, as he generally does when he has fidgetted me into +any of my impatient ways—one of my states, as I call them—and +then he began,—</p> +<p>“Tone, ma’am, Tone, is all you require!” +He appealed to Trottle, who just then came in with the coal-scuttle, +looking, in his nice black suit, like an amiable man putting on coals +from motives of benevolence.</p> +<p>Trottle (whom I always call my right hand) has been in my service +two-and-thirty years. He entered my service, far away from England. +He is the best of creatures, and the most respectable of men; but, opinionated.</p> +<p>“What you want, ma’am,” says Trottle, making up +the fire in his quiet and skilful way, “is Tone.”</p> +<p>“Lard forgive you both!” says I, bursting out a-laughing; +“I see you are in a conspiracy against me, so I suppose you must +do what you like with me, and take me to London for a change.”</p> +<p>For some weeks Towers had hinted at London, and consequently I was +prepared for him. When we had got to this point, we got on so +expeditiously, that Trottle was packed off to London next day but one, +to find some sort of place for me to lay my troublesome old head in.</p> +<p>Trottle came back to me at the Wells after two days’ absence, +with accounts of a charming place that could be taken for six months +certain, with liberty to renew on the same terms for another six, and +which really did afford every accommodation that I wanted.</p> +<p>“Could you really find no fault at all in the rooms, Trottle?” +I asked him.</p> +<p>“Not a single one, ma’am. They are exactly suitable +to you. There is not a fault in them. There is but one fault +outside of them.”</p> +<p>“And what’s that?”</p> +<p>“They are opposite a House to Let.”</p> +<p>“O!” I said, considering of it. “But is that +such a very great objection?”</p> +<p>“I think it my duty to mention it, ma’am. It is +a dull object to look at. Otherwise, I was so greatly pleased +with the lodging that I should have closed with the terms at once, as +I had your authority to do.”</p> +<p>Trottle thinking so highly of the place, in my interest, I wished +not to disappoint him. Consequently I said:</p> +<p>“The empty House may let, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“O, dear no, ma’am,” said Trottle, shaking his +head with decision; “it won’t let. It never does let, +ma’am.”</p> +<p>“Mercy me! Why not?”</p> +<p>“Nobody knows, ma’am. All I have to mention is, +ma’am, that the House won’t let!”</p> +<p>“How long has this unfortunate House been to let, in the name +of Fortune?” said I.</p> +<p>“Ever so long,” said Trottle. “Years.”</p> +<p>“Is it in ruins?”</p> +<p>“It’s a good deal out of repair, ma’am, but it’s +not in ruins.”</p> +<p>The long and the short of this business was, that next day I had +a pair of post-horses put to my chariot—for, I never travel by +railway: not that I have anything to say against railways, except that +they came in when I was too old to take to them; and that they made +ducks and drakes of a few turnpike-bonds I had—and so I went up +myself, with Trottle in the rumble, to look at the inside of this same +lodging, and at the outside of this same House.</p> +<p>As I say, I went and saw for myself. The lodging was perfect. +That, I was sure it would be; because Trottle is the best judge of comfort +I know. The empty house was an eyesore; and that I was sure it +would be too, for the same reason. However, setting the one thing +against the other, the good against the bad, the lodging very soon got +the victory over the House. My lawyer, Mr. Squares, of Crown Office +Row; Temple, drew up an agreement; which his young man jabbered over +so dreadfully when he read it to me, that I didn’t understand +one word of it except my own name; and hardly that, and I signed it, +and the other party signed it, and, in three weeks’ time, I moved +my old bones, bag and baggage, up to London.</p> +<p>For the first month or so, I arranged to leave Trottle at the Wells. +I made this arrangement, not only because there was a good deal to take +care of in the way of my school-children and pensioners, and also of +a new stove in the hall to air the house in my absence, which appeared +to me calculated to blow up and burst; but, likewise because I suspect +Trottle (though the steadiest of men, and a widower between sixty and +seventy) to be what I call rather a Philanderer. I mean, that +when any friend comes down to see me and brings a maid, Trottle is always +remarkably ready to show that maid the Wells of an evening; and that +I have more than once noticed the shadow of his arm, outside the room +door nearly opposite my chair, encircling that maid’s waist on +the landing, like a table-cloth brush.</p> +<p>Therefore, I thought it just as well, before any London Philandering +took place, that I should have a little time to look round me, and to +see what girls were in and about the place. So, nobody stayed +with me in my new lodging at first after Trottle had established me +there safe and sound, but Peggy Flobbins, my maid; a most affectionate +and attached woman, who never was an object of Philandering since I +have known her, and is not likely to begin to become so after nine-and-twenty +years next March.</p> +<p>It was the fifth of November when I first breakfasted in my new rooms. +The Guys were going about in the brown fog, like magnified monsters +of insects in table-beer, and there was a Guy resting on the door-steps +of the House to Let. I put on my glasses, partly to see how the +boys were pleased with what I sent them out by Peggy, and partly to +make sure that she didn’t approach too near the ridiculous object, +which of course was full of sky-rockets, and might go off into bangs +at any moment. In this way it happened that the first time I ever +looked at the House to Let, after I became its opposite neighbour, I +had my glasses on. And this might not have happened once in fifty +times, for my sight is uncommonly good for my time of life; and I wear +glasses as little as I can, for fear of spoiling it.</p> +<p>I knew already that it was a ten-roomed house, very dirty, and much +dilapidated; that the area-rails were rusty and peeling away, and that +two or three of them were wanting, or half-wanting; that there were +broken panes of glass in the windows, and blotches of mud on other panes, +which the boys had thrown at them; that there was quite a collection +of stones in the area, also proceeding from those Young Mischiefs; that +there were games chalked on the pavement before the house, and likenesses +of ghosts chalked on the street-door; that the windows were all darkened +by rotting old blinds, or shutters, or both; that the bills “To +Let,” had curled up, as if the damp air of the place had given +them cramps; or had dropped down into corners, as if they were no more. +I had seen all this on my first visit, and I had remarked to Trottle, +that the lower part of the black board about terms was split away; that +the rest had become illegible, and that the very stone of the door-steps +was broken across. Notwithstanding, I sat at my breakfast table +on that Please to Remember the fifth of November morning, staring at +the House through my glasses, as if I had never looked at it before.</p> +<p>All at once—in the first-floor window on my right—down +in a low corner, at a hole in a blind or a shutter—I found that +I was looking at a secret Eye. The reflection of my fire may have +touched it and made it shine; but, I saw it shine and vanish.</p> +<p>The eye might have seen me, or it might not have seen me, sitting +there in the glow of my fire—you can take which probability you +prefer, without offence—but something struck through my frame, +as if the sparkle of this eye had been electric, and had flashed straight +at me. It had such an effect upon me, that I could not remain +by myself, and I rang for Flobbins, and invented some little jobs for +her, to keep her in the room. After my breakfast was cleared away, +I sat in the same place with my glasses on, moving my head, now so, +and now so, trying whether, with the shining of my fire and the flaws +in the window-glass, I could reproduce any sparkle seeming to be up +there, that was like the sparkle of an eye. But no; I could make +nothing like it. I could make ripples and crooked lines in the +front of the House to Let, and I could even twist one window up and +loop it into another; but, I could make no eye, nor anything like an +eye. So I convinced myself that I really had seen an eye.</p> +<p>Well, to be sure I could not get rid of the impression of this eye, +and it troubled me and troubled me, until it was almost a torment. +I don’t think I was previously inclined to concern my head much +about the opposite House; but, after this eye, my head was full of the +house; and I thought of little else than the house, and I watched the +house, and I talked about the house, and I dreamed of the house. +In all this, I fully believe now, there was a good Providence. +But, you will judge for yourself about that, bye-and-bye.</p> +<p>My landlord was a butler, who had married a cook, and set up housekeeping. +They had not kept house longer than a couple of years, and they knew +no more about the House to Let than I did. Neither could I find +out anything concerning it among the trades-people or otherwise; further +than what Trottle had told me at first. It had been empty, some +said six years, some said eight, some said ten. It never did let, +they all agreed, and it never would let.</p> +<p>I soon felt convinced that I should work myself into one of my states +about the House; and I soon did. I lived for a whole month in +a flurry, that was always getting worse. Towers’s prescriptions, +which I had brought to London with me, were of no more use than nothing. +In the cold winter sunlight, in the thick winter fog, in the black winter +rain, in the white winter snow, the House was equally on my mind. +I have heard, as everybody else has, of a spirit’s haunting a +house; but I have had my own personal experience of a house’s +haunting a spirit; for that House haunted mine.</p> +<p>In all that month’s time, I never saw anyone go into the House +nor come out of the House. I supposed that such a thing must take +place sometimes, in the dead of the night, or the glimmer of the morning; +but, I never saw it done. I got no relief from having my curtains +drawn when it came on dark, and shutting out the House. The Eye +then began to shine in my fire.</p> +<p>I am a single old woman. I should say at once, without being +at all afraid of the name, I am an old maid; only that I am older than +the phrase would express. The time was when I had my love-trouble, +but, it is long and long ago. He was killed at sea (Dear Heaven +rest his blessed head!) when I was twenty-five. I have all my +life, since ever I can remember, been deeply fond of children. +I have always felt such a love for them, that I have had my sorrowful +and sinful times when I have fancied something must have gone wrong +in my life—something must have been turned aside from its original +intention I mean—or I should have been the proud and happy mother +of many children, and a fond old grandmother this day. I have +soon known better in the cheerfulness and contentment that God has blessed +me with and given me abundant reason for; and yet I have had to dry +my eyes even then, when I have thought of my dear, brave, hopeful, handsome, +bright-eyed Charley, and the trust meant to cheer me with. Charley +was my youngest brother, and he went to India. He married there, +and sent his gentle little wife home to me to be confined, and she was +to go back to him, and the baby was to be left with me, and I was to +bring it up. It never belonged to this life. It took its +silent place among the other incidents in my story that might have been, +but never were. I had hardly time to whisper to her “Dead +my own!” or she to answer, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust! +O lay it on my breast and comfort Charley!” when she had gone +to seek her baby at Our Saviour’s feet. I went to Charley, +and I told him there was nothing left but me, poor me; and I lived with +Charley, out there, several years. He was a man of fifty, when +he fell asleep in my arms. His face had changed to be almost old +and a little stern; but, it softened, and softened when I laid it down +that I might cry and pray beside it; and, when I looked at it for the +last time, it was my dear, untroubled, handsome, youthful Charley of +long ago.</p> +<p>—I was going on to tell that the loneliness of the House to +Let brought back all these recollections, and that they had quite pierced +my heart one evening, when Flobbins, opening the door, and looking very +much as if she wanted to laugh but thought better of it, said:</p> +<p>“Mr. Jabez Jarber, ma’am!”</p> +<p>Upon which Mr. Jarber ambled in, in his usual absurd way, saying:</p> +<p>“Sophonisba!”</p> +<p>Which I am obliged to confess is my name. A pretty one and +proper one enough when it was given to me: but, a good many years out +of date now, and always sounding particularly high-flown and comical +from his lips. So I said, sharply:</p> +<p>“Though it is Sophonisba, Jarber, you are not obliged to mention +it, that <i>I</i> see.”</p> +<p>In reply to this observation, the ridiculous man put the tips of +my five right-hand fingers to his lips, and said again, with an aggravating +accent on the third syllable:</p> +<p>“Sophon<i>is</i>ba!”</p> +<p>I don’t burn lamps, because I can’t abide the smell of +oil, and wax candles belonged to my day. I hope the convenient +situation of one of my tall old candlesticks on the table at my elbow +will be my excuse for saying, that if he did that again, I would chop +his toes with it. (I am sorry to add that when I told him so, I knew +his toes to be tender.) But, really, at my time of life and at +Jarber’s, it is too much of a good thing. There is an orchestra +still standing in the open air at the Wells, before which, in the presence +of a throng of fine company, I have walked a minuet with Jarber. +But, there is a house still standing, in which I have worn a pinafore, +and had a tooth drawn by fastening a thread to the tooth and the door-handle, +and toddling away from the door. And how should I look now, at +my years, in a pinafore, or having a door for my dentist?</p> +<p>Besides, Jarber always was more or less an absurd man. He was +sweetly dressed, and beautifully perfumed, and many girls of my day +would have given their ears for him; though I am bound to add that he +never cared a fig for them, or their advances either, and that he was +very constant to me. For, he not only proposed to me before my +love-happiness ended in sorrow, but afterwards too: not once, nor yet +twice: nor will we say how many times. However many they were, +or however few they were, the last time he paid me that compliment was +immediately after he had presented me with a digestive dinner-pill stuck +on the point of a pin. And I said on that occasion, laughing heartily, +“Now, Jarber, if you don’t know that two people whose united +ages would make about a hundred and fifty, have got to be old, I do; +and I beg to swallow this nonsense in the form of this pill” (which +I took on the spot), “and I request to, hear no more of it.”</p> +<p>After that, he conducted himself pretty well. He was always +a little squeezed man, was Jarber, in little sprigged waistcoats; and +he had always little legs and a little smile, and a little voice, and +little round-about ways. As long as I can remember him he was +always going little errands for people, and carrying little gossip. +At this present time when he called me “Sophonisba!” he +had a little old-fashioned lodging in that new neighbourhood of mine. +I had not seen him for two or three years, but I had heard that he still +went out with a little perspective-glass and stood on door-steps in +Saint James’s Street, to see the nobility go to Court; and went +in his little cloak and goloshes outside Willis’s rooms to see +them go to Almack’s; and caught the frightfullest colds, and got +himself trodden upon by coachmen and linkmen, until he went home to +his landlady a mass of bruises, and had to be nursed for a month.</p> +<p>Jarber took off his little fur-collared cloak, and sat down opposite +me, with his little cane and hat in his hand.</p> +<p>“Let us have no more Sophonisbaing, if <i>you</i> please, Jarber,” +I said. “Call me Sarah. How do you do? I hope +you are pretty well.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. And you?” said Jarber.</p> +<p>“I am as well as an old woman can expect to be.”</p> +<p>Jarber was beginning:</p> +<p>“Say, not old, Sophon—” but I looked at the candlestick, +and he left off; pretending not to have said anything.</p> +<p>“I am infirm, of course,” I said, “and so are you. +Let us both be thankful it’s no worse.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible that you look worried?” said Jarber.</p> +<p>“It is very possible. I have no doubt it is the fact.”</p> +<p>“And what has worried my Soph-, soft-hearted friend,” +said Jarber.</p> +<p>“Something not easy, I suppose, to comprehend. I am worried +to death by a House to Let, over the way.”</p> +<p>Jarber went with his little tip-toe step to the window-curtains, +peeped out, and looked round at me.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, in answer: “that house.”</p> +<p>After peeping out again, Jarber came back to his chair with a tender +air, and asked: “How does it worry you, S-arah?”</p> +<p>“It is a mystery to me,” said I. “Of course +every house <i>is</i> a mystery, more or less; but, something that I +don’t care to mention” (for truly the Eye was so slight +a thing to mention that I was more than half ashamed of it), “has +made that House so mysterious to me, and has so fixed it in my mind, +that I have had no peace for a month. I foresee that I shall have +no peace, either, until Trottle comes to me, next Monday.”</p> +<p>I might have mentioned before, that there is a lone-standing jealousy +between Trottle and Jarber; and that there is never any love lost between +those two.</p> +<p>“<i>Trottle</i>,” petulantly repeated Jarber, with a +little flourish of his cane; “how is <i>Trottle</i> to restore +the lost peace of Sarah?”</p> +<p>“He will exert himself to find out something about the House. +I have fallen into that state about it, that I really must discover +by some means or other, good or bad, fair or foul, how and why it is +that that House remains To Let.”</p> +<p>“And why Trottle? Why not,” putting his little +hat to his heart; “why not, Jarber?”</p> +<p>“To tell you the truth, I have never thought of Jarber in the +matter. And now I do think of Jarber, through your having the +kindness to suggest him—for which I am really and truly obliged +to you—I don’t think he could do it.”</p> +<p>“Sarah!”</p> +<p>“I think it would be too much for you, Jarber.”</p> +<p>“Sarah!”</p> +<p>“There would be coming and going, and fetching and carrying, +Jarber, and you might catch cold.”</p> +<p>“Sarah! What can be done by Trottle, can be done by me. +I am on terms of acquaintance with every person of responsibility in +this parish. I am intimate at the Circulating Library. I +converse daily with the Assessed Taxes. I lodge with the Water +Rate. I know the Medical Man. I lounge habitually at the +House Agent’s. I dine with the Churchwardens. I move +to the Guardians. Trottle! A person in the sphere of a domestic, +and totally unknown to society!”</p> +<p>“Don’t be warm, Jarber. In mentioning Trottle, +I have naturally relied on my Right-Hand, who would take any trouble +to gratify even a whim of his old mistress’s. But, if you +can find out anything to help to unravel the mystery of this House to +Let, I shall be fully as much obliged to you as if there was never a +Trottle in the land.”</p> +<p>Jarber rose and put on his little cloak. A couple of fierce +brass lions held it tight round his little throat; but a couple of the +mildest Hares might have done that, I am sure. “Sarah,” +he said, “I go. Expect me on Monday evening, the Sixth, +when perhaps you will give me a cup of tea;—may I ask for no Green? +Adieu!”</p> +<p>This was on a Thursday, the second of December. When I reflected +that Trottle would come back on Monday, too, I had my misgivings as +to the difficulty of keeping the two powers from open warfare, and indeed +I was more uneasy than I quite like to confess. However, the empty +House swallowed up that thought next morning, as it swallowed up most +other thoughts now, and the House quite preyed upon me all that day, +and all the Saturday.</p> +<p>It was a very wet Sunday: raining and blowing from morning to night. +When the bells rang for afternoon church, they seemed to ring in the +commotion of the puddles as well as in the wind, and they sounded very +loud and dismal indeed, and the street looked very dismal indeed, and +the House looked dismallest of all.</p> +<p>I was reading my prayers near the light, and my fire was growing +in the darkening window-glass, when, looking up, as I prayed for the +fatherless children and widows and all who were desolate and oppressed,—I +saw the Eye again. It passed in a moment, as it had done before; +but, this time, I was inwardly more convinced that I had seen it.</p> +<p>Well to be sure, I <i>had</i> a night that night! Whenever +I closed my own eyes, it was to see eyes. Next morning, at an +unreasonably, and I should have said (but for that railroad) an impossibly +early hour, comes Trottle. As soon as he had told me all about +the Wells, I told him all about the House. He listened with as +great interest and attention as I could possibly wish, until I came +to Jabez Jarber, when he cooled in an instant, and became opinionated.</p> +<p>“Now, Trottle,” I said, pretending not to notice, “when +Mr. Jarber comes back this evening, we must all lay our heads together.”</p> +<p>“I should hardly think that would be wanted, ma’am; Mr. +Jarber’s head is surely equal to anything.”</p> +<p>Being determined not to notice, I said again, that we must all lay +our heads together.</p> +<p>“Whatever you order, ma’am, shall be obeyed. Still, +it cannot be doubted, I should think, that Mr. Jarber’s head is +equal, if not superior, to any pressure that can be brought to bear +upon it.”</p> +<p>This was provoking; and his way, when he came in and out all through +the day, of pretending not to see the House to Let, was more provoking +still. However, being quite resolved not to notice, I gave no +sign whatever that I did notice. But, when evening came, and he +showed in Jarber, and, when Jarber wouldn’t be helped off with +his cloak, and poked his cane into cane chair-backs and china ornaments +and his own eye, in trying to unclasp his brazen lions of himself (which +he couldn’t do, after all), I could have shaken them both.</p> +<p>As it was, I only shook the tea-pot, and made the tea. Jarber +had brought from under his cloak, a roll of paper, with which he had +triumphantly pointed over the way, like the Ghost of Hamlet’s +Father appearing to the late Mr. Kemble, and which he had laid on the +table.</p> +<p>“A discovery?” said I, pointing to it, when he was seated, +and had got his tea-cup.—“Don’t go, Trottle.”</p> +<p>“The first of a series of discoveries,” answered Jarber. +“Account of a former tenant, compiled from the Water Rate, and +Medical Man.”</p> +<p>“Don’t go, Trottle,” I repeated. For, I saw +him making imperceptibly to the door.</p> +<p>“Begging your pardon, ma’am, I might be in Mr. Jarber’s +way?”</p> +<p>Jarber looked that he decidedly thought he might be. I relieved +myself with a good angry croak, and said—always determined not +to notice:</p> +<p>“Have the goodness to sit down, if you please, Trottle. +I wish you to hear this.”</p> +<p>Trottle bowed in the stiffest manner, and took the remotest chair +he could find. Even that, he moved close to the draught from the +keyhole of the door.</p> +<p>“Firstly,” Jarber began, after sipping his tea, “would +my Sophon—”</p> +<p>“Begin again, Jarber,” said I.</p> +<p>“Would you be much surprised, if this House to Let should turn +out to be the property of a relation of your own?”</p> +<p>“I should indeed be very much surprised.”</p> +<p>“Then it belongs to your first cousin (I learn, by the way, +that he is ill at this time) George Forley.”</p> +<p>“Then that is a bad beginning. I cannot deny that George +Forley stands in the relation of first cousin to me; but I hold no communication +with him. George Forley has been a hard, bitter, stony father +to a child now dead. George Forley was most implacable and unrelenting +to one of his two daughters who made a poor marriage. George Forley +brought all the weight of his band to bear as heavily against that crushed +thing, as he brought it to bear lightly, favouringly, and advantageously +upon her sister, who made a rich marriage. I hope that, with the +measure George Forley meted, it may not be measured out to him again. +I will give George Forley no worse wish.”</p> +<p>I was strong upon the subject, and I could not keep the tears out +of my eyes; for, that young girl’s was a cruel story, and I had +dropped many a tear over it before.</p> +<p>“The house being George Forley’s,” said I, “is +almost enough to account for there being a Fate upon it, if Fate there +is. Is there anything about George Forley in those sheets of paper?”</p> +<p>“Not a word.”</p> +<p>“I am glad to hear it. Please to read on. Trottle, +why don’t you come nearer? Why do you sit mortifying yourself +in those arctic regions? Come nearer.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, ma’am; I am quite near enough to Mr. Jarber.”</p> +<p>Jarber rounded his chair, to get his back full to my opinionated +friend and servant, and, beginning to read, tossed the words at him +over his (Jabez Jarber’s) own ear and shoulder.</p> +<p>He read what follows:</p> +<div class='chapter' /><h2>THE MANCHESTER MARRIAGE</h2> +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw came from Manchester to London and took the +House To Let. He had been, what is called in Lancashire, a Salesman +for a large manufacturing firm, who were extending their business, and +opening a warehouse in London; where Mr. Openshaw was now to superintend +the business. He rather enjoyed the change of residence; having +a kind of curiosity about London, which he had never yet been able to +gratify in his brief visits to the metropolis. At the same time +he had an odd, shrewd, contempt for the inhabitants; whom he had always +pictured to himself as fine, lazy people; caring nothing but for fashion +and aristocracy, and lounging away their days in Bond Street, and such +places; ruining good English, and ready in their turn to despise him +as a provincial. The hours that the men of business kept in the +city scandalised him too; accustomed as he was to the early dinners +of Manchester folk, and the consequently far longer evenings. +Still, he was pleased to go to London; though he would not for the world +have confessed it, even to himself, and always spoke of the step to +his friends as one demanded of him by the interests of his employers, +and sweetened to him by a considerable increase of salary. His +salary indeed was so liberal that he might have been justified in taking +a much larger House than this one, had he not thought himself bound +to set an example to Londoners of how little a Manchester man of business +cared for show. Inside, however, he furnished the House with an +unusual degree of comfort, and, in the winter time, he insisted on keeping +up as large fires as the grates would allow, in every room where the +temperature was in the least chilly. Moreover, his northern sense +of hospitality was such, that, if he were at home, he could hardly suffer +a visitor to leave the house without forcing meat and drink upon him. +Every servant in the house was well warmed, well fed, and kindly treated; +for their master scorned all petty saving in aught that conduced to +comfort; while he amused himself by following out all his accustomed +habits and individual ways in defiance of what any of his new neighbours +might think.</p> +<p>His wife was a pretty, gentle woman, of suitable age and character. +He was forty-two, she thirty-five. He was loud and decided; she +soft and yielding. They had two children or rather, I should say, +she had two; for the elder, a girl of eleven, was Mrs. Openshaw’s +child by Frank Wilson her first husband. The younger was a little +boy, Edwin, who could just prattle, and to whom his father delighted +to speak in the broadest and most unintelligible Lancashire dialect, +in order to keep up what he called the true Saxon accent.</p> +<p>Mrs. Openshaw’s Christian-name was Alice, and her first husband +had been her own cousin. She was the orphan niece of a sea-captain +in Liverpool: a quiet, grave little creature, of great personal attraction +when she was fifteen or sixteen, with regular features and a blooming +complexion. But she was very shy, and believed herself to be very +stupid and awkward; and was frequently scolded by her aunt, her own +uncle’s second wife. So when her cousin, Frank Wilson, came +home from a long absence at sea, and first was kind and protective to +her; secondly, attentive and thirdly, desperately in love with her, +she hardly knew how to be grateful enough to him. It is true she +would have preferred his remaining in the first or second stages of +behaviour; for his violent love puzzled and frightened her. Her +uncle neither helped nor hindered the love affair though it was going +on under his own eyes. Frank’s step-mother had such a variable +temper, that there was no knowing whether what she liked one day she +would like the next, or not. At length she went to such extremes +of crossness, that Alice was only too glad to shut her eyes and rush +blindly at the chance of escape from domestic tyranny offered her by +a marriage with her cousin; and, liking him better than any one in the +world except her uncle (who was at this time at sea) she went off one +morning and was married to him; her only bridesmaid being the housemaid +at her aunt’s. The consequence was, that Frank and his wife +went into lodgings, and Mrs. Wilson refused to see them, and turned +away Norah, the warm-hearted housemaid; whom they accordingly took into +their service. When Captain Wilson returned from his voyage, he +was very cordial with the young couple, and spent many an evening at +their lodgings; smoking his pipe, and sipping his grog; but he told +them that, for quietness’ sake, he could not ask them to his own +house; for his wife was bitter against them. They were not very +unhappy about this.</p> +<p>The seed of future unhappiness lay rather in Frank’s vehement, +passionate disposition; which led him to resent his wife’s shyness +and want of demonstration as failures in conjugal duty. He was +already tormenting himself, and her too, in a slighter degree, by apprehensions +and imaginations of what might befall her during his approaching absence +at sea. At last he went to his father and urged him to insist +upon Alice’s being once more received under his roof; the more +especially as there was now a prospect of her confinement while her +husband was away on his voyage. Captain Wilson was, as he himself +expressed it, “breaking up,” and unwilling to undergo the +excitement of a scene; yet he felt that what his son said was true. +So he went to his wife. And before Frank went to sea, he had the +comfort of seeing his wife installed in her old little garret in his +father’s house. To have placed her in the one best spare +room was a step beyond Mrs. Wilson’s powers of submission or generosity. +The worst part about it, however, was that the faithful Norah had to +be dismissed. Her place as housemaid had been filled up; and, +even had it not, she had forfeited Mrs. Wilson’s good opinion +for ever. She comforted her young master and mistress by pleasant +prophecies of the time when they would have a household of their own; +of which, in whatever service she might be in the meantime, she should +be sure to form part. Almost the last action Frank Wilson did, +before setting sail, was going with Alice to see Norah once more at +her mother’s house. And then he went away.</p> +<p>Alice’s father-in-law grew more and more feeble as winter advanced. +She was of great use to her step-mother in nursing and amusing him; +and, although there was anxiety enough in the household, there was perhaps +more of peace than there had been for years; for Mrs. Wilson had not +a bad heart, and was softened by the visible approach of death to one +whom she loved, and touched by the lonely condition of the young creature, +expecting her first confinement in her husband’s absence. +To this relenting mood Norah owed the permission to come and nurse Alice +when her baby was born, and to remain to attend on Captain Wilson.</p> +<p>Before one letter had been received from Frank (who had sailed for +the East Indies and China), his father died. Alice was always +glad to remember that he had held her baby in his arms, and kissed and +blessed it before his death. After that, and the consequent examination +into the state of his affairs, it was found that he had left far less +property than people had been led by his style of living to imagine; +and, what money there was, was all settled upon his wife, and at her +disposal after her death. This did not signify much to Alice, +as Frank was now first mate of his ship, and, in another voyage or two, +would be captain. Meanwhile he had left her some hundreds (all +his savings) in the bank.</p> +<p>It became time for Alice to hear from her husband. One letter +from the Cape she had already received. The next was to announce +his arrival in India. As week after week passed over, and no intelligence +of the ship’s arrival reached the office of the owners, and the +Captain’s wife was in the same state of ignorant suspense as Alice +herself, her fears grew most oppressive. At length the day came +when, in reply to her inquiry at the Shipping Office, they told her +that the owners had given up Hope of ever hearing more of the Betsy-Jane, +and had sent in their claim upon the underwriters. Now that he +was gone for ever, she first felt a yearning, longing love for the kind +cousin, the dear friend, the sympathising protector, whom she should +never see again,—first felt a passionate desire to show him his +child, whom she had hitherto rather craved to have all to herself—her +own sole possession. Her grief was, however, noiseless, and quiet—rather +to the scandal of Mrs. Wilson; who bewailed her step-son as if he and +she had always lived together in perfect harmony, and who evidently +thought it her duty to burst into fresh tears at every strange face +she saw; dwelling on his poor young widow’s desolate state, and +the helplessness of the fatherless child, with an unction, as if she +liked the excitement of the sorrowful story.</p> +<p>So passed away the first days of Alice’s widowhood. Bye-and-bye +things subsided into their natural and tranquil course. But, as +if this young creature was always to be in some heavy trouble, her ewe-lamb +began to be ailing, pining and sickly. The child’s mysterious +illness turned out to be some affection of the spine likely to affect +health; but not to shorten life—at least so the doctors said. +But the long dreary suffering of one whom a mother loves as Alice loved +her only child, is hard to look forward to. Only Norah guessed +what Alice suffered; no one but God knew.</p> +<p>And so it fell out, that when Mrs. Wilson, the elder, came to her +one day in violent distress, occasioned by a very material diminution +in the value the property that her husband had left her,—a diminution +which made her income barely enough to support herself, much less Alice—the +latter could hardly understand how anything which did not touch health +or life could cause such grief; and she received the intelligence with +irritating composure. But when, that afternoon, the little sick +child was brought in, and the grandmother—who after all loved +it well—began a fresh moan over her losses to its unconscious +ears—saying how she had planned to consult this or that doctor, +and to give it this or that comfort or luxury in after yearn but that +now all chance of this had passed away—Alice’s heart was +touched, and she drew near to Mrs. Wilson with unwonted caresses, and, +in a spirit not unlike to that of Ruth, entreated, that come what would, +they might remain together. After much discussion in succeeding +days, it was arranged that Mrs. Wilson should take a house in Manchester, +furnishing it partly with what furniture she had, and providing the +rest with Alice’s remaining two hundred pounds. Mrs. Wilson +was herself a Manchester woman, and naturally longed to return to her +native town. Some connections of her own at that time required +lodgings, for which they were willing to pay pretty handsomely. +Alice undertook the active superintendence and superior work of the +household. Norah, willing faithful Norah, offered to cook, scour, +do anything in short, so that, she might but remain with them.</p> +<p>The plan succeeded. For some years their first lodgers remained +with them, and all went smoothly,—with the one sad exception of +the little girl’s increasing deformity. How that mother +loved that child, is not for words to tell!</p> +<p>Then came a break of misfortune. Their lodgers left, and no +one succeeded to them. After some months they had to remove to +a smaller house; and Alice’s tender conscience was torn by the +idea that she ought not to be a burden to her mother-in-law, but ought +to go out and seek her own maintenance. And leave her child! +The thought came like the sweeping boom of a funeral bell over her heart.</p> +<p>Bye-and-bye, Mr. Openshaw came to lodge with them. He had started +in life as the errand-boy and sweeper-out of a warehouse; had struggled +up through all the grades of employment in the place, fighting his way +through the hard striving Manchester life with strong pushing energy +of character. Every spare moment of time had been sternly given +up to self-teaching. He was a capital accountant, a good French +and German scholar, a keen, far-seeing tradesman; understanding markets, +and the bearing of events, both near and distant, on trade: and yet, +with such vivid attention to present details, that I do not think he +ever saw a group of flowers in the fields without thinking whether their +colours would, or would not, form harmonious contrasts in the coming +spring muslins and prints. He went to debating societies, and +threw himself with all his heart and soul into politics; esteeming, +it must be owned, every man a fool or a knave who differed from him, +and overthrowing his opponents rather by the loud strength of his language +than the calm strength if his logic. There was something of the +Yankee in all this. Indeed his theory ran parallel to the famous +Yankee motto—“England flogs creation, and Manchester flogs +England.” Such a man, as may be fancied, had had no time +for falling in love, or any such nonsense. At the age when most +young men go through their courting and matrimony, he had not the means +of keeping a wife, and was far too practical to think of having one. +And now that he was in easy circumstances, a rising man, he considered +women almost as incumbrances to the world, with whom a man had better +have as little to do as possible. His first impression of Alice +was indistinct, and he did not care enough about her to make it distinct. +“A pretty yea-nay kind of woman,” would have been his description +of her, if he had been pushed into a corner. He was rather afraid, +in the beginning, that her quiet ways arose from a listlessness and +laziness of character which would have been exceedingly discordant to +his active energetic nature. But, when he found out the punctuality +with which his wishes were attended to, and her work was done; when +he was called in the morning at the very stroke of the clock, his shaving-water +scalding hot, his fire bright, his coffee made exactly as his peculiar +fancy dictated, (for he was a man who had his theory about everything, +based upon what he knew of science, and often perfectly original)—then +he began to think: not that Alice had any peculiar merit; but that he +had got into remarkably good lodgings: his restlessness wore away, and +he began to consider himself as almost settled for life in them.</p> +<p>Mr. Openshaw had been too busy, all his life, to be introspective. +He did not know that he had any tenderness in his nature; and if he +had become conscious of its abstract existence, he would have considered +it as a manifestation of disease in some part of his nature. But +he was decoyed into pity unawares; and pity led on to tenderness. +That little helpless child—always carried about by one of the +three busy women of the house, or else patiently threading coloured +beads in the chair from which, by no effort of its own, could it ever +move; the great grave blue eyes, full of serious, not uncheerful, expression, +giving to the small delicate face a look beyond its years; the soft +plaintive voice dropping out but few words, so unlike the continual +prattle of a child—caught Mr. Openshaw’s attention in spite +of himself. One day—he half scorned himself for doing so—he +cut short his dinner-hour to go in search of some toy which should take +the place of those eternal beads. I forget what he bought; but, +when he gave the present (which he took care to do in a short abrupt +manner, and when no one was by to see him) he was almost thrilled by +the flash of delight that came over that child’s face, and could +not help all through that afternoon going over and over again the picture +left on his memory, by the bright effect of unexpected joy on the little +girl’s face. When he returned home, he found his slippers +placed by his sitting-room fire; and even more careful attention paid +to his fancies than was habitual in those model lodgings. When +Alice had taken the last of his tea-things away—she had been silent +as usual till then—she stood for an instant with the door in her +hand. Mr. Openshaw looked as if he were deep in his book, though +in fact he did not see a line; but was heartily wishing the woman would +be gone, and not make any palaver of gratitude. But she only said:</p> +<p>“I am very much obliged to you, sir. Thank you very much,” +and was gone, even before he could send her away with a “There, +my good woman, that’s enough!”</p> +<p>For some time longer he took no apparent notice of the child. +He even hardened his heart into disregarding her sudden flush of colour, +and little timid smile of recognition, when he saw her by chance. +But, after all, this could not last for ever; and, having a second time +given way to tenderness, there was no relapse. The insidious enemy +having thus entered his heart, in the guise of compassion to the child, +soon assumed the more dangerous form of interest in the mother. +He was aware of this change of feeling, despised himself for it, struggled +with it nay, internally yielded to it and cherished it, long before +he suffered the slightest expression of it, by word, action, or look, +to escape him. He watched Alice’s docile obedient ways to +her stepmother; the love which she had inspired in the rough Norah (roughened +by the wear and tear of sorrow and years); but above all, he saw the +wild, deep, passionate affection existing between her and her child. +They spoke little to any one else, or when any one else was by; but, +when alone together, they talked, and murmured, and cooed, and chattered +so continually, that Mr. Openshaw first wondered what they could find +to say to each other, and next became irritated because they were always +so grave and silent with him. All this time, he was perpetually +devising small new pleasures for the child. His thoughts ran, +in a pertinacious way, upon the desolate life before her; and often +he came back from his day’s work loaded with the very thing Alice +had been longing for, but had not been able to procure. One time +it was a little chair for drawing the little sufferer along the streets, +and many an evening that ensuing summer Mr. Openshaw drew her along +himself, regardless of the remarks of his acquaintances. One day +in autumn he put down his newspaper, as Alice came in with the breakfast, +and said, in as indifferent a voice as he could assume:</p> +<p>“Mrs. Frank, is there any reason why we two should not put +up our horses together?”</p> +<p>Alice stood still in perplexed wonder. What did he mean? +He had resumed the reading of his newspaper, as if he did not expect +any answer; so she found silence her safest course, and went on quietly +arranging his breakfast without another word passing between them. +Just as he was leaving the house, to go to the warehouse as usual, he +turned back and put his head into the bright, neat, tidy kitchen, where +all the women breakfasted in the morning:</p> +<p>“You’ll think of what I said, Mrs. Frank” (this +was her name with the lodgers), “and let me have your opinion +upon it to-night.”</p> +<p>Alice was thankful that her mother and Norah were too busy talking +together to attend much to this speech. She determined not to +think about it at all through the day; and, of course, the effort not +to think made her think all the more. At night she sent up Norah +with his tea. But Mr. Openshaw almost knocked Norah down as she +was going out at the door, by pushing past her and calling out “Mrs. +Frank!” in an impatient voice, at the top of the stairs.</p> +<p>Alice went up, rather than seem to have affixed too much meaning +to his words.</p> +<p>“Well, Mrs. Frank,” he said, “what answer? +Don’t make it too long; for I have lots of office-work to get +through to-night.”</p> +<p>“I hardly know what you meant, sir,” said truthful Alice.</p> +<p>“Well! I should have thought you might have guessed. +You’re not new at this sort of work, and I am. However, +I’ll make it plain this time. Will you have me to be thy +wedded husband, and serve me, and love me, and honour me, and all that +sort of thing? Because if you will, I will do as much by you, +and be a father to your child—and that’s more than is put +in the prayer-book. Now, I’m a man of my word; and what +I say, I feel; and what I promise, I’ll do. Now, for your +answer!”</p> +<p>Alice was silent. He began to make the tea, as if her reply +was a matter of perfect indifference to him; but, as soon as that was +done, he became impatient.</p> +<p>“Well?” said he.</p> +<p>“How long, sir, may I have to think over it?”</p> +<p>“Three minutes!” (looking at his watch). “You’ve +had two already—that makes five. Be a sensible woman, say +Yes, and sit down to tea with me, and we’ll talk it over together; +for, after tea, I shall be busy; say No” (he hesitated a moment +to try and keep his voice in the same tone), “and I shan’t +say another word about it, but pay up a year’s rent for my rooms +to-morrow, and be off. Time’s up! Yes or no?”</p> +<p>“If you please, sir,—you have been so good to little +Ailsie—”</p> +<p>“There, sit down comfortably by me on the sofa, and let us +have our tea together. I am glad to find you are as good and sensible +as I took you for.”</p> +<p>And this was Alice Wilson’s second wooing.</p> +<p>Mr. Openshaw’s will was too strong, and his circumstances too +good, for him not to carry all before him. He settled Mrs. Wilson +in a comfortable house of her own, and made her quite independent of +lodgers. The little that Alice said with regard to future plans +was in Norah’s behalf.</p> +<p>“No,” said Mr. Openshaw. “Norah shall take +care of the old lady as long as she lives; and, after that, she shall +either come and live with us, or, if she likes it better, she shall +have a provision for life—for your sake, missus. No one +who has been good to you or the child shall go unrewarded. But +even the little one will be better for some fresh stuff about her. +Get her a bright, sensible girl as a nurse: one who won’t go rubbing +her with calf’s-foot jelly as Norah does; wasting good stuff outside +that ought to go in, but will follow doctors’ directions; which, +as you must see pretty clearly by this time, Norah won’t; because +they give the poor little wench pain. Now, I’m not above +being nesh for other folks myself. I can stand a good blow, and +never change colour; but, set me in the operating-room in the infirmary, +and I turn as sick as a girl. Yet, if need were, I would hold +the little wench on my knees while she screeched with pain, if it were +to do her poor back good. Nay, nay, wench! keep your white looks +for the time when it comes—I don’t say it ever will. +But this I know, Norah will spare the child and cheat the doctor if +she can. Now, I say, give the bairn a year or two’s chance, +and then, when the pack of doctors have done their best—and, maybe, +the old lady has gone—we’ll have Norah back, or do better +for her.”</p> +<p>The pack of doctors could do no good to little Ailsie. She +was beyond their power. But her father (for so he insisted on +being called, and also on Alice’s no longer retaining the appellation +of Mama, but becoming henceforward Mother), by his healthy cheerfulness +of manner, his clear decision of purpose, his odd turns and quirks of +humour, added to his real strong love for the helpless little girl, +infused a new element of brightness and confidence into her life; and, +though her back remained the same, her general health was strengthened, +and Alice—never going beyond a smile herself—had the pleasure +of seeing her child taught to laugh.</p> +<p>As for Alice’s own life, it was happier than it had ever been. +Mr. Openshaw required no demonstration, no expressions of affection +from her. Indeed, these would rather have disgusted him. +Alice could love deeply, but could not talk about it. The perpetual +requirement of loving words, looks, and caresses, and misconstruing +their absence into absence of love, had been the great trial of her +former married life. Now, all went on clear and straight, under +the guidance of her husband’s strong sense, warm heart, and powerful +will. Year by year their worldly prosperity increased. At +Mrs. Wilson’s death, Norah came back to them, as nurse to the +newly-born little Edwin; into which post she was not installed without +a pretty strong oration on the part of the proud and happy father; who +declared that if he found out that Norah ever tried to screen the boy +by a falsehood, or to make him nesh either in body or mind, she should +go that very day. Norah and Mr. Openshaw were not on the most +thoroughly cordial terms; neither of them fully recognising or appreciating +the other’s best qualities.</p> +<p>This was the previous history of the Lancashire family who had now +removed to London, and had come to occupy the House.</p> +<p>They had been there about a year, when Mr. Openshaw suddenly informed +his wife that he had determined to heal long-standing feuds, and had +asked his uncle and aunt Chadwick to come and pay them a visit and see +London. Mrs. Openshaw had never seen this uncle and aunt of her +husband’s. Years before she had married him, there had been +a quarrel. All she knew was, that Mr. Chadwick was a small manufacturer +in a country town in South Lancashire. She was extremely pleased +that the breach was to be healed, and began making preparations to render +their visit pleasant.</p> +<p>They arrived at last. Going to see London was such an event +to them, that Mrs. Chadwick had made all new linen fresh for the occasion-from +night-caps downwards; and, as for gowns, ribbons, and collars, she might +have been going into the wilds of Canada where never a shop is, so large +was her stock. A fortnight before the day of her departure for +London, she had formally called to take leave of all her acquaintance; +saying she should need all the intermediate time for packing up. +It was like a second wedding in her imagination; and, to complete the +resemblance which an entirely new wardrobe made between the two events, +her husband brought her back from Manchester, on the last market-day +before they set off, a gorgeous pearl and amethyst brooch, saying, “Lunnon +should see that Lancashire folks knew a handsome thing when they saw +it.”</p> +<p>For some time after Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick arrived at the Openshaws’, +there was no opportunity for wearing this brooch; but at length they +obtained an order to see Buckingham Palace, and the spirit of loyalty +demanded that Mrs. Chadwick should wear her best clothes in visiting +the abode of her sovereign. On her return, she hastily changed +her dress; for Mr. Openshaw had planned that they should go to Richmond, +drink tea and return by moonlight. Accordingly, about five o’clock, +Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw and Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick set off.</p> +<p>The housemaid and cook sate below, Norah hardly knew where. +She was always engrossed in the nursery, in tending her two children, +and in sitting by the restless, excitable Ailsie till she fell asleep. +Bye-and-bye, the housemaid Bessy tapped gently at the door. Norah +went to her, and they spoke in whispers.</p> +<p>“Nurse! there’s some one down-stairs wants you.”</p> +<p>“Wants me! Who is it?”</p> +<p>“A gentleman—”</p> +<p>“A gentleman? Nonsense!”</p> +<p>“Well! a man, then, and he asks for you, and he rung at the +front door bell, and has walked into the dining-room.”</p> +<p>“You should never have let him,” exclaimed Norah, “master +and missus out—”</p> +<p>“I did not want him to come in; but when he heard you lived +here, he walked past me, and sat down on the first chair, and said, +‘Tell her to come and speak to me.’ There is no gas +lighted in the room, and supper is all set out.”</p> +<p>“He’ll be off with the spoons!” exclaimed Norah, +putting the housemaid’s fear into words, and preparing to leave +the room, first, however, giving a look to Ailsie, sleeping soundly +and calmly.</p> +<p>Down-stairs she went, uneasy fears stirring in her bosom. Before +she entered the dining-room she provided herself with a candle, and, +with it in her hand, she went in, looking round her in the darkness +for her visitor.</p> +<p>He was standing up, holding by the table. Norah and he looked +at each other; gradual recognition coming into their eyes.</p> +<p>“Norah?” at length he asked.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” asked Norah, with the sharp tones of alarm +and incredulity. “I don’t know you:” trying, +by futile words of disbelief, to do away with the terrible fact before +her.</p> +<p>“Am I so changed?” he said, pathetically. “I +daresay I am. But, Norah, tell me!” he breathed hard, “where +is my wife? Is she—is she alive?”</p> +<p>He came nearer to Norah, and would have taken her hand; but she backed +away from him; looking at him all the time with staring eyes, as if +he were some horrible object. Yet he was a handsome, bronzed, +good-looking fellow, with beard and moustache, giving him a foreign-looking +aspect; but his eyes! there was no mistaking those eager, beautiful +eyes—the very same that Norah had watched not half-an-hour ago, +till sleep stole softly over them.</p> +<p>“Tell me, Norah—I can bear it—I have feared it +so often. Is she dead?” Norah still kept silence. +“She is dead!” He hung on Norah’s words and +looks, as if for confirmation or contradiction.</p> +<p>“What shall I do?” groaned Norah. “O, sir! +why did you come? how did you find me out? where have you been? +We thought you dead, we did, indeed!” She poured out words +and questions to gain time, as if time would help her.</p> +<p>“Norah! answer me this question, straight, by yes or no—Is +my wife dead?”</p> +<p>“No, she is not!” said Norah, slowly and heavily.</p> +<p>“O what a relief! Did she receive my letters? But +perhaps you don’t know. Why did you leave her? Where +is she? O Norah, tell me all quickly!”</p> +<p>“Mr. Frank!” said Norah at last, almost driven to bay +by her terror lest her mistress should return at any moment, and find +him there—unable to consider what was best to be done or said—rushing +at something decisive, because she could not endure her present state: +“Mr. Frank! we never heard a line from you, and the shipowners +said you had gone down, you and every one else. We thought you +were dead, if ever man was, and poor Miss Alice and her little sick, +helpless child! O, sir, you must guess it,” cried the poor +creature at last, bursting out into a passionate fit of crying, “for +indeed I cannot tell it. But it was no one’s fault. +God help us all this night!”</p> +<p>Norah had sate down. She trembled too much to stand. +He took her hands in his. He squeezed them hard, as if by physical +pressure, the truth could be wrung out.</p> +<p>“Norah!” This time his tone was calm, stagnant +as despair. “She has married again!”</p> +<p>Norah shook her head sadly. The grasp slowly relaxed. +The man had fainted.</p> +<p>There was brandy in the room. Norah forced some drops into +Mr. Frank’s mouth, chafed his hands, and—when mere animal +life returned, before the mind poured in its flood of memories and thoughts—she +lifted him up, and rested his head against her knees. Then she +put a few crumbs of bread taken from the supper-table, soaked in brandy +into his mouth. Suddenly he sprang to his feet.</p> +<p>“Where is she? Tell me this instant.” He +looked so wild, so mad, so desperate, that Norah felt herself to be +in bodily danger; but her time of dread had gone by. She had been +afraid to tell him the truth, and then she had been a coward. +Now, her wits were sharpened by the sense of his desperate state. +He must leave the house. She would pity him afterwards; but now +she must rather command and upbraid; for he must leave the house before +her mistress came home. That one necessity stood clear before +her.</p> +<p>“She is not here; that is enough for you to know. Nor +can I say exactly where she is” (which was true to the letter +if not to the spirit). “Go away, and tell me where to find +you to-morrow, and I will tell you all. My master and mistress +may come back at any minute, and then what would become of me with a +strange man in the house?”</p> +<p>Such an argument was too petty to touch his excited mind.</p> +<p>“I don’t care for your master and mistress. If +your master is a man, he must feel for me poor shipwrecked sailor that +I am—kept for years a prisoner amongst savages, always, always, +always thinking of my wife and my home—dreaming of her by night, +talking to her, though she could not hear, by day. I loved her +more than all heaven and earth put together. Tell me where she +is, this instant, you wretched woman, who salved over her wickedness +to her, as you do to me.”</p> +<p>The clock struck ten. Desperate positions require desperate +measures.</p> +<p>“If you will leave the house now, I will come to you to-morrow +and tell you all. What is more, you shall see your child now. +She lies sleeping up-stairs. O, sir, you have a child, you do +not know that as yet—a little weakly girl—with just a heart +and soul beyond her years. We have reared her up with such care: +We watched her, for we thought for many a year she might die any day, +and we tended her, and no hard thing has come near her, and no rough +word has ever been said to her. And now you, come and will take +her life into your hand, and will crush it. Strangers to her have +been kind to her; but her own father—Mr. Frank, I am her nurse, +and I love her, and I tend her, and I would do anything for her that +I could. Her mother’s heart beats as hers beats; and, if +she suffers a pain, her mother trembles all over. If she is happy, +it is her mother that smiles and is glad. If she is growing stronger, +her mother is healthy: if she dwindles, her mother languishes. +If she dies—well, I don’t know: it is not every one can +lie down and die when they wish it. Come up-stairs, Mr. Frank, +and see your child. Seeing her will do good to your poor heart. +Then go away, in God’s name, just this one night—to-morrow, if +need be, you can do anything—kill us all if you will, or show +yourself—a great grand man, whom God will bless for ever and ever. +Come, Mr. Frank, the look of a sleeping child is sure to give peace.”</p> +<p>She led him up-stairs; at first almost helping his steps, till they +came near the nursery door. She had almost forgotten the existence +of little Edwin. It struck upon her with affright as the shaded +light fell upon the other cot; but she skilfully threw that corner of +the room into darkness, and let the light fall on the sleeping Ailsie. +The child had thrown down the coverings, and her deformity, as she lay +with her back to them, was plainly visible through her slight night-gown. +Her little face, deprived of the lustre of her eyes, looked wan and +pinched, and had a pathetic expression in it, even as she slept. +The poor father looked and looked with hungry, wistful eyes, into which +the big tears came swelling up slowly, and dropped heavily down, as +he stood trembling and shaking all over. Norah was angry with +herself for growing impatient of the length of time that long lingering +gaze lasted. She thought that she waited for full half-an-hour +before Frank stirred. And then—instead of going away—he +sank down on his knees by the bedside, and buried his face in the clothes. +Little Ailsie stirred uneasily. Norah pulled him up in terror. +She could afford no more time even for prayer in her extremity of fear; +for surely the next moment would bring her mistress home. She +took him forcibly by the arm; but, as he was going, his eye lighted +on the other bed: he stopped. Intelligence came back into his +face. His hands clenched.</p> +<p>“His child?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Her child,” replied Norah. “God watches +over him,” said she instinctively; for Frank’s looks excited +her fears, and she needed to remind herself of the Protector of the +helpless.</p> +<p>“God has not watched over me,” he said, in despair; his +thoughts apparently recoiling on his own desolate, deserted state. +But Norah had no time for pity. To-morrow she would be as compassionate +as her heart prompted. At length she guided him downstairs and +shut the outer door and bolted it—as if by bolts to keep out facts.</p> +<p>Then she went back into the dining-room and effaced all traces of +his presence as far as she could. She went upstairs to the nursery +and sate there, her head on her hand, thinking what was to come of all +this misery. It seemed to her very long before they did return; +yet it was hardly eleven o’clock. She so heard the loud, +hearty Lancashire voices on the stairs; and, for the first time, she +understood the contrast of the desolation of the poor man who had so +lately gone forth in lonely despair.</p> +<p>It almost put her out of patience to see Mrs. Openshaw come in, calmly +smiling, handsomely dressed, happy, easy, to inquire after her children.</p> +<p>“Did Ailsie go to sleep comfortably?” she whispered to +Norah.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Her mother bent over her, looking at her slumbers with the soft eyes +of love. How little she dreamed who had looked on her last! +Then she went to Edwin, with perhaps less wistful anxiety in her countenance, +but more of pride. She took off her things, to go down to supper. +Norah saw her no more that night.</p> +<p>Beside the door into the passage, the sleeping-nursery opened out +of Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw’s room, in order that they might have +the children more immediately under their own eyes. Early the +next summer morning Mrs. Openshaw was awakened by Ailsie’s startled +call of “Mother! mother!” She sprang up, put on her +dressing-gown, and went to her child. Ailsie was only half awake, +and in a not uncommon state of terror.</p> +<p>“Who was he, mother? Tell me!”</p> +<p>“Who, my darling? No one is here. You have been +dreaming love. Waken up quite. See, it is broad daylight.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Ailsie, looking round her; then clinging +to her mother, said, “but a man was here in the night, mother.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, little goose. No man has ever come near you!”</p> +<p>“Yes, he did. He stood there. Just by Norah. +A man with hair and a beard. And he knelt down and said his prayers. +Norah knows he was here, mother” (half angrily, as Mrs. Openshaw +shook her head in smiling incredulity).</p> +<p>“Well! we will ask Norah when she comes,” said Mrs. Openshaw, +soothingly. “But we won’t talk any more about him +now. It is not five o’clock; it is too early for you to +get up. Shall I fetch you a book and read to you?”</p> +<p>“Don’t leave me, mother,” said the child, clinging +to her. So Mrs. Openshaw sate on the bedside talking to Ailsie, +and telling her of what they had done at Richmond the evening before, +until the little girl’s eyes slowly closed and she once more fell +asleep.</p> +<p>“What was the matter?” asked Mr. Openshaw, as his wife +returned to bed. “Ailsie wakened up in a fright, with some +story of a man having been in the room to say his prayers,—a dream, +I suppose.” And no more was said at the time.</p> +<p>Mrs. Openshaw had almost forgotten the whole affair when she got +up about seven o’clock. But, bye-and-bye, she heard a sharp +altercation going on in the nursery. Norah speaking angrily to +Ailsie, a most unusual thing. Both Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw listened +in astonishment.</p> +<p>“Hold your tongue, Ailsie! let me hear none of your dreams; +never let me hear you tell that story again!” Ailsie began to +cry.</p> +<p>Mr. Openshaw opened the door of communication before his wife could +say a word.</p> +<p>“Norah, come here!”</p> +<p>The nurse stood at the door, defiant. She perceived she had +been heard, but she was desperate.</p> +<p>“Don’t let me hear you speak in that manner to Ailsie +again,” he said sternly, and shut the door.</p> +<p>Norah was infinitely relieved; for she had dreaded some questioning; +and a little blame for sharp speaking was what she could well bear, +if cross-examination was let alone.</p> +<p>Down-stairs they went, Mr. Openshaw carrying Ailsie; the sturdy Edwin +coming step by step, right foot foremost, always holding his mother’s +hand. Each child was placed in a chair by the breakfast-table, +and then Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw stood together at the window, awaiting +their visitors’ appearance and making plans for the day. +There was a pause. Suddenly Mr. Openshaw turned to Ailsie, and +said:</p> +<p>“What a little goosy somebody is with her dreams, waking up +poor, tired mother in the middle of the night with a story of a man +being in the room.”</p> +<p>“Father! I’m sure I saw him,” said Ailsie, +half crying. “I don’t want to make Norah angry; but +I was not asleep, for all she says I was. I had been asleep,—and +I awakened up quite wide awake though I was so frightened. I kept +my eyes nearly shut, and I saw the man quite plain. A great brown +man with a beard. He said his prayers. And then he looked +at Edwin. And then Norah took him by the arm and led him away, +after they had whispered a bit together.”</p> +<p>“Now, my little woman must be reasonable,” said Mr. Openshaw, +who was always patient with Ailsie. “There was no man in +the house last night at all. No man comes into the house as you +know, if you think; much less goes up into the nursery. But sometimes +we dream something has happened, and the dream is so like reality, that +you are not the first person, little woman, who has stood out that the +thing has really happened.”</p> +<p>“But, indeed it was not a dream!” said Ailsie, beginning +to cry.</p> +<p>Just then Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick came down, looking grave and discomposed. +All during breakfast time they were silent and uncomfortable. +As soon as the breakfast things were taken away, and the children had +been carried up-stairs, Mr. Chadwick began in an evidently preconcerted +manner to inquire if his nephew was certain that all his servants were +honest; for, that Mrs. Chadwick had that morning missed a very valuable +brooch, which she had worn the day before. She remembered taking +it off when she came home from Buckingham Palace. Mr. Openshaw’s +face contracted into hard lines: grew like what it was before he had +known his wife and her child. He rang the bell even before his +uncle had done speaking. It was answered by the housemaid.</p> +<p>“Mary, was any one here last night while we were away?”</p> +<p>“A man, sir, came to speak to Norah.”</p> +<p>“To speak to Norah! Who was he? How long did he +stay?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure I can’t tell, sir. He came—perhaps +about nine. I went up to tell Norah in the nursery, and she came +down to speak to him. She let him out, sir. She will know +who he was, and how long he stayed.”</p> +<p>She waited a moment to be asked any more questions, but she was not, +so she went away.</p> +<p>A minute afterwards Openshaw made as though he were going out of +the room; but his wife laid her hand on his arm:</p> +<p>“Do not speak to her before the children,” she said, +in her low, quiet voice. “I will go up and question her.”</p> +<p>“No! I must speak to her. You must know,” +said he, turning to his uncle and aunt, “my missus has an old +servant, as faithful as ever woman was, I do believe, as far as love +goes,—but, at the same time, who does not always speak truth, +as even the missus must allow. Now, my notion is, that this Norah +of ours has been come over by some good-for-nothin chap (for she’s +at the time o’ life when they say women pray for husbands—‘any, +good Lord, any,’) and has let him into our house, and the chap +has made off with your brooch, and m’appen many another thing +beside. It’s only saying that Norah is soft-hearted, and +does not stick at a white lie—that’s all, missus.”</p> +<p>It was curious to notice how his tone, his eyes, his whole face changed +as he spoke to his wife; but he was the resolute man through all. +She knew better than to oppose him; so she went up-stairs, and told +Norah her master wanted to speak to her, and that she would take care +of the children in the meanwhile.</p> +<p>Norah rose to go without a word. Her thoughts were these:</p> +<p>“If they tear me to pieces they shall never know through me. +He may come,—and then just Lord have mercy upon us all: for some +of us are dead folk to a certainty. But he shall do it; not me.”</p> +<p>You may fancy, now, her look of determination as she faced her master +alone in the dining-room; Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick having left the affair +in their nephew’s hands, seeing that he took it up with such vehemence.</p> +<p>“Norah! Who was that man that came to my house last night?”</p> +<p>“Man, sir!” As if infinitely; surprised but it +was only to gain time.</p> +<p>“Yes; the man whom Mary let in; whom she went up-stairs to +the nursery to tell you about; whom you came down to speak to; the same +chap, I make no doubt, whom you took into the nursery to have your talk +out with; whom Ailsie saw, and afterwards dreamed about; thinking, poor +wench! she saw him say his prayers, when nothing, I’ll be bound, +was farther from his thoughts; who took Mrs. Chadwick’s brooch, +value ten pounds. Now, Norah! Don’t go off! +I am as sure as that my name’s Thomas Openshaw, that you knew +nothing of this robbery. But I do think you’ve been imposed +on, and that’s the truth. Some good-for-nothing chap has +been making up to you, and you’ve been just like all other women, +and have turned a soft place in your heart to him; and he came last +night a-lovyering, and you had him up in the nursery, and he made use +of his opportunities, and made off with a few things on his way down! +Come, now, Norah: it’s no blame to you, only you must not be such +a fool again. Tell us,” he continued, “what name he +gave you, Norah? I’ll be bound it was not the right one; +but it will be a clue for the police.”</p> +<p>Norah drew herself up. “You may ask that question, and +taunt me with my being single, and with my credulity, as you will, Master +Openshaw. You’ll get no answer from me. As for the +brooch, and the story of theft and burglary; if any friend ever came +to see me (which I defy you to prove, and deny), he’d be just +as much above doing such a thing as you yourself, Mr. Openshaw, and +more so, too; for I’m not at all sure as everything you have is +rightly come by, or would be yours long, if every man had his own.” +She meant, of course, his wife; but he understood her to refer to his +property in goods and chattels.</p> +<p>“Now, my good woman,” said he, “I’ll just +tell you truly, I never trusted you out and out; but my wife liked you, +and I thought you had many a good point about you. If you once +begin to sauce me, I’ll have the police to you, and get out the +truth in a court of justice, if you’ll not tell it me quietly +and civilly here. Now the best thing you can do is quietly to +tell me who the fellow is. Look here! a man comes to my house; +asks for you; you take him up-stairs, a valuable brooch is missing next +day; we know that you, and Mary, and cook, are honest; but you refuse +to tell us who the man is. Indeed you’ve told one lie already +about him, saying no one was here last night. Now I just put it +to you, what do you think a policeman would say to this, or a magistrate? +A magistrate would soon make you tell the truth, my good woman.”</p> +<p>“There’s never the creature born that should get it out +of me,” said Norah. “Not unless I choose to tell.”</p> +<p>“I’ve a great mind to see,” said Mr. Openshaw, +growing angry at the defiance. Then, checking himself, he thought +before he spoke again:</p> +<p>“Norah, for your missus’s sake I don’t want to +go to extremities. Be a sensible woman, if you can. It’s +no great disgrace, after all, to have been taken in. I ask you +once more—as a friend—who was this man whom you let into +my house last night?”</p> +<p>No answer. He repeated the question in an impatient tone. +Still no answer. Norah’s lips were set in determination +not to speak.</p> +<p>“Then there is but one thing to be done. I shall send +for a policeman.”</p> +<p>“You will not,” said Norah, starting forwards. +“You shall not, sir! No policeman shall touch me. +I know nothing of the brooch, but I know this: ever since I was four-and-twenty +I have thought more of your wife than of myself: ever since I saw her, +a poor motherless girl put upon in her uncle’s house, I have thought +more of serving her than of serving myself! I have cared for her +and her child, as nobody ever cared for me. I don’t cast +blame on you, sir, but I say it’s ill giving up one’s life +to any one; for, at the end, they will turn round upon you, and forsake +you. Why does not my missus come herself to suspect me? +Maybe she is gone for the police? But I don’t stay here, +either for police, or magistrate, or master. You’re an unlucky +lot. I believe there’s a curse on you. I’ll +leave you this very day. Yes! I leave that poor Ailsie, +too. I will! No good will ever come to you!”</p> +<p>Mr. Openshaw was utterly astonished at this speech; most of which +was completely unintelligible to him, as may easily be supposed. +Before he could make up his mind what to say, or what to do, Norah had +left the room. I do not think he had ever really intended to send +for the police to this old servant of his wife’s; for he had never +for a moment doubted her perfect honesty. But he had intended +to compel her to tell him who the man was, and in this he was baffled. +He was, consequently, much irritated. He returned to his uncle +and aunt in a state of great annoyance and perplexity, and told them +he could get nothing out of the woman; that some man had been in the +house the night before; but that she refused to tell who he was. +At this moment his wife came in, greatly agitated, and asked what had +happened to Norah; for that she had put on her things in passionate +haste, and had left the house.</p> +<p>“This looks suspicious,” said Mr. Chadwick. “It +is not the way in which an honest person would have acted.”</p> +<p>Mr. Openshaw kept silence. He was sorely perplexed. But +Mrs. Openshaw turned round on Mr. Chadwick with a sudden fierceness +no one ever saw in her before.</p> +<p>“You don’t know Norah, uncle! She is gone because +she is deeply hurt at being suspected. O, I wish I had seen her—that +I had spoken to her myself. She would have told me anything.” +Alice wrung her hands.</p> +<p>“I must confess,” continued Mr. Chadwick to his nephew, +in a lower voice, “I can’t make you out. You used +to be a word and a blow, and oftenest the blow first; and now, when +there is every cause for suspicion, you just do nought. Your missus +is a very good woman, I grant; but she may have been put upon as well +as other folk, I suppose. If you don’t send for the police, +I shall.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” replied Mr. Openshaw, surlily. “I +can’t clear Norah. She won’t clear herself, as I believe +she might if she would. Only I wash my hands of it; for I am sure +the woman herself is honest, and she’s lived a long time with +my wife, and I don’t like her to come to shame.”</p> +<p>“But she will then be forced to clear herself. That, +at any rate, will be a good thing.”</p> +<p>“Very well, very well! I am heart-sick of the whole business. +Come, Alice, come up to the babies they’ll be in a sore way. +I tell you, uncle!” he said, turning round once more to Mr. Chadwick, +suddenly and sharply, after his eye had fallen on Alice’s wan, +tearful, anxious face; “I’ll have none sending for the police +after all. I’ll buy my aunt twice as handsome a brooch this +very day; but I’ll not have Norah suspected, and my missus plagued. +There’s for you.”</p> +<p>He and his wife left the room. Mr. Chadwick quietly waited +till he was out of hearing, and then aid to his wife; “For all +Tom’s heroics, I’m just quietly going for a detective, wench. +Thou need’st know nought about it.”</p> +<p>He went to the police-station, and made a statement of the case. +He was gratified by the impression which the evidence against Norah +seemed to make. The men all agreed in his opinion, and steps were +to be immediately taken to find out where she was. Most probably, +as they suggested, she had gone at once to the man, who, to all appearance, +was her lover. When Mr. Chadwick asked how they would find her +out? they smiled, shook their heads, and spoke of mysterious but infallible +ways and means. He returned to his nephew’s house with a +very comfortable opinion of his own sagacity. He was met by his +wife with a penitent face:</p> +<p>“O master, I’ve found my brooch! It was just sticking +by its pin in the flounce of my brown silk, that I wore yesterday. +I took it off in a hurry, and it must have caught in it; and I hung +up my gown in the closet. Just now, when I was going to fold it +up, there was the brooch! I’m very vexed, but I never dreamt but +what it was lost!”</p> +<p>Her husband muttering something very like “Confound thee and +thy brooch too! I wish I’d never given it thee,” snatched +up his hat, and rushed back to the station; hoping to be in time to +stop the police from searching for Norah. But a detective was +already gone off on the errand.</p> +<p>Where was Norah? Half mad with the strain of the fearful secret, +she had hardly slept through the night for thinking what must be done. +Upon this terrible state of mind had come Ailsie’s questions, +showing that she had seen the Man, as the unconscious child called her +father. Lastly came the suspicion of her honesty. She was +little less than crazy as she ran up-stairs and dashed on her bonnet +and shawl; leaving all else, even her purse, behind her. In that +house she would not stay. That was all she knew or was clear about. +She would not even see the children again, for fear it should weaken +her. She feared above everything Mr. Frank’s return to claim +his wife. She could not tell what remedy there was for a sorrow +so tremendous, for her to stay to witness. The desire of escaping +from the coming event was a stronger motive for her departure than her +soreness about the suspicions directed against her; although this last +had been the final goad to the course she took. She walked away +almost at headlong speed; sobbing as she went, as she had not dared +to do during the past night for fear of exciting wonder in those who +might hear her. Then she stopped. An idea came into her +mind that she would leave London altogether, and betake herself to her +native town of Liverpool. She felt in her pocket for her purse, +as she drew near the Euston Square station with this intention. +She had left it at home. Her poor head aching, her eyes swollen +with crying, she had to stand still, and think, as well as she could, +where next she should bend her steps. Suddenly the thought flashed +into her mind that she would go and find out poor Mr. Frank. She +had been hardly kind to him the night before, though her heart had bled +for him ever since. She remembered his telling her as she inquired +for his address, almost as she had pushed him out of the door, of some +hotel in a street not far distant from Euston Square. Thither +she went: with what intention she hardly knew, but to assuage her conscience +by telling him how much she pitied him. In her present state she +felt herself unfit to counsel, or restrain, or assist, or do ought else +but sympathise and weep. The people of the inn said such a person +had been there; had arrived only the day before; had gone out soon after +his arrival, leaving his luggage in their care; but had never come back. +Norah asked for leave to sit down, and await the gentleman’s return. +The landlady—pretty secure in the deposit of luggage against any +probable injury—showed her into a room, and quietly locked the +door on the outside. Norah was utterly worn out, and fell asleep—a +shivering, starting, uneasy slumber, which lasted for hours.</p> +<p>The detective, meanwhile, had come up with her some time before she +entered the hotel, into which he followed her. Asking the landlady +to detain her for an hour or so, without giving any reason beyond showing +his authority (which made the landlady applaud herself a good deal for +having locked her in), he went back to the police-station to report +his proceedings. He could have taken her directly; but his object +was, if possible, to trace out the man who was supposed to have committed +the robbery. Then he heard of the discovery of the brooch; and +consequently did not care to return.</p> +<p>Norah slept till even the summer evening began to close in. +Then up. Some one was at the door. It would be Mr. Frank; +and she dizzily pushed back her ruffled grey hair, which had fallen +over her eyes, and stood looking to see him. Instead, there came +in Mr. Openshaw and a policeman.</p> +<p>“This is Norah Kennedy,” said Mr. Openshaw.</p> +<p>“O, sir,” said Norah, “I did not touch the brooch; +indeed I did not. O, sir, I cannot live to be thought so badly +of;” and very sick and faint, she suddenly sank down on the ground. +To her surprise, Mr. Openshaw raised her up very tenderly. Even +the policeman helped to lay her on the sofa; and, at Mr. Openshaw’s +desire, he went for some wine and sandwiches; for the poor gaunt woman +lay there almost as if dead with weariness and exhaustion.</p> +<p>“Norah!” said Mr. Openshaw, in his kindest voice, “the +brooch is found. It was hanging to Mrs. Chadwick’s gown. +I beg your pardon. Most truly I beg your pardon, for having troubled +you about it. My wife is almost broken-hearted. Eat, Norah,—or, +stay, first drink this glass of wine,” said he, lifting her head, +pouring a little down her throat.</p> +<p>As she drank, she remembered where she was, and who she was waiting +for. She suddenly pushed Mr. Openshaw away, saying, “O, +sir, you must go. You must not stop a minute. If he comes +back he will kill you.”</p> +<p>“Alas, Norah! I do not know who ‘he’ is. +But some one is gone away who will never come back: someone who knew +you, and whom I am afraid you cared for.”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand you, sir,” said Norah, her +master’s kind and sorrowful manner bewildering her yet more than +his words. The policeman had left the room at Mr. Openshaw’s +desire, and they two were alone.</p> +<p>“You know what I mean, when I say some one is gone who will +never come back. I mean that he is dead!”</p> +<p>“Who?” said Norah, trembling all over.</p> +<p>“A poor man has been found in the Thames this morning, drowned.”</p> +<p>“Did he drown himself?” asked Norah, solemnly.</p> +<p>“God only knows,” replied Mr. Openshaw, in the same tone. +“Your name and address at our house, were found in his pocket: +that, and his purse, were the only things, that were found upon him. +I am sorry to say it, my poor Norah; but you are required to go and +identify him.”</p> +<p>“To what?” asked Norah.</p> +<p>“To say who it is. It is always done, in order that some +reason may be discovered for the suicide—if suicide it was. +I make no doubt he was the man who came to see you at our house last +night. It is very sad, I know.” He made pauses between +each little clause, in order to try and bring back her senses; which +he feared were wandering—so wild and sad was her look.</p> +<p>“Master Openshaw,” said she, at last, “I’ve +a dreadful secret to tell you—only you must never breathe it to +any one, and you and I must hide it away for ever. I thought to +have done it all by myself, but I see I cannot. Yon poor man—yes! +the dead, drowned creature is, I fear, Mr. Frank, my mistress’s +first husband!”</p> +<p>Mr. Openshaw sate down, as if shot. He did not speak; but, +after a while, he signed to Norah to go on.</p> +<p>“He came to me the other night—when—God be thanked—you +were all away at Richmond. He asked me if his wife was dead or +alive. I was a brute, and thought more of our all coming home +than of his sore trial: spoke out sharp, and said she was married again, +and very content and happy: I all but turned him away: and now he lies +dead and cold!”</p> +<p>“God forgive me!” said Mr. Openshaw.</p> +<p>“God forgive us all!” said Norah. “Yon poor +man needs forgiveness perhaps less than any one among us. He had +been among the savages—shipwrecked—I know not what—and +he had written letters which had never reached my poor missus.”</p> +<p>“He saw his child!”</p> +<p>“He saw her—yes! I took him up, to give his thoughts +another start; for I believed he was going mad on my hands. I +came to seek him here, as I more than half promised. My mind misgave +me when I heard he had never come in. O, sir I it must be him!”</p> +<p>Mr. Openshaw rang the bell. Norah was almost too much stunned +to wonder at what he did. He asked for writing materials, wrote +a letter, and then said to Norah:</p> +<p>“I am writing to Alice, to say I shall be unavoidably absent +for a few days; that I have found you; that you are well, and send her +your love, and will come home to-morrow. You must go with me to +the Police Court; you must identify the body: I will pay high to keep +name and details out of the papers.”</p> +<p>“But where are you going, sir?”</p> +<p>He did not answer her directly. Then he said:</p> +<p>“Norah! I must go with you, and look on the face of the +man whom I have so injured,—unwittingly, it is true; but it seems +to me as if I had killed him. I will lay his head in the grave, +as if he were my only brother: and how he must have hated me! +I cannot go home to my wife till all that I can do for him is done. +Then I go with a dreadful secret on my mind. I shall never speak +of it again, after these days are over. I know you will not, either.” +He shook hands with her: and they never named the subject again, the +one to the other.</p> +<p>Norah went home to Alice the next day. Not a word was said +on the cause of her abrupt departure a day or two before. Alice +had been charged by her husband in his letter not to allude to the supposed +theft of the brooch; so she, implicitly obedient to those whom she loved +both by nature and habit, was entirely silent on the subject, only treated +Norah with the most tender respect, as if to make up for unjust suspicion.</p> +<p>Nor did Alice inquire into the reason why Mr. Openshaw had been absent +during his uncle and aunt’s visit, after he had once said that +it was unavoidable. He came back, grave and quiet; and, from that +time forth, was curiously changed. More thoughtful, and perhaps +less active; quite as decided in conduct, but with new and different +rules for the guidance of that conduct. Towards Alice he could +hardly be more kind than he had always been; but he now seemed to look +upon her as some one sacred and to be treated with reverence, as well +as tenderness. He throve in business, and made a large fortune, +one half of which was settled upon her.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Long years after these events,—a few months after her mother +died, Ailsie and her “father” (as she always called Mr. +Openshaw) drove to a cemetery a little way out of town, and she was +carried to a certain mound by her maid, who was then sent back to the +carriage. There was a head-stone, with F. W. and a date. +That was all. Sitting by the grave, Mr. Openshaw told her the +story; and for the sad fate of that poor father whom she had never seen, +he shed the only tears she ever saw fall from his eyes.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“A most interesting story, all through,” I said, as Jarber +folded up the first of his series of discoveries in triumph. “A +story that goes straight to the heart—especially at the end. +But”—I stopped, and looked at Trottle.</p> +<p>Trottle entered his protest directly in the shape of a cough.</p> +<p>“Well!” I said, beginning to lose my patience. +“Don’t you see that I want you to speak, and that I don’t +want you to cough?”</p> +<p>“Quite so, ma’am,” said Trottle, in a state of +respectful obstinacy which would have upset the temper of a saint. +“Relative, I presume, to this story, ma’am?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Yes!” said Jarber. “By all means let +us hear what this good man has to say.”</p> +<p>“Well, sir,” answered Trottle, “I want to know +why the House over the way doesn’t let, and I don’t exactly +see how your story answers the question. That’s all I have +to say, sir.”</p> +<p>I should have liked to contradict my opinionated servant, at that +moment. But, excellent as the story was in itself, I felt that +he had hit on the weak point, so far as Jarber’s particular purpose +in reading it was concerned.</p> +<p>“And that is what you have to say, is it?” repeated Jarber. +“I enter this room announcing that I have a series of discoveries, +and you jump instantly to the conclusion that the first of the series +exhausts my resources. Have I your permission, dear lady, to enlighten +this obtuse person, if possible, by reading Number Two?”</p> +<p>“My work is behindhand, ma’am,” said Trottle, moving +to the door, the moment I gave Jarber leave to go on.</p> +<p>“Stop where you are,” I said, in my most peremptory manner, +“and give Mr. Jarber his fair opportunity of answering your objection +now you have made it.”</p> +<p>Trottle sat down with the look of a martyr, and Jarber began to read +with his back turned on the enemy more decidedly than ever.</p> +<div class='chapter' /><h2>GOING INTO SOCIETY</h2> +<p>At one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupation +of a Showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the +parish books of the time when he rented the House, and there was therefore +no need of any clue to his name. But, he himself was less easy +to be found; for, he had led a wandering life, and settled people had +lost sight of him, and people who plumed themselves on being respectable +were shy of admitting that they had ever known anything of him. +At last, among the marsh lands near the river’s level, that lie +about Deptford and the neighbouring market-gardens, a Grizzled Personage +in velveteen, with a face so cut up by varieties of weather that he +looked as if he had been tattooed, was found smoking a pipe at the door +of a wooden house on wheels. The wooden house was laid up in ordinary +for the winter, near the mouth of a muddy creek; and everything near +it, the foggy river, the misty marshes, and the steaming market-gardens, +smoked in company with the grizzled man. In the midst of this +smoking party, the funnel-chimney of the wooden house on wheels was +not remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in a companionable manner.</p> +<p>On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let, +Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name +was Magsman? That was it, Toby Magsman—which lawfully christened +Robert; but called in the line, from a infant, Toby. There was +nothing agin Toby Magsman, he believed? If there was suspicion +of such—mention it!</p> +<p>There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But, +some inquiries were making about that House, and would he object to +say why he left it?</p> +<p>Not at all; why should he? He left it, along of a Dwarf.</p> +<p>Along of a Dwarf?</p> +<p>Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, Along of a Dwarf.</p> +<p>Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman’s inclination and convenience +to enter, as a favour, into a few particulars?</p> +<p>Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars.</p> +<p>It was a long time ago, to begin with;—afore lotteries and +a deal more was done away with. Mr. Magsman was looking about +for a good pitch, and he see that house, and he says to himself, “I’ll +have you, if you’re to be had. If money’ll get you, +I’ll have you.”</p> +<p>The neighbours cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman +don’t know what they <i>would</i> have had. It was a lovely +thing. First of all, there was the canvass, representin the picter +of the Giant, in Spanish trunks and a ruff, who was himself half the +heighth of the house, and was run up with a line and pulley to a pole +on the roof, so that his Ed was coeval with the parapet. Then, +there was the canvass, representin the picter of the Albina lady, showing +her white air to the Army and Navy in correct uniform. Then, there +was the canvass, representin the picter of the Wild Indian a scalpin +a member of some foreign nation. Then, there was the canvass, +representin the picter of a child of a British Planter, seized by two +Boa Constrictors—not that <i>we</i> never had no child, nor no +Constrictors neither. Similarly, there was the canvass, representin +the picter of the Wild Ass of the Prairies—not that <i>we</i> +never had no wild asses, nor wouldn’t have had ’em at a +gift. Last, there was the canvass, representin the picter of the +Dwarf, and like him too (considerin), with George the Fourth in such +a state of astonishment at him as His Majesty couldn’t with his +utmost politeness and stoutness express. The front of the House +was so covered with canvasses, that there wasn’t a spark of daylight +ever visible on that side. “MAGSMAN’S AMUSEMENTS,” +fifteen foot long by two foot high, ran over the front door and parlour +winders. The passage was a Arbour of green baize and gardenstuff. +A barrel-organ performed there unceasing. And as to respectability,—if +threepence ain’t respectable, what is?</p> +<p>But, the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth +the money. He was wrote up as MAJOR TPSCHOFFKI, OF THE IMPERIAL +BULGRADERIAN BRIGADE. Nobody couldn’t pronounce the name, +and it never was intended anybody should. The public always turned +it, as a regular rule, into Chopski. In the line he was called +Chops; partly on that account, and partly because his real name, if +he ever had any real name (which was very dubious), was Stakes.</p> +<p>He was a uncommon small man, he really was. Certainly not so +small as he was made out to be, but where <i>is</i> your Dwarf as is? +He was a most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and +what he had inside that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin +himself to have ever took stock of it, which it would have been a stiff +job for even him to do.</p> +<p>The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. +When he travelled with the Spotted Baby—though he knowed himself +to be a nat’ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby’s spots to be +put upon him artificial, he nursed that Baby like a mother. You +never heerd him give a ill-name to a Giant. He <i>did</i> allow +himself to break out into strong language respectin the Fat Lady from +Norfolk; but that was an affair of the ’art; and when a man’s +’art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv to +a Indian, he ain’t master of his actions.</p> +<p>He was always in love, of course; every human nat’ral phenomenon +is. And he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowed +the Dwarf as could be got to love a small one. Which helps to +keep ’em the Curiosities they are.</p> +<p>One sing’ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have +meant something, or it wouldn’t have been there. It was +always his opinion that he was entitled to property. He never +would put his name to anything. He had been taught to write, by +the young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite +a writing master <i>he</i> was, and taught scores in the line), but +Chops would have starved to death, afore he’d have gained a bit +of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is the more curious +to bear in mind, because HE had no property, nor hope of property, except +his house and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean the box, +painted and got up outside like a reg’lar six-roomer, that he +used to creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) +on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public believed +to be the Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean +a Chaney sarser in which he made a collection for himself at the end +of every Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: “Ladies +and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, +and retire behind the curtain.” When he said anything important, +in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and +they was generally the last thing he said to me at night afore he went +to bed.</p> +<p>He had what I consider a fine mind—a poetic mind. His +ideas respectin his property never come upon him so strong as when he +sat upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration +had run through him a little time, he would screech out, “Toby, +I feel my property coming—grind away! I’m counting +my guineas by thousands, Toby—grind away! Toby, I shall +be a man of fortun! I feel the Mint a jingling in me, Toby, and +I’m swelling out into the Bank of England!” Such is +the influence of music on a poetic mind. Not that he was partial +to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it.</p> +<p>He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a +thing you may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out of +it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that +it kep him out of Society. He was continiwally saying, “Toby, +my ambition is, to go into Society. The curse of my position towards +the Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This don’t +signify to a low beast of a Indian; he an’t formed for Society. +This don’t signify to a Spotted Baby; <i>he</i> an’t formed +for Society.—I am.”</p> +<p>Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. +He had a good salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came +round, besides having the run of his teeth—and he was a Woodpecker +to eat—but all Dwarfs are. The sarser was a little income, +bringing him in so many halfpence that he’d carry ’em for +a week together, tied up in a pocket-handkercher. And yet he never +had money. And it couldn’t be the Fat Lady from Norfolk, +as was once supposed; because it stands to reason that when you have +a animosity towards a Indian, which makes you grind your teeth at him +to his face, and which can hardly hold you from Goosing him audible +when he’s going through his War-Dance—it stands to reason +you wouldn’t under them circumstances deprive yourself, to support +that Indian in the lap of luxury.</p> +<p>Most unexpected, the mystery come out one day at Egham Races. +The Public was shy of bein pulled in, and Chops was ringin his little +bell out of his drawing-room winder, and was snarlin to me over his +shoulder as he kneeled down with his legs out at the back-door—for +he couldn’t be shoved into his house without kneeling down, and +the premises wouldn’t accommodate his legs—was snarlin, +“Here’s a precious Public for you; why the Devil don’t +they tumble up?” when a man in the crowd holds up a carrier-pigeon, +and cries out, “If there’s any person here as has got a +ticket, the Lottery’s just drawed, and the number as has come +up for the great prize is three, seven, forty-two! Three, seven, +forty-two!” I was givin the man to the Furies myself, for +calling off the Public’s attention—for the Public will turn +away, at any time, to look at anything in preference to the thing showed +’em; and if you doubt it, get ’em together for any indiwidual +purpose on the face of the earth, and send only two people in late, +and see if the whole company an’t far more interested in takin +particular notice of them two than of you—I say, I wasn’t +best pleased with the man for callin out, and wasn’t blessin him +in my own mind, when I see Chops’s little bell fly out of winder +at a old lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, exposin the whole +secret, and he catches hold of the calves of my legs and he says to +me, “Carry me into the wan, Toby, and throw a pail of water over +me or I’m a dead man, for I’ve come into my property!”</p> +<p>Twelve thousand odd hundred pound, was Chops’s winnins. +He had bought a half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and +it had come up. The first use he made of his property, was, to +offer to fight the Wild Indian for five hundred pound a side, him with +a poisoned darnin-needle and the Indian with a club; but the Indian +being in want of backers to that amount, it went no further.</p> +<p>Arter he had been mad for a week—in a state of mind, in short, +in which, if I had let him sit on the organ for only two minutes, I +believe he would have bust—but we kep the organ from him—Mr. +Chops come round, and behaved liberal and beautiful to all. He +then sent for a young man he knowed, as had a wery genteel appearance +and was a Bonnet at a gaming-booth (most respectable brought up, father +havin been imminent in the livery stable line but unfort’nate +in a commercial crisis, through paintin a old gray, ginger-bay, and +sellin him with a Pedigree), and Mr. Chops said to this Bonnet, who +said his name was Normandy, which it wasn’t:</p> +<p>“Normandy, I’m a goin into Society. Will you go +with me?”</p> +<p>Says Normandy: “Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate +that the ’ole of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?”</p> +<p>“Correct,” says Mr. Chops. “And you shall +have a Princely allowance too.”</p> +<p>The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair, to shake hands with him, +and replied in poetry, with his eyes seemingly full of tears:</p> +<p>“My boat is on the shore,<br /> +And my bark is on the sea,<br /> +And I do not ask for more,<br /> +But I’ll Go:—along with thee.”</p> +<p>They went into Society, in a chay and four grays with silk jackets. +They took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away.</p> +<p>In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the +autumn of next year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk-white +cords and tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one evening +appinted. The gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and Mr. +Chops’s eyes was more fixed in that Ed of his than I thought good +for him. There was three of ’em (in company, I mean), and +I knowed the third well. When last met, he had on a white Roman +shirt, and a bishop’s mitre covered with leopard-skin, and played +the clarionet all wrong, in a band at a Wild Beast Show.</p> +<p>This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said: “Gentlemen, +this is a old friend of former days:” and Normandy looked at me +through a eye-glass, and said, “Magsman, glad to see you!”—which +I’ll take my oath he wasn’t. Mr. Chops, to git him +convenient to the table, had his chair on a throne (much of the form +of George the Fourth’s in the canvass), but he hardly appeared +to me to be King there in any other pint of view, for his two gentlemen +ordered about like Emperors. They was all dressed like May-Day—gorgeous!—And +as to Wine, they swam in all sorts.</p> +<p>I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had done +it), and then mixed ’em all together (to say I had done it), and +then tried two of ’em as half-and-half, and then t’other +two. Altogether, I passed a pleasin evenin, but with a tendency +to feel muddled, until I considered it good manners to get up and say, +“Mr. Chops, the best of friends must part, I thank you for the +wariety of foreign drains you have stood so ’ansome, I looks towards +you in red wine, and I takes my leave.” Mr. Chops replied, +“If you’ll just hitch me out of this over your right arm, +Magsman, and carry me down-stairs, I’ll see you out.” +I said I couldn’t think of such a thing, but he would have it, +so I lifted him off his throne. He smelt strong of Maideary, and +I couldn’t help thinking as I carried him down that it was like +carrying a large bottle full of wine, with a rayther ugly stopper, a +good deal out of proportion.</p> +<p>When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kep me close to him +by holding on to my coat-collar, and he whispers:</p> +<p>“I ain’t ’appy, Magsman.”</p> +<p>“What’s on your mind, Mr. Chops?”</p> +<p>“They don’t use me well. They an’t grateful +to me. They puts me on the mantel-piece when I won’t have +in more Champagne-wine, and they locks me in the sideboard when I won’t +give up my property.”</p> +<p>“Get rid of ’em, Mr. Chops.”</p> +<p>“I can’t. We’re in Society together, and +what would Society say?”</p> +<p>“Come out of Society!” says I.</p> +<p>“I can’t. You don’t know what you’re +talking about. When you have once gone into Society, you mustn’t +come out of it.”</p> +<p>“Then if you’ll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops,” +were my remark, shaking my head grave, “I think it’s a pity +you ever went in.”</p> +<p>Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his, to a surprisin extent, and slapped +it half a dozen times with his hand, and with more Wice than I thought +were in him. Then, he says, “You’re a good fellow, +but you don’t understand. Good-night, go along. Magsman, +the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire +behind the curtain.” The last I see of him on that occasion +was his tryin, on the extremest werge of insensibility, to climb up +the stairs, one by one, with his hands and knees. They’d +have been much too steep for him, if he had been sober; but he wouldn’t +be helped.</p> +<p>It warn’t long after that, that I read in the newspaper of +Mr. Chops’s being presented at court. It was printed, “It +will be recollected”—and I’ve noticed in my life, +that it is sure to be printed that it <i>will</i> be recollected, whenever +it won’t—“that Mr. Chops is the individual of small +stature, whose brilliant success in the last State Lottery attracted +so much attention.” Well, I says to myself, Such is Life! +He has been and done it in earnest at last. He has astonished +George the Fourth!</p> +<p>(On account of which, I had that canvass new-painted, him with a +bag of money in his hand, a presentin it to George the Fourth, and a +lady in Ostrich Feathers fallin in love with him in a bag-wig, sword, +and buckles correct.)</p> +<p>I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries—though +not the honour of bein acquainted—and I run Magsman’s Amusements +in it thirteen months—sometimes one thing, sometimes another, +sometimes nothin particular, but always all the canvasses outside. +One night, when we had played the last company out, which was a shy +company, through its raining Heavens hard, I was takin a pipe in the +one pair back along with the young man with the toes, which I had taken +on for a month (though he never drawed—except on paper), and I +heard a kickin at the street door. “Halloa!” I says +to the young man, “what’s up!” He rubs his eyebrows +with his toes, and he says, “I can’t imagine, Mr. Magsman”—which +he never could imagine nothin, and was monotonous company.</p> +<p>The noise not leavin off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle, +and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street; +but nothin could I see, and nothin was I aware of, until I turned round +quick, because some creetur run between my legs into the passage. +There was Mr. Chops!</p> +<p>“Magsman,” he says, “take me, on the old terms, +and you’ve got me; if it’s done, say done!”</p> +<p>I was all of a maze, but I said, “Done, sir.”</p> +<p>“Done to your done, and double done!” says he. +“Have you got a bit of supper in the house?”</p> +<p>Bearin in mind them sparklin warieties of foreign drains as we’d +guzzled away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassages +and gin-and-water; but he took ’em both and took ’em free; +havin a chair for his table, and sittin down at it on a stool, like +hold times. I, all of a maze all the while.</p> +<p>It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and +to the best of my calculations two pound and a quarter), that the wisdom +as was in that little man began to come out of him like prespiration.</p> +<p>“Magsman,” he says, “look upon me! You see +afore you, One as has both gone into Society and come out.”</p> +<p>“O! You <i>are</i> out of it, Mr. Chops? How did +you get out, sir?”</p> +<p>“SOLD OUT!” says he. You never saw the like of +the wisdom as his Ed expressed, when he made use of them two words.</p> +<p>“My friend Magsman, I’ll impart to you a discovery I’ve +made. It’s wallable; it’s cost twelve thousand five +hundred pound; it may do you good in life—The secret of this matter +is, that it ain’t so much that a person goes into Society, as +that Society goes into a person.”</p> +<p>Not exactly keepin up with his meanin, I shook my head, put on a +deep look, and said, “You’re right there, Mr. Chops.”</p> +<p>“Magsman,” he says, twitchin me by the leg, “Society +has gone into me, to the tune of every penny of my property.”</p> +<p>I felt that I went pale, and though nat’rally a bold speaker, +I couldn’t hardly say, “Where’s Normandy?”</p> +<p>“Bolted. With the plate,” said Mr. Chops.</p> +<p>“And t’other one?” meaning him as formerly wore +the bishop’s mitre.</p> +<p>“Bolted. With the jewels,” said Mr. Chops.</p> +<p>I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me.</p> +<p>“Magsman,” he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser +as he got hoarser; “Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. +At the court of St. James’s, they was all a doing my old business—all +a goin three times round the Cairawan, in the hold court-suits and properties. +Elsewheres, they was most of ’em ringin their little bells out +of make-believes. Everywheres, the sarser was a goin round. +Magsman, the sarser is the uniwersal Institution!”</p> +<p>I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortunes, +and I felt for Mr. Chops.</p> +<p>“As to Fat Ladies,” he says, giving his head a tremendious +one agin the wall, “there’s lots of <i>them</i> in Society, +and worse than the original. <i>Hers</i> was a outrage upon Taste—simply +a outrage upon Taste—awakenin contempt—carryin its own punishment +in the form of a Indian.” Here he giv himself another tremendious +one. “But <i>theirs</i>, Magsman, <i>theirs</i> is mercenary +outrages. Lay in Cashmeer shawls, buy bracelets, strew ’em +and a lot of ’andsome fans and things about your rooms, let it +be known that you give away like water to all as come to admire, and +the Fat Ladies that don’t exhibit for so much down upon the drum, +will come from all the pints of the compass to flock about you, whatever +you are. They’ll drill holes in your ’art, Magsman, +like a Cullender. And when you’ve no more left to give, +they’ll laugh at you to your face, and leave you to have your +bones picked dry by Wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of the Prairies +that you deserve to be!” Here he giv himself the most tremendious +one of all, and dropped.</p> +<p>I thought he was gone. His Ed was so heavy, and he knocked +it so hard, and he fell so stoney, and the sassagerial disturbance in +him must have been so immense, that I thought he was gone. But, +he soon come round with care, and he sat up on the floor, and he said +to me, with wisdom comin out of his eyes, if ever it come:</p> +<p>“Magsman! The most material difference between the two +states of existence through which your unhappy friend has passed;” +he reached out his poor little hand, and his tears dropped down on the +moustachio which it was a credit to him to have done his best to grow, +but it is not in mortals to command success,—“the difference +this. When I was out of Society, I was paid light for being seen. +When I went into Society, I paid heavy for being seen. I prefer +the former, even if I wasn’t forced upon it. Give me out +through the trumpet, in the hold way, to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Arter that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had been +iled all over. But the organ was kep from him, and no allusions +was ever made, when a company was in, to his property. He got +wiser every day; his views of Society and the Public was luminous, bewilderin, +awful; and his Ed got bigger and bigger as his Wisdom expanded it.</p> +<p>He took well, and pulled ’em in most excellent for nine weeks. +At the expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed +one evenin, the last Company havin been turned out, and the door shut, +a wish to have a little music.</p> +<p>“Mr. Chops,” I said (I never dropped the “Mr.” +with him; the world might do it, but not me); “Mr. Chops, are +you sure as you are in a state of mind and body to sit upon the organ?”</p> +<p>His answer was this: “Toby, when next met with on the tramp, +I forgive her and the Indian. And I am.”</p> +<p>It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; but +he sat like a lamb. I will be my belief to my dying day, that +I see his Ed expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great his +thoughts was. He sat out all the changes, and then he come off.</p> +<p>“Toby,” he says, with a quiet smile, “the little +man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind +the curtain.”</p> +<p>When we called him in the morning, we found him gone into a much +better Society than mine or Pall Mall’s. I giv Mr. Chops +as comfortable a funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as Chief, +and had the George the Fourth canvass carried first, in the form of +a banner. But, the House was so dismal arterwards, that I giv +it up, and took to the Wan again.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“I don’t triumph,” said Jarber, folding up the +second manuscript, and looking hard at Trottle. “I don’t +triumph over this worthy creature. I merely ask him if he is satisfied +now?”</p> +<p>“How can he be anything else?” I said, answering for +Trottle, who sat obstinately silent. “This time, Jarber, +you have not only read us a delightfully amusing story, but you have +also answered the question about the House. Of course it stands +empty now. Who would think of taking it after it had been turned +into a caravan?” I looked at Trottle, as I said those last +words, and Jarber waved his hand indulgently in the same direction.</p> +<p>“Let this excellent person speak,” said Jarber. +“You were about to say, my good man?”—</p> +<p>“I only wished to ask, sir,” said Trottle doggedly, “if +you could kindly oblige me with a date or two in connection with that +last story?”</p> +<p>“A date!” repeated Jarber. “What does the +man want with dates!”</p> +<p>“I should be glad to know, with great respect,” persisted +Trottle, “if the person named Magsman was the last tenant who +lived in the House. It’s my opinion—if I may be excused +for giving it—that he most decidedly was not.”</p> +<p>With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room.</p> +<p>There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked +sadly discomposed. He had evidently forgotten to inquire about +dates; and, in spite of his magnificent talk about his series of discoveries, +it was quite as plain that the two stories he had just read, had really +and truly exhausted his present stock. I thought myself bound, +in common gratitude, to help him out of his embarrassment by a timely +suggestion. So I proposed that he should come to tea again, on +the next Monday evening, the thirteenth, and should make such inquiries +in the meantime, as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of Trottle’s +objection.</p> +<p>He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment, +and took his leave. For the rest of the week I would not encourage +Trottle by allowing him to refer to the House at all. I suspected +he was making his own inquiries about dates, but I put no questions +to him.</p> +<p>On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber came, +punctual to the appointed time. He looked so terribly harassed, +that he was really quite a spectacle of feebleness and fatigue. +I saw, at a glance, that the question of dates had gone against him, +that Mr. Magsman had not been the last tenant of the House, and that +the reason of its emptiness was still to seek.</p> +<p>“What I have gone through,” said Jarber, “words +are not eloquent enough to tell. O Sophonisba, I have begun another +series of discoveries! Accept the last two as stories laid on +your shrine; and wait to blame me for leaving your curiosity unappeased, +until you have heard Number Three.”</p> +<p>Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as much. +Jarber explained to me that we were to have some poetry this time. +In the course of his investigations he had stepped into the Circulating +Library, to seek for information on the one important subject. +All the Library-people knew about the House was, that a female relative +of the last tenant, as they believed, had, just after that tenant left, +sent a little manuscript poem to them which she described as referring +to events that had actually passed in the House; and which she wanted +the proprietor of the Library to publish. She had written no address +on her letter; and the proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to be +given back to her (the publishing of poems not being in his line) when +she might call for it. She had never called for it; and the poem +had been lent to Jarber, at his express request, to read to me.</p> +<p>Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined to +have him present at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his obstinacy. +To my surprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, that Trottle had +stepped out without saying where. I instantly felt the strongest +possible conviction that he was at his old tricks: and that his stepping +out in the evening, without leave, meant—Philandering.</p> +<p>Controlling myself on my visitor’s account, I dismissed Peggy, +stifled my indignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to listen +to Jarber.</p> +<div class='chapter' /><h2>THREE EVENINGS IN THE HOUSE</h2> +<h3>NUMBER ONE.</h3> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Yes, it look’d dark and dreary<br /> +That long and narrow street:<br /> +Only the sound of the rain,<br /> +And the tramp of passing feet,<br /> +The duller glow of the fire,<br /> +And gathering mists of night<br /> +To mark how slow and weary<br /> +The long day’s cheerless flight!</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>Watching the sullen fire,<br /> +Hearing the dreary rain,<br /> +Drop after drop, run down<br /> +On the darkening window-pane;<br /> +Chill was the heart of Bertha,<br /> +Chill as that winter day,—<br /> +For the star of her life had risen<br /> +Only to fade away.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>The voice that had been so strong<br /> +To bid the snare depart,<br /> +The true and earnest will,<br /> +And the calm and steadfast heart,<br /> +Were now weigh’d down by sorrow,<br /> +Were quivering now with pain;<br /> +The clear path now seem’d clouded,<br /> +And all her grief in vain.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>Duty, Right, Truth, who promised<br /> +To help and save their own,<br /> +Seem’d spreading wide their pinions<br /> +To leave her there alone.<br /> +So, turning from the Present<br /> +To well-known days of yore,<br /> +She call’d on them to strengthen<br /> +And guard her soul once more.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>She thought how in her girlhood<br /> +Her life was given away,<br /> +The solemn promise spoken<br /> +She kept so well to-day;<br /> +How to her brother Herbert<br /> +She had been help and guide,<br /> +And how his artist-nature<br /> +On her calm strength relied.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>How through life’s fret and turmoil<br /> +The passion and fire of art<br /> +In him was soothed and quicken’d<br /> +By her true sister heart;<br /> +How future hopes had always<br /> +Been for his sake alone;<br /> +And now, what strange new feeling<br /> +Possess’d her as its own?</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Her home; each flower that breathed there;<br /> +The wind’s sigh, soft and low;<br /> +Each trembling spray of ivy;<br /> +The river’s murmuring flow;<br /> +The shadow of the forest;<br /> +Sunset, or twilight dim;<br /> +Dear as they were, were dearer<br /> +By leaving them for him.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>And each year as it found her<br /> +In the dull, feverish town,<br /> +Saw self still more forgotten,<br /> +And selfish care kept down<br /> +By the calm joy of evening<br /> +That brought him to her side,<br /> +To warn him with wise counsel,<br /> +Or praise with tender pride.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>Her heart, her life, her future,<br /> +Her genius, only meant<br /> +Another thing to give him,<br /> +And be therewith content.<br /> +To-day, what words had stirr’d her,<br /> +Her soul could not forget?<br /> +What dream had fill’d her spirit<br /> +With strange and wild regret?</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>To leave him for another:<br /> +Could it indeed be so?<br /> +Could it have cost such anguish<br /> +To bid this vision go?<br /> +Was this her faith? Was Herbert<br /> +The second in her heart?<br /> +Did it need all this struggle<br /> +To bid a dream depart?</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>And yet, within her spirit<br /> +A far-off land was seen;<br /> +A home, which might have held her;<br /> +A love, which might have been;<br /> +And Life: not the mere being<br /> +Of daily ebb and flow,<br /> +But Life itself had claim’d her,<br /> +And she had let it go!</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Within her heart there echo’d<br /> +Again the well-known tune<br /> +That promised this bright future,<br /> +And ask’d her for its own:<br /> +Then words of sorrow, broken<br /> +By half-reproachful pain;<br /> +And then a farewell, spoken<br /> +In words of cold disdain.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Where now was the stern purpose<br /> +That nerved her soul so long?<br /> +Whence came the words she utter’d,<br /> +So hard, so cold, so strong?<br /> +What right had she to banish<br /> +A hope that God had given?<br /> +Why must she choose earth’s portion,<br /> +And turn aside from Heaven?</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>To-day! Was it this morning?<br /> +If this long, fearful strife<br /> +Was but the work of hours,<br /> +What would be years of life?<br /> +Why did a cruel Heaven<br /> +For such great suffering call?<br /> +And why—O, still more cruel!—<br /> +Must her own words do all?</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>Did she repent? O Sorrow!<br /> +Why do we linger still<br /> +To take thy loving message,<br /> +And do thy gentle will?<br /> +See, her tears fall more slowly;<br /> +The passionate murmurs cease,<br /> +And back upon her spirit<br /> +Flow strength, and love, and peace.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>The fire burns more brightly,<br /> +The rain has passed away,<br /> +Herbert will see no shadow<br /> +Upon his home to-day;<br /> +Only that Bertha greets him<br /> +With doubly tender care,<br /> +Kissing a fonder blessing<br /> +Down on his golden hair.</p> +<h3>NUMBER TWO.</h3> +<p>I.</p> +<p>The studio is deserted,<br /> +Palette and brush laid by,<br /> +The sketch rests on the easel,<br /> +The paint is scarcely dry;<br /> +And Silence—who seems always<br /> +Within her depths to bear<br /> +The next sound that will utter—<br /> +Now holds a dumb despair.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>So Bertha feels it: listening<br /> +With breathless, stony fear,<br /> +Waiting the dreadful summons<br /> +Each minute brings more near:<br /> +When the young life, now ebbing,<br /> +Shall fail, and pass away<br /> +Into that mighty shadow<br /> +Who shrouds the house to-day.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>But why—when the sick chamber<br /> +Is on the upper floor—<br /> +Why dares not Bertha enter<br /> +Within the close-shut door?<br /> +If he—her all—her Brother,<br /> +Lies dying in that gloom,<br /> +What strange mysterious power<br /> +Has sent her from the room?</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>It is not one week’s anguish<br /> +That can have changed her so;<br /> +Joy has not died here lately,<br /> +Struck down by one quick blow;<br /> +But cruel months have needed<br /> +Their long relentless chain,<br /> +To teach that shrinking manner<br /> +Of helpless, hopeless pain.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>The struggle was scarce over<br /> +Last Christmas Eve had brought:<br /> +The fibres still were quivering<br /> +Of the one wounded thought,<br /> +When Herbert—who, unconscious,<br /> +Had guessed no inward strife—<br /> +Bade her, in pride and pleasure,<br /> +Welcome his fair young wife.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>Bade her rejoice, and smiling,<br /> +Although his eyes were dim,<br /> +Thank’d God he thus could pay her<br /> +The care she gave to him.<br /> +This fresh bright life would bring her<br /> +A new and joyous fate—<br /> +O Bertha, check the murmur<br /> +That cries, Too late! too late!</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Too late! Could she have known it<br /> +A few short weeks before,<br /> +That his life was completed,<br /> +And needing hers no more,<br /> +She might—O sad repining!<br /> +What “might have been,” forget;<br /> +“It was not,” should suffice us<br /> +To stifle vain regret.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>He needed her no longer,<br /> +Each day it grew more plain;<br /> +First with a startled wonder,<br /> +Then with a wondering pain.<br /> +Love: why, his wife best gave it;<br /> +Comfort: durst Bertha speak?<br /> +Counsel: when quick resentment<br /> +Flush’d on the young wife’s cheek.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>No more long talks by firelight<br /> +Of childish times long past,<br /> +And dreams of future greatness<br /> +Which he must reach at last;<br /> +Dreams, where her purer instinct<br /> +With truth unerring told<br /> +Where was the worthless gilding,<br /> +And where refinèd gold.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Slowly, but surely ever,<br /> +Dora’s poor jealous pride,<br /> +Which she call’d love for Herbert,<br /> +Drove Bertha from his side;<br /> +And, spite of nervous effort<br /> +To share their alter’d life,<br /> +She felt a check to Herbert,<br /> +A burden to his wife.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>This was the least; for Bertha<br /> +Fear’d, dreaded, <i>knew</i> at length,<br /> +How much his nature owed her<br /> +Of truth, and power, and strength;<br /> +And watch’d the daily failing<br /> +Of all his nobler part:<br /> +Low aims, weak purpose, telling<br /> +In lower, weaker art.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>And now, when he is dying,<br /> +The last words she could hear<br /> +Must not be hers, but given<br /> +The bride of one short year.<br /> +The last care is another’s;<br /> +The last prayer must not be<br /> +The one they learnt together<br /> +Beside their mother’s knee.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Summon’d at last: she kisses<br /> +The clay-cold stiffening hand;<br /> +And, reading pleading efforts<br /> +To make her understand,<br /> +Answers, with solemn promise,<br /> +In clear but trembling tone,<br /> +To Dora’s life henceforward<br /> +She will devote her own.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>Now all is over. Bertha<br /> +Dares not remain to weep,<br /> +But soothes the frightened Dora<br /> +Into a sobbing sleep.<br /> +The poor weak child will need her:<br /> +O, who can dare complain,<br /> +When God sends a new Duty<br /> +To comfort each new Pain!</p> +<h3>NUMBER THREE.</h3> +<p>I.</p> +<p>The House is all deserted<br /> +In the dim evening gloom,<br /> +Only one figure passes<br /> +Slowly from room to room;<br /> +And, pausing at each doorway,<br /> +Seems gathering up again<br /> +Within her heart the relics<br /> +Of bygone joy and pain.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>There is an earnest longing<br /> +In those who onward gaze,<br /> +Looking with weary patience<br /> +Towards the coming days.<br /> +There is a deeper longing,<br /> +More sad, more strong, more keen:<br /> +Those know it who look backward,<br /> +And yearn for what has been.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>At every hearth she pauses,<br /> +Touches each well-known chair;<br /> +Gazes from every window,<br /> +Lingers on every stair.<br /> +What have these months brought Bertha<br /> +Now one more year is past?<br /> +This Christmas Eve shall tell us,<br /> +The third one and the last.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>The wilful, wayward Dora,<br /> +In those first weeks of grief,<br /> +Could seek and find in Bertha<br /> +Strength, soothing, and relief.<br /> +And Bertha—last sad comfort<br /> +True woman-heart can take—<br /> +Had something still to suffer<br /> +And do for Herbert’s sake.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>Spring, with her western breezes,<br /> +From Indian islands bore<br /> +To Bertha news that Leonard<br /> +Would seek his home once more.<br /> +What was it—joy, or sorrow?<br /> +What were they—hopes, or fears?<br /> +That flush’d her cheeks with crimson,<br /> +And fill’d her eyes with tears?</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>He came. And who so kindly<br /> +Could ask and hear her tell<br /> +Herbert’s last hours; for Leonard<br /> +Had known and loved him well.<br /> +Daily he came; and Bertha,<br /> +Poor wear heart, at length,<br /> +Weigh’d down by other’s weakness,<br /> +Could rest upon his strength.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Yet not the voice of Leonard<br /> +Could her true care beguile,<br /> +That turn’d to watch, rejoicing,<br /> +Dora’s reviving smile.<br /> +So, from that little household<br /> +The worst gloom pass’d away,<br /> +The one bright hour of evening<br /> +Lit up the livelong day.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>Days passed. The golden summer<br /> +In sudden heat bore down<br /> +Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness<br /> +Upon the scorching town.<br /> +And sights and sounds of country<br /> +Came in the warm soft tune<br /> +Sung by the honey’d breezes<br /> +Borne on the wings of June.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>One twilight hour, but earlier<br /> +Than usual, Bertha thought<br /> +She knew the fresh sweet fragrance<br /> +Of flowers that Leonard brought;<br /> +Through open’d doors and windows<br /> +It stole up through the gloom,<br /> +And with appealing sweetness<br /> +Drew Bertha from her room.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Yes, he was there; and pausing<br /> +Just near the open’d door,<br /> +To check her heart’s quick beating,<br /> +She heard—and paused still more—<br /> +His low voice Dora’s answers—<br /> +His pleading—Yes, she knew<br /> +The tone—the words—the accents:<br /> +She once had heard them too.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>“Would Bertha blame her?” Leonard’s<br /> +Low, tender answer came:<br /> +“Bertha was far too noble<br /> +To think or dream of blame.”<br /> +“And was he sure he loved her?”<br /> +“Yes, with the one love given<br /> +Once in a lifetime only,<br /> +With one soul and one heaven!”</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Then came a plaintive murmur,—<br /> +“Dora had once been told<br /> +That he and Bertha—” “Dearest,<br /> +Bertha is far too cold<br /> +To love; and I, my Dora,<br /> +If once I fancied so,<br /> +It was a brief delusion,<br /> +And over,—long ago.”</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Between the Past and Present,<br /> +On that bleak moment’s height,<br /> +She stood. As some lost traveller<br /> +By a quick flash of light<br /> +Seeing a gulf before him,<br /> +With dizzy, sick despair,<br /> +Reels to clutch backward, but to find<br /> +A deeper chasm there.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>The twilight grew still darker,<br /> +The fragrant flowers more sweet,<br /> +The stars shone out in heaven,<br /> +The lamps gleam’d down the street;<br /> +And hours pass’d in dreaming<br /> +Over their new-found fate,<br /> +Ere they could think of wondering<br /> +Why Bertha was so late.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>She came, and calmly listen’d;<br /> +In vain they strove to trace<br /> +If Herbert’s memory shadow’d<br /> +In grief upon her face.<br /> +No blame, no wonder show’d there,<br /> +No feeling could be told;<br /> +Her voice was not less steady,<br /> +Her manner not more cold.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>They could not hear the anguish<br /> +That broke in words of pain<br /> +Through that calm summer midnight,—<br /> +“My Herbert—mine again!”<br /> +Yes, they have once been parted,<br /> +But this day shall restore<br /> +The long lost one: she claims him:<br /> +“My Herbert—mine once more!”</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>Now Christmas Eve returning,<br /> +Saw Bertha stand beside<br /> +The altar, greeting Dora,<br /> +Again a smiling bride;<br /> +And now the gloomy evening<br /> +Sees Bertha pale and worn,<br /> +Leaving the house for ever,<br /> +To wander out forlorn.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Forlorn—nay, not so. Anguish<br /> +Shall do its work at length;<br /> +Her soul, pass’d through the fire,<br /> +Shall gain still purer strength.<br /> +Somewhere there waits for Bertha<br /> +An earnest noble part;<br /> +And, meanwhile, God is with her,—<br /> +God, and her own true heart!</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>I could warmly and sincerely praise the little poem, when Jarber +had done reading it; but I could not say that it tended in any degree +towards clearing up the mystery of the empty House.</p> +<p>Whether it was the absence of the irritating influence of Trottle, +or whether it was simply fatigue, I cannot say, but Jarber did not strike +me, that evening, as being in his usual spirits. And though he +declared that he was not in the least daunted by his want of success +thus far, and that he was resolutely determined to make more discoveries, +he spoke in a languid absent manner, and shortly afterwards took his +leave at rather an early hour.</p> +<p>When Trottle came back, and when I indignantly taxed him with Philandering, +he not only denied the imputation, but asserted that he had been employed +on my service, and, in consideration of that, boldly asked for leave +of absence for two days, and for a morning to himself afterwards, to +complete the business, in which he solemnly declared that I was interested. +In remembrance of his long and faithful service to me, I did violence +to myself, and granted his request. And he, on his side, engaged +to explain himself to my satisfaction, in a week’s time, on Monday +evening the twentieth.</p> +<p>A day or two before, I sent to Jarber’s lodgings to ask him +to drop in to tea. His landlady sent back an apology for him that +made my hair stand on end. His feet were in hot water; his head +was in a flannel petticoat; a green shade was over his eyes; the rheumatism +was in his legs; and a mustard-poultice was on his chest. He was +also a little feverish, and rather distracted in his mind about Manchester +Marriages, a Dwarf, and Three Evenings, or Evening Parties—his +landlady was not sure which—in an empty House, with the Water +Rate unpaid.</p> +<p>Under these distressing circumstances, I was necessarily left alone +with Trottle. His promised explanation began, like Jarber’s +discoveries, with the reading of a written paper. The only difference +was that Trottle introduced his manuscript under the name of a Report.</p> +<div class='chapter' /><h2>TROTTLE’S REPORT</h2> +<p>The curious events related in these pages would, many of them, most +likely never have happened, if a person named Trottle had not presumed, +contrary to his usual custom, to think for himself.</p> +<p>The subject on which the person in question had ventured, for the +first time in his life, to form an opinion purely and entirely his own, +was one which had already excited the interest of his respected mistress +in a very extraordinary degree. Or, to put it in plainer terms +still, the subject was no other than the mystery of the empty House.</p> +<p>Feeling no sort of objection to set a success of his own, if possible, +side by side with a failure of Mr. Jarber’s, Trottle made up his +mind, one Monday evening, to try what he could do, on his own account, +towards clearing up the mystery of the empty House. Carefully +dismissing from his mind all nonsensical notions of former tenants and +their histories, and keeping the one point in view steadily before him, +he started to reach it in the shortest way, by walking straight up to +the House, and bringing himself face to face with the first person in +it who opened the door to him.</p> +<p>It was getting towards dark, on Monday evening, the thirteenth of +the month, when Trottle first set foot on the steps of the House. +When he knocked at the door, he knew nothing of the matter which he +was about to investigate, except that the landlord was an elderly widower +of good fortune, and that his name was Forley. A small beginning +enough for a man to start from, certainly!</p> +<p>On dropping the knocker, his first proceeding was to look down cautiously +out of the corner of his right eye, for any results which might show +themselves at the kitchen-window. There appeared at it immediately +the figure of a woman, who looked up inquisitively at the stranger on +the steps, left the window in a hurry, and came back to it with an open +letter in her hand, which she held up to the fading light. After +looking over the letter hastily for a moment or so, the woman disappeared +once more.</p> +<p>Trottle next heard footsteps shuffling and scraping along the bare +hall of the house. On a sudden they ceased, and the sound of two +voices—a shrill persuading voice and a gruff resisting voice—confusedly +reached his ears. After a while, the voices left off speaking—a +chain was undone, a bolt drawn back—the door opened—and +Trottle stood face to face with two persons, a woman in advance, and +a man behind her, leaning back flat against the wall.</p> +<p>“Wish you good evening, sir,” says the woman, in such +a sudden way, and in such a cracked voice, that it was quite startling +to hear her. “Chilly weather, ain’t it, sir? +Please to walk in. You come from good Mr. Forley, don’t +you, sir?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you, sir?” chimes in the man hoarsely, making +a sort of gruff echo of himself, and chuckling after it, as if he thought +he had made a joke.</p> +<p>If Trottle had said, “No,” the door would have been probably +closed in his face. Therefore, he took circumstances as he found +them, and boldly ran all the risk, whatever it might be, of saying, +“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Quite right sir,” says the woman. “Good +Mr. Forley’s letter told us his particular friend would be here +to represent him, at dusk, on Monday the thirteenth—or, if not +on Monday the thirteenth, then on Monday the twentieth, at the same +time, without fail. And here you are on Monday the thirteenth, +ain’t you, sir? Mr. Forley’s particular friend, and +dressed all in black—quite right, sir! Please to step into +the dining-room—it’s always kep scoured and clean against +Mr. Forley comes here—and I’ll fetch a candle in half a +minute. It gets so dark in the evenings, now, you hardly know +where you are, do you, sir? And how is good Mr. Forley in his +health? We trust he is better, Benjamin, don’t we? +We are so sorry not to see him as usual, Benjamin, ain’t we? +In half a minute, sir, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll be +back with the candle. Come along, Benjamin.”</p> +<p>“Come along, Benjamin,” chimes in the echo, and chuckles +again as if he thought he had made another joke.</p> +<p>Left alone in the empty front-parlour, Trottle wondered what was +coming next, as he heard the shuffling, scraping footsteps go slowly +down the kitchen-stairs. The front-door had been carefully chained +up and bolted behind him on his entrance; and there was not the least +chance of his being able to open it to effect his escape, without betraying +himself by making a noise.</p> +<p>Not being of the Jarber sort, luckily for himself, he took his situation +quietly, as he found it, and turned his time, while alone, to account, +by summing up in his own mind the few particulars which he had discovered +thus far. He had found out, first, that Mr. Forley was in the +habit of visiting the house regularly. Second, that Mr. Forley +being prevented by illness from seeing the people put in charge as usual, +had appointed a friend to represent him; and had written to say so. +Third, that the friend had a choice of two Mondays, at a particular +time in the evening, for doing his errand; and that Trottle had accidentally +hit on this time, and on the first of the Mondays, for beginning his +own investigations. Fourth, that the similarity between Trottle’s +black dress, as servant out of livery, and the dress of the messenger +(whoever he might be), had helped the error by which Trottle was profiting. +So far, so good. But what was the messenger’s errand? and +what chance was there that he might not come up and knock at the door +himself, from minute to minute, on that very evening?</p> +<p>While Trottle was turning over this last consideration in his mind, +he heard the shuffling footsteps come up the stairs again, with a flash +of candle-light going before them. He waited for the woman’s +coming in with some little anxiety; for the twilight had been too dim +on his getting into the house to allow him to see either her face or +the man’s face at all clearly.</p> +<p>The woman came in first, with the man she called Benjamin at her +heels, and set the candle on the mantel-piece. Trottle takes leave +to describe her as an offensively-cheerful old woman, awfully lean and +wiry, and sharp all over, at eyes, nose, and chin—devilishly brisk, +smiling, and restless, with a dirty false front and a dirty black cap, +and short fidgetty arms, and long hooked finger-nails—an unnaturally +lusty old woman, who walked with a spring in her wicked old feet, and +spoke with a smirk on her wicked old face—the sort of old woman +(as Trottle thinks) who ought to have lived in the dark ages, and been +ducked in a horse-pond, instead of flourishing in the nineteenth century, +and taking charge of a Christian house.</p> +<p>“You’ll please to excuse my son, Benjamin, won’t +you, sir?” says this witch without a broomstick, pointing to the +man behind her, propped against the bare wall of the dining-room, exactly +as he had been propped against the bare wall of the passage. “He’s +got his inside dreadful bad again, has my son Benjamin. And he +won’t go to bed, and he will follow me about the house, up-stairs +and downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber, as the song says, you +know. It’s his indisgestion, poor dear, that sours his temper +and makes him so agravating—and indisgestion is a wearing thing +to the best of us, ain’t it, sir?”</p> +<p>“Ain’t it, sir?” chimes in agravating Benjamin, +winking at the candle-light like an owl at the sunshine.</p> +<p>Trottle examined the man curiously, while his horrid old mother was +speaking of him. He found “My son Benjamin” to be +little and lean, and buttoned-up slovenly in a frowsy old great-coat +that fell down to his ragged carpet-slippers. His eyes were very +watery, his cheeks very pale, and his lips very red. His breathing +was so uncommonly loud, that it sounded almost like a snore. His +head rolled helplessly in the monstrous big collar of his great-coat; +and his limp, lazy hands pottered about the wall on either side of him, +as if they were groping for a imaginary bottle. In plain English, +the complaint of “My son Benjamin” was drunkenness, of the +stupid, pig-headed, sottish kind. Drawing this conclusion easily +enough, after a moment’s observation of the man, Trottle found +himself, nevertheless, keeping his eyes fixed much longer than was necessary +on the ugly drunken face rolling about in the monstrous big coat collar, +and looking at it with a curiosity that he could hardly account for +at first. Was there something familiar to him in the man’s +features? He turned away from them for an instant, and then turned +back to him again. After that second look, the notion forced itself +into his mind, that he had certainly seen a face somewhere, of which +that sot’s face appeared like a kind of slovenly copy. “Where?” +thinks he to himself, “where did I last see the man whom this +agravating Benjamin, here, so very strongly reminds me of?”</p> +<p>It was no time, just then—with the cheerful old woman’s +eye searching him all over, and the cheerful old woman’s tongue +talking at him, nineteen to the dozen—for Trottle to be ransacking +his memory for small matters that had got into wrong corners of it. +He put by in his mind that very curious circumstance respecting Benjamin’s +face, to be taken up again when a fit opportunity offered itself; and +kept his wits about him in prime order for present necessities.</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t like to go down into the kitchen, would +you?” says the witch without the broomstick, as familiar as if +she had been Trottle’s mother, instead of Benjamin’s. +“There’s a bit of fire in the grate, and the sink in the +back kitchen don’t smell to matter much to-day, and it’s +uncommon chilly up here when a person’s flesh don’t hardly +cover a person’s bones. But you don’t look cold, sir, +do you? And then, why, Lord bless my soul, our little bit of business +is so very, very little, it’s hardly worth while to go downstairs +about it, after all. Quite a game at business, ain’t it, +sir? Give-and-take that’s what I call it—give-and-take!”</p> +<p>With that, her wicked old eyes settled hungrily on the region round +about Trottle’s waistcoat-pocket, and she began to chuckle like +her son, holding out one of her skinny hands, and tapping cheerfully +in the palm with the knuckles of the other. Agravating Benjamin, +seeing what she was about, roused up a little, chuckled and tapped in +imitation of her, got an idea of his own into his muddled head all of +a sudden, and bolted it out charitably for the benefit of Trottle.</p> +<p>“I say!” says Benjamin, settling himself against the +wall and nodding his head viciously at his cheerful old mother. +“I say! Look out. She’ll skin you!”</p> +<p>Assisted by these signs and warnings, Trottle found no difficulty +in understanding that the business referred to was the giving and taking +of money, and that he was expected to be the giver. It was at +this stage of the proceedings that he first felt decidedly uncomfortable, +and more than half inclined to wish he was on the street-side of the +house-door again.</p> +<p>He was still cudgelling his brains for an excuse to save his pocket, +when the silence was suddenly interrupted by a sound in the upper part +of the house.</p> +<p>It was not at all loud—it was a quiet, still, scraping sound—so +faint that it could hardly have reached the quickest ears, except in +an empty house.</p> +<p>“Do you hear that, Benjamin?” says the old woman. +“He’s at it again, even in the dark, ain’t he? +P’raps you’d like to see him, sir!” says she, turning +on Trottle, and poking her grinning face close to him. “Only +name it; only say if you’d like to see him before we do our little +bit of business—and I’ll show good Forley’s friend +up-stairs, just as if he was good Mr. Forley himself. <i>My</i> +legs are all right, whatever Benjamin’s may be. I get younger +and younger, and stronger and stronger, and jollier and jollier, every +day—that’s what I do! Don’t mind the stairs +on my account, sir, if you’d like to see him.”</p> +<p>“Him?” Trottle wondered whether “him” meant +a man, or a boy, or a domestic animal of the male species. Whatever +it meant, here was a chance of putting off that uncomfortable give-and-take-business, +and, better still, a chance perhaps of finding out one of the secrets +of the mysterious House. Trottle’s spirits began to rise +again and he said “Yes,” directly, with the confidence of +a man who knew all about it.</p> +<p>Benjamin’s mother took the candle at once, and lighted Trottle +briskly to the stairs; and Benjamin himself tried to follow as usual. +But getting up several flights of stairs, even helped by the bannisters, +was more, with his particular complaint, than he seemed to feel himself +inclined to venture on. He sat down obstinately on the lowest +step, with his head against the wall, and the tails of his big great-coat +spreading out magnificently on the stairs behind him and above him, +like a dirty imitation of a court lady’s train.</p> +<p>“Don’t sit there, dear,” says his affectionate +mother, stopping to snuff the candle on the first landing.</p> +<p>“I shall sit here,” says Benjamin, agravating to the +last, “till the milk comes in the morning.”</p> +<p>The cheerful old woman went on nimbly up the stairs to the first +floor, and Trottle followed, with his eyes and ears wide open. +He had seen nothing out of the common in the front-parlour, or up the +staircase, so far. The House was dirty and dreary and close-smelling—but +there was nothing about it to excite the least curiosity, except the +faint scraping sound, which was now beginning to get a little clearer—though +still not at all loud—as Trottle followed his leader up the stairs +to the second floor.</p> +<p>Nothing on the second-floor landing, but cobwebs above and bits of +broken plaster below, cracked off from the ceiling. Benjamin’s +mother was not a bit out of breath, and looked all ready to go to the +top of the monument if necessary. The faint scraping sound had +got a little clearer still; but Trottle was no nearer to guessing what +it might be, than when he first heard it in the parlour downstairs.</p> +<p>On the third, and last, floor, there were two doors; one, which was +shut, leading into the front garret; and one, which was ajar, leading +into the back garret. There was a loft in the ceiling above the +landing; but the cobwebs all over it vouched sufficiently for its not +having been opened for some little time. The scraping noise, plainer +than ever here, sounded on the other side of the back garret door; and, +to Trottle’s great relief, that was precisely the door which the +cheerful old woman now pushed open.</p> +<p>Trottle followed her in; and, for once in his life, at any rate, +was struck dumb with amazement, at the sight which the inside of the +room revealed to him.</p> +<p>The garret was absolutely empty of everything in the shape of furniture. +It must have been used at one time or other, by somebody engaged in +a profession or a trade which required for the practice of it a great +deal of light; for the one window in the room, which looked out on a +wide open space at the back of the house, was three or four times as +large, every way, as a garret-window usually is. Close under this +window, kneeling on the bare boards with his face to the door, there +appeared, of all the creatures in the world to see alone at such a place +and at such a time, a mere mite of a child—a little, lonely, wizen, +strangely-clad boy, who could not at the most, have been more than five +years old. He had a greasy old blue shawl crossed over his breast, +and rolled up, to keep the ends from the ground, into a great big lump +on his back. A strip of something which looked like the remains +of a woman’s flannel petticoat, showed itself under the shawl, +and, below that again, a pair of rusty black stockings, worlds too large +for him, covered his legs and his shoeless feet. A pair of old +clumsy muffetees, which had worked themselves up on his little frail +red arms to the elbows, and a big cotton nightcap that had dropped down +to his very eyebrows, finished off the strange dress which the poor +little man seemed not half big enough to fill out, and not near strong +enough to walk about in.</p> +<p>But there was something to see even more extraordinary than the clothes +the child was swaddled up in, and that was the game which he was playing +at, all by himself; and which, moreover, explained in the most unexpected +manner the faint scraping noise that had found its way down-stairs, +through the half-opened door, in the silence of the empty house.</p> +<p>It has been mentioned that the child was on his knees in the garret, +when Trottle first saw him. He was not saying his prayers, and +not crouching down in terror at being alone in the dark. He was, +odd and unaccountable as it may appear, doing nothing more or less than +playing at a charwoman’s or housemaid’s business of scouring +the floor. Both his little hands had tight hold of a mangy old +blacking-brush, with hardly any bristles left in it, which he was rubbing +backwards and forwards on the boards, as gravely and steadily as if +he had been at scouring-work for years, and had got a large family to +keep by it. The coming-in of Trottle and the old woman did not +startle or disturb him in the least. He just looked up for a minute +at the candle, with a pair of very bright, sharp eyes, and then went +on with his work again, as if nothing had happened. On one side +of him was a battered pint saucepan without a handle, which was his +make-believe pail; and on the other a morsel of slate-coloured cotton +rag, which stood for his flannel to wipe up with. After scrubbing +bravely for a minute or two, he took the bit of rag, and mopped up, +and then squeezed make-believe water out into his make-believe pail, +as grave as any judge that ever sat on a Bench. By the time he +thought he had got the floor pretty dry, he raised himself upright on +his knees, and blew out a good long breath, and set his little red arms +akimbo, and nodded at Trottle.</p> +<p>“There!” says the child, knitting his little downy eyebrows +into a frown. “Drat the dirt! I’ve cleaned up. +Where’s my beer?”</p> +<p>Benjamin’s mother chuckled till Trottle thought she would have +choked herself.</p> +<p>“Lord ha’ mercy on us!” says she, “just hear +the imp. You would never think he was only five years old, would +you, sir? Please to tell good Mr. Forley you saw him going on +as nicely as ever, playing at being me scouring the parlour floor, and +calling for my beer afterwards. That’s his regular game, +morning, noon, and night—he’s never tired of it. Only +look how snug we’ve been and dressed him. That’s my +shawl a keepin his precious little body warm, and Benjamin’s nightcap +a keepin his precious little head warm, and Benjamin’s stockings, +drawed over his trowsers, a keepin his precious little legs warm. +He’s snug and happy if ever a imp was yet. ‘Where’s +my beer!’—say it again, little dear, say it again!”</p> +<p>If Trottle had seen the boy, with a light and a fire in the room, +clothed like other children, and playing naturally with a top, or a +box of soldiers, or a bouncing big India-rubber ball, he might have +been as cheerful under the circumstances as Benjamin’s mother +herself. But seeing the child reduced (as he could not help suspecting) +for want of proper toys and proper child’s company, to take up +with the mocking of an old woman at her scouring-work, for something +to stand in the place of a game, Trottle, though not a family man, nevertheless +felt the sight before him to be, in its way, one of the saddest and +the most pitiable that he had ever witnessed.</p> +<p>“Why, my man,” says he, “you’re the boldest +little chap in all England. You don’t seem a bit afraid +of being up here all by yourself in the dark.”</p> +<p>“The big winder,” says the child, pointing up to it, +“sees in the dark; and I see with the big winder.” +He stops a bit, and gets up on his legs, and looks hard at Benjamin’s +mother. “I’m a good ’un,” says he, “ain’t +I? I save candle.”</p> +<p>Trottle wondered what else the forlorn little creature had been brought +up to do without, besides candle-light; and risked putting a question +as to whether he ever got a run in the open air to cheer him up a bit. +O, yes, he had a run now and then, out of doors (to say nothing of his +runs about the house), the lively little cricket—a run according +to good Mr. Forley’s instructions, which were followed out carefully, +as good Mr. Forley’s friend would be glad to hear, to the very +letter.</p> +<p>As Trottle could only have made one reply to this, namely, that good +Mr. Forley’s instructions were, in his opinion, the instructions +of an infernal scamp; and as he felt that such an answer would naturally +prove the death-blow to all further discoveries on his part, he gulped +down his feelings before they got too many for him, and held his tongue, +and looked round towards the window again to see what the forlorn little +boy was going to amuse himself with next.</p> +<p>The child had gathered up his blacking-brush and bit of rag, and +had put them into the old tin saucepan; and was now working his way, +as well as his clothes would let him, with his make-believe pail hugged +up in his arms, towards a door of communication which led from the back +to the front garret.</p> +<p>“I say,” says he, looking round sharply over his shoulder, +“what are you two stopping here for? I’m going to +bed now—and so I tell you!”</p> +<p>With that, he opened the door, and walked into the front room. +Seeing Trottle take a step or two to follow him, Benjamin’s mother +opened her wicked old eyes in a state of great astonishment.</p> +<p>“Mercy on us!” says she, “haven’t you seen +enough of him yet?”</p> +<p>“No,” says Trottle. “I should like to see +him go to bed.”</p> +<p>Benjamin’s mother burst into such a fit of chuckling that the +loose extinguisher in the candlestick clattered again with the shaking +of her hand. To think of good Mr. Forley’s friend taking +ten times more trouble about the imp than good Mr. Forley himself! +Such a joke as that, Benjamin’s mother had not often met with +in the course of her life, and she begged to be excused if she took +the liberty of having a laugh at it.</p> +<p>Leaving her to laugh as much as she pleased, and coming to a pretty +positive conclusion, after what he had just heard, that Mr. Forley’s +interest in the child was not of the fondest possible kind, Trottle +walked into the front room, and Benjamin’s mother, enjoying herself +immensely, followed with the candle.</p> +<p>There were two pieces of furniture in the front garret. One, +an old stool of the sort that is used to stand a cask of beer on; and +the other a great big ricketty straddling old truckle bedstead. +In the middle of this bedstead, surrounded by a dim brown waste of sacking, +was a kind of little island of poor bedding—an old bolster, with +nearly all the feathers out of it, doubled in three for a pillow; a +mere shred of patchwork counter-pane, and a blanket; and under that, +and peeping out a little on either side beyond the loose clothes, two +faded chair cushions of horsehair, laid along together for a sort of +makeshift mattress. When Trottle got into the room, the lonely +little boy had scrambled up on the bedstead with the help of the beer-stool, +and was kneeling on the outer rim of sacking with the shred of counterpane +in his hands, just making ready to tuck it in for himself under the +chair cushions.</p> +<p>“I’ll tuck you up, my man,” says Trottle. +“Jump into bed, and let me try.”</p> +<p>“I mean to tuck myself up,” says the poor forlorn child, +“and I don’t mean to jump. I mean to crawl, I do—and +so I tell you!”</p> +<p>With that, he set to work, tucking in the clothes tight all down +the sides of the cushions, but leaving them open at the foot. +Then, getting up on his knees, and looking hard at Trottle as much as +to say, “What do you mean by offering to help such a handy little +chap as me?” he began to untie the big shawl for himself, and +did it, too, in less than half a minute. Then, doubling the shawl +up loose over the foot of the bed, he says, “I say, look here,” +and ducks under the clothes, head first, worming his way up and up softly, +under the blanket and counterpane, till Trottle saw the top of the large +nightcap slowly peep out on the bolster. This over-sized head-gear +of the child’s had so shoved itself down in the course of his +journey to the pillow, under the clothes, that when he got his face +fairly out on the bolster, he was all nightcap down to his mouth. +He soon freed himself, however, from this slight encumbrance by turning +the ends of the cap up gravely to their old place over his eyebrows—looked +at Trottle—said, “Snug, ain’t it? Good-bye!”—popped +his face under the clothes again—and left nothing to be seen of +him but the empty peak of the big nightcap standing up sturdily on end +in the middle of the bolster.</p> +<p>“What a young limb it is, ain’t it?” says Benjamin’s +mother, giving Trottle a cheerful dig with her elbow. “Come +on! you won’t see no more of him to-night!”</p> +<p>“And so I tell you!” sings out a shrill, little voice +under the bedclothes, chiming in with a playful finish to the old woman’s +last words.</p> +<p>If Trottle had not been, by this time, positively resolved to follow +the wicked secret which accident had mixed him up with, through all +its turnings and windings, right on to the end, he would have probably +snatched the boy up then and there, and carried him off from his garret +prison, bed-clothes and all. As it was, he put a strong check +on himself, kept his eye on future possibilities, and allowed Benjamin’s +mother to lead him down-stairs again.</p> +<p>“Mind them top bannisters,” says she, as Trottle laid +his hand on them. “They are as rotten as medlars every one +of ’em.”</p> +<p>“When people come to see the premises,” says Trottle, +trying to feel his way a little farther into the mystery of the House, +“you don’t bring many of them up here, do you?”</p> +<p>“Bless your heart alive!” says she, “nobody ever +comes now. The outside of the house is quite enough to warn them +off. Mores the pity, as I say. It used to keep me in spirits, +staggering ’em all, one after another, with the frightful high +rent—specially the women, drat ’em. ‘What’s +the rent of this house?’—‘Hundred and twenty pound +a-year!’—‘Hundred and twenty? why, there ain’t +a house in the street as lets for more than eighty!’—‘Likely +enough, ma’am; other landlords may lower their rents if they please; +but this here landlord sticks to his rights, and means to have as much +for his house as his father had before him!’—‘But +the neighbourhood’s gone off since then!’—‘Hundred +and twenty pound, ma’am.’—‘The landlord must +be mad!’—‘Hundred and twenty pound, ma’am.’—‘Open +the door you impertinent woman!’ Lord! what a happiness +it was to see ’em bounce out, with that awful rent a-ringing in +their ears all down the street!”</p> +<p>She stopped on the second-floor landing to treat herself to another +chuckle, while Trottle privately posted up in his memory what he had +just heard. “Two points made out,” he thought to himself: +“the house is kept empty on purpose, and the way it’s done +is to ask a rent that nobody will pay.”</p> +<p>“Ah, deary me!” says Benjamin’s mother, changing +the subject on a sudden, and twisting back with a horrid, greedy quickness +to those awkward money-matters which she had broached down in the parlour. +“What we’ve done, one way and another for Mr. Forley, it +isn’t in words to tell! That nice little bit of business +of ours ought to be a bigger bit of business, considering the trouble +we take, Benjamin and me, to make the imp upstairs as happy as the day +is long. If good Mr. Forley would only please to think a little +more of what a deal he owes to Benjamin and me—”</p> +<p>“That’s just it,” says Trottle, catching her up +short in desperation, and seeing his way, by the help of those last +words of hers, to slipping cleverly through her fingers. “What +should you say, if I told you that Mr. Forley was nothing like so far +from thinking about that little matter as you fancy? You would +be disappointed, now, if I told you that I had come to-day without the +money?”—(her lank old jaw fell, and her villainous old eyes +glared, in a perfect state of panic, at that!)—“But what +should you say, if I told you that Mr. Forley was only waiting for my +report, to send me here next Monday, at dusk, with a bigger bit of business +for us two to do together than ever you think for? What should +you say to that?”</p> +<p>The old wretch came so near to Trottle, before she answered, and +jammed him up confidentially so close into the corner of the landing, +that his throat, in a manner, rose at her.</p> +<p>“Can you count it off, do you think, on more than that?” +says she, holding up her four skinny fingers and her long crooked thumb, +all of a tremble, right before his face.</p> +<p>“What do you say to two hands, instead of one?” says +he, pushing past her, and getting down-stairs as fast as he could.</p> +<p>What she said Trottle thinks it best not to report, seeing that the +old hypocrite, getting next door to light-headed at the golden prospect +before her, took such liberties with unearthly names and persons which +ought never to have approached her lips, and rained down such an awful +shower of blessings on Trottle’s head, that his hair almost stood +on end to hear her. He went on down-stairs as fast as his feet +would carry him, till he was brought up all standing, as the sailors +say, on the last flight, by agravating Benjamin, lying right across +the stair, and fallen off, as might have been expected, into a heavy +drunken sleep.</p> +<p>The sight of him instantly reminded Trottle of the curious half likeness +which he had already detected between the face of Benjamin and the face +of another man, whom he had seen at a past time in very different circumstances. +He determined, before leaving the House, to have one more look at the +wretched muddled creature; and accordingly shook him up smartly, and +propped him against the staircase wall, before his mother could interfere.</p> +<p>“Leave him to me; I’ll freshen him up,” says Trottle +to the old woman, looking hard in Benjamin’s face, while he spoke.</p> +<p>The fright and surprise of being suddenly woke up, seemed, for about +a quarter of a minute, to sober the creature. When he first opened +his eyes, there was a new look in them for a moment, which struck home +to Trottle’s memory as quick and as clear as a flash of light. +The old maudlin sleepy expression came back again in another instant, +and blurred out all further signs and tokens of the past. But +Trottle had seen enough in the moment before it came; and he troubled +Benjamin’s face with no more inquiries.</p> +<p>“Next Monday, at dusk,” says he, cutting short some more +of the old woman’s palaver about Benjamin’s indisgestion. +“I’ve got no more time to spare, ma’am, to-night: +please to let me out.”</p> +<p>With a few last blessings, a few last dutiful messages to good Mr. +Forley, and a few last friendly hints not to forget next Monday at dusk, +Trottle contrived to struggle through the sickening business of leave-taking; +to get the door opened; and to find himself, to his own indescribable +relief, once more on the outer side of the House To Let.</p> +<div class='chapter' /><h2>LET AT LAST</h2> +<p>“There, ma’am!” said Trottle, folding up the manuscript +from which he had been reading, and setting it down with a smart tap +of triumph on the table. “May I venture to ask what you +think of that plain statement, as a guess on my part (and not on Mr. +Jarber’s) at the riddle of the empty House?”</p> +<p>For a minute or two I was unable to say a word. When I recovered +a little, my first question referred to the poor forlorn little boy.</p> +<p>“To-day is Monday the twentieth,” I said. “Surely +you have not let a whole week go by without trying to find out something +more?”</p> +<p>“Except at bed-time, and meals, ma’am,” answered +Trottle, “I have not let an hour go by. Please to understand +that I have only come to an end of what I have written, and not to an +end of what I have done. I wrote down those first particulars, +ma’am, because they are of great importance, and also because +I was determined to come forward with my written documents, seeing that +Mr. Jarber chose to come forward, in the first instance, with his. +I am now ready to go on with the second part of my story as shortly +and plainly as possible, by word of mouth. The first thing I must +clear up, if you please, is the matter of Mr. Forley’s family +affairs. I have heard you speak of them, ma’am, at various +times; and I have understood that Mr. Forley had two children only by +his deceased wife, both daughters. The eldest daughter married, +to her father’s entire satisfaction, one Mr. Bayne, a rich man, +holding a high government situation in Canada. She is now living +there with her husband, and her only child, a little girl of eight or +nine years old. Right so far, I think, ma’am?”</p> +<p>“Quite right,” I said.</p> +<p>“The second daughter,” Trottle went on, “and Mr. +Forley’s favourite, set her father’s wishes and the opinions +of the world at flat defiance, by running away with a man of low origin—a +mate of a merchant-vessel, named Kirkland. Mr. Forley not only +never forgave that marriage, but vowed that he would visit the scandal +of it heavily in the future on husband and wife. Both escaped +his vengeance, whatever he meant it to be. The husband was drowned +on his first voyage after his marriage, and the wife died in child-bed. +Right again, I believe, ma’am?”</p> +<p>“Again quite right.”</p> +<p>“Having got the family matter all right, we will now go back, +ma’am, to me and my doings. Last Monday, I asked you for +leave of absence for two days; I employed the time in clearing up the +matter of Benjamin’s face. Last Saturday I was out of the +way when you wanted me. I played truant, ma’am, on that +occasion, in company with a friend of mine, who is managing clerk in +a lawyer’s office; and we both spent the morning at Doctors’ +Commons, over the last will and testament of Mr. Forley’s father. +Leaving the will-business for a moment, please to follow me first, if +you have no objection, into the ugly subject of Benjamin’s face. +About six or seven years ago (thanks to your kindness) I had a week’s +holiday with some friends of mine who live in the town of Pendlebury. +One of those friends (the only one now left in the place) kept a chemist’s +shop, and in that shop I was made acquainted with one of the two doctors +in the town, named Barsham. This Barsham was a first-rate surgeon, +and might have got to the top of his profession, if he had not been +a first-rate blackguard. As it was, he both drank and gambled; +nobody would have anything to do with him in Pendlebury; and, at the +time when I was made known to him in the chemist’s shop, the other +doctor, Mr. Dix, who was not to be compared with him for surgical skill, +but who was a respectable man, had got all the practice; and Barsham +and his old mother were living together in such a condition of utter +poverty, that it was a marvel to everybody how they kept out of the +parish workhouse.”</p> +<p>“Benjamin and Benjamin’s mother!”</p> +<p>“Exactly, ma’am. Last Thursday morning (thanks +to your kindness, again) I went to Pendlebury to my friend the chemist, +to ask a few questions about Barsham and his mother. I was told +that they had both left the town about five years since. When +I inquired into the circumstances, some strange particulars came out +in the course of the chemist’s answer. You know I have no +doubt, ma’am, that poor Mrs. Kirkland was confined while her husband +was at sea, in lodgings at a village called Flatfield, and that she +died and was buried there. But what you may not know is, that +Flatfield is only three miles from Pendlebury; that the doctor who attended +on Mrs. Kirkland was Barsham; that the nurse who took care of her was +Barsham’s mother; and that the person who called them both in, +was Mr. Forley. Whether his daughter wrote to him, or whether +he heard of it in some other way, I don’t know; but he was with +her (though he had sworn never to see her again when she married) a +month or more before her confinement, and was backwards and forwards +a good deal between Flatfield and Pendlebury. How he managed matters +with the Barshams cannot at present be discovered; but it is a fact +that he contrived to keep the drunken doctor sober, to everybody’s +amazement. It is a fact that Barsham went to the poor woman with +all his wits about him. It is a fact that he and his mother came +back from Flatfield after Mrs. Kirkland’s death, packed up what +few things they had, and left the town mysteriously by night. +And, lastly, it is also a fact that the other doctor, Mr. Dix, was not +called in to help, till a week after the birth <i>and burial</i> of +the child, when the mother was sinking from exhaustion—exhaustion +(to give the vagabond, Barsham, his due) not produced, in Mr. Dix’s +opinion, by improper medical treatment, but by the bodily weakness of +the poor woman herself—”</p> +<p>“Burial of the child?” I interrupted, trembling all over. +“Trottle! you spoke that word ‘burial’ in a very strange +way—you are fixing your eyes on me now with a very strange look—”</p> +<p>Trottle leaned over close to me, and pointed through the window to +the empty house.</p> +<p>“The child’s death is registered, at Pendlebury,” +he said, “on Barsham’s certificate, under the head of Male +Infant, Still-Born. The child’s coffin lies in the mother’s +grave, in Flatfield churchyard. The child himself—as surely +as I live and breathe, is living and breathing now—a castaway +and a prisoner in that villainous house!”</p> +<p>I sank back in my chair.</p> +<p>“It’s guess-work, so far, but it is borne in on my mind, +for all that, as truth. Rouse yourself, ma’am, and think +a little. The last I hear of Barsham, he is attending Mr. Forley’s +disobedient daughter. The next I see of Barsham, he is in Mr. +Forley’s house, trusted with a secret. He and his mother +leave Pendlebury suddenly and suspiciously five years back; and he and +his mother have got a child of five years old, hidden away in the house. +Wait! please to wait—I have not done yet. The will left +by Mr. Forley’s father, strengthens the suspicion. The friend +I took with me to Doctors’ Commons, made himself master of the +contents of that will; and when he had done so, I put these two questions +to him. ‘Can Mr. Forley leave his money at his own discretion +to anybody he pleases?’ ‘No,’ my friend says, +‘his father has left him with only a life interest in it.’ +‘Suppose one of Mr. Forley’s married daughters has a girl, +and the other a boy, how would the money go?’ ‘It +would all go,’ my friend says, ‘to the boy, and it would +be charged with the payment of a certain annual income to his female +cousin. After her death, it would go back to the male descendant, +and to his heirs.’ Consider that, ma’am! The +child of the daughter whom Mr. Forley hates, whose husband has been +snatched away from his vengeance by death, takes his whole property +in defiance of him; and the child of the daughter whom he loves, is +left a pensioner on her low-born boy-cousin for life! There was +good—too good reason—why that child of Mrs. Kirkland’s +should be registered stillborn. And if, as I believe, the register +is founded on a false certificate, there is better, still better reason, +why the existence of the child should be hidden, and all trace of his +parentage blotted out, in the garret of that empty house.”</p> +<p>He stopped, and pointed for the second time to the dim, dust-covered +garret-windows opposite. As he did so, I was startled—a +very slight matter sufficed to frighten me now—by a knock at the +door of the room in which we were sitting.</p> +<p>My maid came in, with a letter in her hand. I took it from +her. The mourning card, which was all the envelope enclosed, dropped +from my hands.</p> +<p>George Forley was no more. He had departed this life three +days since, on the evening of Friday.</p> +<p>“Did our last chance of discovering the truth,” I asked, +“rest with <i>him</i>? Has it died with <i>his</i> death?”</p> +<p>“Courage, ma’am! I think not. Our chance +rests on our power to make Barsham and his mother confess; and Mr. Forley’s +death, by leaving them helpless, seems to put that power into our hands. +With your permission, I will not wait till dusk to-day, as I at first +intended, but will make sure of those two people at once. With +a policeman in plain clothes to watch the house, in case they try to +leave it; with this card to vouch for the fact of Mr. Forley’s +death; and with a bold acknowledgment on my part of having got possession +of their secret, and of being ready to use it against them in case of +need, I think there is little doubt of bringing Barsham and his mother +to terms. In case I find it impossible to get back here before +dusk, please to sit near the window, ma’am, and watch the house, +a little before they light the street-lamps. If you see the front-door +open and close again, will you be good enough to put on your bonnet, +and come across to me immediately? Mr. Forley’s death may, +or may not, prevent his messenger from coming as arranged. But, +if the person does come, it is of importance that you, as a relative +of Mr. Forley’s should be present to see him, and to have that +proper influence over him which I cannot pretend to exercise.”</p> +<p>The only words I could say to Trottle as he opened the door and left +me, were words charging him to take care that no harm happened to the +poor forlorn little boy.</p> +<p>Left alone, I drew my chair to the window; and looked out with a +beating heart at the guilty house. I waited and waited through +what appeared to me to be an endless time, until I heard the wheels +of a cab stop at the end of the street. I looked in that direction, +and saw Trottle get out of the cab alone, walk up to the house, and +knock at the door. He was let in by Barsham’s mother. +A minute or two later, a decently-dressed man sauntered past the house, +looked up at it for a moment, and sauntered on to the corner of the +street close by. Here he leant against the post, and lighted a +cigar, and stopped there smoking in an idle way, but keeping his face +always turned in the direction of the house-door.</p> +<p>I waited and waited still. I waited and waited, with my eyes +riveted to the door of the house. At last I thought I saw it open +in the dusk, and then felt sure I heard it shut again softly. +Though I tried hard to compose myself, I trembled so that I was obliged +to call for Peggy to help me on with my bonnet and cloak, and was forced +to take her arm to lean on, in crossing the street.</p> +<p>Trottle opened the door to us, before we could knock. Peggy +went back, and I went in. He had a lighted candle in his hand.</p> +<p>“It has happened, ma’am, as I thought it would,” +he whispered, leading me into the bare, comfortless, empty parlour. +“Barsham and his mother have consulted their own interests, and +have come to terms. My guess-work is guess-work no longer. +It is now what I felt it was—Truth!”</p> +<p>Something strange to me—something which women who are mothers +must often know—trembled suddenly in my heart, and brought the +warm tears of my youthful days thronging back into my eyes. I +took my faithful old servant by the hand, and asked him to let me see +Mrs. Kirkland’s child, for his mother’s sake.</p> +<p>“If you desire it, ma’am,” said Trottle, with a +gentleness of manner that I had never noticed in him before. “But +pray don’t think me wanting in duty and right feeling, if I beg +you to try and wait a little. You are agitated already, and a +first meeting with the child will not help to make you so calm, as you +would wish to be, if Mr. Forley’s messenger comes. The little +boy is safe up-stairs. Pray think first of trying to compose yourself +for a meeting with a stranger; and believe me you shall not leave the +house afterwards without the child.”</p> +<p>I felt that Trottle was right, and sat down as patiently as I could +in a chair he had thoughtfully placed ready for me. I was so horrified +at the discovery of my own relation’s wickedness that when Trottle +proposed to make me acquainted with the confession wrung from Barsham +and his mother, I begged him to spare me all details, and only to tell +me what was necessary about George Forley.</p> +<p>“All that can be said for Mr. Forley, ma’am, is, that +he was just scrupulous enough to hide the child’s existence and +blot out its parentage here, instead of consenting, at the first, to +its death, or afterwards, when the boy grew up, to turning him adrift, +absolutely helpless in the world. The fraud has been managed, +ma’am, with the cunning of Satan himself. Mr. Forley had +the hold over the Barshams, that they had helped him in his villany, +and that they were dependent on him for the bread they eat. He +brought them up to London to keep them securely under his own eye. +He put them into this empty house (taking it out of the agent’s +hands previously, on pretence that he meant to manage the letting of +it himself); and by keeping the house empty, made it the surest of all +hiding places for the child. Here, Mr. Forley could come, whenever +he pleased, to see that the poor lonely child was not absolutely starved; +sure that his visits would only appear like looking after his own property. +Here the child was to have been trained to believe himself Barsham’s +child, till he should be old enough to be provided for in some situation, +as low and as poor as Mr. Forley’s uneasy conscience would let +him pick out. He may have thought of atonement on his death-bed; +but not before—I am only too certain of it—not before!”</p> +<p>A low, double knock startled us.</p> +<p>“The messenger!” said Trottle, under his breath. +He went out instantly to answer the knock; and returned, leading in +a respectable-looking elderly man, dressed like Trottle, all in black, +with a white cravat, but otherwise not at all resembling him.</p> +<p>“I am afraid I have made some mistake,” said the stranger.</p> +<p>Trottle, considerately taking the office of explanation into his +own hands, assured the gentleman that there was no mistake; mentioned +to him who I was; and asked him if he had not come on business connected +with the late Mr. Forley. Looking greatly astonished, the gentleman +answered, “Yes.” There was an awkward moment of silence, +after that. The stranger seemed to be not only startled and amazed, +but rather distrustful and fearful of committing himself as well. +Noticing this, I thought it best to request Trottle to put an end to +further embarrassment, by stating all particulars truthfully, as he +had stated them to me; and I begged the gentleman to listen patiently +for the late Mr. Forley’s sake. He bowed to me very respectfully, +and said he was prepared to listen with the greatest interest.</p> +<p>It was evident to me—and, I could see, to Trottle also—that +we were not dealing, to say the least, with a dishonest man.</p> +<p>“Before I offer any opinion on what I have heard,” he +said, earnestly and anxiously, after Trottle had done, “I must +be allowed, in justice to myself, to explain my own apparent connection +with this very strange and very shocking business. I was the confidential +legal adviser of the late Mr. Forley, and I am left his executor. +Rather more than a fortnight back, when Mr. Forley was confined to his +room by illness, he sent for me, and charged me to call and pay a certain +sum of money here, to a man and woman whom I should find taking charge +of the house. He said he had reasons for wishing the affair to +be kept a secret. He begged me so to arrange my engagements that +I could call at this place either on Monday last, or to-day, at dusk; +and he mentioned that he would write to warn the people of my coming, +without mentioning my name (Dalcott is my name), as he did not wish +to expose me to any future importunities on the part of the man and +woman. I need hardly tell you that this commission struck me as +being a strange one; but, in my position with Mr. Forley, I had no resource +but to accept it without asking questions, or to break off my long and +friendly connection with my client. I chose the first alternative. +Business prevented me from doing my errand on Monday last—and +if I am here to-day, notwithstanding Mr. Forley’s unexpected death, +it is emphatically because I understood nothing of the matter, on knocking +at this door; and therefore felt myself bound, as executor, to clear +it up. That, on my word of honour, is the whole truth, so far +as I am personally concerned.”</p> +<p>“I feel quite sure of it, sir,” I answered.</p> +<p>“You mentioned Mr. Forley’s death, just now, as unexpected. +May I inquire if you were present, and if he has left any last instructions?”</p> +<p>“Three hours before Mr. Forley’s death,” said Mr. +Dalcott, “his medical attendant left him apparently in a fair +way of recovery. The change for the worse took place so suddenly, +and was accompanied by such severe suffering, to prevent him from communicating +his last wishes to any one. When I reached his house, he was insensible. +I have since examined his papers. Not one of them refers to the +present time or to the serious matter which now occupies us. In +the absence of instructions I must act cautiously on what you have told +me; but I will be rigidly fair and just at the same time. The +first thing to be done,” he continued, addressing himself to Trottle, +“is to hear what the man and woman, down-stairs, have to say. +If you can supply me with writing-materials, I will take their declarations +separately on the spot, in your presence, and in the presence of the +policeman who is watching the house. To-morrow I will send copies +of those declarations, accompanied by a full statement of the case, +to Mr. and Mrs. Bayne in Canada (both of whom know me well as the late +Mr. Forley’s legal adviser); and I will suspend all proceedings, +on my part, until I hear from them, or from their solicitor in London. +In the present posture of affairs this is all I can safely do.”</p> +<p>We could do no less than agree with him, and thank him for his frank +and honest manner of meeting us. It was arranged that I should +send over the writing-materials from my lodgings; and, to my unutterable +joy and relief, it was also readily acknowledged that the poor little +orphan boy could find no fitter refuge than my old arms were longing +to offer him, and no safer protection for the night than my roof could +give. Trottle hastened away up-stairs, as actively as if he had +been a young man, to fetch the child down.</p> +<p>And he brought him down to me without another moment of delay, and +I went on my knees before the poor little Mite, and embraced him, and +asked him if he would go with me to where I lived? He held me +away for a moment, and his wan, shrewd little eyes looked sharp at me. +Then he clung close to me all at once, and said:</p> +<p>“I’m a-going along with you, I am—and so I tell +you!”</p> +<p>For inspiring the poor neglected child with this trust in my old +self, I thanked Heaven, then, with all my heart and soul, and I thank +it now!</p> +<p>I bundled the poor darling up in my own cloak, and I carried him +in my own arms across the road. Peggy was lost in speechless amazement +to behold me trudging out of breath up-stairs, with a strange pair of +poor little legs under my arm; but, she began to cry over the child +the moment she saw him, like a sensible woman as she always was, and +she still cried her eyes out over him in a comfortable manner, when +he at last lay fast asleep, tucked up by my hands in Trottle’s +bed.</p> +<p>“And Trottle, bless you, my dear man,” said I, kissing +his hand, as he looked on: “the forlorn baby came to this refuge +through you, and he will help you on your way to Heaven.”</p> +<p>Trottle answered that I was his dear mistress, and immediately went +and put his head out at an open window on the landing, and looked into +the back street for a quarter of an hour.</p> +<p>That very night, as I sat thinking of the poor child, and of another +poor child who is never to be thought about enough at Christmas-time, +the idea came into my mind which I have lived to execute, and in the +realisation of which I am the happiest of women this day.</p> +<p>“The executor will sell that House, Trottle?” said I.</p> +<p>“Not a doubt of it, ma’am, if he can find a purchaser.”</p> +<p>“I’ll buy it.”</p> +<p>I have often seen Trottle pleased; but, I never saw him so perfectly +enchanted as he was when I confided to him, which I did, then and there, +the purpose that I had in view.</p> +<p>To make short of a long story—and what story would not be long, +coming from the lips of an old woman like me, unless it was made short +by main force!—I bought the House. Mrs. Bayne had her father’s +blood in her; she evaded the opportunity of forgiving and generous reparation +that was offered her, and disowned the child; but, I was prepared for +that, and loved him all the more for having no one in the world to look +to, but me.</p> +<p>I am getting into a flurry by being over-pleased, and I dare say +I am as incoherent as need be. I bought the House, and I altered +it from the basement to the roof, and I turned it into a Hospital for +Sick Children.</p> +<p>Never mind by what degrees my little adopted boy came to the knowledge +of all the sights and sounds in the streets, so familiar to other children +and so strange to him; never mind by what degrees he came to be pretty, +and childish, and winning, and companionable, and to have pictures and +toys about him, and suitable playmates. As I write, I look across +the road to my Hospital, and there is the darling (who has gone over +to play) nodding at me out of one of the once lonely windows, with his +dear chubby face backed up by Trottle’s waistcoat as he lifts +my pet for “Grandma” to see.</p> +<p>Many an Eye I see in that House now, but it is never in solitude, +never in neglect. Many an Eye I see in that House now, that is +more and more radiant every day with the light of returning health. +As my precious darling has changed beyond description for the brighter +and the better, so do the not less precious darlings of poor women change +in that House every day in the year. For which I humbly thank +that Gracious Being whom the restorer of the Widow’s son and of +the Ruler’s daughter, instructed all mankind to call their Father.</p> + + + + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HOUSE TO LET ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 2324-h.htm or 2324-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/2/2324/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..084ab75 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #2324 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2324) diff --git a/old/2324-h.2005-05-10.zip b/old/2324-h.2005-05-10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..adf87f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2324-h.2005-05-10.zip diff --git a/old/2324.2005-05-10.txt b/old/2324.2005-05-10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9549d1d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2324.2005-05-10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4162 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A House to Let, by Charles Dickens, et al + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A House to Let + + +Author: Charles Dickens + +Release Date: May 10, 2005 [eBook #2324] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HOUSE TO LET*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Proofed by David, Edgar Howard, Dawn Smith, Terry +Jeffress and Jane Foster. + + + + + +A HOUSE TO LET (FULL TEXT) +by Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Elizabeth Gaskell, Adelaide Ann +Procter + + +Contents: + +Over the Way +The Manchester Marriage +Going into Society +Three Evenings in the House +Trottle's Report +Let at Last + + + + +OVER THE WAY + + +I had been living at Tunbridge Wells and nowhere else, going on for ten +years, when my medical man--very clever in his profession, and the +prettiest player I ever saw in my life of a hand at Long Whist, which was +a noble and a princely game before Short was heard of--said to me, one +day, as he sat feeling my pulse on the actual sofa which my poor dear +sister Jane worked before her spine came on, and laid her on a board for +fifteen months at a stretch--the most upright woman that ever lived--said +to me, "What we want, ma'am, is a fillip." + +"Good gracious, goodness gracious, Doctor Towers!" says I, quite startled +at the man, for he was so christened himself: "don't talk as if you were +alluding to people's names; but say what you mean." + +"I mean, my dear ma'am, that we want a little change of air and scene." + +"Bless the man!" said I; "does he mean we or me!" + +"I mean you, ma'am." + +"Then Lard forgive you, Doctor Towers," I said; "why don't you get into a +habit of expressing yourself in a straightforward manner, like a loyal +subject of our gracious Queen Victoria, and a member of the Church of +England?" + +Towers laughed, as he generally does when he has fidgetted me into any of +my impatient ways--one of my states, as I call them--and then he began,-- + +"Tone, ma'am, Tone, is all you require!" He appealed to Trottle, who +just then came in with the coal-scuttle, looking, in his nice black suit, +like an amiable man putting on coals from motives of benevolence. + +Trottle (whom I always call my right hand) has been in my service two-and- +thirty years. He entered my service, far away from England. He is the +best of creatures, and the most respectable of men; but, opinionated. + +"What you want, ma'am," says Trottle, making up the fire in his quiet and +skilful way, "is Tone." + +"Lard forgive you both!" says I, bursting out a-laughing; "I see you are +in a conspiracy against me, so I suppose you must do what you like with +me, and take me to London for a change." + +For some weeks Towers had hinted at London, and consequently I was +prepared for him. When we had got to this point, we got on so +expeditiously, that Trottle was packed off to London next day but one, to +find some sort of place for me to lay my troublesome old head in. + +Trottle came back to me at the Wells after two days' absence, with +accounts of a charming place that could be taken for six months certain, +with liberty to renew on the same terms for another six, and which really +did afford every accommodation that I wanted. + +"Could you really find no fault at all in the rooms, Trottle?" I asked +him. + +"Not a single one, ma'am. They are exactly suitable to you. There is +not a fault in them. There is but one fault outside of them." + +"And what's that?" + +"They are opposite a House to Let." + +"O!" I said, considering of it. "But is that such a very great +objection?" + +"I think it my duty to mention it, ma'am. It is a dull object to look +at. Otherwise, I was so greatly pleased with the lodging that I should +have closed with the terms at once, as I had your authority to do." + +Trottle thinking so highly of the place, in my interest, I wished not to +disappoint him. Consequently I said: + +"The empty House may let, perhaps." + +"O, dear no, ma'am," said Trottle, shaking his head with decision; "it +won't let. It never does let, ma'am." + +"Mercy me! Why not?" + +"Nobody knows, ma'am. All I have to mention is, ma'am, that the House +won't let!" + +"How long has this unfortunate House been to let, in the name of +Fortune?" said I. + +"Ever so long," said Trottle. "Years." + +"Is it in ruins?" + +"It's a good deal out of repair, ma'am, but it's not in ruins." + +The long and the short of this business was, that next day I had a pair +of post-horses put to my chariot--for, I never travel by railway: not +that I have anything to say against railways, except that they came in +when I was too old to take to them; and that they made ducks and drakes +of a few turnpike-bonds I had--and so I went up myself, with Trottle in +the rumble, to look at the inside of this same lodging, and at the +outside of this same House. + +As I say, I went and saw for myself. The lodging was perfect. That, I +was sure it would be; because Trottle is the best judge of comfort I +know. The empty house was an eyesore; and that I was sure it would be +too, for the same reason. However, setting the one thing against the +other, the good against the bad, the lodging very soon got the victory +over the House. My lawyer, Mr. Squares, of Crown Office Row; Temple, +drew up an agreement; which his young man jabbered over so dreadfully +when he read it to me, that I didn't understand one word of it except my +own name; and hardly that, and I signed it, and the other party signed +it, and, in three weeks' time, I moved my old bones, bag and baggage, up +to London. + +For the first month or so, I arranged to leave Trottle at the Wells. I +made this arrangement, not only because there was a good deal to take +care of in the way of my school-children and pensioners, and also of a +new stove in the hall to air the house in my absence, which appeared to +me calculated to blow up and burst; but, likewise because I suspect +Trottle (though the steadiest of men, and a widower between sixty and +seventy) to be what I call rather a Philanderer. I mean, that when any +friend comes down to see me and brings a maid, Trottle is always +remarkably ready to show that maid the Wells of an evening; and that I +have more than once noticed the shadow of his arm, outside the room door +nearly opposite my chair, encircling that maid's waist on the landing, +like a table-cloth brush. + +Therefore, I thought it just as well, before any London Philandering took +place, that I should have a little time to look round me, and to see what +girls were in and about the place. So, nobody stayed with me in my new +lodging at first after Trottle had established me there safe and sound, +but Peggy Flobbins, my maid; a most affectionate and attached woman, who +never was an object of Philandering since I have known her, and is not +likely to begin to become so after nine-and-twenty years next March. + +It was the fifth of November when I first breakfasted in my new rooms. +The Guys were going about in the brown fog, like magnified monsters of +insects in table-beer, and there was a Guy resting on the door-steps of +the House to Let. I put on my glasses, partly to see how the boys were +pleased with what I sent them out by Peggy, and partly to make sure that +she didn't approach too near the ridiculous object, which of course was +full of sky-rockets, and might go off into bangs at any moment. In this +way it happened that the first time I ever looked at the House to Let, +after I became its opposite neighbour, I had my glasses on. And this +might not have happened once in fifty times, for my sight is uncommonly +good for my time of life; and I wear glasses as little as I can, for fear +of spoiling it. + +I knew already that it was a ten-roomed house, very dirty, and much +dilapidated; that the area-rails were rusty and peeling away, and that +two or three of them were wanting, or half-wanting; that there were +broken panes of glass in the windows, and blotches of mud on other panes, +which the boys had thrown at them; that there was quite a collection of +stones in the area, also proceeding from those Young Mischiefs; that +there were games chalked on the pavement before the house, and likenesses +of ghosts chalked on the street-door; that the windows were all darkened +by rotting old blinds, or shutters, or both; that the bills "To Let," had +curled up, as if the damp air of the place had given them cramps; or had +dropped down into corners, as if they were no more. I had seen all this +on my first visit, and I had remarked to Trottle, that the lower part of +the black board about terms was split away; that the rest had become +illegible, and that the very stone of the door-steps was broken across. +Notwithstanding, I sat at my breakfast table on that Please to Remember +the fifth of November morning, staring at the House through my glasses, +as if I had never looked at it before. + +All at once--in the first-floor window on my right--down in a low corner, +at a hole in a blind or a shutter--I found that I was looking at a secret +Eye. The reflection of my fire may have touched it and made it shine; +but, I saw it shine and vanish. + +The eye might have seen me, or it might not have seen me, sitting there +in the glow of my fire--you can take which probability you prefer, +without offence--but something struck through my frame, as if the sparkle +of this eye had been electric, and had flashed straight at me. It had +such an effect upon me, that I could not remain by myself, and I rang for +Flobbins, and invented some little jobs for her, to keep her in the room. +After my breakfast was cleared away, I sat in the same place with my +glasses on, moving my head, now so, and now so, trying whether, with the +shining of my fire and the flaws in the window-glass, I could reproduce +any sparkle seeming to be up there, that was like the sparkle of an eye. +But no; I could make nothing like it. I could make ripples and crooked +lines in the front of the House to Let, and I could even twist one window +up and loop it into another; but, I could make no eye, nor anything like +an eye. So I convinced myself that I really had seen an eye. + +Well, to be sure I could not get rid of the impression of this eye, and +it troubled me and troubled me, until it was almost a torment. I don't +think I was previously inclined to concern my head much about the +opposite House; but, after this eye, my head was full of the house; and I +thought of little else than the house, and I watched the house, and I +talked about the house, and I dreamed of the house. In all this, I fully +believe now, there was a good Providence. But, you will judge for +yourself about that, bye-and-bye. + +My landlord was a butler, who had married a cook, and set up +housekeeping. They had not kept house longer than a couple of years, and +they knew no more about the House to Let than I did. Neither could I +find out anything concerning it among the trades-people or otherwise; +further than what Trottle had told me at first. It had been empty, some +said six years, some said eight, some said ten. It never did let, they +all agreed, and it never would let. + +I soon felt convinced that I should work myself into one of my states +about the House; and I soon did. I lived for a whole month in a flurry, +that was always getting worse. Towers's prescriptions, which I had +brought to London with me, were of no more use than nothing. In the cold +winter sunlight, in the thick winter fog, in the black winter rain, in +the white winter snow, the House was equally on my mind. I have heard, +as everybody else has, of a spirit's haunting a house; but I have had my +own personal experience of a house's haunting a spirit; for that House +haunted mine. + +In all that month's time, I never saw anyone go into the House nor come +out of the House. I supposed that such a thing must take place +sometimes, in the dead of the night, or the glimmer of the morning; but, +I never saw it done. I got no relief from having my curtains drawn when +it came on dark, and shutting out the House. The Eye then began to shine +in my fire. + +I am a single old woman. I should say at once, without being at all +afraid of the name, I am an old maid; only that I am older than the +phrase would express. The time was when I had my love-trouble, but, it +is long and long ago. He was killed at sea (Dear Heaven rest his blessed +head!) when I was twenty-five. I have all my life, since ever I can +remember, been deeply fond of children. I have always felt such a love +for them, that I have had my sorrowful and sinful times when I have +fancied something must have gone wrong in my life--something must have +been turned aside from its original intention I mean--or I should have +been the proud and happy mother of many children, and a fond old +grandmother this day. I have soon known better in the cheerfulness and +contentment that God has blessed me with and given me abundant reason +for; and yet I have had to dry my eyes even then, when I have thought of +my dear, brave, hopeful, handsome, bright-eyed Charley, and the trust +meant to cheer me with. Charley was my youngest brother, and he went to +India. He married there, and sent his gentle little wife home to me to +be confined, and she was to go back to him, and the baby was to be left +with me, and I was to bring it up. It never belonged to this life. It +took its silent place among the other incidents in my story that might +have been, but never were. I had hardly time to whisper to her "Dead my +own!" or she to answer, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust! O lay it on my +breast and comfort Charley!" when she had gone to seek her baby at Our +Saviour's feet. I went to Charley, and I told him there was nothing left +but me, poor me; and I lived with Charley, out there, several years. He +was a man of fifty, when he fell asleep in my arms. His face had changed +to be almost old and a little stern; but, it softened, and softened when +I laid it down that I might cry and pray beside it; and, when I looked at +it for the last time, it was my dear, untroubled, handsome, youthful +Charley of long ago. + +--I was going on to tell that the loneliness of the House to Let brought +back all these recollections, and that they had quite pierced my heart +one evening, when Flobbins, opening the door, and looking very much as if +she wanted to laugh but thought better of it, said: + +"Mr. Jabez Jarber, ma'am!" + +Upon which Mr. Jarber ambled in, in his usual absurd way, saying: + +"Sophonisba!" + +Which I am obliged to confess is my name. A pretty one and proper one +enough when it was given to me: but, a good many years out of date now, +and always sounding particularly high-flown and comical from his lips. So +I said, sharply: + +"Though it is Sophonisba, Jarber, you are not obliged to mention it, that +_I_ see." + +In reply to this observation, the ridiculous man put the tips of my five +right-hand fingers to his lips, and said again, with an aggravating +accent on the third syllable: + +"Sophon_is_ba!" + +I don't burn lamps, because I can't abide the smell of oil, and wax +candles belonged to my day. I hope the convenient situation of one of my +tall old candlesticks on the table at my elbow will be my excuse for +saying, that if he did that again, I would chop his toes with it. (I am +sorry to add that when I told him so, I knew his toes to be tender.) But, +really, at my time of life and at Jarber's, it is too much of a good +thing. There is an orchestra still standing in the open air at the +Wells, before which, in the presence of a throng of fine company, I have +walked a minuet with Jarber. But, there is a house still standing, in +which I have worn a pinafore, and had a tooth drawn by fastening a thread +to the tooth and the door-handle, and toddling away from the door. And +how should I look now, at my years, in a pinafore, or having a door for +my dentist? + +Besides, Jarber always was more or less an absurd man. He was sweetly +dressed, and beautifully perfumed, and many girls of my day would have +given their ears for him; though I am bound to add that he never cared a +fig for them, or their advances either, and that he was very constant to +me. For, he not only proposed to me before my love-happiness ended in +sorrow, but afterwards too: not once, nor yet twice: nor will we say how +many times. However many they were, or however few they were, the last +time he paid me that compliment was immediately after he had presented me +with a digestive dinner-pill stuck on the point of a pin. And I said on +that occasion, laughing heartily, "Now, Jarber, if you don't know that +two people whose united ages would make about a hundred and fifty, have +got to be old, I do; and I beg to swallow this nonsense in the form of +this pill" (which I took on the spot), "and I request to, hear no more of +it." + +After that, he conducted himself pretty well. He was always a little +squeezed man, was Jarber, in little sprigged waistcoats; and he had +always little legs and a little smile, and a little voice, and little +round-about ways. As long as I can remember him he was always going +little errands for people, and carrying little gossip. At this present +time when he called me "Sophonisba!" he had a little old-fashioned +lodging in that new neighbourhood of mine. I had not seen him for two or +three years, but I had heard that he still went out with a little +perspective-glass and stood on door-steps in Saint James's Street, to see +the nobility go to Court; and went in his little cloak and goloshes +outside Willis's rooms to see them go to Almack's; and caught the +frightfullest colds, and got himself trodden upon by coachmen and +linkmen, until he went home to his landlady a mass of bruises, and had to +be nursed for a month. + +Jarber took off his little fur-collared cloak, and sat down opposite me, +with his little cane and hat in his hand. + +"Let us have no more Sophonisbaing, if _you_ please, Jarber," I said. +"Call me Sarah. How do you do? I hope you are pretty well." + +"Thank you. And you?" said Jarber. + +"I am as well as an old woman can expect to be." + +Jarber was beginning: + +"Say, not old, Sophon--" but I looked at the candlestick, and he left +off; pretending not to have said anything. + +"I am infirm, of course," I said, "and so are you. Let us both be +thankful it's no worse." + +"Is it possible that you look worried?" said Jarber. + +"It is very possible. I have no doubt it is the fact." + +"And what has worried my Soph-, soft-hearted friend," said Jarber. + +"Something not easy, I suppose, to comprehend. I am worried to death by +a House to Let, over the way." + +Jarber went with his little tip-toe step to the window-curtains, peeped +out, and looked round at me. + +"Yes," said I, in answer: "that house." + +After peeping out again, Jarber came back to his chair with a tender air, +and asked: "How does it worry you, S-arah?" + +"It is a mystery to me," said I. "Of course every house _is_ a mystery, +more or less; but, something that I don't care to mention" (for truly the +Eye was so slight a thing to mention that I was more than half ashamed of +it), "has made that House so mysterious to me, and has so fixed it in my +mind, that I have had no peace for a month. I foresee that I shall have +no peace, either, until Trottle comes to me, next Monday." + +I might have mentioned before, that there is a lone-standing jealousy +between Trottle and Jarber; and that there is never any love lost between +those two. + +"_Trottle_," petulantly repeated Jarber, with a little flourish of his +cane; "how is _Trottle_ to restore the lost peace of Sarah?" + +"He will exert himself to find out something about the House. I have +fallen into that state about it, that I really must discover by some +means or other, good or bad, fair or foul, how and why it is that that +House remains To Let." + +"And why Trottle? Why not," putting his little hat to his heart; "why +not, Jarber? + +"To tell you the truth, I have never thought of Jarber in the matter. And +now I do think of Jarber, through your having the kindness to suggest +him--for which I am really and truly obliged to you--I don't think he +could do it." + +"Sarah!" + +"I think it would be too much for you, Jarber." + +"Sarah!" + +"There would be coming and going, and fetching and carrying, Jarber, and +you might catch cold." + +"Sarah! What can be done by Trottle, can be done by me. I am on terms +of acquaintance with every person of responsibility in this parish. I am +intimate at the Circulating Library. I converse daily with the Assessed +Taxes. I lodge with the Water Rate. I know the Medical Man. I lounge +habitually at the House Agent's. I dine with the Churchwardens. I move +to the Guardians. Trottle! A person in the sphere of a domestic, and +totally unknown to society!" + +"Don't be warm, Jarber. In mentioning Trottle, I have naturally relied +on my Right-Hand, who would take any trouble to gratify even a whim of +his old mistress's. But, if you can find out anything to help to unravel +the mystery of this House to Let, I shall be fully as much obliged to you +as if there was never a Trottle in the land." + +Jarber rose and put on his little cloak. A couple of fierce brass lions +held it tight round his little throat; but a couple of the mildest Hares +might have done that, I am sure. "Sarah," he said, "I go. Expect me on +Monday evening, the Sixth, when perhaps you will give me a cup of +tea;--may I ask for no Green? Adieu!" + +This was on a Thursday, the second of December. When I reflected that +Trottle would come back on Monday, too, I had my misgivings as to the +difficulty of keeping the two powers from open warfare, and indeed I was +more uneasy than I quite like to confess. However, the empty House +swallowed up that thought next morning, as it swallowed up most other +thoughts now, and the House quite preyed upon me all that day, and all +the Saturday. + +It was a very wet Sunday: raining and blowing from morning to night. When +the bells rang for afternoon church, they seemed to ring in the commotion +of the puddles as well as in the wind, and they sounded very loud and +dismal indeed, and the street looked very dismal indeed, and the House +looked dismallest of all. + +I was reading my prayers near the light, and my fire was growing in the +darkening window-glass, when, looking up, as I prayed for the fatherless +children and widows and all who were desolate and oppressed,--I saw the +Eye again. It passed in a moment, as it had done before; but, this time, +I was inwardly more convinced that I had seen it. + +Well to be sure, I _had_ a night that night! Whenever I closed my own +eyes, it was to see eyes. Next morning, at an unreasonably, and I should +have said (but for that railroad) an impossibly early hour, comes +Trottle. As soon as he had told me all about the Wells, I told him all +about the House. He listened with as great interest and attention as I +could possibly wish, until I came to Jabez Jarber, when he cooled in an +instant, and became opinionated. + +"Now, Trottle," I said, pretending not to notice, "when Mr. Jarber comes +back this evening, we must all lay our heads together." + +"I should hardly think that would be wanted, ma'am; Mr. Jarber's head is +surely equal to anything." + +Being determined not to notice, I said again, that we must all lay our +heads together. + +"Whatever you order, ma'am, shall be obeyed. Still, it cannot be +doubted, I should think, that Mr. Jarber's head is equal, if not +superior, to any pressure that can be brought to bear upon it." + +This was provoking; and his way, when he came in and out all through the +day, of pretending not to see the House to Let, was more provoking still. +However, being quite resolved not to notice, I gave no sign whatever that +I did notice. But, when evening came, and he showed in Jarber, and, when +Jarber wouldn't be helped off with his cloak, and poked his cane into +cane chair-backs and china ornaments and his own eye, in trying to +unclasp his brazen lions of himself (which he couldn't do, after all), I +could have shaken them both. + +As it was, I only shook the tea-pot, and made the tea. Jarber had +brought from under his cloak, a roll of paper, with which he had +triumphantly pointed over the way, like the Ghost of Hamlet's Father +appearing to the late Mr. Kemble, and which he had laid on the table. + +"A discovery?" said I, pointing to it, when he was seated, and had got +his tea-cup.--"Don't go, Trottle." + +"The first of a series of discoveries," answered Jarber. "Account of a +former tenant, compiled from the Water Rate, and Medical Man." + +"Don't go, Trottle," I repeated. For, I saw him making imperceptibly to +the door. + +"Begging your pardon, ma'am, I might be in Mr. Jarber's way?" + +Jarber looked that he decidedly thought he might be. I relieved myself +with a good angry croak, and said--always determined not to notice: + +"Have the goodness to sit down, if you please, Trottle. I wish you to +hear this." + +Trottle bowed in the stiffest manner, and took the remotest chair he +could find. Even that, he moved close to the draught from the keyhole of +the door. + +"Firstly," Jarber began, after sipping his tea, "would my Sophon--" + +"Begin again, Jarber," said I. + +"Would you be much surprised, if this House to Let should turn out to be +the property of a relation of your own?" + +"I should indeed be very much surprised." + +"Then it belongs to your first cousin (I learn, by the way, that he is +ill at this time) George Forley." + +"Then that is a bad beginning. I cannot deny that George Forley stands +in the relation of first cousin to me; but I hold no communication with +him. George Forley has been a hard, bitter, stony father to a child now +dead. George Forley was most implacable and unrelenting to one of his +two daughters who made a poor marriage. George Forley brought all the +weight of his band to bear as heavily against that crushed thing, as he +brought it to bear lightly, favouringly, and advantageously upon her +sister, who made a rich marriage. I hope that, with the measure George +Forley meted, it may not be measured out to him again. I will give +George Forley no worse wish." + +I was strong upon the subject, and I could not keep the tears out of my +eyes; for, that young girl's was a cruel story, and I had dropped many a +tear over it before. + +"The house being George Forley's," said I, "is almost enough to account +for there being a Fate upon it, if Fate there is. Is there anything +about George Forley in those sheets of paper?" + +"Not a word." + +"I am glad to hear it. Please to read on. Trottle, why don't you come +nearer? Why do you sit mortifying yourself in those arctic regions? Come +nearer." + +"Thank you, ma'am; I am quite near enough to Mr. Jarber." + +Jarber rounded his chair, to get his back full to my opinionated friend +and servant, and, beginning to read, tossed the words at him over his +(Jabez Jarber's) own ear and shoulder. + +He read what follows: + + + + +THE MANCHESTER MARRIAGE + + +Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw came from Manchester to London and took the House +To Let. He had been, what is called in Lancashire, a Salesman for a +large manufacturing firm, who were extending their business, and opening +a warehouse in London; where Mr. Openshaw was now to superintend the +business. He rather enjoyed the change of residence; having a kind of +curiosity about London, which he had never yet been able to gratify in +his brief visits to the metropolis. At the same time he had an odd, +shrewd, contempt for the inhabitants; whom he had always pictured to +himself as fine, lazy people; caring nothing but for fashion and +aristocracy, and lounging away their days in Bond Street, and such +places; ruining good English, and ready in their turn to despise him as a +provincial. The hours that the men of business kept in the city +scandalised him too; accustomed as he was to the early dinners of +Manchester folk, and the consequently far longer evenings. Still, he was +pleased to go to London; though he would not for the world have confessed +it, even to himself, and always spoke of the step to his friends as one +demanded of him by the interests of his employers, and sweetened to him +by a considerable increase of salary. His salary indeed was so liberal +that he might have been justified in taking a much larger House than this +one, had he not thought himself bound to set an example to Londoners of +how little a Manchester man of business cared for show. Inside, however, +he furnished the House with an unusual degree of comfort, and, in the +winter time, he insisted on keeping up as large fires as the grates would +allow, in every room where the temperature was in the least chilly. +Moreover, his northern sense of hospitality was such, that, if he were at +home, he could hardly suffer a visitor to leave the house without forcing +meat and drink upon him. Every servant in the house was well warmed, +well fed, and kindly treated; for their master scorned all petty saving +in aught that conduced to comfort; while he amused himself by following +out all his accustomed habits and individual ways in defiance of what any +of his new neighbours might think. + +His wife was a pretty, gentle woman, of suitable age and character. He +was forty-two, she thirty-five. He was loud and decided; she soft and +yielding. They had two children or rather, I should say, she had two; +for the elder, a girl of eleven, was Mrs. Openshaw's child by Frank +Wilson her first husband. The younger was a little boy, Edwin, who could +just prattle, and to whom his father delighted to speak in the broadest +and most unintelligible Lancashire dialect, in order to keep up what he +called the true Saxon accent. + +Mrs. Openshaw's Christian-name was Alice, and her first husband had been +her own cousin. She was the orphan niece of a sea-captain in Liverpool: +a quiet, grave little creature, of great personal attraction when she was +fifteen or sixteen, with regular features and a blooming complexion. But +she was very shy, and believed herself to be very stupid and awkward; and +was frequently scolded by her aunt, her own uncle's second wife. So when +her cousin, Frank Wilson, came home from a long absence at sea, and first +was kind and protective to her; secondly, attentive and thirdly, +desperately in love with her, she hardly knew how to be grateful enough +to him. It is true she would have preferred his remaining in the first +or second stages of behaviour; for his violent love puzzled and +frightened her. Her uncle neither helped nor hindered the love affair +though it was going on under his own eyes. Frank's step-mother had such +a variable temper, that there was no knowing whether what she liked one +day she would like the next, or not. At length she went to such extremes +of crossness, that Alice was only too glad to shut her eyes and rush +blindly at the chance of escape from domestic tyranny offered her by a +marriage with her cousin; and, liking him better than any one in the +world except her uncle (who was at this time at sea) she went off one +morning and was married to him; her only bridesmaid being the housemaid +at her aunt's. The consequence was, that Frank and his wife went into +lodgings, and Mrs. Wilson refused to see them, and turned away Norah, the +warm-hearted housemaid; whom they accordingly took into their service. +When Captain Wilson returned from his voyage, he was very cordial with +the young couple, and spent many an evening at their lodgings; smoking +his pipe, and sipping his grog; but he told them that, for quietness' +sake, he could not ask them to his own house; for his wife was bitter +against them. They were not very unhappy about this. + +The seed of future unhappiness lay rather in Frank's vehement, passionate +disposition; which led him to resent his wife's shyness and want of +demonstration as failures in conjugal duty. He was already tormenting +himself, and her too, in a slighter degree, by apprehensions and +imaginations of what might befall her during his approaching absence at +sea. At last he went to his father and urged him to insist upon Alice's +being once more received under his roof; the more especially as there was +now a prospect of her confinement while her husband was away on his +voyage. Captain Wilson was, as he himself expressed it, "breaking up," +and unwilling to undergo the excitement of a scene; yet he felt that what +his son said was true. So he went to his wife. And before Frank went to +sea, he had the comfort of seeing his wife installed in her old little +garret in his father's house. To have placed her in the one best spare +room was a step beyond Mrs. Wilson's powers of submission or generosity. +The worst part about it, however, was that the faithful Norah had to be +dismissed. Her place as housemaid had been filled up; and, even had it +not, she had forfeited Mrs. Wilson's good opinion for ever. She +comforted her young master and mistress by pleasant prophecies of the +time when they would have a household of their own; of which, in whatever +service she might be in the meantime, she should be sure to form part. +Almost the last action Frank Wilson did, before setting sail, was going +with Alice to see Norah once more at her mother's house. And then he +went away. + +Alice's father-in-law grew more and more feeble as winter advanced. She +was of great use to her step-mother in nursing and amusing him; and, +although there was anxiety enough in the household, there was perhaps +more of peace than there had been for years; for Mrs. Wilson had not a +bad heart, and was softened by the visible approach of death to one whom +she loved, and touched by the lonely condition of the young creature, +expecting her first confinement in her husband's absence. To this +relenting mood Norah owed the permission to come and nurse Alice when her +baby was born, and to remain to attend on Captain Wilson. + +Before one letter had been received from Frank (who had sailed for the +East Indies and China), his father died. Alice was always glad to +remember that he had held her baby in his arms, and kissed and blessed it +before his death. After that, and the consequent examination into the +state of his affairs, it was found that he had left far less property +than people had been led by his style of living to imagine; and, what +money there was, was all settled upon his wife, and at her disposal after +her death. This did not signify much to Alice, as Frank was now first +mate of his ship, and, in another voyage or two, would be captain. +Meanwhile he had left her some hundreds (all his savings) in the bank. + +It became time for Alice to hear from her husband. One letter from the +Cape she had already received. The next was to announce his arrival in +India. As week after week passed over, and no intelligence of the ship's +arrival reached the office of the owners, and the Captain's wife was in +the same state of ignorant suspense as Alice herself, her fears grew most +oppressive. At length the day came when, in reply to her inquiry at the +Shipping Office, they told her that the owners had given up Hope of ever +hearing more of the Betsy-Jane, and had sent in their claim upon the +underwriters. Now that he was gone for ever, she first felt a yearning, +longing love for the kind cousin, the dear friend, the sympathising +protector, whom she should never see again,--first felt a passionate +desire to show him his child, whom she had hitherto rather craved to have +all to herself--her own sole possession. Her grief was, however, +noiseless, and quiet--rather to the scandal of Mrs. Wilson; who bewailed +her step-son as if he and she had always lived together in perfect +harmony, and who evidently thought it her duty to burst into fresh tears +at every strange face she saw; dwelling on his poor young widow's +desolate state, and the helplessness of the fatherless child, with an +unction, as if she liked the excitement of the sorrowful story. + +So passed away the first days of Alice's widowhood. Bye-and-bye things +subsided into their natural and tranquil course. But, as if this young +creature was always to be in some heavy trouble, her ewe-lamb began to be +ailing, pining and sickly. The child's mysterious illness turned out to +be some affection of the spine likely to affect health; but not to +shorten life--at least so the doctors said. But the long dreary +suffering of one whom a mother loves as Alice loved her only child, is +hard to look forward to. Only Norah guessed what Alice suffered; no one +but God knew. + +And so it fell out, that when Mrs. Wilson, the elder, came to her one day +in violent distress, occasioned by a very material diminution in the +value the property that her husband had left her,--a diminution which +made her income barely enough to support herself, much less Alice--the +latter could hardly understand how anything which did not touch health or +life could cause such grief; and she received the intelligence with +irritating composure. But when, that afternoon, the little sick child +was brought in, and the grandmother--who after all loved it well--began a +fresh moan over her losses to its unconscious ears--saying how she had +planned to consult this or that doctor, and to give it this or that +comfort or luxury in after yearn but that now all chance of this had +passed away--Alice's heart was touched, and she drew near to Mrs. Wilson +with unwonted caresses, and, in a spirit not unlike to that of, Ruth, +entreated, that come what would, they might remain together. After much +discussion in succeeding days, it was arranged that Mrs. Wilson should +take a house in Manchester, furnishing it partly with what furniture she +had, and providing the rest with Alice's remaining two hundred pounds. +Mrs. Wilson was herself a Manchester woman, and naturally longed to +return to her native town. Some connections of her own at that time +required lodgings, for which they were willing to pay pretty handsomely. +Alice undertook the active superintendence and superior work of the +household. Norah, willing faithful Norah, offered to cook, scour, do +anything in short, so that, she might but remain with them. + +The plan succeeded. For some years their first lodgers remained with +them, and all went smoothly,--with the one sad exception of the little +girl's increasing deformity. How that mother loved that child, is not +for words to tell! + +Then came a break of misfortune. Their lodgers left, and no one +succeeded to them. After some months they had to remove to a smaller +house; and Alice's tender conscience was torn by the idea that she ought +not to be a burden to her mother-in-law, but ought to go out and seek her +own maintenance. And leave her child! The thought came like the +sweeping boom of a funeral bell over her heart. + +Bye-and-bye, Mr. Openshaw came to lodge with them. He had started in +life as the errand-boy and sweeper-out of a warehouse; had struggled up +through all the grades of employment in the place, fighting his way +through the hard striving Manchester life with strong pushing energy of +character. Every spare moment of time had been sternly given up to self- +teaching. He was a capital accountant, a good French and German scholar, +a keen, far-seeing tradesman; understanding markets, and the bearing of +events, both near and distant, on trade: and yet, with such vivid +attention to present details, that I do not think he ever saw a group of +flowers in the fields without thinking whether their colours would, or +would not, form harmonious contrasts in the coming spring muslins and +prints. He went to debating societies, and threw himself with all his +heart and soul into politics; esteeming, it must be owned, every man a +fool or a knave who differed from him, and overthrowing his opponents +rather by the loud strength of his language than the calm strength if his +logic. There was something of the Yankee in all this. Indeed his theory +ran parallel to the famous Yankee motto--"England flogs creation, and +Manchester flogs England." Such a man, as may be fancied, had had no +time for falling in love, or any such nonsense. At the age when most +young men go through their courting and matrimony, he had not the means +of keeping a wife, and was far too practical to think of having one. And +now that he was in easy circumstances, a rising man, he considered women +almost as incumbrances to the world, with whom a man had better have as +little to do as possible. His first impression of Alice was indistinct, +and he did not care enough about her to make it distinct. "A pretty yea- +nay kind of woman," would have been his description of her, if he had +been pushed into a corner. He was rather afraid, in the beginning, that +her quiet ways arose from a listlessness and laziness of character which +would have been exceedingly discordant to his active energetic nature. +But, when he found out the punctuality with which his wishes were +attended to, and her work was done; when he was called in the morning at +the very stroke of the clock, his shaving-water scalding hot, his fire +bright, his coffee made exactly as his peculiar fancy dictated, (for he +was a man who had his theory about everything, based upon what he knew of +science, and often perfectly original)--then he began to think: not that +Alice had any peculiar merit; but that he had got into remarkably good +lodgings: his restlessness wore away, and he began to consider himself as +almost settled for life in them. + +Mr. Openshaw had been too busy, all his life, to be introspective. He +did not know that he had any tenderness in his nature; and if he had +become conscious of its abstract existence, he would have considered it +as a manifestation of disease in some part of his nature. But he was +decoyed into pity unawares; and pity led on to tenderness. That little +helpless child--always carried about by one of the three busy women of +the house, or else patiently threading coloured beads in the chair from +which, by no effort of its own, could it ever move; the great grave blue +eyes, full of serious, not uncheerful, expression, giving to the small +delicate face a look beyond its years; the soft plaintive voice dropping +out but few words, so unlike the continual prattle of a child--caught Mr. +Openshaw's attention in spite of himself. One day--he half scorned +himself for doing so--he cut short his dinner-hour to go in search of +some toy which should take the place of those eternal beads. I forget +what he bought; but, when he gave the present (which he took care to do +in a short abrupt manner, and when no one was by to see him) he was +almost thrilled by the flash of delight that came over that child's face, +and could not help all through that afternoon going over and over again +the picture left on his memory, by the bright effect of unexpected joy on +the little girl's face. When he returned home, he found his slippers +placed by his sitting-room fire; and even more careful attention paid to +his fancies than was habitual in those model lodgings. When Alice had +taken the last of his tea-things away--she had been silent as usual till +then--she stood for an instant with the door in her hand. Mr. Openshaw +looked as if he were deep in his book, though in fact he did not see a +line; but was heartily wishing the woman would be gone, and not make any +palaver of gratitude. But she only said: + +"I am very much obliged to you, sir. Thank you very much," and was gone, +even before he could send her away with a "There, my good woman, that's +enough!" + +For some time longer he took no apparent notice of the child. He even +hardened his heart into disregarding her sudden flush of colour, and +little timid smile of recognition, when he saw her by chance. But, after +all, this could not last for ever; and, having a second time given way to +tenderness, there was no relapse. The insidious enemy having thus +entered his heart, in the guise of compassion to the child, soon assumed +the more dangerous form of interest in the mother. He was aware of this +change of feeling, despised himself for it, struggled with it nay, +internally yielded to it and cherished it, long before he suffered the +slightest expression of it, by word, action, or look, to escape him. He +watched Alice's docile obedient ways to her stepmother; the love which +she had inspired in the rough Norah (roughened by the wear and tear of +sorrow and years); but above all, he saw the wild, deep, passionate +affection existing between her and her child. They spoke little to any +one else, or when any one else was by; but, when alone together, they +talked, and murmured, and cooed, and chattered so continually, that Mr. +Openshaw first wondered what they could find to say to each other, and +next became irritated because they were always so grave and silent with +him. All this time, he was perpetually devising small new pleasures for +the child. His thoughts ran, in a pertinacious way, upon the desolate +life before her; and often he came back from his day's work loaded with +the very thing Alice had been longing for, but had not been able to +procure. One time it was a little chair for drawing the little sufferer +along the streets, and many an evening that ensuing summer Mr. Openshaw +drew her along himself, regardless of the remarks of his acquaintances. +One day in autumn he put down his newspaper, as Alice came in with the +breakfast, and said, in as indifferent a voice as he could assume: + +"Mrs. Frank, is there any reason why we two should not put up our horses +together?" + +Alice stood still in perplexed wonder. What did he mean? He had resumed +the reading of his newspaper, as if he did not expect any answer; so she +found silence her safest course, and went on quietly arranging his +breakfast without another word passing between them. Just as he was +leaving the house, to go to the warehouse as usual, he turned back and +put his head into the bright, neat, tidy kitchen, where all the women +breakfasted in the morning: + +"You'll think of what I said, Mrs. Frank" (this was her name with the +lodgers), "and let me have your opinion upon it to-night." + +Alice was thankful that her mother and Norah were too busy talking +together to attend much to this speech. She determined not to think +about it at all through the day; and, of course, the effort not to think +made her think all the more. At night she sent up Norah with his tea. +But Mr. Openshaw almost knocked Norah down as she was going out at the +door, by pushing past her and calling out "Mrs. Frank!" in an impatient +voice, at the top of the stairs. + +Alice went up, rather than seem to have affixed too much meaning to his +words. + +"Well, Mrs. Frank," he said, "what answer? Don't make it too long; for I +have lots of office-work to get through to-night." + +"I hardly know what you meant, sir," said truthful Alice. + +"Well! I should have thought you might have guessed. You're not new at +this sort of work, and I am. However, I'll make it plain this time. Will +you have me to be thy wedded husband, and serve me, and love me, and +honour me, and all that sort of thing? Because if you will, I will do as +much by you, and be a father to your child--and that's more than is put +in the prayer-book. Now, I'm a man of my word; and what I say, I feel; +and what I promise, I'll do. Now, for your answer!" + +Alice was silent. He began to make the tea, as if her reply was a matter +of perfect indifference to him; but, as soon as that was done, he became +impatient. + +"Well?" said he. + +"How long, sir, may I have to think over it?" + +"Three minutes!" (looking at his watch). "You've had two already--that +makes five. Be a sensible woman, say Yes, and sit down to tea with me, +and we'll talk it over together; for, after tea, I shall be busy; say No" +(he hesitated a moment to try and keep his voice in the same tone), "and +I shan't say another word about it, but pay up a year's rent for my rooms +to-morrow, and be off. Time's up! Yes or no?" + +"If you please, sir,--you have been so good to little Ailsie--" + +"There, sit down comfortably by me on the sofa, and let us have our tea +together. I am glad to find you are as good and sensible as I took for." + +And this was Alice Wilson's second wooing. + +Mr. Openshaw's will was too strong, and his circumstances too good, for +him not to carry all before him. He settled Mrs. Wilson in a comfortable +house of her own, and made her quite independent of lodgers. The little +that Alice said with regard to future plans was in Norah's behalf. + +"No," said Mr. Openshaw. "Norah shall take care of the old lady as long +as she lives; and, after that, she shall either come and live with us, +or, if she likes it better, she shall have a provision for life--for your +sake, missus. No one who has been good to you or the child shall go +unrewarded. But even the little one will be better for some fresh stuff +about her. Get her a bright, sensible girl as a nurse: one who won't go +rubbing her with calf's-foot jelly as Norah does; wasting good stuff +outside that ought to go in, but will follow doctors' directions; which, +as you must see pretty clearly by this time, Norah won't; because they +give the poor little wench pain. Now, I'm not above being nesh for other +folks myself. I can stand a good blow, and never change colour; but, set +me in the operating-room in the infirmary, and I turn as sick as a girl. +Yet, if need were, I would hold the little wench on my knees while she +screeched with pain, if it were to do her poor back good. Nay, nay, +wench! keep your white looks for the time when it comes--I don't say it +ever will. But this I know, Norah will spare the child and cheat the +doctor if she can. Now, I say, give the bairn a year or two's chance, +and then, when the pack of doctors have done their best--and, maybe, the +old lady has gone--we'll have Norah back, or do better for her." + +The pack of doctors could do no good to little Ailsie. She was beyond +their power. But her father (for so he insisted on being called, and +also on Alice's no longer retaining the appellation of Mama, but becoming +henceforward Mother), by his healthy cheerfulness of manner, his clear +decision of purpose, his odd turns and quirks of humour, added to his +real strong love for the helpless little girl, infused a new element of +brightness and confidence into her life; and, though her back remained +the same, her general health was strengthened, and Alice--never going +beyond a smile herself--had the pleasure of seeing her child taught to +laugh. + +As for Alice's own life, it was happier than it had ever been. Mr. +Openshaw required no demonstration, no expressions of affection from her. +Indeed, these would rather have disgusted him. Alice could love deeply, +but could not talk about it. The perpetual requirement of loving words, +looks, and caresses, and misconstruing their absence into absence of +love, had been the great trial of her former married life. Now, all went +on clear and straight, under the guidance of her husband's strong sense, +warm heart, and powerful will. Year by year their worldly prosperity +increased. At Mrs. Wilson's death, Norah came back to them, as nurse to +the newly-born little Edwin; into which post she was not installed +without a pretty strong oration on the part of the proud and happy +father; who declared that if he found out that Norah ever tried to screen +the boy by a falsehood, or to make him nesh either in body or mind, she +should go that very day. Norah and Mr. Openshaw were not on the most +thoroughly cordial terms; neither of them fully recognising or +appreciating the other's best qualities. + +This was the previous history of the Lancashire family who had now +removed to London, and had come to occupy the House. + +They had been there about a year, when Mr. Openshaw suddenly informed his +wife that he had determined to heal long-standing feuds, and had asked +his uncle and aunt Chadwick to come and pay them a visit and see London. +Mrs. Openshaw had never seen this uncle and aunt of her husband's. Years +before she had married him, there had been a quarrel. All she knew was, +that Mr. Chadwick was a small manufacturer in a country town in South +Lancashire. She was extremely pleased that the breach was to be healed, +and began making preparations to render their visit pleasant. + +They arrived at last. Going to see London was such an event to them, +that Mrs. Chadwick had made all new linen fresh for the occasion-from +night-caps downwards; and, as for gowns, ribbons, and collars, she might +have been going into the wilds of Canada where never a shop is, so large +was her stock. A fortnight before the day of her departure for London, +she had formally called to take leave of all her acquaintance; saying she +should need all the intermediate time for packing up. It was like a +second wedding in her imagination; and, to complete the resemblance which +an entirely new wardrobe made between the two events, her husband brought +her back from Manchester, on the last market-day before they set off, a +gorgeous pearl and amethyst brooch, saying, "Lunnon should see that +Lancashire folks knew a handsome thing when they saw it." + +For some time after Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick arrived at the Openshaws', +there was no opportunity for wearing this brooch; but at length they +obtained an order to see Buckingham Palace, and the spirit of loyalty +demanded that Mrs. Chadwick should wear her best clothes in visiting the +abode of her sovereign. On her return, she hastily changed her dress; +for Mr. Openshaw had planned that they should go to Richmond, drink tea +and return by moonlight. Accordingly, about five o'clock, Mr. and Mrs. +Openshaw and Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick set off. + +The housemaid and cook sate below, Norah hardly knew where. She was +always engrossed in the nursery, in tending her two children, and in +sitting by the restless, excitable Ailsie till she fell asleep. Bye-and- +bye, the housemaid Bessy tapped gently at the door. Norah went to her, +and they spoke in whispers. + +"Nurse! there's some one down-stairs wants you." + +"Wants me! Who is it?" + +"A gentleman--" + +"A gentleman? Nonsense!" + +"Well! a man, then, and he asks for you, and he rung at the front door +bell, and has walked into the dining-room." + +"You should never have let him," exclaimed Norah, "master and missus +out--" + +"I did not want him to come in; but when he heard you lived here, he +walked past me, and sat down on the first chair, and said, 'Tell her to +come and speak to me.' There is no gas lighted in the room, and supper +is all set out." + +"He'll be off with the spoons!" exclaimed Norah, putting the housemaid's +fear into words, and preparing to leave the room, first, however, giving +a look to Ailsie, sleeping soundly and calmly. + +Down-stairs she went, uneasy fears stirring in her bosom. Before she +entered the dining-room she provided herself with a candle, and, with it +in her hand, she went in, looking round her in the darkness for her +visitor. + +He was standing up, holding by the table. Norah and he looked at each +other; gradual recognition coming into their eyes. + +"Norah?" at length he asked. + +"Who are you?" asked Norah, with the sharp tones of alarm and +incredulity. "I don't know you:" trying, by futile words of disbelief, +to do away with the terrible fact before her. + +"Am I so changed?" he said, pathetically. "I daresay I am. But, Norah, +tell me!" he breathed hard, "where is my wife? Is she--is she alive?" + +He came nearer to Norah, and would have taken her hand; but she backed +away from him; looking at him all the time with staring eyes, as if he +were some horrible object. Yet he was a handsome, bronzed, good-looking +fellow, with beard and moustache, giving him a foreign-looking aspect; +but his eyes! there was no mistaking those eager, beautiful eyes--the +very same that Norah had watched not half-an-hour ago, till sleep stole +softly over them. + +"Tell me, Norah--I can bear it--I have feared it so often. Is she dead?" +Norah still kept silence. "She is dead!" He hung on Norah's words and +looks, as if for confirmation or contradiction. + +"What shall I do?" groaned Norah. "O, sir! why did you come? how did you +find me out? where have you been? We thought you dead, we did, indeed!" +She poured out words and questions to gain time, as if time would help +her. + +"Norah! answer me this question, straight, by yes or no--Is my wife +dead?" + +"No, she is not!" said Norah, slowly and heavily. + +"O what a relief! Did she receive my letters? But perhaps you don't +know. Why did you leave her? Where is she? O Norah, tell me all +quickly!" + +"Mr. Frank!" said Norah at last, almost driven to bay by her terror lest +her mistress should return at any moment, and find him there--unable to +consider what was best to be done or said-rushing at something decisive, +because she could not endure her present state: "Mr. Frank! we never +heard a line from you, and the shipowners said you had gone down, you and +every one else. We thought you were dead, if ever man was, and poor Miss +Alice and her little sick, helpless child! O, sir, you must guess it," +cried the poor creature at last, bursting out into a passionate fit of +crying, "for indeed I cannot tell it. But it was no one's fault. God +help us all this night!" + +Norah had sate down. She trembled too much to stand. He took her hands +in his. He squeezed them hard, as if by physical pressure, the truth +could be wrung out. + +"Norah!" This time his tone was calm, stagnant as despair. "She has +married again!" + +Norah shook her head sadly. The grasp slowly relaxed. The man had +fainted. + +There was brandy in the room. Norah forced some drops into Mr. Frank's +mouth, chafed his hands, and--when mere animal life returned, before the +mind poured in its flood of memories and thoughts--she lifted him up, and +rested his head against her knees. Then she put a few crumbs of bread +taken from the supper-table, soaked in brandy into his mouth. Suddenly +he sprang to his feet. + +"Where is she? Tell me this instant." He looked so wild, so mad, so +desperate, that Norah felt herself to be in bodily danger; but her time +of dread had gone by. She had been afraid to tell him the truth, and +then she had been a coward. Now, her wits were sharpened by the sense of +his desperate state. He must leave the house. She would pity him +afterwards; but now she must rather command and upbraid; for he must +leave the house before her mistress came home. That one necessity stood +clear before her. + +"She is not here; that is enough for you to know. Nor can I say exactly +where she is" (which was true to the letter if not to the spirit). "Go +away, and tell me where to find you to-morrow, and I will tell you all. +My master and mistress may come back at any minute, and then what would +become of me with a strange man in the house?" + +Such an argument was too petty to touch his excited mind. + +"I don't care for your master and mistress. If your master is a man, he +must feel for me poor shipwrecked sailor that I am--kept for years a +prisoner amongst savages, always, always, always thinking of my wife and +my home--dreaming of her by night, talking to her, though she could not +hear, by day. I loved her more than all heaven and earth put together. +Tell me where she is, this instant, you wretched woman, who salved over +her wickedness to her, as you do to me." + +The clock struck ten. Desperate positions require desperate measures. + +"If you will leave the house now, I will come to you to-morrow and tell +you all. What is more, you shall see your child now. She lies sleeping +up-stairs. O, sir, you have a child, you do not know that as yet--a +little weakly girl--with just a heart and soul beyond her years. We have +reared her up with such care: We watched her, for we thought for many a +year she might die any day, and we tended her, and no hard thing has come +near her, and no rough word has ever been said to her. And now you, come +and will take her life into your hand, and will crush it. Strangers to +her have been kind to her; but her own father--Mr. Frank, I am her nurse, +and I love her, and I tend her, and I would do anything for her that I +could. Her mother's heart beats as hers beats; and, if she suffers a +pain, her mother trembles all over. If she is happy, it is her mother +that smiles and is glad. If she is growing stronger, her mother is +healthy: if she dwindles, her mother languishes. If she dies--well, I +don't know: it is not every one can lie down and die when they wish it. +Come up-stairs, Mr. Frank, and see your child. Seeing her will do good +to your poor heart. Then go away, in God's name, just this one night-to- +morrow, if need be, you can do anything--kill us all if you will, or show +yourself--a great grand man, whom God will bless for ever and ever. Come, +Mr. Frank, the look of a sleeping child is sure to give peace." + +She led him up-stairs; at first almost helping his steps, till they came +near the nursery door. She had almost forgotten the existence of little +Edwin. It struck upon her with affright as the shaded light fell upon +the other cot; but she skilfully threw that corner of the room into +darkness, and let the light fall on the sleeping Ailsie. The child had +thrown down the coverings, and her deformity, as she lay with her back to +them, was plainly visible through her slight night-gown. Her little +face, deprived of the lustre of her eyes, looked wan and pinched, and had +a pathetic expression in it, even as she slept. The poor father looked +and looked with hungry, wistful eyes, into which the big tears came +swelling up slowly, and dropped heavily down, as he stood trembling and +shaking all over. Norah was angry with herself for growing impatient of +the length of time that long lingering gaze lasted. She thought that she +waited for full half-an-hour before Frank stirred. And then--instead of +going away--he sank down on his knees by the bedside, and buried his face +in the clothes. Little Ailsie stirred uneasily. Norah pulled him up in +terror. She could afford no more time even for prayer in her extremity +of fear; for surely the next moment would bring her mistress home. She +took him forcibly by the arm; but, as he was going, his eye lighted on +the other bed: he stopped. Intelligence came back into his face. His +hands clenched. + +"His child?" he asked. + +"Her child," replied Norah. "God watches over him," said she +instinctively; for Frank's looks excited her fears, and she needed to +remind herself of the Protector of the helpless. + +"God has not watched over me," he said, in despair; his thoughts +apparently recoiling on his own desolate, deserted state. But Norah had +no time for pity. To-morrow she would be as compassionate as her heart +prompted. At length she guided him downstairs and shut the outer door +and bolted it--as if by bolts to keep out facts. + +Then she went back into the dining-room and effaced all traces of his +presence as far as she could. She went upstairs to the nursery and sate +there, her head on her hand, thinking what was to come of all this +misery. It seemed to her very long before they did return; yet it was +hardly eleven o'clock. She so heard the loud, hearty Lancashire voices +on the stairs; and, for the first time, she understood the contrast of +the desolation of the poor man who had so lately gone forth in lonely +despair. + +It almost put her out of patience to see Mrs. Openshaw come in, calmly +smiling, handsomely dressed, happy, easy, to inquire after her children. + +"Did Ailsie go to sleep comfortably?" she whispered to Norah. + +"Yes." + +Her mother bent over her, looking at her slumbers with the soft eyes of +love. How little she dreamed who had looked on her last! Then she went +to Edwin, with perhaps less wistful anxiety in her countenance, but more +of pride. She took off her things, to go down to supper. Norah saw her +no more that night. + +Beside the door into the passage, the sleeping-nursery opened out of Mr. +and Mrs. Openshaw's room, in order that they might have the children more +immediately under their own eyes. Early the next summer morning Mrs. +Openshaw was awakened by Ailsie's startled call of "Mother! mother!" She +sprang up, put on her dressing-gown, and went to her child. Ailsie was +only half awake, and in a not uncommon state of terror. + +"Who was he, mother? Tell me!" + +"Who, my darling? No one is here. You have been dreaming love. Waken +up quite. See, it is broad daylight." + +"Yes," said Ailsie, looking round her; then clinging to her mother, said, +"but a man was here in the night, mother." + +"Nonsense, little goose. No man has ever come near you!" + +"Yes, he did. He stood there. Just by Norah. A man with hair and a +beard. And he knelt down and said his prayers. Norah knows he was here, +mother" (half angrily, as Mrs. Openshaw shook her head in smiling +incredulity). + +"Well! we will ask Norah when she comes," said Mrs. Openshaw, soothingly. +"But we won't talk any more about him now. It is not five o'clock; it is +too early for you to get up. Shall I fetch you a book and read to you?" + +"Don't leave me, mother," said the child, clinging to her. So Mrs. +Openshaw sate on the bedside talking to Ailsie, and telling her of what +they had done at Richmond the evening before, until the little girl's +eyes slowly closed and she once more fell asleep. + +"What was the matter?" asked Mr. Openshaw, as his wife returned to bed. +"Ailsie wakened up in a fright, with some story of a man having been in +the room to say his prayers,--a dream, I suppose." And no more was said +at the time. + +Mrs. Openshaw had almost forgotten the whole affair when she got up about +seven o'clock. But, bye-and-bye, she heard a sharp altercation going on +in the nursery. Norah speaking angrily to Ailsie, a most unusual thing. +Both Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw listened in astonishment. + +"Hold your tongue, Ailsie; let me hear none of your dreams; never let me +hear you tell that story again!" Ailsie began to cry. + +Mr. Openshaw opened the door of communication before his wife could say a +word. + +"Norah, come here!" + +The nurse stood at the door, defiant. She perceived she had been heard, +but she was desperate. + +"Don't let me hear you speak in that manner to Ailsie again," he said +sternly, and shut the door. + +Norah was infinitely relieved; for she had dreaded some questioning; and +a little blame for sharp speaking was what she could well bear, if cross- +examination was let alone. + +Down-stairs they went, Mr. Openshaw carrying Ailsie; the sturdy Edwin +coming step by step, right foot foremost, always holding his mother's +hand. Each child was placed in a chair by the breakfast-table, and then +Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw stood together at the window, awaiting their +visitors' appearance and making plans for the day. There was a pause. +Suddenly Mr. Openshaw turned to Ailsie, and said: + +"What a little goosy somebody is with her dreams, waking up poor, tired +mother in the middle of the night with a story of a man being in the +room." + +"Father! I'm sure I saw him," said Ailsie, half crying. "I don't want +to make Norah angry; but I was not asleep, for all she says I was. I had +been asleep,--and I awakened up quite wide awake though I was so +frightened. I kept my eyes nearly shut, and I saw the man quite plain. A +great brown man with a beard. He said his prayers. And then he looked +at Edwin. And then Norah took him by the arm and led him away, after +they had whispered a bit together." + +"Now, my little woman must be reasonable," said Mr. Openshaw, who was +always patient with Ailsie. "There was no man in the house last night at +all. No man comes into the house as you know, if you think; much less +goes up into the nursery. But sometimes we dream something has happened, +and the dream is so like reality, that you are not the first person, +little woman, who has stood out that the thing has really happened." + +"But, indeed it was not a dream!" said Ailsie, beginning to cry. + +Just then Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick came down, looking grave and discomposed. +All during breakfast time they were silent and uncomfortable. As soon as +the breakfast things were taken away, and the children had been carried +up-stairs, Mr. Chadwick began in an evidently preconcerted manner to +inquire if his nephew was certain that all his servants were honest; for, +that Mrs. Chadwick had that morning missed a very valuable brooch, which +she had worn the day before. She remembered taking it off when she came +home from Buckingham Palace. Mr. Openshaw's face contracted into hard +lines: grew like what it was before he had known his wife and her child. +He rang the bell even before his uncle had done speaking. It was +answered by the housemaid. + +"Mary, was any one here last night while we were away?" + +"A man, sir, came to speak to Norah." + +"To speak to Norah! Who was he? How long did he stay?" + +"I'm sure I can't tell, sir. He came--perhaps about nine. I went up to +tell Norah in the nursery, and she came down to speak to him. She let +him out, sir. She will know who he was, and how long he stayed." + +She waited a moment to be asked any more questions, but she was not, so +she went away. + +A minute afterwards Openshaw made as though he were going out of the +room; but his wife laid her hand on his arm: + +"Do not speak to her before the children," she said, in her low, quiet +voice. "I will go up and question her." + +"No! I must speak to her. You must know," said he, turning to his uncle +and aunt, "my missus has an old servant, as faithful as ever woman was, I +do believe, as far as love goes,--but, at the same time, who does not +always speak truth, as even the missus must allow. Now, my notion is, +that this Norah of ours has been come over by some good-for-nothin chap +(for she's at the time o' life when they say women pray for +husbands--'any, good Lord, any,') and has let him into our house, and the +chap has made off with your brooch, and m'appen many another thing +beside. It's only saying that Norah is soft-hearted, and does not stick +at a white lie--that's all, missus." + +It was curious to notice how his tone, his eyes, his whole face changed +as he spoke to his wife; but he was the resolute man through all. She +knew better than to oppose him; so she went up-stairs, and told Norah her +master wanted to speak to her, and that she would take care of the +children in the meanwhile. + +Norah rose to go without a word. Her thoughts were these: + +"If they tear me to pieces they shall never know through me. He may +come,--and then just Lord have mercy upon us all: for some of us are dead +folk to a certainty. But he shall do it; not me." + +You may fancy, now, her look of determination as she faced her master +alone in the dining-room; Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick having left the affair in +their nephew's hands, seeing that he took it up with such vehemence. + +"Norah! Who was that man that came to my house last night?" + +"Man, sir!" As if infinitely; surprised but it was only to gain time. + +"Yes; the man whom Mary let in; whom she went up-stairs to the nursery to +tell you about; whom you came down to speak to; the same chap, I make no +doubt, whom you took into the nursery to have your talk out with; whom +Ailsie saw, and afterwards dreamed about; thinking, poor wench! she saw +him say his prayers, when nothing, I'll be bound, was farther from his +thoughts; who took Mrs. Chadwick's brooch, value ten pounds. Now, Norah! +Don't go off! I am as sure as that my name's Thomas Openshaw, that you +knew nothing of this robbery. But I do think you've been imposed on, and +that's the truth. Some good-for-nothing chap has been making up to you, +and you've been just like all other women, and have turned a soft place +in your heart to him; and he came last night a-lovyering, and you had him +up in the nursery, and he made use of his opportunities, and made off +with a few things on his way down! Come, now, Norah: it's no blame to +you, only you must not be such a fool again. Tell us," he continued, +"what name he gave you, Norah? I'll be bound it was not the right one; +but it will be a clue for the police." + +Norah drew herself up. "You may ask that question, and taunt me with my +being single, and with my credulity, as you will, Master Openshaw. You'll +get no answer from me. As for the brooch, and the story of theft and +burglary; if any friend ever came to see me (which I defy you to prove, +and deny), he'd be just as much above doing such a thing as you yourself, +Mr. Openshaw, and more so, too; for I'm not at all sure as everything you +have is rightly come by, or would be yours long, if every man had his +own." She meant, of course, his wife; but he understood her to refer to +his property in goods and chattels. + +"Now, my good woman," said he, "I'll just tell you truly, I never trusted +you out and out; but my wife liked you, and I thought you had many a good +point about you. If you once begin to sauce me, I'll have the police to +you, and get out the truth in a court of justice, if you'll not tell it +me quietly and civilly here. Now the best thing you can do is quietly to +tell me who the fellow is. Look here! a man comes to my house; asks for +you; you take him up-stairs, a valuable brooch is missing next day; we +know that you, and Mary, and cook, are honest; but you refuse to tell us +who the man is. Indeed you've told one lie already about him, saying no +one was here last night. Now I just put it to you, what do you think a +policeman would say to this, or a magistrate? A magistrate would soon +make you tell the truth, my good woman." + +"There's never the creature born that should get it out of me," said +Norah. "Not unless I choose to tell." + +"I've a great mind to see," said Mr. Openshaw, growing angry at the +defiance. Then, checking himself, he thought before he spoke again: + +"Norah, for your missus's sake I don't want to go to extremities. Be a +sensible woman, if you can. It's no great disgrace, after all, to have +been taken in. I ask you once more--as a friend--who was this man whom +you let into my house last night?" + +No answer. He repeated the question in an impatient tone. Still no +answer. Norah's lips were set in determination not to speak. + +"Then there is but one thing to be done. I shall send for a policeman." + +"You will not," said Norah, starting forwards. "You shall not, sir! No +policeman shall touch me. I know nothing of the brooch, but I know this: +ever since I was four-and-twenty I have thought more of your wife than of +myself: ever since I saw her, a poor motherless girl put upon in her +uncle's house, I have thought more of serving her than of serving myself! +I have cared for her and her child, as nobody ever cared for me. I don't +cast blame on you, sir, but I say it's ill giving up one's life to any +one; for, at the end, they will turn round upon you, and forsake you. Why +does not my missus come herself to suspect me? Maybe she is gone for the +police? But I don't stay here, either for police, or magistrate, or +master. You're an unlucky lot. I believe there's a curse on you. I'll +leave you this very day. Yes! I leave that poor Ailsie, too. I will! +No good will ever come to you!" + +Mr. Openshaw was utterly astonished at this speech; most of which was +completely unintelligible to him, as may easily be supposed. Before he +could make up his mind what to say, or what to do, Norah had left the +room. I do not think he had ever really intended to send for the police +to this old servant of his wife's; for he had never for a moment doubted +her perfect honesty. But he had intended to compel her to tell him who +the man was, and in this he was baffled. He was, consequently, much +irritated. He returned to his uncle and aunt in a state of great +annoyance and perplexity, and told them he could get nothing out of the +woman; that some man had been in the house the night before; but that she +refused to tell who he was. At this moment his wife came in, greatly +agitated, and asked what had happened to Norah; for that she had put on +her things in passionate haste, and had left the house. + +"This looks suspicious," said Mr. Chadwick. "It is not the way in which +an honest person would have acted." + +Mr. Openshaw kept silence. He was sorely perplexed. But Mrs. Openshaw +turned round on Mr. Chadwick with a sudden fierceness no one ever saw in +her before. + +"You don't know Norah, uncle! She is gone because she is deeply hurt at +being suspected. O, I wish I had seen her--that I had spoken to her +myself. She would have told me anything." Alice wrung her hands. + +"I must confess," continued Mr. Chadwick to his nephew, in a lower voice, +"I can't make you out. You used to be a word and a blow, and oftenest +the blow first; and now, when there is every cause for suspicion, you +just do nought. Your missus is a very good woman, I grant; but she may +have been put upon as well as other folk, I suppose. If you don't send +for the police, I shall." + +"Very well," replied Mr. Openshaw, surlily. "I can't clear Norah. She +won't clear herself, as I believe she might if she would. Only I wash my +hands of it; for I am sure the woman herself is honest, and she's lived a +long time with my wife, and I don't like her to come to shame." + +"But she will then be forced to clear herself. That, at any rate, will +be a good thing." + +"Very well, very well! I am heart-sick of the whole business. Come, +Alice, come up to the babies they'll be in a sore way. I tell you, +uncle!" he said, turning round once more to Mr. Chadwick, suddenly and +sharply, after his eye had fallen on Alice's wan, tearful, anxious face; +"I'll have none sending for the police after all. I'll buy my aunt twice +as handsome a brooch this very day; but I'll not have Norah suspected, +and my missus plagued. There's for you." + +He and his wife left the room. Mr. Chadwick quietly waited till he was +out of hearing, and then aid to his wife; "For all Tom's heroics, I'm +just quietly going for a detective, wench. Thou need'st know nought +about it." + +He went to the police-station, and made a statement of the case. He was +gratified by the impression which the evidence against Norah seemed to +make. The men all agreed in his opinion, and steps were to be +immediately taken to find out where she was. Most probably, as they +suggested, she had gone at once to the man, who, to all appearance, was +her lover. When Mr. Chadwick asked how they would find her out? they +smiled, shook their heads, and spoke of mysterious but infallible ways +and means. He returned to his nephew's house with a very comfortable +opinion of his own sagacity. He was met by his wife with a penitent +face: + +"O master, I've found my brooch! It was just sticking by its pin in the +flounce of my brown silk, that I wore yesterday. I took it off in a +hurry, and it must have caught in it; and I hung up my gown in the +closet. Just now, when I was going to fold it up, there was the brooch! +I'm very vexed, but I never dreamt but what it was lost!" + +Her husband muttering something very like "Confound thee and thy brooch +too! I wish I'd never given it thee," snatched up his hat, and rushed +back to the station; hoping to be in time to stop the police from +searching for Norah. But a detective was already gone off on the errand. + +Where was Norah? Half mad with the strain of the fearful secret, she had +hardly slept through the night for thinking what must be done. Upon this +terrible state of mind had come Ailsie's questions, showing that she had +seen the Man, as the unconscious child called her father. Lastly came +the suspicion of her honesty. She was little less than crazy as she ran +up-stairs and dashed on her bonnet and shawl; leaving all else, even her +purse, behind her. In that house she would not stay. That was all she +knew or was clear about. She would not even see the children again, for +fear it should weaken her. She feared above everything Mr. Frank's +return to claim his wife. She could not tell what remedy there was for a +sorrow so tremendous, for her to stay to witness. The desire of escaping +from the coming event was a stronger motive for her departure than her +soreness about the suspicions directed against her; although this last +had been the final goad to the course she took. She walked away almost +at headlong speed; sobbing as she went, as she had not dared to do during +the past night for fear of exciting wonder in those who might hear her. +Then she stopped. An idea came into her mind that she would leave London +altogether, and betake herself to her native town of Liverpool. She felt +in her pocket for her purse, as she drew near the Euston Square station +with this intention. She had left it at home. Her poor head aching, her +eyes swollen with crying, she had to stand still, and think, as well as +she could, where next she should bend her steps. Suddenly the thought +flashed into her mind that she would go and find out poor Mr. Frank. She +had been hardly kind to him the night before, though her heart had bled +for him ever since. She remembered his telling her as she inquired for +his address, almost as she had pushed him out of the door, of some hotel +in a street not far distant from Euston Square. Thither she went: with +what intention she hardly knew, but to assuage her conscience by telling +him how much she pitied him. In her present state she felt herself unfit +to counsel, or restrain, or assist, or do ought else but sympathise and +weep. The people of the inn said such a person had been there; had +arrived only the day before; had gone out soon after his arrival, leaving +his luggage in their care; but had never come back. Norah asked for +leave to sit down, and await the gentleman's return. The landlady--pretty +secure in the deposit of luggage against any probable injury--showed her +into a room, and quietly locked the door on the outside. Norah was +utterly worn out, and fell asleep--a shivering, starting, uneasy slumber, +which lasted for hours. + +The detective, meanwhile, had come up with her some time before she +entered the hotel, into which he followed her. Asking the landlady to +detain her for an hour or so, without giving any reason beyond showing +his authority (which made the landlady applaud herself a good deal for +having locked her in), he went back to the police-station to report his +proceedings. He could have taken her directly; but his object was, if +possible, to trace out the man who was supposed to have committed the +robbery. Then he heard of the discovery of the brooch; and consequently +did not care to return. + +Norah slept till even the summer evening began to close in. Then up. +Some one was at the door. It would be Mr. Frank; and she dizzily pushed +back her ruffled grey hair, which had fallen over her eyes, and stood +looking to see him. Instead, there came in Mr. Openshaw and a policeman. + +"This is Norah Kennedy," said Mr. Openshaw. + +"O, sir," said Norah, "I did not touch the brooch; indeed I did not. O, +sir, I cannot live to be thought so badly of;" and very sick and faint, +she suddenly sank down on the ground. To her surprise, Mr. Openshaw +raised her up very tenderly. Even the policeman helped to lay her on the +sofa; and, at Mr. Openshaw's desire, he went for some wine and +sandwiches; for the poor gaunt woman lay there almost as if dead with +weariness and exhaustion. + +"Norah!" said Mr. Openshaw, in his kindest voice, "the brooch is found. +It was hanging to Mrs. Chadwick's gown. I beg your pardon. Most truly I +beg your pardon, for having troubled you about it. My wife is almost +broken-hearted. Eat, Norah,--or, stay, first drink this glass of wine," +said he, lifting her head, pouring a little down her throat. + +As she drank, she remembered where she was, and who she was waiting for. +She suddenly pushed Mr. Openshaw away, saying, "O, sir, you must go. You +must not stop a minute. If he comes back he will kill you." + +"Alas, Norah! I do not know who 'he' is. But some one is gone away who +will never come back: someone who knew you, and whom I am afraid you +cared for." + +"I don't understand you, sir," said Norah, her master's kind and +sorrowful manner bewildering her yet more than his words. The policeman +had left the room at Mr. Openshaw's desire, and they two were alone. + +"You know what I mean, when I say some one is gone who will never come +back. I mean that he is dead!" + +"Who?" said Norah, trembling all over. + +"A poor man has been found in the Thames this morning, drowned." + +"Did he drown himself?" asked Norah, solemnly. + +"God only knows," replied Mr. Openshaw, in the same tone. "Your name and +address at our house, were found in his pocket: that, and his purse, were +the only things, that were found upon him. I am sorry to say it, my poor +Norah; but you are required to go and identify him." + +"To what?" asked Norah. + +"To say who it is. It is always done, in order that some reason may be +discovered for the suicide--if suicide it was. I make no doubt he was +the man who came to see you at our house last night. It is very sad, I +know." He made pauses between each little clause, in order to try and +bring back her senses; which he feared were wandering--so wild and sad +was her look. + +"Master Openshaw," said she, at last, "I've a dreadful secret to tell +you--only you must never breathe it to any one, and you and I must hide +it away for ever. I thought to have done it all by myself, but I see I +cannot. Yon poor man--yes! the dead, drowned creature is, I fear, Mr. +Frank, my mistress's first husband!" + +Mr. Openshaw sate down, as if shot. He did not speak; but, after a +while, he signed to Norah to go on. + +"He came to me the other night--when--God be thanked--you were all away +at Richmond. He asked me if his wife was dead or alive. I was a brute, +and thought more of our all coming home than of his sore trial: spoke out +sharp, and said she was married again, and very content and happy: I all +but turned him away: and now he lies dead and cold!" + +"God forgive me!" said Mr. Openshaw. + +"God forgive us all!" said Norah. "Yon poor man needs forgiveness +perhaps less than any one among us. He had been among the +savages--shipwrecked--I know not what--and he had written letters which +had never reached my poor missus." + +"He saw his child!" + +"He saw her--yes! I took him up, to give his thoughts another start; for +I believed he was going mad on my hands. I came to seek him here, as I +more than half promised. My mind misgave me when I heard he had never +come in. O, sir I it must be him!" + +Mr. Openshaw rang the bell. Norah was almost too much stunned to wonder +at what he did. He asked for writing materials, wrote a letter, and then +said to Norah: + +"I am writing to Alice, to say I shall be unavoidably absent for a few +days; that I have found you; that you are well, and send her your love, +and will come home to-morrow. You must go with me to the Police Court; +you must identify the body: I will pay high to keep name; and details out +of the papers. + +"But where are you going, sir?" + +He did not answer her directly. Then he said: + +"Norah! I must go with you, and look on the face of the man whom I have +so injured,--unwittingly, it is true; but it seems to me as if I had +killed him. I will lay his head in the grave, as if he were my only +brother: and how he must have hated me! I cannot go home to my wife till +all that I can do for him is done. Then I go with a dreadful secret on +my mind. I shall never speak of it again, after these days are over. I +know you will not, either." He shook hands with her: and they never +named the subject again, the one to the other. + +Norah went home to Alice the next day. Not a word was said on the cause +of her abrupt departure a day or two before. Alice had been charged by +her husband in his letter not to allude to the supposed theft of the +brooch; so she, implicitly obedient to those whom she loved both by +nature and habit, was entirely silent on the subject, only treated Norah +with the most tender respect, as if to make up for unjust suspicion. + +Nor did Alice inquire into the reason why Mr. Openshaw had been absent +during his uncle and aunt's visit, after he had once said that it was +unavoidable. He came back, grave and quiet; and, from that time forth, +was curiously changed. More thoughtful, and perhaps less active; quite +as decided in conduct, but with new and different rules for the guidance +of that conduct. Towards Alice he could hardly be more kind than he had +always been; but he now seemed to look upon her as some one sacred and to +be treated with reverence, as well as tenderness. He throve in business, +and made a large fortune, one half of which was settled upon her. + +* * * * * + +Long years after these events,--a few months after her mother died, +Ailsie and her "father" (as she always called Mr. Openshaw) drove to a +cemetery a little way out of town, and she was carried to a certain mound +by her maid, who was then sent back to the carriage. There was a head- +stone, with F. W. and a date. That was all. Sitting by the grave, Mr. +Openshaw told her the story; and for the sad fate of that poor father +whom she had never seen, he shed the only tears she ever saw fall from +his eyes. + +* * * * * + +"A most interesting story, all through," I said, as Jarber folded up the +first of his series of discoveries in triumph. "A story that goes +straight to the heart--especially at the end. But"--I stopped, and +looked at Trottle. + +Trottle entered his protest directly in the shape of a cough. + +"Well!" I said, beginning to lose my patience. "Don't you see that I +want you to speak, and that I don't want you to cough?" + +"Quite so, ma'am," said Trottle, in a state of respectful obstinacy which +would have upset the temper of a saint. "Relative, I presume, to this +story, ma'am?" + +"Yes, Yes!" said Jarber. "By all means let us hear what this good man +has to say." + +"Well, sir," answered Trottle, "I want to know why the House over the way +doesn't let, and I don't exactly see how your story answers the question. +That's all I have to say, sir." + +I should have liked to contradict my opinionated servant, at that moment. +But, excellent as the story was in itself, I felt that he had hit on the +weak point, so far as Jarber's particular purpose in reading it was +concerned. + +"And that is what you have to say, is it?" repeated Jarber. "I enter +this room announcing that I have a series of discoveries, and you jump +instantly to the conclusion that the first of the series exhausts my +resources. Have I your permission, dear lady, to enlighten this obtuse +person, if possible, by reading Number Two?" + +"My work is behindhand, ma'am," said Trottle, moving to the door, the +moment I gave Jarber leave to go on. + +"Stop where you are," I said, in my most peremptory manner, "and give Mr. +Jarber his fair opportunity of answering your objection now you have made +it." + +Trottle sat down with the look of a martyr, and Jarber began to read with +his back turned on the enemy more decidedly than ever. + + + + +GOING INTO SOCIETY + + +At one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupation of a +Showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish books of +the time when he rented the House, and there was therefore no need of any +clue to his name. But, he himself was less easy to be found; for, he had +led a wandering life, and settled people had lost sight of him, and +people who plumed themselves on being respectable were shy of admitting +that they had ever known anything of him. At last, among the marsh lands +near the river's level, that lie about Deptford and the neighbouring +market-gardens, a Grizzled Personage in velveteen, with a face so cut up +by varieties of weather that he looked as if he had been tattooed, was +found smoking a pipe at the door of a wooden house on wheels. The wooden +house was laid up in ordinary for the winter, near the mouth of a muddy +creek; and everything near it, the foggy river, the misty marshes, and +the steaming market-gardens, smoked in company with the grizzled man. In +the midst of this smoking party, the funnel-chimney of the wooden house +on wheels was not remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in a +companionable manner. + +On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let, +Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name was +Magsman? That was it, Toby Magsman--which lawfully christened Robert; +but called in the line, from a infant, Toby. There was nothing agin Toby +Magsman, he believed? If there was suspicion of such--mention it! + +There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But, some +inquiries were making about that House, and would he object to say why he +left it? + +Not at all; why should he? He left it, along of a Dwarf. + +Along of a Dwarf? + +Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, Along of a Dwarf. + +Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman's inclination and convenience to +enter, as a favour, into a few particulars? + +Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars. + +It was a long time ago, to begin with;--afore lotteries and a deal more +was done away with. Mr. Magsman was looking about for a good pitch, and +he see that house, and he says to himself, "I'll have you, if you're to +be had. If money'll get you, I'll have you." + +The neighbours cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman don't +know what they _would_ have had. It was a lovely thing. First of all, +there was the canvass, representin the picter of the Giant, in Spanish +trunks and a ruff, who was himself half the heighth of the house, and was +run up with a line and pulley to a pole on the roof, so that his Ed was +coeval with the parapet. Then, there was the canvass, representin the +picter of the Albina lady, showing her white air to the Army and Navy in +correct uniform. Then, there was the canvass, representin the picter of +the Wild Indian a scalpin a member of some foreign nation. Then, there +was the canvass, representin the picter of a child of a British Planter, +seized by two Boa Constrictors--not that _we_ never had no child, nor no +Constrictors neither. Similarly, there was the canvass, representin the +picter of the Wild Ass of the Prairies--not that _we_ never had no wild +asses, nor wouldn't have had 'em at a gift. Last, there was the canvass, +representin the picter of the Dwarf, and like him too (considerin), with +George the Fourth in such a state of astonishment at him as His Majesty +couldn't with his utmost politeness and stoutness express. The front of +the House was so covered with canvasses, that there wasn't a spark of +daylight ever visible on that side. "MAGSMAN'S AMUSEMENTS," fifteen foot +long by two foot high, ran over the front door and parlour winders. The +passage was a Arbour of green baize and gardenstuff. A barrel-organ +performed there unceasing. And as to respectability,--if threepence +ain't respectable, what is? + +But, the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth the +money. He was wrote up as MAJOR TPSCHOFFKI, OF THE IMPERIAL BULGRADERIAN +BRIGADE. Nobody couldn't pronounce the name, and it never was intended +anybody should. The public always turned it, as a regular rule, into +Chopski. In the line he was called Chops; partly on that account, and +partly because his real name, if he ever had any real name (which was +very dubious), was Stakes. + +He was a uncommon small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he +was made out to be, but where _is_ your Dwarf as is? He was a most +uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and what he had inside +that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin himself to have +ever took stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him +to do. + +The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When +he travelled with the Spotted Baby--though he knowed himself to be a +nat'ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby's spots to be put upon him artificial, +he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name +to a Giant. He _did_ allow himself to break out into strong language +respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art; +and when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference +giv to a Indian, he ain't master of his actions. + +He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And +he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as +could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the +Curiosities they are. + +One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant +something, or it wouldn't have been there. It was always his opinion +that he was entitled to property. He never would put his name to +anything. He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms, +who got his living with his toes (quite a writing master _he_ was, and +taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death, afore +he'd have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is +the more curious to bear in mind, because HE had no property, nor hope of +property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean +the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'lar six-roomer, that he +used to creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on +his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public believed to +be the Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney +sarser in which he made a collection for himself at the end of every +Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: "Ladies and gentlemen, +the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire +behind the curtain." When he said anything important, in private life, +he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and they was generally the +last thing he said to me at night afore he went to bed. + +He had what I consider a fine mind--a poetic mind. His ideas respectin +his property never come upon him so strong as when he sat upon a barrel- +organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run through him +a little time, he would screech out, "Toby, I feel my property +coming--grind away! I'm counting my guineas by thousands, Toby--grind +away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I feel the Mint a jingling in +me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the Bank of England!" Such is the +influence of music on a poetic mind. Not that he was partial to any +other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it. + +He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a thing +you may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out of it. What +riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that it kep him out of +Society. He was continiwally saying, "Toby, my ambition is, to go into +Society. The curse of my position towards the Public is, that it keeps +me hout of Society. This don't signify to a low beast of a Indian; he +an't formed for Society. This don't signify to a Spotted Baby; _he_ an't +formed for Society.--I am." + +Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had a +good salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came round, +besides having the run of his teeth--and he was a Woodpecker to eat--but +all Dwarfs are. The sarser was a little income, bringing him in so many +halfpence that he'd carry 'em for a week together, tied up in a pocket- +handkercher. And yet he never had money. And it couldn't be the Fat +Lady from Norfolk, as was once supposed; because it stands to reason that +when you have a animosity towards a Indian, which makes you grind your +teeth at him to his face, and which can hardly hold you from Goosing him +audible when he's going through his War-Dance--it stands to reason you +wouldn't under them circumstances deprive yourself, to support that +Indian in the lap of luxury. + +Most unexpected, the mystery come out one day at Egham Races. The Public +was shy of bein pulled in, and Chops was ringin his little bell out of +his drawing-room winder, and was snarlin to me over his shoulder as he +kneeled down with his legs out at the back-door--for he couldn't be +shoved into his house without kneeling down, and the premises wouldn't +accommodate his legs--was snarlin, "Here's a precious Public for you; why +the Devil don't they tumble up?" when a man in the crowd holds up a +carrier-pigeon, and cries out, "If there's any person here as has got a +ticket, the Lottery's just drawed, and the number as has come up for the +great prize is three, seven, forty-two! Three, seven, forty-two!" I was +givin the man to the Furies myself, for calling off the Public's +attention--for the Public will turn away, at any time, to look at +anything in preference to the thing showed 'em; and if you doubt it, get +'em together for any indiwidual purpose on the face of the earth, and +send only two people in late, and see if the whole company an't far more +interested in takin particular notice of them two than of you--I say, I +wasn't best pleased with the man for callin out, and wasn't blessin him +in my own mind, when I see Chops's little bell fly out of winder at a old +lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, exposin the whole secret, +and he catches hold of the calves of my legs and he says to me, "Carry me +into the wan, Toby, and throw a pail of water over me or I'm a dead man, +for I've come into my property!" + +Twelve thousand odd hundred pound, was Chops's winnins. He had bought a +half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and it had come up. The +first use he made of his property, was, to offer to fight the Wild Indian +for five hundred pound a side, him with a poisoned darnin-needle and the +Indian with a club; but the Indian being in want of backers to that +amount, it went no further. + +Arter he had been mad for a week--in a state of mind, in short, in which, +if I had let him sit on the organ for only two minutes, I believe he +would have bust--but we kep the organ from him--Mr. Chops come round, and +behaved liberal and beautiful to all. He then sent for a young man he +knowed, as had a wery genteel appearance and was a Bonnet at a gaming- +booth (most respectable brought up, father havin been imminent in the +livery stable line but unfort'nate in a commercial crisis, through +paintin a old gray, ginger-bay, and sellin him with a Pedigree), and Mr. +Chops said to this Bonnet, who said his name was Normandy, which it +wasn't: + +"Normandy, I'm a goin into Society. Will you go with me?" + +Says Normandy: "Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate that the +'ole of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?" + +"Correct," says Mr. Chops. "And you shall have a Princely allowance +too." + +The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair, to shake hands with him, and +replied in poetry, with his eyes seemingly full of tears: + +"My boat is on the shore, +And my bark is on the sea, +And I do not ask for more, +But I'll Go:--along with thee." + +They went into Society, in a chay and four grays with silk jackets. They +took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away. + +In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the autumn +of next year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk-white cords and +tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one evening appinted. The +gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and Mr. Chops's eyes was more +fixed in that Ed of his than I thought good for him. There was three of +'em (in company, I mean), and I knowed the third well. When last met, he +had on a white Roman shirt, and a bishop's mitre covered with leopard- +skin, and played the clarionet all wrong, in a band at a Wild Beast Show. + +This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said: "Gentlemen, this is +a old friend of former days:" and Normandy looked at me through a eye- +glass, and said, "Magsman, glad to see you!"--which I'll take my oath he +wasn't. Mr. Chops, to git him convenient to the table, had his chair on +a throne (much of the form of George the Fourth's in the canvass), but he +hardly appeared to me to be King there in any other pint of view, for his +two gentlemen ordered about like Emperors. They was all dressed like May- +Day--gorgeous!--And as to Wine, they swam in all sorts. + +I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had done it), +and then mixed 'em all together (to say I had done it), and then tried +two of 'em as half-and-half, and then t'other two. Altogether, I passed +a pleasin evenin, but with a tendency to feel muddled, until I considered +it good manners to get up and say, "Mr. Chops, the best of friends must +part, I thank you for the wariety of foreign drains you have stood so +'ansome, I looks towards you in red wine, and I takes my leave." Mr. +Chops replied, "If you'll just hitch me out of this over your right arm, +Magsman, and carry me down-stairs, I'll see you out." I said I couldn't +think of such a thing, but he would have it, so I lifted him off his +throne. He smelt strong of Maideary, and I couldn't help thinking as I +carried him down that it was like carrying a large bottle full of wine, +with a rayther ugly stopper, a good deal out of proportion. + +When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kep me close to him by +holding on to my coat-collar, and he whispers: + +"I ain't 'appy, Magsman." + +"What's on your mind, Mr. Chops?" + +"They don't use me well. They an't grateful to me. They puts me on the +mantel-piece when I won't have in more Champagne-wine, and they locks me +in the sideboard when I won't give up my property." + +"Get rid of 'em, Mr. Chops." + +"I can't. We're in Society together, and what would Society say?" + +"Come out of Society!" says I. + +"I can't. You don't know what you're talking about. When you have once +gone into Society, you mustn't come out of it." + +"Then if you'll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops," were my remark, shaking +my head grave, "I think it's a pity you ever went in." + +Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his, to a surprisin extent, and slapped +it half a dozen times with his hand, and with more Wice than I thought +were in him. Then, he says, "You're a good fellow, but you don't +understand. Good-night, go along. Magsman, the little man will now walk +three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain." The last +I see of him on that occasion was his tryin, on the extremest werge of +insensibility, to climb up the stairs, one by one, with his hands and +knees. They'd have been much too steep for him, if he had been sober; +but he wouldn't be helped. + +It warn't long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. Chops's +being presented at court. It was printed, "It will be recollected"--and +I've noticed in my life, that it is sure to be printed that it _will_ be +recollected, whenever it won't--"that Mr. Chops is the individual of +small stature, whose brilliant success in the last State Lottery +attracted so much attention." Well, I says to myself, Such is Life! He +has been and done it in earnest at last. He has astonished George the +Fourth! + +(On account of which, I had that canvass new-painted, him with a bag of +money in his hand, a presentin it to George the Fourth, and a lady in +Ostrich Feathers fallin in love with him in a bag-wig, sword, and buckles +correct.) + +I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries--though not the +honour of bein acquainted--and I run Magsman's Amusements in it thirteen +months--sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin +particular, but always all the canvasses outside. One night, when we had +played the last company out, which was a shy company, through its raining +Heavens hard, I was takin a pipe in the one pair back along with the +young man with the toes, which I had taken on for a month (though he +never drawed--except on paper), and I heard a kickin at the street door. +"Halloa!" I says to the young man, "what's up!" He rubs his eyebrows +with his toes, and he says, "I can't imagine, Mr. Magsman"--which he +never could imagine nothin, and was monotonous company. + +The noise not leavin off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle, +and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street; but +nothin could I see, and nothin was I aware of, until I turned round +quick, because some creetur run between my legs into the passage. There +was Mr. Chops! + +"Magsman," he says, "take me, on the old terms, and you've got me; if +it's done, say done!" + +I was all of a maze, but I said, "Done, sir." + +"Done to your done, and double done!" says he. "Have you got a bit of +supper in the house?" + +Bearin in mind them sparklin warieties of foreign drains as we'd guzzled +away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassages and gin- +and-water; but he took 'em both and took 'em free; havin a chair for his +table, and sittin down at it on a stool, like hold times. I, all of a +maze all the while. + +It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and to the +best of my calculations two pound and a quarter), that the wisdom as was +in that little man began to come out of him like prespiration. + +"Magsman," he says, "look upon me! You see afore you, One as has both +gone into Society and come out." + +"O! You _are_ out of it, Mr. Chops? How did you get out, sir?" + +"SOLD OUT!" says he. You never saw the like of the wisdom as his Ed +expressed, when he made use of them two words. + +"My friend Magsman, I'll impart to you a discovery I've made. It's +wallable; it's cost twelve thousand five hundred pound; it may do you +good in life--The secret of this matter is, that it ain't so much that a +person goes into Society, as that Society goes into a person." + +Not exactly keepin up with his meanin, I shook my head, put on a deep +look, and said, "You're right there, Mr. Chops." + +"Magsman," he says, twitchin me by the leg, "Society has gone into me, to +the tune of every penny of my property." + +I felt that I went pale, and though nat'rally a bold speaker, I couldn't +hardly say, "Where's Normandy?" + +"Bolted. With the plate," said Mr. Chops. + +"And t'other one?" meaning him as formerly wore the bishop's mitre. + +"Bolted. With the jewels," said Mr. Chops. + +I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me. + +"Magsman," he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got +hoarser; "Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of St. +James's, they was all a doing my old business--all a goin three times +round the Cairawan, in the hold court-suits and properties. Elsewheres, +they was most of 'em ringin their little bells out of make-believes. +Everywheres, the sarser was a goin round. Magsman, the sarser is the +uniwersal Institution!" + +I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortunes, and I +felt for Mr. Chops. + +"As to Fat Ladies," he says, giving his head a tremendious one agin the +wall, "there's lots of _them_ in Society, and worse than the original. +_Hers_ was a outrage upon Taste--simply a outrage upon Taste--awakenin +contempt--carryin its own punishment in the form of a Indian." Here he +giv himself another tremendious one. "But _theirs_, Magsman, _theirs_ is +mercenary outrages. Lay in Cashmeer shawls, buy bracelets, strew 'em and +a lot of 'andsome fans and things about your rooms, let it be known that +you give away like water to all as come to admire, and the Fat Ladies +that don't exhibit for so much down upon the drum, will come from all the +pints of the compass to flock about you, whatever you are. They'll drill +holes in your 'art, Magsman, like a Cullender. And when you've no more +left to give, they'll laugh at you to your face, and leave you to have +your bones picked dry by Wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of the Prairies +that you deserve to be!" Here he giv himself the most tremendious one of +all, and dropped. + +I thought he was gone. His Ed was so heavy, and he knocked it so hard, +and he fell so stoney, and the sassagerial disturbance in him must have +been so immense, that I thought he was gone. But, he soon come round +with care, and he sat up on the floor, and he said to me, with wisdom +comin out of his eyes, if ever it come: + +"Magsman! The most material difference between the two states of +existence through which your unhappy friend has passed;" he reached out +his poor little hand, and his tears dropped down on the moustachio which +it was a credit to him to have done his best to grow, but it is not in +mortals to command success,--"the difference this. When I was out of +Society, I was paid light for being seen. When I went into Society, I +paid heavy for being seen. I prefer the former, even if I wasn't forced +upon it. Give me out through the trumpet, in the hold way, to-morrow." + +Arter that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had been iled +all over. But the organ was kep from him, and no allusions was ever +made, when a company was in, to his property. He got wiser every day; +his views of Society and the Public was luminous, bewilderin, awful; and +his Ed got bigger and bigger as his Wisdom expanded it. + +He took well, and pulled 'em in most excellent for nine weeks. At the +expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed one +evenin, the last Company havin been turned out, and the door shut, a wish +to have a little music. + +"Mr. Chops," I said (I never dropped the "Mr." with him; the world might +do it, but not me); "Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in a state of +mind and body to sit upon the organ?" + +His answer was this: "Toby, when next met with on the tramp, I forgive +her and the Indian. And I am." + +It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; but he +sat like a lamb. I will be my belief to my dying day, that I see his Ed +expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great his thoughts was. He +sat out all the changes, and then he come off. + +"Toby," he says, with a quiet smile, "the little man will now walk three +times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain." + +When we called him in the morning, we found him gone into a much better +Society than mine or Pall Mall's. I giv Mr. Chops as comfortable a +funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as Chief, and had the George +the Fourth canvass carried first, in the form of a banner. But, the +House was so dismal arterwards, that I giv it up, and took to the Wan +again. + +* * * * * + +"I don't triumph," said Jarber, folding up the second manuscript, and +looking hard at Trottle. "I don't triumph over this worthy creature. I +merely ask him if he is satisfied now?" + +"How can he be anything else?" I said, answering for Trottle, who sat +obstinately silent. "This time, Jarber, you have not only read us a +delightfully amusing story, but you have also answered the question about +the House. Of course it stands empty now. Who would think of taking it +after it had been turned into a caravan?" I looked at Trottle, as I said +those last words, and Jarber waved his hand indulgently in the same +direction. + +"Let this excellent person speak," said Jarber. "You were about to say, +my good man?"-- + +"I only wished to ask, sir," said Trottle doggedly, "if you could kindly +oblige me with a date or two in connection with that last story?" + +"A date!" repeated Jarber. "What does the man want with dates!" + +"I should be glad to know, with great respect," persisted Trottle, "if +the person named Magsman was the last tenant who lived in the House. It's +my opinion--if I may be excused for giving it--that he most decidedly was +not." + +With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room. + +There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked sadly +discomposed. He had evidently forgotten to inquire about dates; and, in +spite of his magnificent talk about his series of discoveries, it was +quite as plain that the two stories he had just read, had really and +truly exhausted his present stock. I thought myself bound, in common +gratitude, to help him out of his embarrassment by a timely suggestion. +So I proposed that he should come to tea again, on the next Monday +evening, the thirteenth, and should make such inquiries in the meantime, +as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of Trottle's objection. + +He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment, +and took his leave. For the rest of the week I would not encourage +Trottle by allowing him to refer to the House at all. I suspected he was +making his own inquiries about dates, but I put no questions to him. + +On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber came, +punctual to the appointed time. He looked so terribly harassed, that he +was really quite a spectacle of feebleness and fatigue. I saw, at a +glance, that the question of dates had gone against him, that Mr. Magsman +had not been the last tenant of the House, and that the reason of its +emptiness was still to seek. + +"What I have gone through," said Jarber, "words are not eloquent enough +to tell. O Sophonisba, I have begun another series of discoveries! +Accept the last two as stories laid on your shrine; and wait to blame me +for leaving your curiosity unappeased, until you have heard Number +Three." + +Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as much. +Jarber explained to me that we were to have some poetry this time. In +the course of his investigations he had stepped into the Circulating +Library, to seek for information on the one important subject. All the +Library-people knew about the House was, that a female relative of the +last tenant, as they believed, had, just after that tenant left, sent a +little manuscript poem to them which she described as referring to events +that had actually passed in the House; and which she wanted the +proprietor of the Library to publish. She had written no address on her +letter; and the proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to be given back +to her (the publishing of poems not being in his line) when she might +call for it. She had never called for it; and the poem had been lent to +Jarber, at his express request, to read to me. + +Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined to have +him present at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his obstinacy. To +my surprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, that Trottle had +stepped out without saying where. I instantly felt the strongest +possible conviction that he was at his old tricks: and that his stepping +out in the evening, without leave, meant--Philandering. + +Controlling myself on my visitor's account, I dismissed Peggy, stifled my +indignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to listen to Jarber. + + + + +THREE EVENINGS IN THE HOUSE + + +NUMBER ONE. + + +I. + +Yes, it look'd dark and dreary +That long and narrow street: +Only the sound of the rain, +And the tramp of passing feet, +The duller glow of the fire, +And gathering mists of night +To mark how slow and weary +The long day's cheerless flight! + +II. + +Watching the sullen fire, +Hearing the dreary rain, +Drop after drop, run down +On the darkening window-pane; +Chill was the heart of Bertha, +Chill as that winter day,-- +For the star of her life had risen +Only to fade away. + +III. + +The voice that had been so strong +To bid the snare depart, +The true and earnest will, +And the calm and steadfast heart, +Were now weigh'd down by sorrow, +Were quivering now with pain; +The clear path now seem'd clouded, +And all her grief in vain. + +IV. + +Duty, Right, Truth, who promised +To help and save their own, +Seem'd spreading wide their pinions +To leave her there alone. +So, turning from the Present +To well-known days of yore, +She call'd on them to strengthen +And guard her soul once more. + +V. + +She thought how in her girlhood +Her life was given away, +The solemn promise spoken +She kept so well to-day; +How to her brother Herbert +She had been help and guide, +And how his artist-nature +On her calm strength relied. + +VI. + +How through life's fret and turmoil +The passion and fire of art +In him was soothed and quicken'd +By her true sister heart; +How future hopes had always +Been for his sake alone; +And now, what strange new feeling +Possess'd her as its own? + +VII. + +Her home; each flower that breathed there; +The wind's sigh, soft and low; +Each trembling spray of ivy; +The river's murmuring flow; +The shadow of the forest; +Sunset, or twilight dim; +Dear as they were, were dearer +By leaving them for him. + +VIII. + +And each year as it found her +In the dull, feverish town, +Saw self still more forgotten, +And selfish care kept down +By the calm joy of evening +That brought him to her side, +To warn him with wise counsel, +Or praise with tender pride. + +IX. + +Her heart, her life, her future, +Her genius, only meant +Another thing to give him, +And be therewith content. +To-day, what words had stirr'd her, +Her soul could not forget? +What dream had fill'd her spirit +With strange and wild regret? + +X. + +To leave him for another: +Could it indeed be so? +Could it have cost such anguish +To bid this vision go? +Was this her faith? Was Herbert +The second in her heart? +Did it need all this struggle +To bid a dream depart? + +XI. + +And yet, within her spirit +A far-off land was seen; +A home, which might have held her; +A love, which might have been; +And Life: not the mere being +Of daily ebb and flow, +But Life itself had claim'd her, +And she had let it go! + +XII. + +Within her heart there echo'd +Again the well-known tune +That promised this bright future, +And ask'd her for its own: +Then words of sorrow, broken +By half-reproachful pain; +And then a farewell, spoken +In words of cold disdain. + +XIII. + +Where now was the stern purpose +That nerved her soul so long? +Whence came the words she utter'd, +So hard, so cold, so strong? +What right had she to banish +A hope that God had given? +Why must she choose earth's portion, +And turn aside from Heaven? + +XIV. + +To-day! Was it this morning? +If this long, fearful strife +Was but the work of hours, +What would be years of life? +Why did a cruel Heaven +For such great suffering call? +And why--O, still more cruel!-- +Must her own words do all? + +XV. + +Did she repent? O Sorrow! +Why do we linger still +To take thy loving message, +And do thy gentle will? +See, her tears fall more slowly; +The passionate murmurs cease, +And back upon her spirit +Flow strength, and love, and peace. + +XVI. + +The fire burns more brightly, +The rain has passed away, +Herbert will see no shadow +Upon his home to-day; +Only that Bertha greets him +With doubly tender care, +Kissing a fonder blessing +Down on his golden hair. + + + +NUMBER TWO. + + +I. + +The studio is deserted, +Palette and brush laid by, +The sketch rests on the easel, +The paint is scarcely dry; +And Silence--who seems always +Within her depths to bear +The next sound that will utter-- +Now holds a dumb despair. + +II. + +So Bertha feels it: listening +With breathless, stony fear, +Waiting the dreadful summons +Each minute brings more near: +When the young life, now ebbing, +Shall fail, and pass away +Into that mighty shadow +Who shrouds the house to-day. + +III. + +But why--when the sick chamber +Is on the upper floor-- +Why dares not Bertha enter +Within the close-shut door? +If he--her all--her Brother, +Lies dying in that gloom, +What strange mysterious power +Has sent her from the room? + +IV. + +It is not one week's anguish +That can have changed her so; +Joy has not died here lately, +Struck down by one quick blow; +But cruel months have needed +Their long relentless chain, +To teach that shrinking manner +Of helpless, hopeless pain. + +V. + +The struggle was scarce over +Last Christmas Eve had brought: +The fibres still were quivering +Of the one wounded thought, +When Herbert--who, unconscious, +Had guessed no inward strife-- +Bade her, in pride and pleasure, +Welcome his fair young wife. + +VI. + +Bade her rejoice, and smiling, +Although his eyes were dim, +Thank'd God he thus could pay her +The care she gave to him. +This fresh bright life would bring her +A new and joyous fate-- +O Bertha, check the murmur +That cries, Too late! too late! + +VII. + +Too late! Could she have known it +A few short weeks before, +That his life was completed, +And needing hers no more, +She might--O sad repining! +What "might have been," forget; +"It was not," should suffice us +To stifle vain regret. + +VIII. + +He needed her no longer, +Each day it grew more plain; +First with a startled wonder, +Then with a wondering pain. +Love: why, his wife best gave it; +Comfort: durst Bertha speak? +Counsel: when quick resentment +Flush'd on the young wife's cheek. + +IX. + +No more long talks by firelight +Of childish times long past, +And dreams of future greatness +Which he must reach at last; +Dreams, where her purer instinct +With truth unerring told +Where was the worthless gilding, +And where refined gold. + +X. + +Slowly, but surely ever, +Dora's poor jealous pride, +Which she call'd love for Herbert, +Drove Bertha from his side; +And, spite of nervous effort +To share their alter'd life, +She felt a check to Herbert, +A burden to his wife. + +XI. + +This was the least; for Bertha +Fear'd, dreaded, _knew_ at length, +How much his nature owed her +Of truth, and power, and strength; +And watch'd the daily failing +Of all his nobler part: +Low aims, weak purpose, telling +In lower, weaker art. + +XII. + +And now, when he is dying, +The last words she could hear +Must not be hers, but given +The bride of one short year. +The last care is another's; +The last prayer must not be +The one they learnt together +Beside their mother's knee. + +XIII. + +Summon'd at last: she kisses +The clay-cold stiffening hand; +And, reading pleading efforts +To make her understand, +Answers, with solemn promise, +In clear but trembling tone, +To Dora's life henceforward +She will devote her own. + +XIV. + +Now all is over. Bertha +Dares not remain to weep, +But soothes the frightened Dora +Into a sobbing sleep. +The poor weak child will need her: +O, who can dare complain, +When God sends a new Duty +To comfort each new Pain! + + + +NUMBER THREE. + + +I. + +The House is all deserted +In the dim evening gloom, +Only one figure passes +Slowly from room to room; +And, pausing at each doorway, +Seems gathering up again +Within her heart the relics +Of bygone joy and pain. + +II. + +There is an earnest longing +In those who onward gaze, +Looking with weary patience +Towards the coming days. +There is a deeper longing, +More sad, more strong, more keen: +Those know it who look backward, +And yearn for what has been. + +III. + +At every hearth she pauses, +Touches each well-known chair; +Gazes from every window, +Lingers on every stair. +What have these months brought Bertha +Now one more year is past? +This Christmas Eve shall tell us, +The third one and the last. + +IV. + +The wilful, wayward Dora, +In those first weeks of grief, +Could seek and find in Bertha +Strength, soothing, and relief. +And Bertha--last sad comfort +True woman-heart can take-- +Had something still to suffer +And do for Herbert's sake. + +V. + +Spring, with her western breezes, +From Indian islands bore +To Bertha news that Leonard +Would seek his home once more. +What was it--joy, or sorrow? +What were they--hopes, or fears? +That flush'd her cheeks with crimson, +And fill'd her eyes with tears? + +VI. + +He came. And who so kindly +Could ask and hear her tell +Herbert's last hours; for Leonard +Had known and loved him well. +Daily he came; and Bertha, +Poor wear heart, at length, +Weigh'd down by other's weakness, +Could rest upon his strength. + +VII. + +Yet not the voice of Leonard +Could her true care beguile, +That turn'd to watch, rejoicing, +Dora's reviving smile. +So, from that little household +The worst gloom pass'd away, +The one bright hour of evening +Lit up the livelong day. + +VIII. + +Days passed. The golden summer +In sudden heat bore down +Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness +Upon the scorching town. +And sights and sounds of country +Came in the warm soft tune +Sung by the honey'd breezes +Borne on the wings of June. + +IX. + +One twilight hour, but earlier +Than usual, Bertha thought +She knew the fresh sweet fragrance +Of flowers that Leonard brought; +Through open'd doors and windows +It stole up through the gloom, +And with appealing sweetness +Drew Bertha from her room. + +X. + +Yes, he was there; and pausing +Just near the open'd door, +To check her heart's quick beating, +She heard--and paused still more-- +His low voice Dora's answers-- +His pleading--Yes, she knew +The tone--the words--the accents: +She once had heard them too. + +XI. + +"Would Bertha blame her?" Leonard's +Low, tender answer came: +"Bertha was far too noble +To think or dream of blame." +"And was he sure he loved her?" +"Yes, with the one love given +Once in a lifetime only, +With one soul and one heaven!" + +XII. + +Then came a plaintive murmur,-- +"Dora had once been told +That he and Bertha--" "Dearest, +Bertha is far too cold +To love; and I, my Dora, +If once I fancied so, +It was a brief delusion, +And over,--long ago." + +XIII. + +Between the Past and Present, +On that bleak moment's height, +She stood. As some lost traveller +By a quick flash of light +Seeing a gulf before him, +With dizzy, sick despair, +Reels to clutch backward, but to find +A deeper chasm there. + +XIV. + +The twilight grew still darker, +The fragrant flowers more sweet, +The stars shone out in heaven, +The lamps gleam'd down the street; +And hours pass'd in dreaming +Over their new-found fate, +Ere they could think of wondering +Why Bertha was so late. + +XV. + +She came, and calmly listen'd; +In vain they strove to trace +If Herbert's memory shadow'd +In grief upon her face. +No blame, no wonder show'd there, +No feeling could be told; +Her voice was not less steady, +Her manner not more cold. + +XVI. + +They could not hear the anguish +That broke in words of pain +Through that calm summer midnight,-- +"My Herbert--mine again!" +Yes, they have once been parted, +But this day shall restore +The long lost one: she claims him: +"My Herbert--mine once more!" + +XVII. + +Now Christmas Eve returning, +Saw Bertha stand beside +The altar, greeting Dora, +Again a smiling bride; +And now the gloomy evening +Sees Bertha pale and worn, +Leaving the house for ever, +To wander out forlorn. + +XVIII. + +Forlorn--nay, not so. Anguish +Shall do its work at length; +Her soul, pass'd through the fire, +Shall gain still purer strength. +Somewhere there waits for Bertha +An earnest noble part; +And, meanwhile, God is with her,-- +God, and her own true heart! + +* * * * * + +I could warmly and sincerely praise the little poem, when Jarber had done +reading it; but I could not say that it tended in any degree towards +clearing up the mystery of the empty House. + +Whether it was the absence of the irritating influence of Trottle, or +whether it was simply fatigue, I cannot say, but Jarber did not strike +me, that evening, as being in his usual spirits. And though he declared +that he was not in the least daunted by his want of success thus far, and +that he was resolutely determined to make more discoveries, he spoke in a +languid absent manner, and shortly afterwards took his leave at rather an +early hour. + +When Trottle came back, and when I indignantly taxed him with +Philandering, he not only denied the imputation, but asserted that he had +been employed on my service, and, in consideration of that, boldly asked +for leave of absence for two days, and for a morning to himself +afterwards, to complete the business, in which he solemnly declared that +I was interested. In remembrance of his long and faithful service to me, +I did violence to myself, and granted his request. And he, on his side, +engaged to explain himself to my satisfaction, in a week's time, on +Monday evening the twentieth. + +A day or two before, I sent to Jarber's lodgings to ask him to drop in to +tea. His landlady sent back an apology for him that made my hair stand +on end. His feet were in hot water; his head was in a flannel petticoat; +a green shade was over his eyes; the rheumatism was in his legs; and a +mustard-poultice was on his chest. He was also a little feverish, and +rather distracted in his mind about Manchester Marriages, a Dwarf, and +Three Evenings, or Evening Parties--his landlady was not sure which--in +an empty House, with the Water Rate unpaid. + +Under these distressing circumstances, I was necessarily left alone with +Trottle. His promised explanation began, like Jarber's discoveries, with +the reading of a written paper. The only difference was that Trottle +introduced his manuscript under the name of a Report. + + + + +TROTTLE'S REPORT + + +The curious events related in these pages would, many of them, most +likely never have happened, if a person named Trottle had not presumed, +contrary to his usual custom, to think for himself. + +The subject on which the person in question had ventured, for the first +time in his life, to form an opinion purely and entirely his own, was one +which had already excited the interest of his respected mistress in a +very extraordinary degree. Or, to put it in plainer terms still, the +subject was no other than the mystery of the empty House. + +Feeling no sort of objection to set a success of his own, if possible, +side by side with a failure of Mr. Jarber's, Trottle made up his mind, +one Monday evening, to try what he could do, on his own account, towards +clearing up the mystery of the empty House. Carefully dismissing from +his mind all nonsensical notions of former tenants and their histories, +and keeping the one point in view steadily before him, he started to +reach it in the shortest way, by walking straight up to the House, and +bringing himself face to face with the first person in it who opened the +door to him. + +It was getting towards dark, on Monday evening, the thirteenth of the +month, when Trottle first set foot on the steps of the House. When he +knocked at the door, he knew nothing of the matter which he was about to +investigate, except that the landlord was an elderly widower of good +fortune, and that his name was Forley. A small beginning enough for a +man to start from, certainly! + +On dropping the knocker, his first proceeding was to look down cautiously +out of the corner of his right eye, for any results which might show +themselves at the kitchen-window. There appeared at it immediately the +figure of a woman, who looked up inquisitively at the stranger on the +steps, left the window in a hurry, and came back to it with an open +letter in her hand, which she held up to the fading light. After looking +over the letter hastily for a moment or so, the woman disappeared once +more. + +Trottle next heard footsteps shuffling and scraping along the bare hall +of the house. On a sudden they ceased, and the sound of two voices--a +shrill persuading voice and a gruff resisting voice--confusedly reached +his ears. After a while, the voices left off speaking--a chain was +undone, a bolt drawn back--the door opened--and Trottle stood face to +face with two persons, a woman in advance, and a man behind her, leaning +back flat against the wall. + +"Wish you good evening, sir," says the woman, in such a sudden way, and +in such a cracked voice, that it was quite startling to hear her. "Chilly +weather, ain't it, sir? Please to walk in. You come from good Mr. +Forley, don't you, sir?" + +"Don't you, sir?" chimes in the man hoarsely, making a sort of gruff echo +of himself, and chuckling after it, as if he thought he had made a joke. + +If Trottle had said, "No," the door would have been probably closed in +his face. Therefore, he took circumstances as he found them, and boldly +ran all the risk, whatever it might be, of saying, "Yes." + +"Quite right sir," says the woman. "Good Mr. Forley's letter told us his +particular friend would be here to represent him, at dusk, on Monday the +thirteenth--or, if not on Monday the thirteenth, then on Monday the +twentieth, at the same time, without fail. And here you are on Monday +the thirteenth, ain't you, sir? Mr. Forley's particular friend, and +dressed all in black--quite right, sir! Please to step into the dining- +room--it's always kep scoured and clean against Mr. Forley comes here--and +I'll fetch a candle in half a minute. It gets so dark in the evenings, +now, you hardly know where you are, do you, sir? And how is good Mr. +Forley in his health? We trust he is better, Benjamin, don't we? We are +so sorry not to see him as usual, Benjamin, ain't we? In half a minute, +sir, if you don't mind waiting, I'll be back with the candle. Come +along, Benjamin." + +"Come along, Benjamin," chimes in the echo, and chuckles again as if he +thought he had made another joke. + +Left alone in the empty front-parlour, Trottle wondered what was coming +next, as he heard the shuffling, scraping footsteps go slowly down the +kitchen-stairs. The front-door had been carefully chained up and bolted +behind him on his entrance; and there was not the least chance of his +being able to open it to effect his escape, without betraying himself by +making a noise. + +Not being of the Jarber sort, luckily for himself, he took his situation +quietly, as he found it, and turned his time, while alone, to account, by +summing up in his own mind the few particulars which he had discovered +thus far. He had found out, first, that Mr. Forley was in the habit of +visiting the house regularly. Second, that Mr. Forley being prevented by +illness from seeing the people put in charge as usual, had appointed a +friend to represent him; and had written to say so. Third, that the +friend had a choice of two Mondays, at a particular time in the evening, +for doing his errand; and that Trottle had accidentally hit on this time, +and on the first of the Mondays, for beginning his own investigations. +Fourth, that the similarity between Trottle's black dress, as servant out +of livery, and the dress of the messenger (whoever he might be), had +helped the error by which Trottle was profiting. So far, so good. But +what was the messenger's errand? and what chance was there that he might +not come up and knock at the door himself, from minute to minute, on that +very evening? + +While Trottle was turning over this last consideration in his mind, he +heard the shuffling footsteps come up the stairs again, with a flash of +candle-light going before them. He waited for the woman's coming in with +some little anxiety; for the twilight had been too dim on his getting +into the house to allow him to see either her face or the man's face at +all clearly. + +The woman came in first, with the man she called Benjamin at her heels, +and set the candle on the mantel-piece. Trottle takes leave to describe +her as an offensively-cheerful old woman, awfully lean and wiry, and +sharp all over, at eyes, nose, and chin--devilishly brisk, smiling, and +restless, with a dirty false front and a dirty black cap, and short +fidgetty arms, and long hooked finger-nails--an unnaturally lusty old +woman, who walked with a spring in her wicked old feet, and spoke with a +smirk on her wicked old face--the sort of old woman (as Trottle thinks) +who ought to have lived in the dark ages, and been ducked in a +horse-pond, instead of flourishing in the nineteenth century, and taking +charge of a Christian house. + +"You'll please to excuse my son, Benjamin, won't you, sir?" says this +witch without a broomstick, pointing to the man behind her, propped +against the bare wall of the dining-room, exactly as he had been propped +against the bare wall of the passage. "He's got his inside dreadful bad +again, has my son Benjamin. And he won't go to bed, and he will follow +me about the house, up-stairs and downstairs, and in my lady's chamber, +as the song says, you know. It's his indisgestion, poor dear, that sours +his temper and makes him so agravating--and indisgestion is a wearing +thing to the best of us, ain't it, sir?" + +"Ain't it, sir?" chimes in agravating Benjamin, winking at the candle- +light like an owl at the sunshine. + +Trottle examined the man curiously, while his horrid old mother was +speaking of him. He found "My son Benjamin" to be little and lean, and +buttoned-up slovenly in a frowsy old great-coat that fell down to his +ragged carpet-slippers. His eyes were very watery, his cheeks very pale, +and his lips very red. His breathing was so uncommonly loud, that it +sounded almost like a snore. His head rolled helplessly in the monstrous +big collar of his great-coat; and his limp, lazy hands pottered about the +wall on either side of him, as if they were groping for a imaginary +bottle. In plain English, the complaint of "My son Benjamin" was +drunkenness, of the stupid, pig-headed, sottish kind. Drawing this +conclusion easily enough, after a moment's observation of the man, +Trottle found himself, nevertheless, keeping his eyes fixed much longer +than was necessary on the ugly drunken face rolling about in the +monstrous big coat collar, and looking at it with a curiosity that he +could hardly account for at first. Was there something familiar to him +in the man's features? He turned away from them for an instant, and then +turned back to him again. After that second look, the notion forced +itself into his mind, that he had certainly seen a face somewhere, of +which that sot's face appeared like a kind of slovenly copy. "Where?" +thinks he to himself, "where did I last see the man whom this agravating +Benjamin, here, so very strongly reminds me of?" + +It was no time, just then--with the cheerful old woman's eye searching +him all over, and the cheerful old woman's tongue talking at him, +nineteen to the dozen--for Trottle to be ransacking his memory for small +matters that had got into wrong corners of it. He put by in his mind +that very curious circumstance respecting Benjamin's face, to be taken up +again when a fit opportunity offered itself; and kept his wits about him +in prime order for present necessities. + +"You wouldn't like to go down into the kitchen, would you?" says the +witch without the broomstick, as familiar as if she had been Trottle's +mother, instead of Benjamin's. "There's a bit of fire in the grate, and +the sink in the back kitchen don't smell to matter much to-day, and it's +uncommon chilly up here when a person's flesh don't hardly cover a +person's bones. But you don't look cold, sir, do you? And then, why, +Lord bless my soul, our little bit of business is so very, very little, +it's hardly worth while to go downstairs about it, after all. Quite a +game at business, ain't it, sir? Give-and-take that's what I call +it--give-and-take!" + +With that, her wicked old eyes settled hungrily on the region round about +Trottle's waistcoat-pocket, and she began to chuckle like her son, +holding out one of her skinny hands, and tapping cheerfully in the palm +with the knuckles of the other. Agravating Benjamin, seeing what she was +about, roused up a little, chuckled and tapped in imitation of her, got +an idea of his own into his muddled head all of a sudden, and bolted it +out charitably for the benefit of Trottle. + +"I say!" says Benjamin, settling himself against the wall and nodding his +head viciously at his cheerful old mother. "I say! Look out. She'll +skin you!" + +Assisted by these signs and warnings, Trottle found no difficulty in +understanding that the business referred to was the giving and taking of +money, and that he was expected to be the giver. It was at this stage of +the proceedings that he first felt decidedly uncomfortable, and more than +half inclined to wish he was on the street-side of the house-door again. + +He was still cudgelling his brains for an excuse to save his pocket, when +the silence was suddenly interrupted by a sound in the upper part of the +house. + +It was not at all loud--it was a quiet, still, scraping sound--so faint +that it could hardly have reached the quickest ears, except in an empty +house. + +"Do you hear that, Benjamin?" says the old woman. "He's at it again, +even in the dark, ain't he? P'raps you'd like to see him, sir!" says +she, turning on Trottle, and poking her grinning face close to him. "Only +name it; only say if you'd like to see him before we do our little bit of +business--and I'll show good Forley's friend up-stairs, just as if he was +good Mr. Forley himself. _My_ legs are all right, whatever Benjamin's +may be. I get younger and younger, and stronger and stronger, and +jollier and jollier, every day--that's what I do! Don't mind the stairs +on my account, sir, if you'd like to see him." + +"Him?" Trottle wondered whether "him" meant a man, or a boy, or a +domestic animal of the male species. Whatever it meant, here was a +chance of putting off that uncomfortable give-and-take-business, and, +better still, a chance perhaps of finding out one of the secrets of the +mysterious House. Trottle's spirits began to rise again and he said +"Yes," directly, with the confidence of a man who knew all about it. + +Benjamin's mother took the candle at once, and lighted Trottle briskly to +the stairs; and Benjamin himself tried to follow as usual. But getting +up several flights of stairs, even helped by the bannisters, was more, +with his particular complaint, than he seemed to feel himself inclined to +venture on. He sat down obstinately on the lowest step, with his head +against the wall, and the tails of his big great-coat spreading out +magnificently on the stairs behind him and above him, like a dirty +imitation of a court lady's train. + +"Don't sit there, dear," says his affectionate mother, stopping to snuff +the candle on the first landing. + +"I shall sit here," says Benjamin, agravating to the last, "till the milk +comes in the morning." + +The cheerful old woman went on nimbly up the stairs to the first floor, +and Trottle followed, with his eyes and ears wide open. He had seen +nothing out of the common in the front-parlour, or up the staircase, so +far. The House was dirty and dreary and close-smelling--but there was +nothing about it to excite the least curiosity, except the faint scraping +sound, which was now beginning to get a little clearer--though still not +at all loud--as Trottle followed his leader up the stairs to the second +floor. + +Nothing on the second-floor landing, but cobwebs above and bits of broken +plaster below, cracked off from the ceiling. Benjamin's mother was not a +bit out of breath, and looked all ready to go to the top of the monument +if necessary. The faint scraping sound had got a little clearer still; +but Trottle was no nearer to guessing what it might be, than when he +first heard it in the parlour downstairs. + +On the third, and last, floor, there were two doors; one, which was shut, +leading into the front garret; and one, which was ajar, leading into the +back garret. There was a loft in the ceiling above the landing; but the +cobwebs all over it vouched sufficiently for its not having been opened +for some little time. The scraping noise, plainer than ever here, +sounded on the other side of the back garret door; and, to Trottle's +great relief, that was precisely the door which the cheerful old woman +now pushed open. + +Trottle followed her in; and, for once in his life, at any rate, was +struck dumb with amazement, at the sight which the inside of the room +revealed to him. + +The garret was absolutely empty of everything in the shape of furniture. +It must have been used at one time or other, by somebody engaged in a +profession or a trade which required for the practice of it a great deal +of light; for the one window in the room, which looked out on a wide open +space at the back of the house, was three or four times as large, every +way, as a garret-window usually is. Close under this window, kneeling on +the bare boards with his face to the door, there appeared, of all the +creatures in the world to see alone at such a place and at such a time, a +mere mite of a child--a little, lonely, wizen, strangely-clad boy, who +could not at the most, have been more than five years old. He had a +greasy old blue shawl crossed over his breast, and rolled up, to keep the +ends from the ground, into a great big lump on his back. A strip of +something which looked like the remains of a woman's flannel petticoat, +showed itself under the shawl, and, below that again, a pair of rusty +black stockings, worlds too large for him, covered his legs and his +shoeless feet. A pair of old clumsy muffetees, which had worked +themselves up on his little frail red arms to the elbows, and a big +cotton nightcap that had dropped down to his very eyebrows, finished off +the strange dress which the poor little man seemed not half big enough to +fill out, and not near strong enough to walk about in. + +But there was something to see even more extraordinary than the clothes +the child was swaddled up in, and that was the game which he was playing +at, all by himself; and which, moreover, explained in the most unexpected +manner the faint scraping noise that had found its way down-stairs, +through the half-opened door, in the silence of the empty house. + +It has been mentioned that the child was on his knees in the garret, when +Trottle first saw him. He was not saying his prayers, and not crouching +down in terror at being alone in the dark. He was, odd and unaccountable +as it may appear, doing nothing more or less than playing at a +charwoman's or housemaid's business of scouring the floor. Both his +little hands had tight hold of a mangy old blacking-brush, with hardly +any bristles left in it, which he was rubbing backwards and forwards on +the boards, as gravely and steadily as if he had been at scouring-work +for years, and had got a large family to keep by it. The coming-in of +Trottle and the old woman did not startle or disturb him in the least. He +just looked up for a minute at the candle, with a pair of very bright, +sharp eyes, and then went on with his work again, as if nothing had +happened. On one side of him was a battered pint saucepan without a +handle, which was his make-believe pail; and on the other a morsel of +slate-coloured cotton rag, which stood for his flannel to wipe up with. +After scrubbing bravely for a minute or two, he took the bit of rag, and +mopped up, and then squeezed make-believe water out into his make-believe +pail, as grave as any judge that ever sat on a Bench. By the time he +thought he had got the floor pretty dry, he raised himself upright on his +knees, and blew out a good long breath, and set his little red arms +akimbo, and nodded at Trottle. + +"There!" says the child, knitting his little downy eyebrows into a frown. +"Drat the dirt! I've cleaned up. Where's my beer?" + +Benjamin's mother chuckled till Trottle thought she would have choked +herself. + +"Lord ha' mercy on us!" says she, "just hear the imp. You would never +think he was only five years old, would you, sir? Please to tell good +Mr. Forley you saw him going on as nicely as ever, playing at being me +scouring the parlour floor, and calling for my beer afterwards. That's +his regular game, morning, noon, and night--he's never tired of it. Only +look how snug we've been and dressed him. That's my shawl a keepin his +precious little body warm, and Benjamin's nightcap a keepin his precious +little head warm, and Benjamin's stockings, drawed over his trowsers, a +keepin his precious little legs warm. He's snug and happy if ever a imp +was yet. 'Where's my beer!'--say it again, little dear, say it again!" + +If Trottle had seen the boy, with a light and a fire in the room, clothed +like other children, and playing naturally with a top, or a box of +soldiers, or a bouncing big India-rubber ball, he might have been as +cheerful under the circumstances as Benjamin's mother herself. But +seeing the child reduced (as he could not help suspecting) for want of +proper toys and proper child's company, to take up with the mocking of an +old woman at her scouring-work, for something to stand in the place of a +game, Trottle, though not a family man, nevertheless felt the sight +before him to be, in its way, one of the saddest and the most pitiable +that he had ever witnessed. + +"Why, my man," says he, "you're the boldest little chap in all England. +You don't seem a bit afraid of being up here all by yourself in the +dark." + +"The big winder," says the child, pointing up to it, "sees in the dark; +and I see with the big winder." He stops a bit, and gets up on his legs, +and looks hard at Benjamin's mother. "I'm a good 'un," says he, "ain't +I? I save candle." + +Trottle wondered what else the forlorn little creature had been brought +up to do without, besides candle-light; and risked putting a question as +to whether he ever got a run in the open air to cheer him up a bit. O, +yes, he had a run now and then, out of doors (to say nothing of his runs +about the house), the lively little cricket--a run according to good Mr. +Forley's instructions, which were followed out carefully, as good Mr. +Forley's friend would be glad to hear, to the very letter. + +As Trottle could only have made one reply to this, namely, that good Mr. +Forley's instructions were, in his opinion, the instructions of an +infernal scamp; and as he felt that such an answer would naturally prove +the death-blow to all further discoveries on his part, he gulped down his +feelings before they got too many for him, and held his tongue, and +looked round towards the window again to see what the forlorn little boy +was going to amuse himself with next. + +The child had gathered up his blacking-brush and bit of rag, and had put +them into the old tin saucepan; and was now working his way, as well as +his clothes would let him, with his make-believe pail hugged up in his +arms, towards a door of communication which led from the back to the +front garret. + +"I say," says he, looking round sharply over his shoulder, "what are you +two stopping here for? I'm going to bed now--and so I tell you!" + +With that, he opened the door, and walked into the front room. Seeing +Trottle take a step or two to follow him, Benjamin's mother opened her +wicked old eyes in a state of great astonishment. + +"Mercy on us!" says she, "haven't you seen enough of him yet?" + +"No," says Trottle. "I should like to see him go to bed." + +Benjamin's mother burst into such a fit of chuckling that the loose +extinguisher in the candlestick clattered again with the shaking of her +hand. To think of good Mr. Forley's friend taking ten times more trouble +about the imp than good Mr. Forley himself! Such a joke as that, +Benjamin's mother had not often met with in the course of her life, and +she begged to be excused if she took the liberty of having a laugh at it. + +Leaving her to laugh as much as she pleased, and coming to a pretty +positive conclusion, after what he had just heard, that Mr. Forley's +interest in the child was not of the fondest possible kind, Trottle +walked into the front room, and Benjamin's mother, enjoying herself +immensely, followed with the candle. + +There were two pieces of furniture in the front garret. One, an old +stool of the sort that is used to stand a cask of beer on; and the other +a great big ricketty straddling old truckle bedstead. In the middle of +this bedstead, surrounded by a dim brown waste of sacking, was a kind of +little island of poor bedding--an old bolster, with nearly all the +feathers out of it, doubled in three for a pillow; a mere shred of +patchwork counter-pane, and a blanket; and under that, and peeping out a +little on either side beyond the loose clothes, two faded chair cushions +of horsehair, laid along together for a sort of makeshift mattress. When +Trottle got into the room, the lonely little boy had scrambled up on the +bedstead with the help of the beer-stool, and was kneeling on the outer +rim of sacking with the shred of counterpane in his hands, just making +ready to tuck it in for himself under the chair cushions. + +"I'll tuck you up, my man," says Trottle. "Jump into bed, and let me +try." + +"I mean to tuck myself up," says the poor forlorn child, "and I don't +mean to jump. I mean to crawl, I do--and so I tell you!" + +With that, he set to work, tucking in the clothes tight all down the +sides of the cushions, but leaving them open at the foot. Then, getting +up on his knees, and looking hard at Trottle as much as to say, "What do +you mean by offering to help such a handy little chap as me?" he began to +untie the big shawl for himself, and did it, too, in less than half a +minute. Then, doubling the shawl up loose over the foot of the bed, he +says, "I say, look here," and ducks under the clothes, head first, +worming his way up and up softly, under the blanket and counterpane, till +Trottle saw the top of the large nightcap slowly peep out on the bolster. +This over-sized head-gear of the child's had so shoved itself down in the +course of his journey to the pillow, under the clothes, that when he got +his face fairly out on the bolster, he was all nightcap down to his +mouth. He soon freed himself, however, from this slight encumbrance by +turning the ends of the cap up gravely to their old place over his +eyebrows--looked at Trottle--said, "Snug, ain't it? Good-bye!"--popped +his face under the clothes again--and left nothing to be seen of him but +the empty peak of the big nightcap standing up sturdily on end in the +middle of the bolster. + +"What a young limb it is, ain't it?" says Benjamin's mother, giving +Trottle a cheerful dig with her elbow. "Come on! you won't see no more +of him to-night!" + +"And so I tell you!" sings out a shrill, little voice under the +bedclothes, chiming in with a playful finish to the old woman's last +words. + +If Trottle had not been, by this time, positively resolved to follow the +wicked secret which accident had mixed him up with, through all its +turnings and windings, right on to the end, he would have probably +snatched the boy up then and there, and carried him off from his garret +prison, bed-clothes and all. As it was, he put a strong check on +himself, kept his eye on future possibilities, and allowed Benjamin's +mother to lead him down-stairs again. + +"Mind them top bannisters," says she, as Trottle laid his hand on them. +"They are as rotten as medlars every one of 'em." + +"When people come to see the premises," says Trottle, trying to feel his +way a little farther into the mystery of the House, "you don't bring many +of them up here, do you?" + +"Bless your heart alive!" says she, "nobody ever comes now. The outside +of the house is quite enough to warn them off. Mores the pity, as I say. +It used to keep me in spirits, staggering 'em all, one after another, +with the frightful high rent--specially the women, drat 'em. 'What's the +rent of this house?'--'Hundred and twenty pound a-year!'--'Hundred and +twenty? why, there ain't a house in the street as lets for more than +eighty!'--Likely enough, ma'am; other landlords may lower their rents if +they please; but this here landlord sticks to his rights, and means to +have as much for his house as his father had before him!'--'But the +neighbourhood's gone off since then!'--'Hundred and twenty pound, +ma'am.'--'The landlord must be mad!'--'Hundred and twenty pound, +ma'am.'--'Open the door you impertinent woman!' Lord! what a happiness +it was to see 'em bounce out, with that awful rent a-ringing in their +ears all down the street!" + +She stopped on the second-floor landing to treat herself to another +chuckle, while Trottle privately posted up in his memory what he had just +heard. "Two points made out," he thought to himself: "the house is kept +empty on purpose, and the way it's done is to ask a rent that nobody will +pay." + +"Ah, deary me!" says Benjamin's mother, changing the subject on a sudden, +and twisting back with a horrid, greedy quickness to those awkward money- +matters which she had broached down in the parlour. "What we've done, +one way and another for Mr. Forley, it isn't in words to tell! That nice +little bit of business of ours ought to be a bigger bit of business, +considering the trouble we take, Benjamin and me, to make the imp +upstairs as happy as the day is long. If good Mr. Forley would only +please to think a little more of what a deal he owes to Benjamin and me--" + +"That's just it," says Trottle, catching her up short in desperation, and +seeing his way, by the help of those last words of hers, to slipping +cleverly through her fingers. "What should you say, if I told you that +Mr. Forley was nothing like so far from thinking about that little matter +as you fancy? You would be disappointed, now, if I told you that I had +come to-day without the money?"--(her lank old jaw fell, and her +villainous old eyes glared, in a perfect state of panic, at that!)--"But +what should you say, if I told you that Mr. Forley was only waiting for +my report, to send me here next Monday, at dusk, with a bigger bit of +business for us two to do together than ever you think for? What should +you say to that?" + +The old wretch came so near to Trottle, before she answered, and jammed +him up confidentially so close into the corner of the landing, that his +throat, in a manner, rose at her. + +"Can you count it off, do you think, on more than that?" says she, +holding up her four skinny fingers and her long crooked thumb, all of a +tremble, right before his face. + +"What do you say to two hands, instead of one?" says he, pushing past +her, and getting down-stairs as fast as he could. + +What she said Trottle thinks it best not to report, seeing that the old +hypocrite, getting next door to light-headed at the golden prospect +before her, took such liberties with unearthly names and persons which +ought never to have approached her lips, and rained down such an awful +shower of blessings on Trottle's head, that his hair almost stood on end +to hear her. He went on down-stairs as fast as his feet would carry him, +till he was brought up all standing, as the sailors say, on the last +flight, by agravating Benjamin, lying right across the stair, and fallen +off, as might have been expected, into a heavy drunken sleep. + +The sight of him instantly reminded Trottle of the curious half likeness +which he had already detected between the face of Benjamin and the face +of another man, whom he had seen at a past time in very different +circumstances. He determined, before leaving the House, to have one more +look at the wretched muddled creature; and accordingly shook him up +smartly, and propped him against the staircase wall, before his mother +could interfere. + +"Leave him to me; I'll freshen him up," says Trottle to the old woman, +looking hard in Benjamin's face, while he spoke. + +The fright and surprise of being suddenly woke up, seemed, for about a +quarter of a minute, to sober the creature. When he first opened his +eyes, there was a new look in them for a moment, which struck home to +Trottle's memory as quick and as clear as a flash of light. The old +maudlin sleepy expression came back again in another instant, and blurred +out all further signs and tokens of the past. But Trottle had seen +enough in the moment before it came; and he troubled Benjamin's face with +no more inquiries. + +"Next Monday, at dusk," says he, cutting short some more of the old +woman's palaver about Benjamin's indisgestion. "I've got no more time to +spare, ma'am, to-night: please to let me out." + +With a few last blessings, a few last dutiful messages to good Mr. +Forley, and a few last friendly hints not to forget next Monday at dusk, +Trottle contrived to struggle through the sickening business of leave- +taking; to get the door opened; and to find himself, to his own +indescribable relief, once more on the outer side of the House To Let. + + + + +LET AT LAST + + +"There, ma'am!" said Trottle, folding up the manuscript from which he had +been reading, and setting it down with a smart tap of triumph on the +table. "May I venture to ask what you think of that plain statement, as +a guess on my part (and not on Mr. Jarber's) at the riddle of the empty +House?" + +For a minute or two I was unable to say a word. When I recovered a +little, my first question referred to the poor forlorn little boy. + +"To-day is Monday the twentieth," I said. "Surely you have not let a +whole week go by without trying to find out something more?" + +"Except at bed-time, and meals, ma'am," answered Trottle, "I have not let +an hour go by. Please to understand that I have only come to an end of +what I have written, and not to an end of what I have done. I wrote down +those first particulars, ma'am, because they are of great importance, and +also because I was determined to come forward with my written documents, +seeing that Mr. Jarber chose to come forward, in the first instance, with +his. I am now ready to go on with the second part of my story as shortly +and plainly as possible, by word of mouth. The first thing I must clear +up, if you please, is the matter of Mr. Forley's family affairs. I have +heard you speak of them, ma'am, at various times; and I have understood +that Mr. Forley had two children only by his deceased wife, both +daughters. The eldest daughter married, to her father's entire +satisfaction, one Mr. Bayne, a rich man, holding a high government +situation in Canada. She is now living there with her husband, and her +only child, a little girl of eight or nine years old. Right so far, I +think, ma'am?" + +"Quite right," I said. + +"The second daughter," Trottle went on, "and Mr. Forley's favourite, set +her father's wishes and the opinions of the world at flat defiance, by +running away with a man of low origin--a mate of a merchant-vessel, named +Kirkland. Mr. Forley not only never forgave that marriage, but vowed +that he would visit the scandal of it heavily in the future on husband +and wife. Both escaped his vengeance, whatever he meant it to be. The +husband was drowned on his first voyage after his marriage, and the wife +died in child-bed. Right again, I believe, ma'am?" + +"Again quite right." + +"Having got the family matter all right, we will now go back, ma'am, to +me and my doings. Last Monday, I asked you for leave of absence for two +days; I employed the time in clearing up the matter of Benjamin's face. +Last Saturday I was out of the way when you wanted me. I played truant, +ma'am, on that occasion, in company with a friend of mine, who is +managing clerk in a lawyer's office; and we both spent the morning at +Doctors' Commons, over the last will and testament of Mr. Forley's +father. Leaving the will-business for a moment, please to follow me +first, if you have no objection, into the ugly subject of Benjamin's +face. About six or seven years ago (thanks to your kindness) I had a +week's holiday with some friends of mine who live in the town of +Pendlebury. One of those friends (the only one now left in the place) +kept a chemist's shop, and in that shop I was made acquainted with one of +the two doctors in the town, named Barsham. This Barsham was a first- +rate surgeon, and might have got to the top of his profession, if he had +not been a first-rate blackguard. As it was, he both drank and gambled; +nobody would have anything to do with him in Pendlebury; and, at the time +when I was made known to him in the chemist's shop, the other doctor, Mr. +Dix, who was not to be compared with him for surgical skill, but who was +a respectable man, had got all the practice; and Barsham and his old +mother were living together in such a condition of utter poverty, that it +was a marvel to everybody how they kept out of the parish workhouse." + +"Benjamin and Benjamin's mother!" + +"Exactly, ma'am. Last Thursday morning (thanks to your kindness, again) +I went to Pendlebury to my friend the chemist, to ask a few questions +about Barsham and his mother. I was told that they had both left the +town about five years since. When I inquired into the circumstances, +some strange particulars came out in the course of the chemist's answer. +You know I have no doubt, ma'am, that poor Mrs. Kirkland was confined +while her husband was at sea, in lodgings at a village called Flatfield, +and that she died and was buried there. But what you may not know is, +that Flatfield is only three miles from Pendlebury; that the doctor who +attended on Mrs. Kirkland was Barsham; that the nurse who took care of +her was Barsham's mother; and that the person who called them both in, +was Mr. Forley. Whether his daughter wrote to him, or whether he heard +of it in some other way, I don't know; but he was with her (though he had +sworn never to see her again when she married) a month or more before her +confinement, and was backwards and forwards a good deal between Flatfield +and Pendlebury. How he managed matters with the Barshams cannot at +present be discovered; but it is a fact that he contrived to keep the +drunken doctor sober, to everybody's amazement. It is a fact that +Barsham went to the poor woman with all his wits about him. It is a fact +that he and his mother came back from Flatfield after Mrs. Kirkland's +death, packed up what few things they had, and left the town mysteriously +by night. And, lastly, it is also a fact that the other doctor, Mr. Dix, +was not called in to help, till a week after the birth _and burial_ of +the child, when the mother was sinking from exhaustion--exhaustion (to +give the vagabond, Barsham, his due) not produced, in Mr. Dix's opinion, +by improper medical treatment, but by the bodily weakness of the poor +woman herself--" + +"Burial of the child?" I interrupted, trembling all over. "Trottle! you +spoke that word 'burial' in a very strange way--you are fixing your eyes +on me now with a very strange look--" + +Trottle leaned over close to me, and pointed through the window to the +empty house. + +"The child's death is registered, at Pendlebury," he said, "on Barsham's +certificate, under the head of Male Infant, Still-Born. The child's +coffin lies in the mother's grave, in Flatfield churchyard. The child +himself--as surely as I live and breathe, is living and breathing now--a +castaway and a prisoner in that villainous house!" + +I sank back in my chair. + +"It's guess-work, so far, but it is borne in on my mind, for all that, as +truth. Rouse yourself, ma'am, and think a little. The last I hear of +Barsham, he is attending Mr. Forley's disobedient daughter. The next I +see of Barsham, he is in Mr. Forley's house, trusted with a secret. He +and his mother leave Pendlebury suddenly and suspiciously five years +back; and he and his mother have got a child of five years old, hidden +away in the house. Wait! please to wait--I have not done yet. The will +left by Mr. Forley's father, strengthens the suspicion. The friend I +took with me to Doctors' Commons, made himself master of the contents of +that will; and when he had done so, I put these two questions to him. +'Can Mr. Forley leave his money at his own discretion to anybody he +pleases?' 'No,' my friend says, 'his father has left him with only a +life interest in it.' 'Suppose one of Mr. Forley's married daughters has +a girl, and the other a boy, how would the money go?' 'It would all go,' +my friend says, 'to the boy, and it would be charged with the payment of +a certain annual income to his female cousin. After her death, it would +go back to the male descendant, and to his heirs.' Consider that, ma'am! +The child of the daughter whom Mr. Forley hates, whose husband has been +snatched away from his vengeance by death, takes his whole property in +defiance of him; and the child of the daughter whom he loves, is left a +pensioner on her low-born boy-cousin for life! There was good--too good +reason--why that child of Mrs. Kirkland's should be registered stillborn. +And if, as I believe, the register is founded on a false certificate, +there is better, still better reason, why the existence of the child +should be hidden, and all trace of his parentage blotted out, in the +garret of that empty house." + +He stopped, and pointed for the second time to the dim, dust-covered +garret-windows opposite. As he did so, I was startled--a very slight +matter sufficed to frighten me now--by a knock at the door of the room in +which we were sitting. + +My maid came in, with a letter in her hand. I took it from her. The +mourning card, which was all the envelope enclosed, dropped from my +hands. + +George Forley was no more. He had departed this life three days since, +on the evening of Friday. + +"Did our last chance of discovering the truth," I asked, "rest with +_him_? Has it died with _his_ death?" + +"Courage, ma'am! I think not. Our chance rests on our power to make +Barsham and his mother confess; and Mr. Forley's death, by leaving them +helpless, seems to put that power into our hands. With your permission, +I will not wait till dusk to-day, as I at first intended, but will make +sure of those two people at once. With a policeman in plain clothes to +watch the house, in case they try to leave it; with this card to vouch +for the fact of Mr. Forley's death; and with a bold acknowledgment on my +part of having got possession of their secret, and of being ready to use +it against them in case of need, I think there is little doubt of +bringing Barsham and his mother to terms. In case I find it impossible +to get back here before dusk, please to sit near the window, ma'am, and +watch the house, a little before they light the street-lamps. If you see +the front-door open and close again, will you be good enough to put on +your bonnet, and come across to me immediately? Mr. Forley's death may, +or may not, prevent his messenger from coming as arranged. But, if the +person does come, it is of importance that you, as a relative of Mr. +Forley's should be present to see him, and to have that proper influence +over him which I cannot pretend to exercise." + +The only words I could say to Trottle as he opened the door and left me, +were words charging him to take care that no harm happened to the poor +forlorn little boy. + +Left alone, I drew my chair to the window; and looked out with a beating +heart at the guilty house. I waited and waited through what appeared to +me to be an endless time, until I heard the wheels of a cab stop at the +end of the street. I looked in that direction, and saw Trottle get out +of the cab alone, walk up to the house, and knock at the door. He was +let in by Barsham's mother. A minute or two later, a decently-dressed +man sauntered past the house, looked up at it for a moment, and sauntered +on to the corner of the street close by. Here he leant against the post, +and lighted a cigar, and stopped there smoking in an idle way, but +keeping his face always turned in the direction of the house-door. + +I waited and waited still. I waited and waited, with my eyes riveted to +the door of the house. At last I thought I saw it open in the dusk, and +then felt sure I heard it shut again softly. Though I tried hard to +compose myself, I trembled so that I was obliged to call for Peggy to +help me on with my bonnet and cloak, and was forced to take her arm to +lean on, in crossing the street. + +Trottle opened the door to us, before we could knock. Peggy went back, +and I went in. He had a lighted candle in his hand. + +"It has happened, ma'am, as I thought it would," he whispered, leading me +into the bare, comfortless, empty parlour. "Barsham and his mother have +consulted their own interests, and have come to terms. My guess-work is +guess-work no longer. It is now what I felt it was--Truth!" + +Something strange to me--something which women who are mothers must often +know--trembled suddenly in my heart, and brought the warm tears of my +youthful days thronging back into my eyes. I took my faithful old +servant by the hand, and asked him to let me see Mrs. Kirkland's child, +for his mother's sake. + +"If you desire it, ma'am," said Trottle, with a gentleness of manner that +I had never noticed in him before. "But pray don't think me wanting in +duty and right feeling, if I beg you to try and wait a little. You are +agitated already, and a first meeting with the child will not help to +make you so calm, as you would wish to be, if Mr. Forley's messenger +comes. The little boy is safe up-stairs. Pray think first of trying to +compose yourself for a meeting with a stranger; and believe me you shall +not leave the house afterwards without the child." + +I felt that Trottle was right, and sat down as patiently as I could in a +chair he had thoughtfully placed ready for me. I was so horrified at the +discovery of my own relation's wickedness that when Trottle proposed to +make me acquainted with the confession wrung from Barsham and his mother, +I begged him to spare me all details, and only to tell me what was +necessary about George Forley. + +"All that can be said for Mr. Forley, ma'am, is, that he was just +scrupulous enough to hide the child's existence and blot out its +parentage here, instead of consenting, at the first, to its death, or +afterwards, when the boy grew up, to turning him adrift, absolutely +helpless in the world. The fraud has been managed, ma'am, with the +cunning of Satan himself. Mr. Forley had the hold over the Barshams, +that they had helped him in his villany, and that they were dependent on +him for the bread they eat. He brought them up to London to keep them +securely under his own eye. He put them into this empty house (taking it +out of the agent's hands previously, on pretence that he meant to manage +the letting of it himself); and by keeping the house empty, made it the +surest of all hiding places for the child. Here, Mr. Forley could come, +whenever he pleased, to see that the poor lonely child was not absolutely +starved; sure that his visits would only appear like looking after his +own property. Here the child was to have been trained to believe himself +Barsham's child, till he should be old enough to be provided for in some +situation, as low and as poor as Mr. Forley's uneasy conscience would let +him pick out. He may have thought of atonement on his death-bed; but not +before--I am only too certain of it--not before!" + +A low, double knock startled us. + +"The messenger!" said Trottle, under his breath. He went out instantly +to answer the knock; and returned, leading in a respectable-looking +elderly man, dressed like Trottle, all in black, with a white cravat, but +otherwise not at all resembling him. + +"I am afraid I have made some mistake," said the stranger. + +Trottle, considerately taking the office of explanation into his own +hands, assured the gentleman that there was no mistake; mentioned to him +who I was; and asked him if he had not come on business connected with +the late Mr. Forley. Looking greatly astonished, the gentleman answered, +"Yes." There was an awkward moment of silence, after that. The stranger +seemed to be not only startled and amazed, but rather distrustful and +fearful of committing himself as well. Noticing this, I thought it best +to request Trottle to put an end to further embarrassment, by stating all +particulars truthfully, as he had stated them to me; and I begged the +gentleman to listen patiently for the late Mr. Forley's sake. He bowed +to me very respectfully, and said he was prepared to listen with the +greatest interest. + +It was evident to me--and, I could see, to Trottle also--that we were not +dealing, to say the least, with a dishonest man. + +"Before I offer any opinion on what I have heard," he said, earnestly and +anxiously, after Trottle had done, "I must be allowed, in justice to +myself, to explain my own apparent connection with this very strange and +very shocking business. I was the confidential legal adviser of the late +Mr. Forley, and I am left his executor. Rather more than a fortnight +back, when Mr. Forley was confined to his room by illness, he sent for +me, and charged me to call and pay a certain sum of money here, to a man +and woman whom I should find taking charge of the house. He said he had +reasons for wishing the affair to be kept a secret. He begged me so to +arrange my engagements that I could call at this place either on Monday +last, or to-day, at dusk; and he mentioned that he would write to warn +the people of my coming, without mentioning my name (Dalcott is my name), +as he did not wish to expose me to any future importunities on the part +of the man and woman. I need hardly tell you that this commission struck +me as being a strange one; but, in my position with Mr. Forley, I had no +resource but to accept it without asking questions, or to break off my +long and friendly connection with my client. I chose the first +alternative. Business prevented me from doing my errand on Monday +last--and if I am here to-day, notwithstanding Mr. Forley's unexpected +death, it is emphatically because I understood nothing of the matter, on +knocking at this door; and therefore felt myself bound, as executor, to +clear it up. That, on my word of honour, is the whole truth, so far as I +am personally concerned." + +"I feel quite sure of it, sir," I answered. + +"You mentioned Mr. Forley's death, just now, as unexpected. May I +inquire if you were present, and if he has left any last instructions?" + +"Three hours before Mr. Forley's death," said Mr. Dalcott, "his medical +attendant left him apparently in a fair way of recovery. The change for +the worse took place so suddenly, and was accompanied by such severe +suffering, to prevent him from communicating his last wishes to any one. +When I reached his house, he was insensible. I have since examined his +papers. Not one of them refers to the present time or to the serious +matter which now occupies us. In the absence of instructions I must act +cautiously on what you have told me; but I will be rigidly fair and just +at the same time. The first thing to be done," he continued, addressing +himself to Trottle, "is to hear what the man and woman, down-stairs, have +to say. If you can supply me with writing-materials, I will take their +declarations separately on the spot, in your presence, and in the +presence of the policeman who is watching the house. To-morrow I will +send copies of those declarations, accompanied by a full statement of the +case, to Mr. and Mrs. Bayne in Canada (both of whom know me well as the +late Mr. Forley's legal adviser); and I will suspend all proceedings, on +my part, until I hear from them, or from their solicitor in London. In +the present posture of affairs this is all I can safely do." + +We could do no less than agree with him, and thank him for his frank and +honest manner of meeting us. It was arranged that I should send over the +writing-materials from my lodgings; and, to my unutterable joy and +relief, it was also readily acknowledged that the poor little orphan boy +could find no fitter refuge than my old arms were longing to offer him, +and no safer protection for the night than my roof could give. Trottle +hastened away up-stairs, as actively as if he had been a young man, to +fetch the child down. + +And he brought him down to me without another moment of delay, and I went +on my knees before the poor little Mite, and embraced him, and asked him +if he would go with me to where I lived? He held me away for a moment, +and his wan, shrewd little eyes looked sharp at me. Then he clung close +to me all at once, and said: + +"I'm a-going along with you, I am--and so I tell you!" + +For inspiring the poor neglected child with this trust in my old self, I +thanked Heaven, then, with all my heart and soul, and I thank it now! + +I bundled the poor darling up in my own cloak, and I carried him in my +own arms across the road. Peggy was lost in speechless amazement to +behold me trudging out of breath up-stairs, with a strange pair of poor +little legs under my arm; but, she began to cry over the child the moment +she saw him, like a sensible woman as she always was, and she still cried +her eyes out over him in a comfortable manner, when he at last lay fast +asleep, tucked up by my hands in Trottle's bed. + +"And Trottle, bless you, my dear man," said I, kissing his hand, as he +looked on: "the forlorn baby came to this refuge through you, and he will +help you on your way to Heaven." + +Trottle answered that I was his dear mistress, and immediately went and +put his head out at an open window on the landing, and looked into the +back street for a quarter of an hour. + +That very night, as I sat thinking of the poor child, and of another poor +child who is never to be thought about enough at Christmas-time, the idea +came into my mind which I have lived to execute, and in the realisation +of which I am the happiest of women this day. + +"The executor will sell that House, Trottle?" said I. + +"Not a doubt of it, ma'am, if he can find a purchaser." + +"I'll buy it." + +I have often seen Trottle pleased; but, I never saw him so perfectly +enchanted as he was when I confided to him, which I did, then and there, +the purpose that I had in view. + +To make short of a long story--and what story would not be long, coming +from the lips of an old woman like me, unless it was made short by main +force!--I bought the House. Mrs. Bayne had her father's blood in her; +she evaded the opportunity of forgiving and generous reparation that was +offered her, and disowned the child; but, I was prepared for that, and +loved him all the more for having no one in the world to look to, but me. + +I am getting into a flurry by being over-pleased, and I dare say I am as +incoherent as need be. I bought the House, and I altered it from the +basement to the roof, and I turned it into a Hospital for Sick Children. + +Never mind by what degrees my little adopted boy came to the knowledge of +all the sights and sounds in the streets, so familiar to other children +and so strange to him; never mind by what degrees he came to be pretty, +and childish, and winning, and companionable, and to have pictures and +toys about him, and suitable playmates. As I write, I look across the +road to my Hospital, and there is the darling (who has gone over to play) +nodding at me out of one of the once lonely windows, with his dear chubby +face backed up by Trottle's waistcoat as he lifts my pet for "Grandma" to +see. + +Many an Eye I see in that House now, but it is never in solitude, never +in neglect. Many an Eye I see in that House now, that is more and more +radiant every day with the light of returning health. As my precious +darling has changed beyond description for the brighter and the better, +so do the not less precious darlings of poor women change in that House +every day in the year. For which I humbly thank that Gracious Being whom +the restorer of the Widow's son and of the Ruler's daughter, instructed +all mankind to call their Father. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HOUSE TO LET*** + + +******* This file should be named 2324.txt or 2324.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/2/2324 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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All, however, is not as it seems and she is drawn into +the mystery which surrounds the house. Originally published in 1858 in +the Christmas edition of "House Worlds Magazine", Dickens and his fellow +contributors wrote a chapter each and Dickens edited the whole. + +We have already released Dicken's chapter which was "Going into Society". +However, its good to have the whole book too so that people know how the +story starts and ends. + + + + +A HOUSE TO LET + + + + +Contents: + +Over the Way +The Manchester Marriage +Going into Society +Three Evenings in the House +Trottle's Report +Let at Last + + + +OVER THE WAY + + + +I had been living at Tunbridge Wells and nowhere else, going on for +ten years, when my medical man--very clever in his profession, and +the prettiest player I ever saw in my life of a hand at Long Whist, +which was a noble and a princely game before Short was heard of-- +said to me, one day, as he sat feeling my pulse on the actual sofa +which my poor dear sister Jane worked before her spine came on, and +laid her on a board for fifteen months at a stretch--the most +upright woman that ever lived--said to me, "What we want, ma'am, is +a fillip." + +"Good gracious, goodness gracious, Doctor Towers!" says I, quite +startled at the man, for he was so christened himself: "don't talk +as if you were alluding to people's names; but say what you mean." + +"I mean, my dear ma'am, that we want a little change of air and +scene." + +"Bless the man!" said I; "does he mean we or me!" + +"I mean you, ma'am." + +"Then Lard forgive you, Doctor Towers," I said; "why don't you get +into a habit of expressing yourself in a straightforward manner, +like a loyal subject of our gracious Queen Victoria, and a member of +the Church of England?" + +Towers laughed, as he generally does when he has fidgetted me into +any of my impatient ways--one of my states, as I call them--and then +he began, - + +"Tone, ma'am, Tone, is all you require!" He appealed to Trottle, +who just then came in with the coal-scuttle, looking, in his nice +black suit, like an amiable man putting on coals from motives of +benevolence. + +Trottle (whom I always call my right hand) has been in my service +two-and-thirty years. He entered my service, far away from England. +He is the best of creatures, and the most respectable of men; but, +opinionated. + +"What you want, ma'am," says Trottle, making up the fire in his +quiet and skilful way, "is Tone." + +"Lard forgive you both!" says I, bursting out a-laughing; "I see you +are in a conspiracy against me, so I suppose you must do what you +like with me, and take me to London for a change." + +For some weeks Towers had hinted at London, and consequently I was +prepared for him. When we had got to this point, we got on so +expeditiously, that Trottle was packed off to London next day but +one, to find some sort of place for me to lay my troublesome old +head in. + +Trottle came back to me at the Wells after two days' absence, with +accounts of a charming place that could be taken for six months +certain, with liberty to renew on the same terms for another six, +and which really did afford every accommodation that I wanted. + +"Could you really find no fault at all in the rooms, Trottle?" I +asked him. + +"Not a single one, ma'am. They are exactly suitable to you. There +is not a fault in them. There is but one fault outside of them." + +"And what's that?" + +"They are opposite a House to Let." + +"O!" I said, considering of it. "But is that such a very great +objection?" + +"I think it my duty to mention it, ma'am. It is a dull object to +look at. Otherwise, I was so greatly pleased with the lodging that +I should have closed with the terms at once, as I had your authority +to do." + +Trottle thinking so highly of the place, in my interest, I wished +not to disappoint him. Consequently I said: + +"The empty House may let, perhaps." + +"O, dear no, ma'am," said Trottle, shaking his head with decision; +"it won't let. It never does let, ma'am." + +"Mercy me! Why not?" + +"Nobody knows, ma'am. All I have to mention is, ma'am, that the +House won't let!" + +"How long has this unfortunate House been to let, in the name of +Fortune?" said I. + +"Ever so long," said Trottle. "Years." + +"Is it in ruins?" + +"It's a good deal out of repair, ma'am, but it's not in ruins." + +The long and the short of this business was, that next day I had a +pair of post-horses put to my chariot--for, I never travel by +railway: not that I have anything to say against railways, except +that they came in when I was too old to take to them; and that they +made ducks and drakes of a few turnpike-bonds I had--and so I went +up myself, with Trottle in the rumble, to look at the inside of this +same lodging, and at the outside of this same House. + +As I say, I went and saw for myself. The lodging was perfect. +That, I was sure it would be; because Trottle is the best judge of +comfort I know. The empty house was an eyesore; and that I was sure +it would be too, for the same reason. However, setting the one +thing against the other, the good against the bad, the lodging very +soon got the victory over the House. My lawyer, Mr. Squares, of +Crown Office Row; Temple, drew up an agreement; which his young man +jabbered over so dreadfully when he read it to me, that I didn't +understand one word of it except my own name; and hardly that, and I +signed it, and the other party signed it, and, in three weeks' time, +I moved my old bones, bag and baggage, up to London. + +For the first month or so, I arranged to leave Trottle at the Wells. +I made this arrangement, not only because there was a good deal to +take care of in the way of my school-children and pensioners, and +also of a new stove in the hall to air the house in my absence, +which appeared to me calculated to blow up and burst; but, likewise +because I suspect Trottle (though the steadiest of men, and a +widower between sixty and seventy) to be what I call rather a +Philanderer. I mean, that when any friend comes down to see me and +brings a maid, Trottle is always remarkably ready to show that maid +the Wells of an evening; and that I have more than once noticed the +shadow of his arm, outside the room door nearly opposite my chair, +encircling that maid's waist on the landing, like a table-cloth +brush. + +Therefore, I thought it just as well, before any London Philandering +took place, that I should have a little time to look round me, and +to see what girls were in and about the place. So, nobody stayed +with me in my new lodging at first after Trottle had established me +there safe and sound, but Peggy Flobbins, my maid; a most +affectionate and attached woman, who never was an object of +Philandering since I have known her, and is not likely to begin to +become so after nine-and-twenty years next March. + +It was the fifth of November when I first breakfasted in my new +rooms. The Guys were going about in the brown fog, like magnified +monsters of insects in table-beer, and there was a Guy resting on +the door-steps of the House to Let. I put on my glasses, partly to +see how the boys were pleased with what I sent them out by Peggy, +and partly to make sure that she didn't approach too near the +ridiculous object, which of course was full of sky-rockets, and +might go off into bangs at any moment. In this way it happened that +the first time I ever looked at the House to Let, after I became its +opposite neighbour, I had my glasses on. And this might not have +happened once in fifty times, for my sight is uncommonly good for my +time of life; and I wear glasses as little as I can, for fear of +spoiling it. + +I knew already that it was a ten-roomed house, very dirty, and much +dilapidated; that the area-rails were rusty and peeling away, and +that two or three of them were wanting, or half-wanting; that there +were broken panes of glass in the windows, and blotches of mud on +other panes, which the boys had thrown at them; that there was quite +a collection of stones in the area, also proceeding from those Young +Mischiefs; that there were games chalked on the pavement before the +house, and likenesses of ghosts chalked on the street-door; that the +windows were all darkened by rotting old blinds, or shutters, or +both; that the bills "To Let," had curled up, as if the damp air of +the place had given them cramps; or had dropped down into corners, +as if they were no more. I had seen all this on my first visit, and +I had remarked to Trottle, that the lower part of the black board +about terms was split away; that the rest had become illegible, and +that the very stone of the door-steps was broken across. +Notwithstanding, I sat at my breakfast table on that Please to +Remember the fifth of November morning, staring at the House through +my glasses, as if I had never looked at it before. + +All at once--in the first-floor window on my right--down in a low +corner, at a hole in a blind or a shutter--I found that I was +looking at a secret Eye. The reflection of my fire may have touched +it and made it shine; but, I saw it shine and vanish. + +The eye might have seen me, or it might not have seen me, sitting +there in the glow of my fire--you can take which probability you +prefer, without offence--but something struck through my frame, as +if the sparkle of this eye had been electric, and had flashed +straight at me. It had such an effect upon me, that I could not +remain by myself, and I rang for Flobbins, and invented some little +jobs for her, to keep her in the room. After my breakfast was +cleared away, I sat in the same place with my glasses on, moving my +head, now so, and now so, trying whether, with the shining of my +fire and the flaws in the window-glass, I could reproduce any +sparkle seeming to be up there, that was like the sparkle of an eye. +But no; I could make nothing like it. I could make ripples and +crooked lines in the front of the House to Let, and I could even +twist one window up and loop it into another; but, I could make no +eye, nor anything like an eye. So I convinced myself that I really +had seen an eye. + +Well, to be sure I could not get rid of the impression of this eye, +and it troubled me and troubled me, until it was almost a torment. +I don't think I was previously inclined to concern my head much +about the opposite House; but, after this eye, my head was full of +the house; and I thought of little else than the house, and I +watched the house, and I talked about the house, and I dreamed of +the house. In all this, I fully believe now, there was a good +Providence. But, you will judge for yourself about that, bye-and- +bye. + +My landlord was a butler, who had married a cook, and set up +housekeeping. They had not kept house longer than a couple of +years, and they knew no more about the House to Let than I did. +Neither could I find out anything concerning it among the trades- +people or otherwise; further than what Trottle had told me at first. +It had been empty, some said six years, some said eight, some said +ten. It never did let, they all agreed, and it never would let. + +I soon felt convinced that I should work myself into one of my +states about the House; and I soon did. I lived for a whole month +in a flurry, that was always getting worse. Towers's prescriptions, +which I had brought to London with me, were of no more use than +nothing. In the cold winter sunlight, in the thick winter fog, in +the black winter rain, in the white winter snow, the House was +equally on my mind. I have heard, as everybody else has, of a +spirit's haunting a house; but I have had my own personal experience +of a house's haunting a spirit; for that House haunted mine. + +In all that month's time, I never saw anyone go into the House nor +come out of the House. I supposed that such a thing must take place +sometimes, in the dead of the night, or the glimmer of the morning; +but, I never saw it done. I got no relief from having my curtains +drawn when it came on dark, and shutting out the House. The Eye +then began to shine in my fire. + +I am a single old woman. I should say at once, without being at all +afraid of the name, I am an old maid; only that I am older than the +phrase would express. The time was when I had my love-trouble, but, +it is long and long ago. He was killed at sea (Dear Heaven rest his +blessed head!) when I was twenty-five. I have all my life, since +ever I can remember, been deeply fond of children. I have always +felt such a love for them, that I have had my sorrowful and sinful +times when I have fancied something must have gone wrong in my life- +-something must have been turned aside from its original intention I +mean--or I should have been the proud and happy mother of many +children, and a fond old grandmother this day. I have soon known +better in the cheerfulness and contentment that God has blessed me +with and given me abundant reason for; and yet I have had to dry my +eyes even then, when I have thought of my dear, brave, hopeful, +handsome, bright-eyed Charley, and the trust meant to cheer me with. +Charley was my youngest brother, and he went to India. He married +there, and sent his gentle little wife home to me to be confined, +and she was to go back to him, and the baby was to be left with me, +and I was to bring it up. It never belonged to this life. It took +its silent place among the other incidents in my story that might +have been, but never were. I had hardly time to whisper to her +"Dead my own!" or she to answer, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust! O +lay it on my breast and comfort Charley!" when she had gone to seek +her baby at Our Saviour's feet. I went to Charley, and I told him +there was nothing left but me, poor me; and I lived with Charley, +out there, several years. He was a man of fifty, when he fell +asleep in my arms. His face had changed to be almost old and a +little stern; but, it softened, and softened when I laid it down +that I might cry and pray beside it; and, when I looked at it for +the last time, it was my dear, untroubled, handsome, youthful +Charley of long ago. + +- I was going on to tell that the loneliness of the House to Let +brought back all these recollections, and that they had quite +pierced my heart one evening, when Flobbins, opening the door, and +looking very much as if she wanted to laugh but thought better of +it, said: + +"Mr. Jabez Jarber, ma'am!" + +Upon which Mr. Jarber ambled in, in his usual absurd way, saying: + +"Sophonisba!" + +Which I am obliged to confess is my name. A pretty one and proper +one enough when it was given to me: but, a good many years out of +date now, and always sounding particularly high-flown and comical +from his lips. So I said, sharply: + +"Though it is Sophonisba, Jarber, you are not obliged to mention it, +that _I_ see." + +In reply to this observation, the ridiculous man put the tips of my +five right-hand fingers to his lips, and said again, with an +aggravating accent on the third syllable: + +"SophonISba!" + +I don't burn lamps, because I can't abide the smell of oil, and wax +candles belonged to my day. I hope the convenient situation of one +of my tall old candlesticks on the table at my elbow will be my +excuse for saying, that if he did that again, I would chop his toes +with it. (I am sorry to add that when I told him so, I knew his toes +to be tender.) But, really, at my time of life and at Jarber's, it +is too much of a good thing. There is an orchestra still standing +in the open air at the Wells, before which, in the presence of a +throng of fine company, I have walked a minuet with Jarber. But, +there is a house still standing, in which I have worn a pinafore, +and had a tooth drawn by fastening a thread to the tooth and the +door-handle, and toddling away from the door. And how should I look +now, at my years, in a pinafore, or having a door for my dentist? + +Besides, Jarber always was more or less an absurd man. He was +sweetly dressed, and beautifully perfumed, and many girls of my day +would have given their ears for him; though I am bound to add that +he never cared a fig for them, or their advances either, and that he +was very constant to me. For, he not only proposed to me before my +love-happiness ended in sorrow, but afterwards too: not once, nor +yet twice: nor will we say how many times. However many they were, +or however few they were, the last time he paid me that compliment +was immediately after he had presented me with a digestive dinner- +pill stuck on the point of a pin. And I said on that occasion, +laughing heartily, "Now, Jarber, if you don't know that two people +whose united ages would make about a hundred and fifty, have got to +be old, I do; and I beg to swallow this nonsense in the form of this +pill" (which I took on the spot), "and I request to, hear no more of +it." + +After that, he conducted himself pretty well. He was always a +little squeezed man, was Jarber, in little sprigged waistcoats; and +he had always little legs and a little smile, and a little voice, +and little round-about ways. As long as I can remember him he was +always going little errands for people, and carrying little gossip. +At this present time when he called me "Sophonisba!" he had a little +old-fashioned lodging in that new neighbourhood of mine. I had not +seen him for two or three years, but I had heard that he still went +out with a little perspective-glass and stood on door-steps in Saint +James's Street, to see the nobility go to Court; and went in his +little cloak and goloshes outside Willis's rooms to see them go to +Almack's; and caught the frightfullest colds, and got himself +trodden upon by coachmen and linkmen, until he went home to his +landlady a mass of bruises, and had to be nursed for a month. + +Jarber took off his little fur-collared cloak, and sat down opposite +me, with his little cane and hat in his hand. + +"Let us have no more Sophonisbaing, if YOU please, Jarber," I said. +"Call me Sarah. How do you do? I hope you are pretty well." + +"Thank you. And you?" said Jarber. + +"I am as well as an old woman can expect to be." + +Jarber was beginning: + +"Say, not old, Sophon- " but I looked at the candlestick, and he +left off; pretending not to have said anything. + +"I am infirm, of course," I said, "and so are you. Let us both be +thankful it's no worse." + +"Is it possible that you look worried?" said Jarber. + +"It is very possible. I have no doubt it is the fact." + +"And what has worried my Soph-, soft-hearted friend," said Jarber. + +"Something not easy, I suppose, to comprehend. I am worried to +death by a House to Let, over the way." + +Jarber went with his little tip-toe step to the window-curtains, +peeped out, and looked round at me. + +"Yes," said I, in answer: "that house." + +After peeping out again, Jarber came back to his chair with a tender +air, and asked: "How does it worry you, S-arah?" + +"It is a mystery to me," said I. "Of course every house IS a +mystery, more or less; but, something that I don't care to mention" +(for truly the Eye was so slight a thing to mention that I was more +than half ashamed of it), "has made that House so mysterious to me, +and has so fixed it in my mind, that I have had no peace for a +month. I foresee that I shall have no peace, either, until Trottle +comes to me, next Monday." + +I might have mentioned before, that there is a lone-standing +jealousy between Trottle and Jarber; and that there is never any +love lost between those two. + +"TROTTLE," petulantly repeated Jarber, with a little flourish of his +cane; "how is TROTTLE to restore the lost peace of Sarah?" + +"He will exert himself to find out something about the House. I +have fallen into that state about it, that I really must discover by +some means or other, good or bad, fair or foul, how and why it is +that that House remains To Let." + +"And why Trottle? Why not," putting his little hat to his heart; +"why not, Jarber? + +"To tell you the truth, I have never thought of Jarber in the +matter. And now I do think of Jarber, through your having the +kindness to suggest him--for which I am really and truly obliged to +you--I don't think he could do it." + +"Sarah!" + +"I think it would be too much for you, Jarber." + +"Sarah!" + +"There would be coming and going, and fetching and carrying, Jarber, +and you might catch cold." + +"Sarah! What can be done by Trottle, can be done by me. I am on +terms of acquaintance with every person of responsibility in this +parish. I am intimate at the Circulating Library. I converse daily +with the Assessed Taxes. I lodge with the Water Rate. I know the +Medical Man. I lounge habitually at the House Agent's. I dine with +the Churchwardens. I move to the Guardians. Trottle! A person in +the sphere of a domestic, and totally unknown to society!" + +"Don't be warm, Jarber. In mentioning Trottle, I have naturally +relied on my Right-Hand, who would take any trouble to gratify even +a whim of his old mistress's. But, if you can find out anything to +help to unravel the mystery of this House to Let, I shall be fully +as much obliged to you as if there was never a Trottle in the land." + +Jarber rose and put on his little cloak. A couple of fierce brass +lions held it tight round his little throat; but a couple of the +mildest Hares might have done that, I am sure. "Sarah," he said, "I +go. Expect me on Monday evening, the Sixth, when perhaps you will +give me a cup of tea;--may I ask for no Green? Adieu!" + +This was on a Thursday, the second of December. When I reflected +that Trottle would come back on Monday, too, I had My misgivings as +to the difficulty of keeping the two powers from open warfare, and +indeed I was more uneasy than I quite like to confess. However, the +empty House swallowed up that thought next morning, as it swallowed +up most other thoughts now, and the House quite preyed upon me all +that day, and all the Saturday. + +It was a very wet Sunday: raining and blowing from morning to +night. When the bells rang for afternoon church, they seemed to +ring in the commotion of the puddles as well as in the wind, and +they sounded very loud and dismal indeed, and the street looked very +dismal indeed, and the House looked dismallest of all. + +I was reading my prayers near the light, and my fire was growing in +the darkening window-glass, when, looking up, as I prayed for the +fatherless children and widows and all who were desolate and +oppressed,--I saw the Eye again. It passed in a moment, as it had +done before; but, this time, I was inwardly more convinced that I +had seen it. + +Well to be sure, I HAD a night that night! Whenever I closed my own +eyes, it was to see eyes. Next morning, at an unreasonably, and I +should have said (but for that railroad) an impossibly early hour, +comes Trottle. As soon as he had told me all about the Wells, I +told him all about the House. He listened with as great interest +and attention as I could possibly wish, until I came to Jabez +Jarber, when he cooled in an instant, and became opinionated. + +"Now, Trottle," I said, pretending not to notice, "when Mr. Jarber +comes back this evening, we must all lay our heads together." + +"I should hardly think that would be wanted, ma'am; Mr. Jarber's +head is surely equal to anything." + +Being determined not to notice, I said again, that we must all lay +our heads together. + +"Whatever you order, ma'am, shall be obeyed. Still, it cannot be +doubted, I should think, that Mr. Jarber's head is equal, if not +superior, to any pressure that can be brought to bear upon it." + +This was provoking; and his way, when he came in and out all through +the day, of pretending not to see the House to Let, was more +provoking still. However, being quite resolved not to notice, I +gave no sign whatever that I did notice. But, when evening came, +and he showed in Jarber, and, when Jarber wouldn't be helped off +with his cloak, and poked his cane into cane chair-backs and china +ornaments and his own eye, in trying to unclasp his brazen lions of +himself (which he couldn't do, after all), I could have shaken them +both. + +As it was, I only shook the tea-pot, and made the tea. Jarber had +brought from under his cloak, a roll of paper, with which he had +triumphantly pointed over the way, like the Ghost of Hamlet's Father +appearing to the late Mr. Kemble, and which he had laid on the +table. + +"A discovery?" said I, pointing to it, when he was seated, and had +got his tea-cup.--"Don't go, Trottle." + +"The first of a series of discoveries," answered Jarber. "Account +of a former tenant, compiled from the Water Rate, and Medical Man." + +"Don't go, Trottle," I repeated. For, I saw him making +imperceptibly to the door. + +"Begging your pardon, ma'am, I might be in Mr. Jarber's way?" + +Jarber looked that he decidedly thought he might be. I relieved +myself with a good angry croak, and said--always determined not to +notice: + +"Have the goodness to sit down, if you please, Trottle. I wish you +to hear this." + +Trottle bowed in the stiffest manner, and took the remotest chair he +could find. Even that, he moved close to the draught from the +keyhole of the door. + +"Firstly," Jarber began, after sipping his tea, "would my Sophon- " + +"Begin again, Jarber," said I. + +"Would you be much surprised, if this House to Let should turn out +to be the property of a relation of your own?" + +"I should indeed be very much surprised." + +"Then it belongs to your first cousin (I learn, by the way, that he +is ill at this time) George Forley." + +"Then that is a bad beginning. I cannot deny that George Forley +stands in the relation of first cousin to me; but I hold no +communication with him. George Forley has been a hard, bitter, +stony father to a child now dead. George Forley was most implacable +and unrelenting to one of his two daughters who made a poor +marriage. George Forley brought all the weight of his band to bear +as heavily against that crushed thing, as he brought it to bear +lightly, favouringly, and advantageously upon her sister, who made a +rich marriage. I hope that, with the measure George Forley meted, +it may not be measured out to him again. I will give George Forley +no worse wish." + +I was strong upon the subject, and I could not keep the tears out of +my eyes; for, that young girl's was a cruel story, and I had dropped +many a tear over it before. + +"The house being George Forley's," said I, "is almost enough to +account for there being a Fate upon it, if Fate there is. Is there +anything about George Forley in those sheets of paper?" + +"Not a word." + +"I am glad to hear it. Please to read on. Trottle, why don't you +come nearer? Why do you sit mortifying yourself in those arctic +regions? Come nearer." + +"Thank you, ma'am; I am quite near enough to Mr. Jarber." + +Jarber rounded his chair, to get his back full to my opinionated +friend and servant, and, beginning to read, tossed the words at him +over his (Jabez Jarber's) own ear and shoulder. + +He read what follows: + + + +THE MANCHESTER MARRIAGE + + + +Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw came from Manchester to London and took the +House To Let. He had been, what is called in Lancashire, a Salesman +for a large manufacturing firm, who were extending their business, +and opening a warehouse in London; where Mr. Openshaw was now to +superintend the business. He rather enjoyed the change of +residence; having a kind of curiosity about London, which he had +never yet been able to gratify in his brief visits to the +metropolis. At the same time he had an odd, shrewd, contempt for +the inhabitants; whom he had always pictured to himself as fine, +lazy people; caring nothing but for fashion and aristocracy, and +lounging away their days in Bond Street, and such places; ruining +good English, and ready in their turn to despise him as a +provincial. The hours that the men of business kept in the city +scandalised him too; accustomed as he was to the early dinners of +Manchester folk, and the consequently far longer evenings. Still, +he was pleased to go to London; though he would not for the world +have confessed it, even to himself, and always spoke of the step to +his friends as one demanded of him by the interests of his +employers, and sweetened to him by a considerable increase of +salary. His salary indeed was so liberal that he might have been +justified in taking a much larger House than this one, had he not +thought himself bound to set an example to Londoners of how little a +Manchester man of business cared for show. Inside, however, he +furnished the House with an unusual degree of comfort, and, in the +winter time, he insisted on keeping up as large fires as the grates +would allow, in every room where the temperature was in the least +chilly. Moreover, his northern sense of hospitality was such, that, +if he were at home, he could hardly suffer a visitor to leave the +house without forcing meat and drink upon him. Every servant in the +house was well warmed, well fed, and kindly treated; for their +master scorned all petty saving in aught that conduced to comfort; +while he amused himself by following out all his accustomed habits +and individual ways in defiance of what any of his new neighbours +might think. + +His wife was a pretty, gentle woman, of suitable age and character. +He was forty-two, she thirty-five. He was loud and decided; she +soft and yielding. They had two children or rather, I should say, +she had two; for the elder, a girl of eleven, was Mrs. Openshaw's +child by Frank Wilson her first husband. The younger was a little +boy, Edwin, who could just prattle, and to whom his father delighted +to speak in the broadest and most unintelligible Lancashire dialect, +in order to keep up what he called the true Saxon accent. + +Mrs. Openshaw's Christian-name was Alice, and her first husband had +been her own cousin. She was the orphan niece of a sea-captain in +Liverpool: a quiet, grave little creature, of great personal +attraction when she was fifteen or sixteen, with regular features +and a blooming complexion. But she was very shy, and believed +herself to be very stupid and awkward; and was frequently scolded by +her aunt, her own uncle's second wife. So when her cousin, Frank +Wilson, came home from a long absence at sea, and first was kind and +protective to her; secondly, attentive and thirdly, desperately in +love with her, she hardly knew how to be grateful enough to him. It +is true she would have preferred his remaining in the first or +second stages of behaviour; for his violent love puzzled and +frightened her. Her uncle neither helped nor hindered the love +affair though it was going on under his own eyes. Frank's step- +mother had such a variable temper, that there was no knowing whether +what she liked one day she would like the next, or not. At length +she went to such extremes of crossness, that Alice was only too glad +to shut her eyes and rush blindly at the chance of escape from +domestic tyranny offered her by a marriage with her cousin; and, +liking him better than any one in the world except her uncle (who +was at this time at sea) she went off one morning and was married to +him; her only bridesmaid being the housemaid at her aunt's. The +consequence was, that Frank and his wife went into lodgings, and +Mrs. Wilson refused to see them, and turned away Norah, the warm- +hearted housemaid; whom they accordingly took into their service. +When Captain Wilson returned from his voyage, he was very cordial +with the young couple, and spent many an evening at their lodgings; +smoking his pipe, and sipping his grog; but he told them that, for +quietness' sake, he could not ask them to his own house; for his +wife was bitter against them. They were not very unhappy about +this. + +The seed of future unhappiness lay rather in Frank's vehement, +passionate disposition; which led him to resent his wife's shyness +and want of demonstration as failures in conjugal duty. He was +already tormenting himself, and her too, in a slighter degree, by +apprehensions and imaginations of what might befall her during his +approaching absence at sea. At last he went to his father and urged +him to insist upon Alice's being once more received under his roof; +the more especially as there was now a prospect of her confinement +while her husband was away on his voyage. Captain Wilson was, as he +himself expressed it, "breaking up," and unwilling to undergo the +excitement of a scene; yet he felt that what his son said was true. +So he went to his wife. And before Frank went to sea, he had the +comfort of seeing his wife installed in her old little garret in his +father's house. To have placed her in the one best spare room was a +step beyond Mrs. Wilson's powers of submission or generosity. The +worst part about it, however, was that the faithful Norah had to be +dismissed. Her place as housemaid had been filled up; and, even had +it not, she had forfeited Mrs. Wilson's good opinion for ever. She +comforted her young master and mistress by pleasant prophecies of +the time when they would have a household of their own; of which, in +whatever service she might be in the meantime, she should be sure to +form part. Almost the last action Frank Wilson did, before setting +sail, was going with Alice to see Norah once more at her mother's +house. And then he went away. + +Alice's father-in-law grew more and more feeble as winter advanced. +She was of great use to her step-mother in nursing and amusing him; +and, although there was anxiety enough in the household, there was +perhaps more of peace than there had been for years; for Mrs. Wilson +had not a bad heart, and was softened by the visible approach of +death to one whom she loved, and touched by the lonely condition of +the young creature, expecting her first confinement in her husband's +absence. To this relenting mood Norah owed the permission to come +and nurse Alice when her baby was born, and to remain to attend on +Captain Wilson. + +Before one letter had been received from Frank (who had sailed for +the East Indies and China), his father died. Alice was always glad +to remember that he had held her baby in his arms, and kissed and +blessed it before his death. After that, and the consequent +examination into the state of his affairs, it was found that he had +left far less property than people had been led by his style of +living to imagine; and, what money there was, was all settled upon +his wife, and at her disposal after her death. This did not signify +much to Alice, as Frank was now first mate of his ship, and, in +another voyage or two, would be captain. Meanwhile he had left her +some hundreds (all his savings) in the bank. + +It became time for Alice to hear from her husband. One letter from +the Cape she had already received. The next was to announce his +arrival in India. As week after week passed over, and no +intelligence of the ship's arrival reached the office of the owners, +and the Captain's wife was in the same state of ignorant suspense as +Alice herself, her fears grew most oppressive. At length the day +came when, in reply to her inquiry at the Shipping Office, they told +her that the owners had given up Hope of ever hearing more of the +Betsy-Jane, and had sent in their claim upon the underwriters. Now +that he was gone for ever, she first felt a yearning, longing love +for the kind cousin, the dear friend, the sympathising protector, +whom she should never see again,--first felt a passionate desire to +show him his child, whom she had hitherto rather craved to have all +to herself--her own sole possession. Her grief was, however, +noiseless, and quiet--rather to the scandal of Mrs. Wilson; who +bewailed her step-son as if he and she had always lived together in +perfect harmony, and who evidently thought it her duty to burst into +fresh tears at every strange face she saw; dwelling on his poor +young widow's desolate state, and the helplessness of the fatherless +child, with an unction, as if she liked the excitement of the +sorrowful story. + +So passed away the first days of Alice's widowhood. Bye-and-bye +things subsided into their natural and tranquil course. But, as if +this young creature was always to be in some heavy trouble, her ewe- +lamb began to be ailing, pining and sickly. The child's mysterious +illness turned out to be some affection of the spine likely to +affect health; but not to shorten life--at least so the doctors +said. But the long dreary suffering of one whom a mother loves as +Alice loved her only child, is hard to look forward to. Only Norah +guessed what Alice suffered; no one but God knew. + +And so it fell out, that when Mrs. Wilson, the elder, came to her +one day in violent distress, occasioned by a very material +diminution in the value the property that her husband had left her,- +-a diminution which made her income barely enough to support +herself, much less Alice--the latter could hardly understand how +anything which did not touch health or life could cause such grief; +and she received the intelligence with irritating composure. But +when, that afternoon, the little sick child was brought in, and the +grandmother--who after all loved it well--began a fresh moan over +her losses to its unconscious ears--saying how she had planned to +consult this or that doctor, and to give it this or that comfort or +luxury in after yearn but that now all chance of this had passed +away--Alice's heart was touched, and she drew near to Mrs. Wilson +with unwonted caresses, and, in a spirit not unlike to that of, +Ruth, entreated, that come what would, they might remain together. +After much discussion in succeeding days, it was arranged that Mrs. +Wilson should take a house in Manchester, furnishing it partly with +what furniture she had, and providing the rest with Alice's +remaining two hundred pounds. Mrs. Wilson was herself a Manchester +woman, and naturally longed to return to her native town. Some +connections of her own at that time required lodgings, for which +they were willing to pay pretty handsomely. Alice undertook the +active superintendence and superior work of the household. Norah, +willing faithful Norah, offered to cook, scour, do anything in +short, so that, she might but remain with them. + +The plan succeeded. For some years their first lodgers remained +with them, and all went smoothly,--with the one sad exception of the +little girl's increasing deformity. How that mother loved that +child, is not for words to tell! + +Then came a break of misfortune. Their lodgers left, and no one +succeeded to them. After some months they had to remove to a +smaller house; and Alice's tender conscience was torn by the idea +that she ought not to be a burden to her mother-in-law, but ought to +go out and seek her own maintenance. And leave her child! The +thought came like the sweeping boom of a funeral bell over her +heart. + +Bye-and-bye, Mr. Openshaw came to lodge with them. He had started +in life as the errand-boy and sweeper-out of a warehouse; had +struggled up through all the grades of employment in the place, +fighting his way through the hard striving Manchester life with +strong pushing energy of character. Every spare moment of time had +been sternly given up to self-teaching. He was a capital +accountant, a good French and German scholar, a keen, far-seeing +tradesman; understanding markets, and the bearing of events, both +near and distant, on trade: and yet, with such vivid attention to +present details, that I do not think he ever saw a group of flowers +in the fields without thinking whether their colours would, or would +not, form harmonious contrasts in the coming spring muslins and +prints. He went to debating societies, and threw himself with all +his heart and soul into politics; esteeming, it must be owned, every +man a fool or a knave who differed from him, and overthrowing his +opponents rather by the loud strength of his language than the calm +strength if his logic. There was something of the Yankee in all +this. Indeed his theory ran parallel to the famous Yankee motto-- +"England flogs creation, and Manchester flogs England." Such a man, +as may be fancied, had had no time for falling in love, or any such +nonsense. At the age when most young men go through their courting +and matrimony, he had not the means of keeping a wife, and was far +too practical to think of having one. And now that he was in easy +circumstances, a rising man, he considered women almost as +incumbrances to the world, with whom a man had better have as little +to do as possible. His first impression of Alice was indistinct, +and he did not care enough about her to make it distinct. "A pretty +yea-nay kind of woman," would have been his description of her, if +he had been pushed into a corner. He was rather afraid, in the +beginning, that her quiet ways arose from a listlessness and +laziness of character which would have been exceedingly discordant +to his active energetic nature. But, when he found out the +punctuality with which his wishes were attended to, and her work was +done; when he was called in the morning at the very stroke of the +clock, his shaving-water scalding hot, his fire bright, his coffee +made exactly as his peculiar fancy dictated, (for he was a man who +had his theory about everything, based upon what he knew of science, +and often perfectly original)--then he began to think: not that +Alice had any peculiar merit; but that he had got into remarkably +good lodgings: his restlessness wore away, and he began to consider +himself as almost settled for life in them. + +Mr. Openshaw had been too busy, all his life, to be introspective. +He did not know that he had any tenderness in his nature; and if he +had become conscious of its abstract existence, he would have +considered it as a manifestation of disease in some part of his +nature. But he was decoyed into pity unawares; and pity led on to +tenderness. That little helpless child--always carried about by one +of the three busy women of the house, or else patiently threading +coloured beads in the chair from which, by no effort of its own, +could it ever move; the great grave blue eyes, full of serious, not +uncheerful, expression, giving to the small delicate face a look +beyond its years; the soft plaintive voice dropping out but few +words, so unlike the continual prattle of a child--caught Mr. +Openshaw's attention in spite of himself. One day--he half scorned +himself for doing so--he cut short his dinner-hour to go in search +of some toy which should take the place of those eternal beads. I +forget what he bought; but, when he gave the present (which he took +care to do in a short abrupt manner, and when no one was by to see +him) he was almost thrilled by the flash of delight that came over +that child's face, and could not help all through that afternoon +going over and over again the picture left on his memory, by the +bright effect of unexpected joy on the little girl's face. When he +returned home, he found his slippers placed by his sitting-room +fire; and even more careful attention paid to his fancies than was +habitual in those model lodgings. When Alice had taken the last of +his tea-things away--she had been silent as usual till then--she +stood for an instant with the door in her hand. Mr. Openshaw looked +as if he were deep in his book, though in fact he did not see a +line; but was heartily wishing the woman would be gone, and not make +any palaver of gratitude. But she only said: + +"I am very much obliged to you, sir. Thank you very much," and was +gone, even before he could send her away with a "There, my good +woman, that's enough!" + +For some time longer he took no apparent notice of the child. He +even hardened his heart into disregarding her sudden flush of +colour, and little timid smile of recognition, when he saw her by +chance. But, after all, this could not last for ever; and, having a +second time given way to tenderness, there was no relapse. The +insidious enemy having thus entered his heart, in the guise of +compassion to the child, soon assumed the more dangerous form of +interest in the mother. He was aware of this change of feeling, +despised himself for it, struggled with it nay, internally yielded +to it and cherished it, long before he suffered the slightest +expression of it, by word, action, or look, to escape him. He +watched Alice's docile obedient ways to her stepmother; the love +which she had inspired in the rough Norah (roughened by the wear and +tear of sorrow and years); but above all, he saw the wild, deep, +passionate affection existing between her and her child. They spoke +little to any one else, or when any one else was by; but, when alone +together, they talked, and murmured, and cooed, and chattered so +continually, that Mr. Openshaw first wondered what they could find +to say to each other, and next became irritated because they were +always so grave and silent with him. All this time, he was +perpetually devising small new pleasures for the child. His +thoughts ran, in a pertinacious way, upon the desolate life before +her; and often he came back from his day's work loaded with the very +thing Alice had been longing for, but had not been able to procure. +One time it was a little chair for drawing the little sufferer along +the streets, and many an evening that ensuing summer Mr. Openshaw +drew her along himself, regardless of the remarks of his +acquaintances. One day in autumn he put down his newspaper, as +Alice came in with the breakfast, and said, in as indifferent a +voice as he could assume: + +"Mrs. Frank, is there any reason why we two should not put up our +horses together?" + +Alice stood still in perplexed wonder. What did he mean? He had +resumed the reading of his newspaper, as if he did not expect any +answer; so she found silence her safest course, and went on quietly +arranging his breakfast without another word passing between them. +Just as he was leaving the house, to go to the warehouse as usual, +he turned back and put his head into the bright, neat, tidy kitchen, +where all the women breakfasted in the morning: + +"You'll think of what I said, Mrs. Frank" (this was her name with +the lodgers), "and let me have your opinion upon it to-night." + +Alice was thankful that her mother and Norah were too busy talking +together to attend much to this speech. She determined not to think +about it at all through the day; and, of course, the effort not to +think made her think all the more. At night she sent up Norah with +his tea. But Mr. Openshaw almost knocked Norah down as she was +going out at the door, by pushing past her and calling out "Mrs. +Frank!" in an impatient voice, at the top of the stairs. + +Alice went up, rather than seem to have affixed too much meaning to +his words. + +"Well, Mrs. Frank," he said, "what answer? Don't make it too long; +for I have lots of office-work to get through to-night." + +"I hardly know what you meant, sir," said truthful Alice. + +"Well! I should have thought you might have guessed. You're not +new at this sort of work, and I am. However, I'll make it plain +this time. Will you have me to be thy wedded husband, and serve me, +and love me, and honour me, and all that sort of thing? Because if +you will, I will do as much by you, and be a father to your child-- +and that's more than is put in the prayer-book. Now, I'm a man of +my word; and what I say, I feel; and what I promise, I'll do. Now, +for your answer!" + +Alice was silent. He began to make the tea, as if her reply was a +matter of perfect indifference to him; but, as soon as that was +done, he became impatient. + +"Well?" said he. + +"How long, sir, may I have to think over it?" + +"Three minutes!" (looking at his watch). "You've had two already-- +that makes five. Be a sensible woman, say Yes, and sit down to tea +with me, and we'll talk it over together; for, after tea, I shall be +busy; say No" (he hesitated a moment to try and keep his voice in +the same tone), "and I shan't say another word about it, but pay up +a year's rent for my rooms to-morrow, and be off. Time's up! Yes +or no?" + +"If you please, sir,--you have been so good to little Ailsie--" + +"There, sit down comfortably by me on the sofa, and let us have our +tea together. I am glad to find you are as good and sensible as I +took for." + +And this was Alice Wilson's second wooing. + +Mr. Openshaw's will was too strong, and his circumstances too good, +for him not to carry all before him. He settled Mrs. Wilson in a +comfortable house of her own, and made her quite independent of +lodgers. The little that Alice said with regard to future plans was +in Norah's behalf. + +"No," said Mr. Openshaw. "Norah shall take care of the old lady as +long as she lives; and, after that, she shall either come and live +with us, or, if she likes it better, she shall have a provision for +life--for your sake, missus. No one who has been good to you or the +child shall go unrewarded. But even the little one will be better +for some fresh stuff about her. Get her a bright, sensible girl as +a nurse: one who won't go rubbing her with calf's-foot jelly as +Norah does; wasting good stuff outside that ought to go in, but will +follow doctors' directions; which, as you must see pretty clearly by +this time, Norah won't; because they give the poor little wench +pain. Now, I'm not above being nesh for other folks myself. I can +stand a good blow, and never change colour; but, set me in the +operating-room in the infirmary, and I turn as sick as a girl. Yet, +if need were, I would hold the little wench on my knees while she +screeched with pain, if it were to do her poor back good. Nay, nay, +wench! keep your white looks for the time when it comes--I don't say +it ever will. But this I know, Norah will spare the child and cheat +the doctor if she can. Now, I say, give the bairn a year or two's +chance, and then, when the pack of doctors have done their best-- +and, maybe, the old lady has gone--we'll have Norah back, or do +better for her." + +The pack of doctors could do no good to little Ailsie. She was +beyond their power. But her father (for so he insisted on being +called, and also on Alice's no longer retaining the appellation of +Mama, but becoming henceforward Mother), by his healthy cheerfulness +of manner, his clear decision of purpose, his odd turns and quirks +of humour, added to his real strong love for the helpless little +girl, infused a new element of brightness and confidence into her +life; and, though her back remained the same, her general health was +strengthened, and Alice--never going beyond a smile herself--had the +pleasure of seeing her child taught to laugh. + +As for Alice's own life, it was happier than it had ever been. Mr. +Openshaw required no demonstration, no expressions of affection from +her. Indeed, these would rather have disgusted him. Alice could +love deeply, but could not talk about it. The perpetual requirement +of loving words, looks, and caresses, and misconstruing their +absence into absence of love, had been the great trial of her former +married life. Now, all went on clear and straight, under the +guidance of her husband's strong sense, warm heart, and powerful +will. Year by year their worldly prosperity increased. At Mrs. +Wilson's death, Norah came back to them, as nurse to the newly-born +little Edwin; into which post she was not installed without a pretty +strong oration on the part of the proud and happy father; who +declared that if he found out that Norah ever tried to screen the +boy by a falsehood, or to make him nesh either in body or mind, she +should go that very day. Norah and Mr. Openshaw were not on the +most thoroughly cordial terms; neither of them fully recognising or +appreciating the other's best qualities. + +This was the previous history of the Lancashire family who had now +removed to London, and had come to occupy the House. + +They had been there about a year, when Mr. Openshaw suddenly +informed his wife that he had determined to heal long-standing +feuds, and had asked his uncle and aunt Chadwick to come and pay +them a visit and see London. Mrs. Openshaw had never seen this +uncle and aunt of her husband's. Years before she had married him, +there had been a quarrel. All she knew was, that Mr. Chadwick was a +small manufacturer in a country town in South Lancashire. She was +extremely pleased that the breach was to be healed, and began making +preparations to render their visit pleasant. + +They arrived at last. Going to see London was such an event to +them, that Mrs. Chadwick had made all new linen fresh for the +occasion-from night-caps downwards; and, as for gowns, ribbons, and +collars, she might have been going into the wilds of Canada where +never a shop is, so large was her stock. A fortnight before the day +of her departure for London, she had formally called to take leave +of all her acquaintance; saying she should need all the intermediate +time for packing up. It was like a second wedding in her +imagination; and, to complete the resemblance which an entirely new +wardrobe made between the two events, her husband brought her back +from Manchester, on the last market-day before they set off, a +gorgeous pearl and amethyst brooch, saying, "Lunnon should see that +Lancashire folks knew a handsome thing when they saw it." + +For some time after Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick arrived at the Openshaws', +there was no opportunity for wearing this brooch; but at length they +obtained an order to see Buckingham Palace, and the spirit of +loyalty demanded that Mrs. Chadwick should wear her best clothes in +visiting the abode of her sovereign. On her return, she hastily +changed her dress; for Mr. Openshaw had planned that they should go +to Richmond, drink tea and return by moonlight. Accordingly, about +five o'clock, Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw and Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick set +off. + +The housemaid and cook sate below, Norah hardly knew where. She was +always engrossed in the nursery, in tending her two children, and in +sitting by the restless, excitable Ailsie till she fell asleep. +Bye-and-bye, the housemaid Bessy tapped gently at the door. Norah +went to her, and they spoke in whispers. + +"Nurse! there's some one down-stairs wants you." + +"Wants me! Who is it?" + +"A gentleman--" + +"A gentleman? Nonsense!" + +"Well! a man, then, and he asks for you, and he rung at the front +door bell, and has walked into the dining-room." + +"You should never have let him," exclaimed Norah, "master and missus +out--" + +"I did not want him to come in; but when he heard you lived here, he +walked past me, and sat down on the first chair, and said, 'Tell her +to come and speak to me.' There is no gas lighted in the room, and +supper is all set out." + +"He'll be off with the spoons!" exclaimed Norah, putting the +housemaid's fear into words, and preparing to leave the room, first, +however, giving a look to Ailsie, sleeping soundly and calmly. + +Down-stairs she went, uneasy fears stirring in her bosom. Before +she entered the dining-room she provided herself with a candle, and, +with it in her hand, she went in, looking round her in the darkness +for her visitor. + +He was standing up, holding by the table. Norah and he looked at +each other; gradual recognition coming into their eyes. + +"Norah?" at length he asked. + +"Who are you?" asked Norah, with the sharp tones of alarm and +incredulity. "I don't know you:" trying, by futile words of +disbelief, to do away with the terrible fact before her. + +"Am I so changed?" he said, pathetically. "I daresay I am. But, +Norah, tell me!" he breathed hard, "where is my wife? Is she--is +she alive?" + +He came nearer to Norah, and would have taken her hand; but she +backed away from him; looking at him all the time with staring eyes, +as if he were some horrible object. Yet he was a handsome, bronzed, +good-looking fellow, with beard and moustache, giving him a foreign- +looking aspect; but his eyes! there was no mistaking those eager, +beautiful eyes--the very same that Norah had watched not half-an- +hour ago, till sleep stole softly over them. + +"Tell me, Norah--I can bear it--I have feared it so often. Is she +dead ?" Norah still kept silence. "She is dead!" He hung on +Norah's words and looks, as if for confirmation or contradiction. + +"What shall I do?" groaned Norah. "O, sir! why did you come? how +did you find me out? where have you been? We thought you dead, we +did, indeed!" She poured out words and questions to gain time, as +if time would help her. + +"Norah! answer me this question, straight, by yes or no--Is my wife +dead?" + +"No, she is not!" said Norah, slowly and heavily. + +"O what a relief! Did she receive my letters? But perhaps you +don't know. Why did you leave her? Where is she? O Norah, tell me +all quickly!" + +"Mr. Frank!" said Norah at last, almost driven to bay by her terror +lest her mistress should return at any moment, and find him there-- +unable to consider what was best to be done or said-rushing at +something decisive, because she could not endure her present state: +"Mr. Frank! we never heard a line from you, and the shipowners said +you had gone down, you and every one else. We thought you were +dead, if ever man was, and poor Miss Alice and her little sick, +helpless child! O, sir, you must guess it," cried the poor creature +at last, bursting out into a passionate fit of crying, "for indeed I +cannot tell it. But it was no one's fault. God help us all this +night!" + +Norah had sate down. She trembled too much to stand. He took her +hands in his. He squeezed them hard, as if by physical pressure, +the truth could be wrung out. + +"Norah!" This time his tone was calm, stagnant as despair. "She +has married again!" + +Norah shook her head sadly. The grasp slowly relaxed. The man had +fainted. + +There was brandy in the room. Norah forced some drops into Mr. +Frank's mouth, chafed his hands, and--when mere animal life +returned, before the mind poured in its flood of memories and +thoughts--she lifted him up, and rested his head against her knees. +Then she put a few crumbs of bread taken from the supper-table, +soaked in brandy into his mouth. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. + +"Where is she? Tell me this instant." He looked so wild, so mad, +so desperate, that Norah felt herself to be in bodily danger; but +her time of dread had gone by. She had been afraid to tell him the +truth, and then she had been a coward. Now, her wits were sharpened +by the sense of his desperate state. He must leave the house. She +would pity him afterwards; but now she must rather command and +upbraid; for he must leave the house before her mistress came home. +That one necessity stood clear before her. + +"She is not here; that is enough for you to know. Nor can I say +exactly where she is" (which was true to the letter if not to the +spirit). "Go away, and tell me where to find you to-morrow, and I +will tell you all. My master and mistress may come back at any +minute, and then what would become of me with a strange man in the +house?" + +Such an argument was too petty to touch his excited mind. + +"I don't care for your master and mistress. If your master is a +man, he must feel for me poor shipwrecked sailor that I am--kept for +years a prisoner amongst savages, always, always, always thinking of +my wife and my home--dreaming of her by night, talking to her, +though she could not hear, by day. I loved her more than all heaven +and earth put together. Tell me where she is, this instant, you +wretched woman, who salved over her wickedness to her, as you do to +me." + +The clock struck ten. Desperate positions require desperate +measures. + +"If you will leave the house now, I will come to you to-morrow and +tell you all. What is more, you shall see your child now. She lies +sleeping up-stairs. O, sir, you have a child, you do not know that +as yet--a little weakly girl--with just a heart and soul beyond her +years. We have reared her up with such care: We watched her, for +we thought for many a year she might die any day, and we tended her, +and no hard thing has come near her, and no rough word has ever been +said to her. And now you, come and will take her life into your +hand, and will crush it. Strangers to her have been kind to her; +but her own father--Mr. Frank, I am her nurse, and I love her, and I +tend her, and I would do anything for her that I could. Her +mother's heart beats as hers beats; and, if she suffers a pain, her +mother trembles all over. If she is happy, it is her mother that +smiles and is glad. If she is growing stronger, her mother is +healthy: if she dwindles, her mother languishes. If she dies-- +well, I don't know: it is not every one can lie down and die when +they wish it. Come up-stairs, Mr. Frank, and see your child. +Seeing her will do good to your poor heart. Then go away, in God's +name, just this one night-to-morrow, if need be, you can do +anything--kill us all if you will, or show yourself--a great grand +man, whom God will bless for ever and ever. Come, Mr. Frank, the +look of a sleeping child is sure to give peace." + +She led him up-stairs; at first almost helping his steps, till they +came near the nursery door. She had almost forgotten the existence +of little Edwin. It struck upon her with affright as the shaded +light fell upon the other cot; but she skilfully threw that corner +of the room into darkness, and let the light fall on the sleeping +Ailsie. The child had thrown down the coverings, and her deformity, +as she lay with her back to them, was plainly visible through her +slight night-gown. Her little face, deprived of the lustre of her +eyes, looked wan and pinched, and had a pathetic expression in it, +even as she slept. The poor father looked and looked with hungry, +wistful eyes, into which the big tears came swelling up slowly, and +dropped heavily down, as he stood trembling and shaking all over. +Norah was angry with herself for growing impatient of the length of +time that long lingering gaze lasted. She thought that she waited +for full half-an-hour before Frank stirred. And then--instead of +going away--he sank down on his knees by the bedside, and buried his +face in the clothes. Little Ailsie stirred uneasily. Norah pulled +him up in terror. She could afford no more time even for prayer in +her extremity of fear; for surely the next moment would bring her +mistress home. She took him forcibly by the arm; but, as he was +going, his eye lighted on the other bed: he stopped. Intelligence +came back into his face. His hands clenched. + +"His child?" he asked. + +"Her child," replied Norah. "God watches over him," said she +instinctively; for Frank's looks excited her fears, and she needed +to remind herself of the Protector of the helpless. + +"God has not watched over me," he said, in despair; his thoughts +apparently recoiling on his own desolate, deserted state. But Norah +had no time for pity. To-morrow she would be as compassionate as +her heart prompted. At length she guided him downstairs and shut +the outer door and bolted it--as if by bolts to keep out facts. + +Then she went back into the dining-room and effaced all traces of +his presence as far as she could. She went upstairs to the nursery +and sate there, her head on her hand, thinking what was to come of +all this misery. It seemed to her very long before they did return; +yet it was hardly eleven o'clock. She so heard the loud, hearty +Lancashire voices on the stairs; and, for the first time, she +understood the contrast of the desolation of the poor man who had so +lately gone forth in lonely despair. + +It almost put her out of patience to see Mrs. Openshaw come in, +calmly smiling, handsomely dressed, happy, easy, to inquire after +her children. + +"Did Ailsie go to sleep comfortably?" she whispered to Norah. + +"Yes." + +Her mother bent over her, looking at her slumbers with the soft eyes +of love. How little she dreamed who had looked on her last! Then +she went to Edwin, with perhaps less wistful anxiety in her +countenance, but more of pride. She took off her things, to go down +to supper. Norah saw her no more that night. + +Beside the door into the passage, the sleeping-nursery opened out of +Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw's room, in order that they might have the +children more immediately under their own eyes. Early the next +summer morning Mrs. Openshaw was awakened by Ailsie's startled call +of "Mother! mother!" She sprang up, put on her dressing-gown, and +went to her child. Ailsie was only half awake, and in a not +uncommon state of terror. + +"Who was he, mother? Tell me!" + +"Who, my darling? No one is here. You have been dreaming love. +Waken up quite. See, it is broad daylight." + +"Yes," said Ailsie, looking round her; then clinging to her mother, +said, "but a man was here in the night, mother." + +"Nonsense, little goose. No man has ever come near you!" + +"Yes, he did. He stood there. Just by Norah. A man with hair and +a beard. And he knelt down and said his prayers. Norah knows he +was here, mother" (half angrily, as Mrs. Openshaw shook her head in +smiling incredulity). + +"Well! we will ask Norah when she comes," said Mrs. Openshaw, +soothingly. "But we won't talk any more about him now. It is not +five o'clock; it is too early for you to get up. Shall I fetch you +a book and read to you?" + +"Don't leave me, mother," said the child, clinging to her. So Mrs. +Openshaw sate on the bedside talking to Ailsie, and telling her of +what they had done at Richmond the evening before, until the little +girl's eyes slowly closed and she once more fell asleep. + +"What was the matter?" asked Mr. Openshaw, as his wife returned to +bed. "Ailsie wakened up in a fright, with some story of a man +having been in the room to say his prayers,--a dream, I suppose." +And no more was said at the time. + +Mrs. Openshaw had almost forgotten the whole affair when she got up +about seven o'clock. But, bye-and-bye, she heard a sharp +altercation going on in the nursery. Norah speaking angrily to +Ailsie, a most unusual thing. Both Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw listened +in astonishment. + +"Hold your tongue, Ailsie I let me hear none of your dreams; never +let me hear you tell that story again!" Ailsie began to cry. + +Mr. Openshaw opened the door of communication before his wife could +say a word. + +"Norah, come here!" + +The nurse stood at the door, defiant. She perceived she had been +heard, but she was desperate. + +"Don't let me hear you speak in that manner to Ailsie again," he +said sternly, and shut the door. + +Norah was infinitely relieved; for she had dreaded some questioning; +and a little blame for sharp speaking was what she could well bear, +if cross-examination was let alone. + +Down-stairs they went, Mr. Openshaw carrying Ailsie; the sturdy +Edwin coming step by step, right foot foremost, always holding his +mother's hand. Each child was placed in a chair by the breakfast- +table, and then Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw stood together at the window, +awaiting their visitors' appearance and making plans for the day. +There was a pause. Suddenly Mr. Openshaw turned to Ailsie, and +said: + +"What a little goosy somebody is with her dreams, waking up poor, +tired mother in the middle of the night with a story of a man being +in the room." + +"Father! I'm sure I saw him," said Ailsie, half crying. "I don't +want to make Norah angry; but I was not asleep, for all she says I +was. I had been asleep,--and I awakened up quite wide awake though +I was so frightened. I kept my eyes nearly shut, and I saw the man +quite plain. A great brown man with a beard. He said his prayers. +And then he looked at Edwin. And then Norah took him by the arm and +led him away, after they had whispered a bit together." + +"Now, my little woman must be reasonable," said Mr. Openshaw, who +was always patient with Ailsie. "There was no man in the house last +night at all. No man comes into the house as you know, if you +think; much less goes up into the nursery. But sometimes we dream +something has happened, and the dream is so like reality, that you +are not the first person, little woman, who has stood out that the +thing has really happened." + +"But, indeed it was not a dream!" said Ailsie, beginning to cry. + +Just then Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick came down, looking grave and +discomposed. All during breakfast time they were silent and +uncomfortable. As soon as the breakfast things were taken away, and +the children had been carried up-stairs, Mr. Chadwick began in an +evidently preconcerted manner to inquire if his nephew was certain +that all his servants were honest; for, that Mrs. Chadwick had that +morning missed a very valuable brooch, which she had worn the day +before. She remembered taking it off when she came home from +Buckingham Palace. Mr. Openshaw's face contracted into hard lines: +grew like what it was before he had known his wife and her child. +He rang the bell even before his uncle had done speaking. It was +answered by the housemaid. + +"Mary, was any one here last night while we were away?" + +"A man, sir, came to speak to Norah." + +"To speak to Norah! Who was he? How long did he stay?" + +"I'm sure I can't tell, sir. He came--perhaps about nine. I went +up to tell Norah in the nursery, and she came down to speak to him. +She let him out, sir. She will know who he was, and how long he +stayed." + +She waited a moment to be asked any more questions, but she was not, +so she went away. + +A minute afterwards Openshaw made as though he were going out of the +room; but his wife laid her hand on his arm: + +"Do not speak to her before the children," she said, in her low, +quiet voice. "I will go up and question her." + +"No! I must speak to her. You must know," said he, turning to his +uncle and aunt, "my missus has an old servant, as faithful as ever +woman was, I do believe, as far as love goes,--but, at the same +time, who does not always speak truth, as even the missus must +allow. Now, my notion is, that this Norah of ours has been come +over by some good-for-nothin chap (for she's at the time o' life +when they say women pray for husbands--'any, good Lord, any,') and +has let him into our house, and the chap has made off with your +brooch, and m'appen many another thing beside. It's only saying +that Norah is soft-hearted, and does not stick at a white lie-- +that's all, missus." + +It was curious to notice how his tone, his eyes, his whole face +changed as he spoke to his wife; but he was the resolute man through +all. She knew better than to oppose him; so she went up-stairs, and +told Norah her master wanted to speak to her, and that she would +take care of the children in the meanwhile. + +Norah rose to go without a word. Her thoughts were these: + +"If they tear me to pieces they shall never know through me. He may +come,--and then just Lord have mercy upon us all: for some of us +are dead folk to a certainty. But he shall do it; not me." + +You may fancy, now, her look of determination as she faced her +master alone in the dining-room; Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick having left +the affair in their nephew's hands, seeing that he took it up with +such vehemence. + +"Norah! Who was that man that came to my house last night?" + +"Man, sir!" As if infinitely; surprised but it was only to gain +time. + +"Yes; the man whom Mary let in; whom she went up-stairs to the +nursery to tell you about; whom you came down to speak to; the same +chap, I make no doubt, whom you took into the nursery to have your +talk out with; whom Ailsie saw, and afterwards dreamed about; +thinking, poor wench! she saw him say his prayers, when nothing, +I'll be bound, was farther from his thoughts; who took Mrs. +Chadwick's brooch, value ten pounds. Now, Norah! Don't go off! I +am as sure as that my name's Thomas Openshaw, that you knew nothing +of this robbery. But I do think you've been imposed on, and that's +the truth. Some good-for-nothing chap has been making up to you, +and you've been just like all other women, and have turned a soft +place in your heart to him; and he came last night a-lovyering, and +you had him up in the nursery, and he made use of his opportunities, +and made off with a few things on his way down! Come, now, Norah: +it's no blame to you, only you must not be such a fool again. Tell +us," he continued, "what name he gave you, Norah? I'll be bound it +was not the right one; but it will be a clue for the police." + +Norah drew herself up. "You may ask that question, and taunt me +with my being single, and with my credulity, as you will, Master +Openshaw. You'll get no answer from me. As for the brooch, and the +story of theft and burglary; if any friend ever came to see me +(which I defy you to prove, and deny), he'd be just as much above +doing such a thing as you yourself, Mr. Openshaw, and more so, too; +for I'm not at all sure as everything you have is rightly come by, +or would be yours long, if every man had his own." She meant, of +course, his wife; but he understood her to refer to his property in +goods and chattels. + +"Now, my good woman," said he, "I'll just tell you truly, I never +trusted you out and out; but my wife liked you, and I thought you +had many a good point about you. If you once begin to sauce me, +I'll have the police to you, and get out the truth in a court of +justice, if you'll not tell it me quietly and civilly here. Now the +best thing you can do is quietly to tell me who the fellow is. Look +here! a man comes to my house; asks for you; you take him up-stairs, +a valuable brooch is missing next day; we know that you, and Mary, +and cook, are honest; but you refuse to tell us who the man is. +Indeed you've told one lie already about him, saying no one was here +last night. Now I just put it to you, what do you think a policeman +would say to this, or a magistrate? A magistrate would soon make +you tell the truth, my good woman." + +"There's never the creature born that should get it out of me," said +Norah. "Not unless I choose to tell." + +"I've a great mind to see," said Mr. Openshaw, growing angry at the +defiance. Then, checking himself, he thought before he spoke again: + +"Norah, for your missus's sake I don't want to go to extremities. +Be a sensible woman, if you can. It's no great disgrace, after all, +to have been taken in. I ask you once more--as a friend--who was +this man whom you let into my house last night?" + +No answer. He repeated the question in an impatient tone. Still no +answer. Norah's lips were set in determination not to speak. + +"Then there is but one thing to be done. I shall send for a +policeman." + +"You will not," said Norah, starting forwards. "You shall not, sir! +No policeman shall touch me. I know nothing of the brooch, but I +know this: ever since I was four-and-twenty I have thought more of +your wife than of myself: ever since I saw her, a poor motherless +girl put upon in her uncle's house, I have thought more of serving +her than of serving myself! I have cared for her and her child, as +nobody ever cared for me. I don't cast blame on you, sir, but I say +it's ill giving up one's life to any one; for, at the end, they will +turn round upon you, and forsake you. Why does not my missus come +herself to suspect me? Maybe she is gone for the police? But I +don't stay here, either for police, or magistrate, or master. +You're an unlucky lot. I believe there's a curse on you. I'll +leave you this very day. Yes! I leave that poor Ailsie, too. I +will! No good will ever come to you!" + +Mr. Openshaw was utterly astonished at this speech; most of which +was completely unintelligible to him, as may easily be supposed. +Before he could make up his mind what to say, or what to do, Norah +had left the room. I do not think he had ever really intended to +send for the police to this old servant of his wife's; for he had +never for a moment doubted her perfect honesty. But he had intended +to compel her to tell him who the man was, and in this he was +baffled. He was, consequently, much irritated. He returned to his +uncle and aunt in a state of great annoyance and perplexity, and +told them he could get nothing out of the woman; that some man had +been in the house the night before; but that she refused to tell who +he was. At this moment his wife came in, greatly agitated, and +asked what had happened to Norah; for that she had put on her things +in passionate haste, and had left the house. + +"This looks suspicious," said Mr. Chadwick. "It is not the way in +which an honest person would have acted." + +Mr. Openshaw kept silence. He was sorely perplexed. But Mrs. +Openshaw turned round on Mr. Chadwick with a sudden fierceness no +one ever saw in her before. + +"You don't know Norah, uncle! She is gone because she is deeply +hurt at being suspected. O, I wish I had seen her--that I had +spoken to her myself. She would have told me anything." Alice +wrung her hands. + +"I must confess," continued Mr. Chadwick to his nephew, in a lower +voice, "I can't make you out. You used to be a word and a blow, and +oftenest the blow first; and now, when there is every cause for +suspicion, you just do nought. Your missus is a very good woman, I +grant; but she may have been put upon as well as other folk, I +suppose. If you don't send for the police, I shall." + +"Very well," replied Mr. Openshaw, surlily. "I can't clear Norah. +She won't clear herself, as I believe she might if she would. Only +I wash my hands of it; for I am sure the woman herself is honest, +and she's lived a long time with my wife, and I don't like her to +come to shame." + +"But she will then be forced to clear herself. That, at any rate, +will be a good thing." + +"Very well, very well! I am heart-sick of the whole business. +Come, Alice, come up to the babies they'll be in a sore way. I tell +you, uncle!" he said, turning round once more to Mr. Chadwick, +suddenly and sharply, after his eye had fallen on Alice's wan, +tearful, anxious face; "I'll have none sending for the police after +all. I'll buy my aunt twice as handsome a brooch this very day; but +I'll not have Norah suspected, and my missus plagued. There's for +you." + +He and his wife left the room. Mr. Chadwick quietly waited till he +was out of hearing, and then aid to his wife; "For all Tom's +heroics, I'm just quietly going for a detective, wench. Thou +need'st know nought about it." + +He went to the police-station, and made a statement of the case. He +was gratified by the impression which the evidence against Norah +seemed to make. The men all agreed in his opinion, and steps were +to be immediately taken to find out where she was. Most probably, +as they suggested, she had gone at once to the man, who, to all +appearance, was her lover. When Mr. Chadwick asked how they would +find her out? they smiled, shook their heads, and spoke of +mysterious but infallible ways and means. He returned to his +nephew's house with a very comfortable opinion of his own sagacity. +He was met by his wife with a penitent face: + +"O master, I've found my brooch! It was just sticking by its pin in +the flounce of my brown silk, that I wore yesterday. I took it off +in a hurry, and it must have caught in it; and I hung up my gown in +the closet. Just now, when I was going to fold it up, there was the +brooch! I'm very vexed, but I never dreamt but what it was lost!" + +Her husband muttering something very like "Confound thee and thy +brooch too! I wish I'd never given it thee," snatched up his hat, +and rushed back to the station; hoping to be in time to stop the +police from searching for Norah. But a detective was already gone +off on the errand. + +Where was Norah? Half mad with the strain of the fearful secret, +she had hardly slept through the night for thinking what must be +done. Upon this terrible state of mind had come Ailsie's questions, +showing that she had seen the Man, as the unconscious child called +her father. Lastly came the suspicion of her honesty. She was +little less than crazy as she ran up-stairs and dashed on her bonnet +and shawl; leaving all else, even her purse, behind her. In that +house she would not stay. That was all she knew or was clear about. +She would not even see the children again, for fear it should weaken +her. She feared above everything Mr. Frank's return to claim his +wife. She could not tell what remedy there was for a sorrow so +tremendous, for her to stay to witness. The desire of escaping from +the coming event was a stronger motive for her departure than her +soreness about the suspicions directed against her; although this +last had been the final goad to the course she took. She walked +away almost at headlong speed; sobbing as she went, as she had not +dared to do during the past night for fear of exciting wonder in +those who might hear her. Then she stopped. An idea came into her +mind that she would leave London altogether, and betake herself to +her native town of Liverpool. She felt in her pocket for her purse, +as she drew near the Euston Square station with this intention. She +had left it at home. Her poor head aching, her eyes swollen with +crying, she had to stand still, and think, as well as she could, +where next she should bend her steps. Suddenly the thought flashed +into her mind that she would go and find out poor Mr. Frank. She +had been hardly kind to him the night before, though her heart had +bled for him ever since. She remembered his telling her as she +inquired for his address, almost as she had pushed him out of the +door, of some hotel in a street not far distant from Euston Square. +Thither she went: with what intention she hardly knew, but to +assuage her conscience by telling him how much she pitied him. In +her present state she felt herself unfit to counsel, or restrain, or +assist, or do ought else but sympathise and weep. The people of the +inn said such a person had been there; had arrived only the day +before; had gone out soon after his arrival, leaving his luggage in +their care; but had never come back. Norah asked for leave to sit +down, and await the gentleman's return. The landlady--pretty secure +in the deposit of luggage against any probable injury--showed her +into a room, and quietly locked the door on the outside. Norah was +utterly worn out, and fell asleep--a shivering, starting, uneasy +slumber, which lasted for hours. + +The detective, meanwhile, had come up with her some time before she +entered the hotel, into which he followed her. Asking the landlady +to detain her for an hour or so, without giving any reason beyond +showing his authority (which made the landlady applaud herself a +good deal for having locked her in), he went back to the police- +station to report his proceedings. He could have taken her +directly; but his object was, if possible, to trace out the man who +was supposed to have committed the robbery. Then he heard of the +discovery of the brooch; and consequently did not care to return. + +Norah slept till even the summer evening began to close in. Then +up. Some one was at the door. It would be Mr. Frank; and she +dizzily pushed back her ruffled grey hair, which had fallen over her +eyes, and stood looking to see him. Instead, there came in Mr. +Openshaw and a policeman. + +"This is Norah Kennedy," said Mr. Openshaw. + +"O, sir," said Norah, "I did not touch the brooch; indeed I did not. +O, sir, I cannot live to be thought so badly of;" and very sick and +faint, she suddenly sank down on the ground. To her surprise, Mr. +Openshaw raised her up very tenderly. Even the policeman helped to +lay her on the sofa; and, at Mr. Openshaw's desire, he went for some +wine and sandwiches; for the poor gaunt woman lay there almost as if +dead with weariness and exhaustion. + +"Norah!" said Mr. Openshaw, in his kindest voice, "the brooch is +found. It was hanging to Mrs. Chadwick's gown. I beg your pardon. +Most truly I beg your pardon, for having troubled you about it. My +wife is almost broken-hearted. Eat, Norah,--or, stay, first drink +this glass of wine," said he, lifting her head, pouring a little +down her throat. + +As she drank, she remembered where she was, and who she was waiting +for. She suddenly pushed Mr. Openshaw away, saying, "O, sir, you +must go. You must not stop a minute. If he comes back he will kill +you." + +"Alas, Norah! I do not know who 'he' is. But some one is gone away +who will never come back: someone who knew you, and whom I am +afraid you cared for." + +"I don't understand you, sir," said Norah, her master's kind and +sorrowful manner bewildering her yet more than his words. The +policeman had left the room at Mr. Openshaw's desire, and they two +were alone. + +"You know what I mean, when I say some one is gone who will never +come back. I mean that he is dead!" + +"Who?" said Norah, trembling all over. + +"A poor man has been found in the Thames this morning, drowned." + +"Did he drown himself?" asked Norah, solemnly. + +"God only knows," replied Mr. Openshaw, in the same tone. "Your +name and address at our house, were found in his pocket: that, and +his purse, were the only things, that were found upon him. I am +sorry to say it, my poor Norah; but you are required to go and +identify him." + +"To what?" asked Norah. + +"To say who it is. It is always done, in order that some reason may +be discovered for the suicide--if suicide it was. I make no doubt +he was the man who came to see you at our house last night. It is +very sad, I know." He made pauses between each little clause, in +order to try and bring back her senses; which he feared were +wandering--so wild and sad was her look. + +"Master Openshaw," said she, at last, "I've a dreadful secret to +tell you--only you must never breathe it to any one, and you and I +must hide it away for ever. I thought to have done it all by +myself, but I see I cannot. Yon poor man--yes! the dead, drowned +creature is, I fear, Mr. Frank, my mistress's first husband!" + +Mr. Openshaw sate down, as if shot. He did not speak; but, after a +while, he signed to Norah to go on. + +"He came to me the other night--when--God be thanked--you were all +away at Richmond. He asked me if his wife was dead or alive. I was +a brute, and thought more of our all coming home than of his sore +trial: spoke out sharp, and said she was married again, and very +content and happy: I all but turned him away: and now he lies dead +and cold!" + +"God forgive me!" said Mr. Openshaw. + +"God forgive us all!" said Norah. "Yon poor man needs forgiveness +perhaps less than any one among us. He had been among the savages-- +shipwrecked--I know not what--and he had written letters which had +never reached my poor missus." + +"He saw his child!" + +"He saw her--yes! I took him up, to give his thoughts another +start; for I believed he was going mad on my hands. I came to seek +him here, as I more than half promised. My mind misgave me when I +heard he had never come in. O, sir I it must be him!" + +Mr. Openshaw rang the bell. Norah was almost too much stunned to +wonder at what he did. He asked for writing materials, wrote a +letter, and then said to Norah: + +"I am writing to Alice, to say I shall be unavoidably absent for a +few days; that I have found you; that you are well, and send her +your love, and will come home to-morrow. You must go with me to the +Police Court; you must identify the body: I will pay high to keep +name; and details out of the papers. + +"But where are you going, sir?" + +He did not answer her directly. Then he said: + +"Norah! I must go with you, and look on the face of the man whom I +have so injured,--unwittingly, it is true; but it seems to me as if +I had killed him. I will lay his head in the grave, as if he were +my only brother: and how he must have hated me! I cannot go home +to my wife till all that I can do for him is done. Then I go with a +dreadful secret on my mind. I shall never speak of it again, after +these days are over. I know you will not, either." He shook hands +with her: and they never named the subject again, the one to the +other. + +Norah went home to Alice the next day. Not a word was said on the +cause of her abrupt departure a day or two before. Alice had been +charged by her husband in his letter not to allude to the supposed +theft of the brooch; so she, implicitly obedient to those whom she +loved both by nature and habit, was entirely silent on the subject, +only treated Norah with the most tender respect, as if to make up +for unjust suspicion. + +Nor did Alice inquire into the reason why Mr. Openshaw had been +absent during his uncle and aunt's visit, after he had once said +that it was unavoidable. He came back, grave and quiet; and, from +that time forth, was curiously changed. More thoughtful, and +perhaps less active; quite as decided in conduct, but with new and +different rules for the guidance of that conduct. Towards Alice he +could hardly be more kind than he had always been; but he now seemed +to look upon her as some one sacred and to be treated with +reverence, as well as tenderness. He throve in business, and made a +large fortune, one half of which was settled upon her. + + +Long years after these events,--a few months after her mother died, +Ailsie and her "father" (as she always called Mr. Openshaw) drove to +a cemetery a little way out of town, and she was carried to a +certain mound by her maid, who was then sent back to the carriage. +There was a head-stone, with F. W. and a date. That was all. +Sitting by the grave, Mr. Openshaw told her the story; and for the +sad fate of that poor father whom she had never seen, he shed the +only tears she ever saw fall from his eyes. + +* * * + +"A most interesting story, all through," I said, as Jarber folded up +the first of his series of discoveries in triumph. "A story that +goes straight to the heart--especially at the end. But"--I stopped, +and looked at Trottle. + +Trottle entered his protest directly in the shape of a cough. + +"Well!" I said, beginning to lose my patience. "Don't you see that +I want you to speak, and that I don't want you to cough?" + +"Quite so, ma'am," said Trottle, in a state of respectful obstinacy +which would have upset the temper of a saint. "Relative, I presume, +to this story, ma'am?" + +"Yes, Yes!" said Jarber. "By all means let us hear what this good +man has to say." + +"Well, sir," answered Trottle, "I want to know why the House over +the way doesn't let, and I don't exactly see how your story answers +the question. That's all I have to say, sir." + +I should have liked to contradict my opinionated servant, at that +moment. But, excellent as the story was in itself, I felt that he +had hit on the weak point, so far as Jarber's particular purpose in +reading it was concerned. + +"And that is what you have to say, is it?" repeated Jarber. "I +enter this room announcing that I have a series of discoveries, and +you jump instantly to the conclusion that the first of the series +exhausts my resources. Have I your permission, dear lady, to +enlighten this obtuse person, if possible, by reading Number Two?" + +"My work is behindhand, ma'am," said Trottle, moving to the door, +the moment I gave Jarber leave to go on. + +"Stop where you are," I said, in my most peremptory manner, "and +give Mr. Jarber his fair opportunity of answering your objection now +you have made it. + +Trottle sat down with the look of a martyr, and Jarber began to read +with his back turned on the enemy more decidedly than ever. + + + +GOING INTO SOCIETY + + + +At one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupation of +a Showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish +books of the time when he rented the House, and there was therefore +no need of any clue to his name. But, he himself was less easy to +be found; for, he had led a wandering life, and settled people had +lost sight of him, and people who plumed themselves on being +respectable were shy of admitting that they had ever known anything +of him. At last, among the marsh lands near the river's level, that +lie about Deptford and the neighbouring market-gardens, a Grizzled +Personage in velveteen, with a face so cut up by varieties of +weather that he looked as if he had been tattooed, was found smoking +a pipe at the door of a wooden house on wheels. The wooden house +was laid up in ordinary for the winter, near the mouth of a muddy +creek; and everything near it, the foggy river, the misty marshes, +and the steaming market-gardens, smoked in company with the grizzled +man. In the midst of this smoking party, the funnel-chimney of the +wooden house on wheels was not remiss, but took its pipe with the +rest in a companionable manner. + +On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let, +Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name +was Magsman? That was it, Toby Magsman--which lawfully christened +Robert; but called in the line, from a infant, Toby. There was +nothing agin Toby Magsman, he believed? If there was suspicion of +such--mention it! + +There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But, some +inquiries were making about that House, and would he object to say +why he left it? + +Not at all; why should he? He left it, along of a Dwarf. + +Along of a Dwarf? + +Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, Along of a +Dwarf. + +Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman's inclination and +convenience to enter, as a favour, into a few particulars? + +Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars. + +It was a long time ago, to begin with;--afore lotteries and a deal +more was done away with. Mr. Magsman was looking about for a good +pitch, and he see that house, and he says to himself, "I'll have +you, if you're to be had. If money'll get you, I'll have you." + +The neighbours cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman +don't know what they WOULD have had. It was a lovely thing. First +of all, there was the canvass, representin the picter of the Giant, +in Spanish trunks and a ruff, who was himself half the heighth of +the house, and was run up with a line and pulley to a pole on the +roof, so that his Ed was coeval with the parapet. Then, there was +the canvass, representin the picter of the Albina lady, showing her +white air to the Army and Navy in correct uniform. Then, there was +the canvass, representin the picter of the Wild Indian a scalpin a +member of some foreign nation. Then, there was the canvass, +representin the picter of a child of a British Planter, seized by +two Boa Constrictors--not that WE never had no child, nor no +Constrictors neither. Similarly, there was the canvass, representin +the picter of the Wild Ass of the Prairies--not that WE never had no +wild asses, nor wouldn't have had 'em at a gift. Last, there was +the canvass, representin the picter of the Dwarf, and like him too +(considerin), with George the Fourth in such a state of astonishment +at him as His Majesty couldn't with his utmost politeness and +stoutness express. The front of the House was so covered with +canvasses, that there wasn't a spark of daylight ever visible on +that side. "MAGSMAN'S AMUSEMENTS," fifteen foot long by two foot +high, ran over the front door and parlour winders. The passage was +a Arbour of green baize and gardenstuff. A barrel-organ performed +there unceasing. And as to respectability,--if threepence ain't +respectable, what is? + +But, the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth +the money. He was wrote up as MAJOR TPSCHOFFKI, OF THE IMPERIAL +BULGRADERIAN BRIGADE. Nobody couldn't pronounce the name, and it +never was intended anybody should. The public always turned it, as +a regular rule, into Chopski. In the line he was called Chops; +partly on that account, and partly because his real name, if he ever +had any real name (which was very dubious), was Stakes. + +He was a un-common small man, he really was. Certainly not so small +as he was made out to be, but where IS your Dwarf as is? He was a +most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and what he +had inside that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin +himself to have ever took stock of it, which it would have been a +stiff job for even him to do. + +The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. +When he travelled with the Spotted Baby--though he knowed himself to +be a nat'ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby's spots to be put upon him +artificial, he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him +give a ill-name to a Giant. He DID allow himself to break out into +strong language respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an +affair of the 'art; and when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a +lady, and the preference giv to a Indian, he ain't master of his +actions. + +He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. +And he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowed the +Dwarf as could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em +the Curiosities they are. + +One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant +something, or it wouldn't have been there. It was always his +opinion that he was entitled to property. He never would put his +name to anything. He had been taught to write, by the young man +without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite a writing +master HE was, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would have +starved to death, afore he'd have gained a bit of bread by putting +his hand to a paper. This is the more curious to bear in mind, +because HE had no property, nor hope of property, except his house +and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean the box, painted and got +up outside like a reg'lar six-roomer, that he used to creep into, +with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger, +and ring a little bell out of what the Public believed to be the +Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney +sarser in which he made a collection for himself at the end of every +Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: "Ladies and +gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the +Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain." When he said anything +important, in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of +words, and they was generally the last thing he said to me at night +afore he went to bed. + +He had what I consider a fine mind--a poetic mind. His ideas +respectin his property never come upon him so strong as when he sat +upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration +had run through him a little time, he would screech out, "Toby, I +feel my property coming--grind away! I'm counting my guineas by +thousands, Toby--grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I +feel the Mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the +Bank of England!" Such is the influence of music on a poetic mind. +Not that he was partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on +the contrary, hated it. + +He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a +thing you may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out +of it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that +it kep him out of Society. He was continiwally saying, "Toby, my +ambition is, to go into Society. The curse of my position towards +the Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This don't signify +to a low beast of a Indian; he an't formed for Society. This don't +signify to a Spotted Baby; HE an't formed for Society.--I am." + +Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had +a good salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came +round, besides having the run of his teeth--and he was a Woodpecker +to eat--but all Dwarfs are. The sarser was a little income, +bringing him in so many halfpence that he'd carry 'em for a week +together, tied up in a pocket-handkercher. And yet he never had +money. And it couldn't be the Fat Lady from Norfolk, as was once +supposed; because it stands to reason that when you have a animosity +towards a Indian, which makes you grind your teeth at him to his +face, and which can hardly hold you from Goosing him audible when +he's going through his War-Dance--it stands to reason you wouldn't +under them circumstances deprive yourself, to support that Indian in +the lap of luxury. + +Most unexpected, the mystery come out one day at Egham Races. The +Public was shy of bein pulled in, and Chops was ringin his little +bell out of his drawing-room winder, and was snarlin to me over his +shoulder as he kneeled down with his legs out at the back-door--for +he couldn't be shoved into his house without kneeling down, and the +premises wouldn't accommodate his legs--was snarlin, "Here's a +precious Public for you; why the Devil don't they tumble up?" when a +man in the crowd holds up a carrier-pigeon, and cries out, "If +there's any person here as has got a ticket, the Lottery's just +drawed, and the number as has come up for the great prize is three, +seven, forty-two! Three, seven, forty-two!" I was givin the man to +the Furies myself, for calling off the Public's attention--for the +Public will turn away, at any time, to look at anything in +preference to the thing showed 'em; and if you doubt it, get 'em +together for any indiwidual purpose on the face of the earth, and +send only two people in late, and see if the whole company an't far +more interested in takin particular notice of them two than of you-- +I say, I wasn't best pleased with the man for callin out, and wasn't +blessin him in my own mind, when I see Chops's little bell fly out +of winder at a old lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, +exposin the whole secret, and he catches hold of the calves of my +legs and he says to me, "Carry me into the wan, Toby, and throw a +pail of water over me or I'm a dead man, for I've come into my +property!" + +Twelve thousand odd hundred pound, was Chops's winnins. He had +bought a half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and it had +come up. The first use he made of his property, was, to offer to +fight the Wild Indian for five hundred pound a side, him with a +poisoned darnin-needle and the Indian with a club; but the Indian +being in want of backers to that amount, it went no further. + +Arter he had been mad for a week--in a state of mind, in short, in +which, if I had let him sit on the organ for only two minutes, I +believe he would have bust--but we kep the organ from him--Mr. Chops +come round, and behaved liberal and beautiful to all. He then sent +for a young man he knowed, as had a wery genteel appearance and was +a Bonnet at a gaming-booth (most respectable brought up, father +havin been imminent in the livery stable line but unfort'nate in a +commercial crisis, through paintin a old gray, ginger-bay, and +sellin him with a Pedigree), and Mr. Chops said to this Bonnet, who +said his name was Normandy, which it wasn't: + +"Normandy, I'm a goin into Society. Will you go with me?" + +Says Normandy: "Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate that +the 'ole of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?" + +"Correct," says Mr. Chops. "And you shall have a Princely allowance +too." + +The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair, to shake hands with him, +and replied in poetry, with his eyes seemingly full of tears: + + +"My boat is on the shore, +And my bark is on the sea, +And I do not ask for more, +But I'll Go:- along with thee." + + +They went into Society, in a chay and four grays with silk jackets. +They took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away. + +In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the +autumn of next year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk- +white cords and tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one +evening appinted. The gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and +Mr. Chops's eyes was more fixed in that Ed of his than I thought +good for him. There was three of 'em (in company, I mean), and I +knowed the third well. When last met, he had on a white Roman +shirt, and a bishop's mitre covered with leopard-skin, and played +the clarionet all wrong, in a band at a Wild Beast Show. + +This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said: "Gentlemen, +this is a old friend of former days:" and Normandy looked at me +through a eye-glass, and said, "Magsman, glad to see you!"--which +I'll take my oath he wasn't. Mr. Chops, to git him convenient to +the table, had his chair on a throne (much of the form of George the +Fourth's in the canvass), but he hardly appeared to me to be King +there in any other pint of view, for his two gentlemen ordered about +like Emperors. They was all dressed like May-Day--gorgeous!--And as +to Wine, they swam in all sorts. + +I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had done +it), and then mixed 'em all together (to say I had done it), and +then tried two of 'em as half-and-half, and then t'other two. +Altogether, I passed a pleasin evenin, but with a tendency to feel +muddled, until I considered it good manners to get up and say, "Mr. +Chops, the best of friends must part, I thank you for the wariety of +foreign drains you have stood so 'ansome, I looks towards you in red +wine, and I takes my leave." Mr. Chops replied, "If you'll just +hitch me out of this over your right arm, Magsman, and carry me +down-stairs, I'll see you out." I said I couldn't think of such a +thing, but he would have it, so I lifted him off his throne. He +smelt strong of Maideary, and I couldn't help thinking as I carried +him down that it was like carrying a large bottle full of wine, with +a rayther ugly stopper, a good deal out of proportion. + +When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kep me close to him +by holding on to my coat-collar, and he whispers: + +"I ain't 'appy, Magsman." + +"What's on your mind, Mr. Chops?" + +"They don't use me well. They an't grateful to me. They puts me on +the mantel-piece when I won't have in more Champagne-wine, and they +locks me in the sideboard when I won't give up my property." + +"Get rid of 'em, Mr. Chops." + +"I can't. We're in Society together, and what would Society say?" + +"Come out of Society!" says I. + +"I can't. You don't know what you're talking about. When you have +once gone into Society, you mustn't come out of it." + +"Then if you'll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops," were my remark, +shaking my head grave, "I think it's a pity you ever went in." + +Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his, to a surprisin extent, and +slapped it half a dozen times with his hand, and with more Wice than +I thought were in him. Then, he says, "You're a good fellow, but +you don't understand. Good-night, go along. Magsman, the little +man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind +the curtain." The last I see of him on that occasion was his tryin, +on the extremest werge of insensibility, to climb up the stairs, one +by one, with his hands and knees. They'd have been much too steep +for him, if he had been sober; but he wouldn't be helped. + +It warn't long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. +Chops's being presented at court. It was printed, "It will be +recollected"--and I've noticed in my life, that it is sure to be +printed that it WILL be recollected, whenever it won't--"that Mr. +Chops is the individual of small stature, whose brilliant success in +the last State Lottery attracted so much attention." Well, I says +to myself, Such is Life! He has been and done it in earnest at +last. He has astonished George the Fourth! + +(On account of which, I had that canvass new-painted, him with a bag +of money in his hand, a presentin it to George the Fourth, and a +lady in Ostrich Feathers fallin in love with him in a bag-wig, +sword, and buckles correct.) + +I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries--though not +the honour of bein acquainted--and I run Magsman's Amusements in it +thirteen months--sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes +nothin particular, but always all the canvasses outside. One night, +when we had played the last company out, which was a shy company, +through its raining Heavens hard, I was takin a pipe in the one pair +back along with the young man with the toes, which I had taken on +for a month (though he never drawed--except on paper), and I heard a +kickin at the street door. "Halloa!" I says to the young man, +"what's up!" He rubs his eyebrows with his toes, and he says, "I +can't imagine, Mr. Magsman"--which he never could imagine nothin, +and was monotonous company. + +The noise not leavin off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a +candle, and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the +street; but nothin could I see, and nothin was I aware of, until I +turned round quick, because some creetur run between my legs into +the passage. There was Mr. Chops! + +"Magsman," he says, "take me, on the old terms, and you've got me; +if it's done, say done!" + +I was all of a maze, but I said, "Done, sir." + +"Done to your done, and double done!" says he. "Have you got a bit +of supper in the house?" + +Bearin in mind them sparklin warieties of foreign drains as we'd +guzzled away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold +sassages and gin-and-water; but he took 'em both and took 'em free; +havin a chair for his table, and sittin down at it on a stool, like +hold times. I, all of a maze all the while. + +It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and to +the best of my calculations two pound and a quarter), that the +wisdom as was in that little man began to come out of him like +prespiration. + +"Magsman," he says, "look upon me! You see afore you, One as has +both gone into Society and come out." + +"O! You ARE out of it, Mr. Chops? How did you get out, sir?" + +"SOLD OUT!" says he. You never saw the like of the wisdom as his Ed +expressed, when he made use of them two words. + +"My friend Magsman, I'll impart to you a discovery I've made. It's +wallable; it's cost twelve thousand five hundred pound; it may do +you good in life--The secret of this matter is, that it ain't so +much that a person goes into Society, as that Society goes into a +person." + +Not exactly keepin up with his meanin, I shook my head, put on a +deep look, and said, "You're right there, Mr. Chops." + +"Magsman," he says, twitchin me by the leg, "Society has gone into +me, to the tune of every penny of my property." + +I felt that I went pale, and though nat'rally a bold speaker, I +couldn't hardly say, "Where's Normandy?" + +"Bolted. With the plate," said Mr. Chops. + +"And t'other one?" meaning him as formerly wore the bishop's mitre. + +"Bolted. With the jewels," said Mr. Chops. + +I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me. + +"Magsman," he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got +hoarser; "Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court +of St. James's, they was all a doing my old business--all a goin +three times round the Cairawan, in the hold court-suits and +properties. Elsewheres, they was most of 'em ringin their little +bells out of make-believes. Everywheres, the sarser was a goin +round. Magsman, the sarser is the uniwersal Institution!" + +I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortunes, +and I felt for Mr. Chops. + +"As to Fat Ladies," he says, giving his head a tremendious one agin +the wall, "there's lots of THEM in Society, and worse than the +original. HERS was a outrage upon Taste--simply a outrage upon +Taste--awakenin contempt--carryin its own punishment in the form of +a Indian." Here he giv himself another tremendious one. "But +THEIRS, Magsman, THEIRS is mercenary outrages. Lay in Cashmeer +shawls, buy bracelets, strew 'em and a lot of 'andsome fans and +things about your rooms, let it be known that you give away like +water to all as come to admire, and the Fat Ladies that don't +exhibit for so much down upon the drum, will come from all the pints +of the compass to flock about you, whatever you are. They'll drill +holes in your 'art, Magsman, like a Cullender. And when you've no +more left to give, they'll laugh at you to your face, and leave you +to have your bones picked dry by Wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of +the Prairies that you deserve to be!" Here he giv himself the most +tremendious one of all, and dropped. + +I thought he was gone. His Ed was so heavy, and he knocked it so +hard, and he fell so stoney, and the sassagerial disturbance in him +must have been so immense, that I thought he was gone. But, he soon +come round with care, and he sat up on the floor, and he said to me, +with wisdom comin out of his eyes, if ever it come: + +"Magsman! The most material difference between the two states of +existence through which your unhappy friend has passed;" he reached +out his poor little hand, and his tears dropped down on the +moustachio which it was a credit to him to have done his best to +grow, but it is not in mortals to command success,--"the difference +this. When I was out of Society, I was paid light for being seen. +When I went into Society, I paid heavy for being seen. I prefer the +former, even if I wasn't forced upon it. Give me out through the +trumpet, in the hold way, to-morrow." + +Arter that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had been +iled all over. But the organ was kep from him, and no allusions was +ever made, when a company was in, to his property. He got wiser +every day; his views of Society and the Public was luminous, +bewilderin, awful; and his Ed got bigger and bigger as his Wisdom +expanded it. + +He took well, and pulled 'em in most excellent for nine weeks. At +the expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed +one evenin, the last Company havin been turned out, and the door +shut, a wish to have a little music. + +"Mr. Chops," I said (I never dropped the "Mr." with him; the world +might do it, but not me); "Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in a +state of mind and body to sit upon the organ?" + +His answer was this: "Toby, when next met with on the tramp, I +forgive her and the Indian. And I am." + +It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; but +he sat like a lamb. I will be my belief to my dying day, that I see +his Ed expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great his +thoughts was. He sat out all the changes, and then he come off. + +"Toby," he says, with a quiet smile, "the little man will now walk +three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain." + +When we called him in the morning, we found him gone into a much +better Society than mine or Pall Mall's. I giv Mr. Chops as +comfortable a funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as Chief, +and had the George the Fourth canvass carried first, in the form of +a banner. But, the House was so dismal arterwards, that I giv it +up, and took to the Wan again. + + +"I don't triumph," said Jarber, folding up the second manuscript, +and looking hard at Trottle. "I don't triumph over this worthy +creature. I merely ask him if he is satisfied now?" + +"How can he be anything else?" I said, answering for Trottle, who +sat obstinately silent. "This time, Jarber, you have not only read +us a delightfully amusing story, but you have also answered the +question about the House. Of course it stands empty now. Who would +think of taking it after it had been turned into a caravan?" I +looked at Trottle, as I said those last words, and Jarber waved his +hand indulgently in the same direction. + +"Let this excellent person speak," said Jarber. "You were about to +say, my good man?" - + +"I only wished to ask, sir," said Trottle doggedly, "if you could +kindly oblige me with a date or two in connection with that last +story?" + +"A date!" repeated Jarber. "What does the man want with dates!" + +"I should be glad to know, with great respect," persisted Trottle, +"if the person named Magsman was the last tenant who lived in the +House. It's my opinion--if I may be excused for giving it--that he +most decidedly was not." + +With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room. + +There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked +sadly discomposed. He had evidently forgotten to inquire about +dates; and, in spite of his magnificent talk about his series of +discoveries, it was quite as plain that the two stories he had just +read, had really and truly exhausted his present stock. I thought +myself bound, in common gratitude, to help him out of his +embarrassment by a timely suggestion. So I proposed that he should +come to tea again, on the next Monday evening, the thirteenth, and +should make such inquiries in the meantime, as might enable him to +dispose triumphantly of Trottle's objection. + +He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of +acknowledgment, and took his leave. For the rest of the week I +would not encourage Trottle by allowing him to refer to the House at +all. I suspected he was making his own inquiries about dates, but I +put no questions to him. + +On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber +came, punctual to the appointed time. He looked so terribly +harassed, that he was really quite a spectacle of feebleness and +fatigue. I saw, at a glance, that the question of dates had gone +against him, that Mr. Magsman had not been the last tenant of the +House, and that the reason of its emptiness was still to seek. + +"What I have gone through," said Jarber, "words are not eloquent +enough to tell. O Sophonisba, I have begun another series of +discoveries! Accept the last two as stories laid on your shrine; +and wait to blame me for leaving your curiosity unappeased, until +you have heard Number Three." + +Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as +much. Jarber explained to me that we were to have some poetry this +time. In the course of his investigations he had stepped into the +Circulating Library, to seek for information on the one important +subject. All the Library-people knew about the House was, that a +female relative of the last tenant, as they believed, had, just +after that tenant left, sent a little manuscript poem to them which +she described as referring to events that had actually passed in the +House; and which she wanted the proprietor of the Library to +publish. She had written no address on her letter; and the +proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to be given back to her +(the publishing of poems not being in his line) when she might call +for it. She had never called for it; and the poem had been lent to +Jarber, at his express request, to read to me. + +Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined to +have him present at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his +obstinacy. To my surprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, +that Trottle had stepped out without saying where. I instantly felt +the strongest possible conviction that he was at his old tricks: +and that his stepping out in the evening, without leave, meant-- +Philandering. + +Controlling myself on my visitor's account, I dismissed Peggy, +stifled my indignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to +listen to Jarber. + + + +THREE EVENINGS IN THE HOUSE + + + +NUMBER ONE. + +I. + +Yes, it look'd dark and dreary +That long and narrow street: +Only the sound of the rain, +And the tramp of passing feet, +The duller glow of the fire, +And gathering mists of night +To mark how slow and weary +The long day's cheerless flight! + +II. + +Watching the sullen fire, +Hearing the dreary rain, +Drop after drop, run down +On the darkening window-pane; +Chill was the heart of Bertha, +Chill as that winter day, - +For the star of her life had risen +Only to fade away. + +III. + +The voice that had been so strong +To bid the snare depart, +The true and earnest will, +And the calm and steadfast heart, +Were now weigh'd down by sorrow, +Were quivering now with pain; +The clear path now seem'd clouded, +And all her grief in vain. + +IV. + +Duty, Right, Truth, who promised +To help and save their own, +Seem'd spreading wide their pinions +To leave her there alone. +So, turning from the Present +To well-known days of yore, +She call'd on them to strengthen +And guard her soul once more. + +V. + +She thought how in her girlhood +Her life was given away, +The solemn promise spoken +She kept so well to-day; +How to her brother Herbert +She had been help and guide, +And how his artist-nature +On her calm strength relied. + +VI. + +How through life's fret and turmoil +The passion and fire of art +In him was soothed and quicken'd +By her true sister heart; +How future hopes had always +Been for his sake alone; +And now, what strange new feeling +Possess'd her as its own? + +VII. + +Her home; each flower that breathed there; +The wind's sigh, soft and low; +Each trembling spray of ivy; +The river's murmuring flow; +The shadow of the forest; +Sunset, or twilight dim; +Dear as they were, were dearer +By leaving them for him. + +VIII. + +And each year as it found her +In the dull, feverish town, +Saw self still more forgotten, +And selfish care kept down +By the calm joy of evening +That brought him to her side, +To warn him with wise counsel, +Or praise with tender pride. + +IX. + +Her heart, her life, her future, +Her genius, only meant +Another thing to give him, +And be therewith content. +To-day, what words had stirr'd her, +Her soul could not forget? +What dream had fill'd her spirit +With strange and wild regret? + +X. + +To leave him for another: +Could it indeed be so? +Could it have cost such anguish +To bid this vision go? +Was this her faith? Was Herbert +The second in her heart? +Did it need all this struggle +To bid a dream depart? + +XI. + +And yet, within her spirit +A far-off land was seen; +A home, which might have held her; +A love, which might have been; +And Life: not the mere being +Of daily ebb and flow, +But Life itself had claim'd her, +And she had let it go! + +XII. + +Within her heart there echo'd +Again the well-known tune +That promised this bright future, +And ask'd her for its own: +Then words of sorrow, broken +By half-reproachful pain; +And then a farewell, spoken +In words of cold disdain. + +XIII. + +Where now was the stern purpose +That nerved her soul so long? +Whence came the words she utter'd, +So hard, so cold, so strong? +What right had she to banish +A hope that God had given? +Why must she choose earth's portion, +And turn aside from Heaven? + +XIV. + +To-day! Was it this morning? +If this long, fearful strife +Was but the work of hours, +What would be years of life? +Why did a cruel Heaven +For such great suffering call? +And why--O, still more cruel! - +Must her own words do all? + +XV. + +Did she repent? O Sorrow! +Why do we linger still +To take thy loving message, +And do thy gentle will? +See, her tears fall more slowly; +The passionate murmurs cease, +And back upon her spirit +Flow strength, and love, and peace. + +XVI. + +The fire burns more brightly, +The rain has passed away, +Herbert will see no shadow +Upon his home to-day; +Only that Bertha greets him +With doubly tender care, +Kissing a fonder blessing +Down on his golden hair. + + +NUMBER TWO. + + +I. + +The studio is deserted, +Palette and brush laid by, +The sketch rests on the easel, +The paint is scarcely dry; +And Silence--who seems always +Within her depths to bear +The next sound that will utter - +Now holds a dumb despair. + +II. + +So Bertha feels it: listening +With breathless, stony fear, +Waiting the dreadful summons +Each minute brings more near: +When the young life, now ebbing, +Shall fail, and pass away +Into that mighty shadow +Who shrouds the house to-day. + +III. + +But why--when the sick chamber +Is on the upper floor - +Why dares not Bertha enter +Within the close-shut door? +If he--her all--her Brother, +Lies dying in that gloom, +What strange mysterious power +Has sent her from the room? + +IV. + +It is not one week's anguish +That can have changed her so; +Joy has not died here lately, +Struck down by one quick blow; +But cruel months have needed +Their long relentless chain, +To teach that shrinking manner +Of helpless, hopeless pain. + +V. + +The struggle was scarce over +Last Christmas Eve had brought: +The fibres still were quivering +Of the one wounded thought, +When Herbert--who, unconscious, +Had guessed no inward strife - +Bade her, in pride and pleasure, +Welcome his fair young wife. + +VI. + +Bade her rejoice, and smiling, +Although his eyes were dim, +Thank'd God he thus could pay her +The care she gave to him. +This fresh bright life would bring her +A new and joyous fate - +O Bertha, check the murmur +That cries, Too late! too late! + +VII. + +Too late! Could she have known it +A few short weeks before, +That his life was completed, +And needing hers no more, +She might-- O sad repining! +What "might have been," forget; +"It was not," should suffice us +To stifle vain regret. + +VIII. + +He needed her no longer, +Each day it grew more plain; +First with a startled wonder, +Then with a wondering pain. +Love: why, his wife best gave it; +Comfort: durst Bertha speak? +Counsel: when quick resentment +Flush'd on the young wife's cheek. + +IX. + +No more long talks by firelight +Of childish times long past, +And dreams of future greatness +Which he must reach at last; +Dreams, where her purer instinct +With truth unerring told +Where was the worthless gilding, +And where refined gold. + +X. + +Slowly, but surely ever, +Dora's poor jealous pride, +Which she call'd love for Herbert, +Drove Bertha from his side; +And, spite of nervous effort +To share their alter'd life, +She felt a check to Herbert, +A burden to his wife. + +XI. + +This was the least; for Bertha +Fear'd, dreaded, KNEW at length, +How much his nature owed her +Of truth, and power, and strength; +And watch'd the daily failing +Of all his nobler part: +Low aims, weak purpose, telling +In lower, weaker art. + +XII. + +And now, when he is dying, +The last words she could hear +Must not be hers, but given +The bride of one short year. +The last care is another's; +The last prayer must not be +The one they learnt together +Beside their mother's knee. + +XIII. + +Summon'd at last: she kisses +The clay-cold stiffening hand; +And, reading pleading efforts +To make her understand, +Answers, with solemn promise, +In clear but trembling tone, +To Dora's life henceforward +She will devote her own. + +XIV. + +Now all is over. Bertha +Dares not remain to weep, +But soothes the frightened Dora +Into a sobbing sleep. +The poor weak child will need her: +O, who can dare complain, +When God sends a new Duty +To comfort each new Pain! + + +NUMBER THREE. + + +I. + +The House is all deserted +In the dim evening gloom, +Only one figure passes +Slowly from room to room; +And, pausing at each doorway, +Seems gathering up again +Within her heart the relics +Of bygone joy and pain. + +II. + +There is an earnest longing +In those who onward gaze, +Looking with weary patience +Towards the coming days. +There is a deeper longing, +More sad, more strong, more keen: +Those know it who look backward, +And yearn for what has been. + +III. + +At every hearth she pauses, +Touches each well-known chair; +Gazes from every window, +Lingers on every stair. +What have these months brought Bertha +Now one more year is past? +This Christmas Eve shall tell us, +The third one and the last. + +IV. + +The wilful, wayward Dora, +In those first weeks of grief, +Could seek and find in Bertha +Strength, soothing, and relief. +And Bertha--last sad comfort +True woman-heart can take - +Had something still to suffer +And do for Herbert's sake. + +V. + +Spring, with her western breezes, +From Indian islands bore +To Bertha news that Leonard +Would seek his home once more. +What was it--joy, or sorrow? +What were they--hopes, or fears? +That flush'd her cheeks with crimson, +And fill'd her eyes with tears? + +VI. + +He came. And who so kindly +Could ask and hear her tell +Herbert's last hours; for Leonard +Had known and loved him well. +Daily he came; and Bertha, +Poor wear heart, at length, +Weigh'd down by other's weakness, +Could rest upon his strength. + +VII. + +Yet not the voice of Leonard +Could her true care beguile, +That turn'd to watch, rejoicing, +Dora's reviving smile. +So, from that little household +The worst gloom pass'd away, +The one bright hour of evening +Lit up the livelong day. + +VIII. + +Days passed. The golden summer +In sudden heat bore down +Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness +Upon the scorching town. +And sights and sounds of country +Came in the warm soft tune +Sung by the honey'd breezes +Borne on the wings of June. + +IX. + +One twilight hour, but earlier +Than usual, Bertha thought +She knew the fresh sweet fragrance +Of flowers that Leonard brought; +Through open'd doors and windows +It stole up through the gloom, +And with appealing sweetness +Drew Bertha from her room. + +X. + +Yes, he was there; and pausing +Just near the open'd door, +To check her heart's quick beating, +She heard--and paused still more - +His low voice Dora's answers - +His pleading--Yes, she knew +The tone--the words--the accents: +She once had heard them too. + +XI. + +"Would Bertha blame her?" Leonard's +Low, tender answer came: +"Bertha was far too noble +To think or dream of blame." +"And was he sure he loved her?" +"Yes, with the one love given +Once in a lifetime only, +With one soul and one heaven!" + +XII. + +Then came a plaintive murmur, - +"Dora had once been told +That he and Bertha--" "Dearest, +Bertha is far too cold +To love; and I, my Dora, +If once I fancied so, +It was a brief delusion, +And over,--long ago." + +XIII. + +Between the Past and Present, +On that bleak moment's height, +She stood. As some lost traveller +By a quick flash of light +Seeing a gulf before him, +With dizzy, sick despair, +Reels to clutch backward, but to find +A deeper chasm there. + +XIV. + +The twilight grew still darker, +The fragrant flowers more sweet, +The stars shone out in heaven, +The lamps gleam'd down the street; +And hours pass'd in dreaming +Over their new-found fate, +Ere they could think of wondering +Why Bertha was so late. + +XV. + +She came, and calmly listen'd; +In vain they strove to trace +If Herbert's memory shadow'd +In grief upon her face. +No blame, no wonder show'd there, +No feeling could be told; +Her voice was not less steady, +Her manner not more cold. + +XVI. + +They could not hear the anguish +That broke in words of pain +Through that calm summer midnight, - +"My Herbert--mine again!" +Yes, they have once been parted, +But this day shall restore +The long lost one: she claims him: +"My Herbert--mine once more!" + +XVII. + +Now Christmas Eve returning, +Saw Bertha stand beside +The altar, greeting Dora, +Again a smiling bride; +And now the gloomy evening +Sees Bertha pale and worn, +Leaving the house for ever, +To wander out forlorn. + +XVIII. + +Forlorn--nay, not so. Anguish +Shall do its work at length; +Her soul, pass'd through the fire, +Shall gain still purer strength. +Somewhere there waits for Bertha +An earnest noble part; +And, meanwhile, God is with her, - +God, and her own true heart! + + +I could warmly and sincerely praise the little poem, when Jarber had +done reading it; but I could not say that it tended in any degree +towards clearing up the mystery of the empty House. + +Whether it was the absence of the irritating influence of Trottle, +or whether it was simply fatigue, I cannot say, but Jarber did not +strike me, that evening, as being in his usual spirits. And though +he declared that he was not in the least daunted by his want of +success thus far, and that he was resolutely determined to make more +discoveries, he spoke in a languid absent manner, and shortly +afterwards took his leave at rather an early hour. + +When Trottle came back, and when I indignantly taxed him with +Philandering, he not only denied the imputation, but asserted that +he had been employed on my service, and, in consideration of that, +boldly asked for leave of absence for two days, and for a morning to +himself afterwards, to complete the business, in which he solemnly +declared that I was interested. In remembrance of his long and +faithful service to me, I did violence to myself, and granted his +request. And he, on his side, engaged to explain himself to my +satisfaction, in a week's time, on Monday evening the twentieth. + +A day or two before, I sent to Jarber's lodgings to ask him to drop +in to tea. His landlady sent back an apology for him that made my +hair stand on end. His feet were in hot water; his head was in a +flannel petticoat; a green shade was over his eyes; the rheumatism +was in his legs; and a mustard-poultice was on his chest. He was +also a little feverish, and rather distracted in his mind about +Manchester Marriages, a Dwarf, and Three Evenings, or Evening +Parties--his landlady was not sure which--in an empty House, with +the Water Rate unpaid. + +Under these distressing circumstances, I was necessarily left alone +with Trottle. His promised explanation began, like Jarber's +discoveries, with the reading of a written paper. The only +difference was that Trottle introduced his manuscript under the name +of a Report. + + + +TROTTLE'S REPORT + + + +The curious events related in these pages would, many of them, most +likely never have happened, if a person named Trottle had not +presumed, contrary to his usual custom, to think for himself. + +The subject on which the person in question had ventured, for the +first time in his life, to form an opinion purely and entirely his +own, was one which had already excited the interest of his respected +mistress in a very extraordinary degree. Or, to put it in plainer +terms still, the subject was no other than the mystery of the empty +House. + +Feeling no sort of objection to set a success of his own, if +possible, side by side with a failure of Mr. Jarber's, Trottle made +up his mind, one Monday evening, to try what he could do, on his own +account, towards clearing up the mystery of the empty House. +Carefully dismissing from his mind all nonsensical notions of former +tenants and their histories, and keeping the one point in view +steadily before him, he started to reach it in the shortest way, by +walking straight up to the House, and bringing himself face to face +with the first person in it who opened the door to him. + +It was getting towards dark, on Monday evening, the thirteenth of +the month, when Trottle first set foot on the steps of the House. +When he knocked at the door, he knew nothing of the matter which he +was about to investigate, except that the landlord was an elderly +widower of good fortune, and that his name was Forley. A small +beginning enough for a man to start from, certainly! + +On dropping the knocker, his first proceeding was to look down +cautiously out of the corner of his right eye, for any results which +might show themselves at the kitchen-window. There appeared at it +immediately the figure of a woman, who looked up inquisitively at +the stranger on the steps, left the window in a hurry, and came back +to it with an open letter in her hand, which she held up to the +fading light. After looking over the letter hastily for a moment or +so, the woman disappeared once more. + +Trottle next heard footsteps shuffling and scraping along the bare +hall of the house. On a sudden they ceased, and the sound of two +voices--a shrill persuading voice and a gruff resisting voice-- +confusedly reached his ears. After a while, the voices left off +speaking--a chain was undone, a bolt drawn back--the door opened-- +and Trottle stood face to face with two persons, a woman in advance, +and a man behind her, leaning back flat against the wall. + +"Wish you good evening, sir," says the woman, in such a sudden way, +and in such a cracked voice, that it was quite startling to hear +her. "Chilly weather, ain't it, sir? Please to walk in. You come +from good Mr. Forley, don't you, sir?" + +"Don't you, sir?" chimes in the man hoarsely, making a sort of gruff +echo of himself, and chuckling after it, as if he thought he had +made a joke. + +If Trottle had said, "No," the door would have been probably closed +in his face. Therefore, he took circumstances as he found them, and +boldly ran all the risk, whatever it might be, of saying, "Yes." + +"Quite right sir," says the woman. "Good Mr. Forley's letter told +us his particular friend would be here to represent him, at dusk, on +Monday the thirteenth--or, if not on Monday the thirteenth, then on +Monday the twentieth, at the same time, without fail. And here you +are on Monday the thirteenth, ain't you, sir? Mr. Forley's +particular friend, and dressed all in black--quite right, sir! +Please to step into the dining-room--it's always kep scoured and +clean against Mr. Forley comes here--and I'll fetch a candle in half +a minute. It gets so dark in the evenings, now, you hardly know +where you are, do you, sir? And how is good Mr. Forley in his +health? We trust he is better, Benjamin, don't we? We are so sorry +not to see him as usual, Benjamin, ain't we? In half a minute, sir, +if you don't mind waiting, I'll be back with the candle. Come +along, Benjamin." + +"Come along, Benjamin," chimes in the echo, and chuckles again as if +he thought he had made another joke. + +Left alone in the empty front-parlour, Trottle wondered what was +coming next, as he heard the shuffling, scraping footsteps go slowly +down the kitchen-stairs. The front-door had been carefully chained +up and bolted behind him on his entrance; and there was not the +least chance of his being able to open it to effect his escape, +without betraying himself by making a noise. + +Not being of the Jarber sort, luckily for himself, he took his +situation quietly, as he found it, and turned his time, while alone, +to account, by summing up in his own mind the few particulars which +he had discovered thus far. He had found out, first, that Mr. +Forley was in the habit of visiting the house regularly. Second, +that Mr. Forley being prevented by illness from seeing the people +put in charge as usual, had appointed a friend to represent him; and +had written to say so. Third, that the friend had a choice of two +Mondays, at a particular time in the evening, for doing his errand; +and that Trottle had accidentally hit on this time, and on the first +of the Mondays, for beginning his own investigations. Fourth, that +the similarity between Trottle's black dress, as servant out of +livery, and the dress of the messenger (whoever he might be), had +helped the error by which Trottle was profiting. So far, so good. +But what was the messenger's errand? and what chance was there that +he might not come up and knock at the door himself, from minute to +minute, on that very evening? + +While Trottle was turning over this last consideration in his mind, +he heard the shuffling footsteps come up the stairs again, with a +flash of candle-light going before them. He waited for the woman's +coming in with some little anxiety; for the twilight had been too +dim on his getting into the house to allow him to see either her +face or the man's face at all clearly. + +The woman came in first, with the man she called Benjamin at her +heels, and set the candle on the mantel-piece. Trottle takes leave +to describe her as an offensively-cheerful old woman, awfully lean +and wiry, and sharp all over, at eyes, nose, and chin--devilishly +brisk, smiling, and restless, with a dirty false front and a dirty +black cap, and short fidgetty arms, and long hooked finger-nails--an +unnaturally lusty old woman, who walked with a spring in her wicked +old feet, and spoke with a smirk on her wicked old face--the sort of +old woman (as Trottle thinks) who ought to have lived in the dark +ages, and been ducked in a horse-pond, instead of flourishing in the +nineteenth century, and taking charge of a Christian house. + +"You'll please to excuse my son, Benjamin, won't you, sir?" says +this witch without a broomstick, pointing to the man behind her, +propped against the bare wall of the dining-room, exactly as he had +been propped against the bare wall of the passage. "He's got his +inside dreadful bad again, has my son Benjamin. And he won't go to +bed, and he will follow me about the house, up-stairs and +downstairs, and in my lady's chamber, as the song says, you know. +It's his indisgestion, poor dear, that sours his temper and makes +him so agravating--and indisgestion is a wearing thing to the best +of us, ain't it, sir?" + +"Ain't it, sir?" chimes in agravating Benjamin, winking at the +candle-light like an owl at the sunshine. + +Trottle examined the man curiously, while his horrid old mother was +speaking of him. He found "My son Benjamin" to be little and lean, +and buttoned-up slovenly in a frowsy old great-coat that fell down +to his ragged carpet-slippers. His eyes were very watery, his +cheeks very pale, and his lips very red. His breathing was so +uncommonly loud, that it sounded almost like a snore. His head +rolled helplessly in the monstrous big collar of his great-coat; and +his limp, lazy hands pottered about the wall on either side of him, +as if they were groping for a imaginary bottle. In plain English, +the complaint of "My son Benjamin" was drunkenness, of the stupid, +pig-headed, sottish kind. Drawing this conclusion easily enough, +after a moment's observation of the man, Trottle found himself, +nevertheless, keeping his eyes fixed much longer than was necessary +on the ugly drunken face rolling about in the monstrous big coat +collar, and looking at it with a curiosity that he could hardly +account for at first. Was there something familiar to him in the +man's features? He turned away from them for an instant, and then +turned back to him again. After that second look, the notion forced +itself into his mind, that he had certainly seen a face somewhere, +of which that sot's face appeared like a kind of slovenly copy. +"Where?" thinks he to himself, "where did I last see the man whom +this agravating Benjamin, here, so very strongly reminds me of?" + +It was no time, just then--with the cheerful old woman's eye +searching him all over, and the cheerful old woman's tongue talking +at him, nineteen to the dozen--for Trottle to be ransacking his +memory for small matters that had got into wrong corners of it. He +put by in his mind that very curious circumstance respecting +Benjamin's face, to be taken up again when a fit opportunity offered +itself; and kept his wits about him in prime order for present +necessities. + +"You wouldn't like to go down into the kitchen, would you?" says the +witch without the broomstick, as familiar as if she had been +Trottle's mother, instead of Benjamin's. "There's a bit of fire in +the grate, and the sink in the back kitchen don't smell to matter +much to-day, and it's uncommon chilly up here when a person's flesh +don't hardly cover a person's bones. But you don't look cold, sir, +do you? And then, why, Lord bless my soul, our little bit of +business is so very, very little, it's hardly worth while to go +downstairs about it, after all. Quite a game at business, ain't it, +sir? Give-and-take that's what I call it--give-and-take!" + +With that, her wicked old eyes settled hungrily on the region round +about Trottle's waistcoat-pocket, and she began to chuckle like her +son, holding out one of her skinny hands, and tapping cheerfully in +the palm with the knuckles of the other. Agravating Benjamin, +seeing what she was about, roused up a little, chuckled and tapped +in imitation of her, got an idea of his own into his muddled head +all of a sudden, and bolted it out charitably for the benefit of +Trottle. + +"I say!" says Benjamin, settling himself against the wall and +nodding his head viciously at his cheerful old mother. "I say! +Look out. She'll skin you!" + +Assisted by these signs and warnings, Trottle found no difficulty in +understanding that the business referred to was the giving and +taking of money, and that he was expected to be the giver. It was +at this stage of the proceedings that he first felt decidedly +uncomfortable, and more than half inclined to wish he was on the +street-side of the house-door again. + +He was still cudgelling his brains for an excuse to save his pocket, +when the silence was suddenly interrupted by a sound in the upper +part of the house. + +It was not at all loud--it was a quiet, still, scraping sound--so +faint that it could hardly have reached the quickest ears, except in +an empty house. + +"Do you hear that, Benjamin?" says the old woman. "He's at it +again, even in the dark, ain't he? P'raps you'd like to see him, +sir!" says she, turning on Trottle, and poking her grinning face +close to him. "Only name it; only say if you'd like to see him +before we do our little bit of business--and I'll show good Forley's +friend up-stairs, just as if he was good Mr. Forley himself. MY +legs are all right, whatever Benjamin's may be. I get younger and +younger, and stronger and stronger, and jollier and jollier, every +day--that's what I do! Don't mind the stairs on my account, sir, if +you'd like to see him." + +"Him?" Trottle wondered whether "him" meant a man, or a boy, or a +domestic animal of the male species. Whatever it meant, here was a +chance of putting off that uncomfortable give-and-take-business, +and, better still, a chance perhaps of finding out one of the +secrets of the mysterious House. Trottle's spirits began to rise +again and he said "Yes," directly, with the confidence of a man who +knew all about it. + +Benjamin's mother took the candle at once, and lighted Trottle +briskly to the stairs; and Benjamin himself tried to follow as +usual. But getting up several flights of stairs, even helped by the +bannisters, was more, with his particular complaint, than he seemed +to feel himself inclined to venture on. He sat down obstinately on +the lowest step, with his head against the wall, and the tails of +his big great-coat spreading out magnificently on the stairs behind +him and above him, like a dirty imitation of a court lady's train. + +"Don't sit there, dear," says his affectionate mother, stopping to +snuff the candle on the first landing. + +"I shall sit here," says Benjamin, agravating to the last, "till the +milk comes in the morning." + +The cheerful old woman went on nimbly up the stairs to the first +floor, and Trottle followed, with his eyes and ears wide open. He +had seen nothing out of the common in the front-parlour, or up the +staircase, so far. The House was dirty and dreary and close- +smelling--but there was nothing about it to excite the least +curiosity, except the faint scraping sound, which was now beginning +to get a little clearer--though still not at all loud--as Trottle +followed his leader up the stairs to the second floor. + +Nothing on the second-floor landing, but cobwebs above and bits of +broken plaster below, cracked off from the ceiling. Benjamin's +mother was not a bit out of breath, and looked all ready to go to +the top of the monument if necessary. The faint scraping sound had +got a little clearer still; but Trottle was no nearer to guessing +what it might be, than when he first heard it in the parlour +downstairs. + +On the third, and last, floor, there were two doors; one, which was +shut, leading into the front garret; and one, which was ajar, +leading into the back garret. There was a loft in the ceiling above +the landing; but the cobwebs all over it vouched sufficiently for +its not having been opened for some little time. The scraping +noise, plainer than ever here, sounded on the other side of the back +garret door; and, to Trottle's great relief, that was precisely the +door which the cheerful old woman now pushed open. + +Trottle followed her in; and, for once in his life, at any rate, was +struck dumb with amazement, at the sight which the inside of the +room revealed to him. + +The garret was absolutely empty of everything in the shape of +furniture. It must have been used at one time or other, by somebody +engaged in a profession or a trade which required for the practice +of it a great deal of light; for the one window in the room, which +looked out on a wide open space at the back of the house, was three +or four times as large, every way, as a garret-window usually is. +Close under this window, kneeling on the bare boards with his face +to the door, there appeared, of all the creatures in the world to +see alone at such a place and at such a time, a mere mite of a +child--a little, lonely, wizen, strangely-clad boy, who could not at +the most, have been more than five years old. He had a greasy old +blue shawl crossed over his breast, and rolled up, to keep the ends +from the ground, into a great big lump on his back. A strip of +something which looked like the remains of a woman's flannel +petticoat, showed itself under the shawl, and, below that again, a +pair of rusty black stockings, worlds too large for him, covered his +legs and his shoeless feet. A pair of old clumsy muffetees, which +had worked themselves up on his little frail red arms to the elbows, +and a big cotton nightcap that had dropped down to his very +eyebrows, finished off the strange dress which the poor little man +seemed not half big enough to fill out, and not near strong enough +to walk about in. + +But there was something to see even more extraordinary than the +clothes the child was swaddled up in, and that was the game which he +was playing at, all by himself; and which, moreover, explained in +the most unexpected manner the faint scraping noise that had found +its way down-stairs, through the half-opened door, in the silence of +the empty house. + +It has been mentioned that the child was on his knees in the garret, +when Trottle first saw him. He was not saying his prayers, and not +crouching down in terror at being alone in the dark. He was, odd +and unaccountable as it may appear, doing nothing more or less than +playing at a charwoman's or housemaid's business of scouring the +floor. Both his little hands had tight hold of a mangy old +blacking-brush, with hardly any bristles left in it, which he was +rubbing backwards and forwards on the boards, as gravely and +steadily as if he had been at scouring-work for years, and had got a +large family to keep by it. The coming-in of Trottle and the old +woman did not startle or disturb him in the least. He just looked +up for a minute at the candle, with a pair of very bright, sharp +eyes, and then went on with his work again, as if nothing had +happened. On one side of him was a battered pint saucepan without a +handle, which was his make-believe pail; and on the other a morsel +of slate-coloured cotton rag, which stood for his flannel to wipe up +with. After scrubbing bravely for a minute or two, he took the bit +of rag, and mopped up, and then squeezed make-believe water out into +his make-believe pail, as grave as any judge that ever sat on a +Bench. By the time he thought he had got the floor pretty dry, he +raised himself upright on his knees, and blew out a good long +breath, and set his little red arms akimbo, and nodded at Trottle. + +"There!" says the child, knitting his little downy eyebrows into a +frown. "Drat the dirt! I've cleaned up. Where's my beer?" + +Benjamin's mother chuckled till Trottle thought she would have +choked herself. + +"Lord ha' mercy on us!" says she, "just hear the imp. You would +never think he was only five years old, would you, sir? Please to +tell good Mr. Forley you saw him going on as nicely as ever, playing +at being me scouring the parlour floor, and calling for my beer +afterwards. That's his regular game, morning, noon, and night--he's +never tired of it. Only look how snug we've been and dressed him. +That's my shawl a keepin his precious little body warm, and +Benjamin's nightcap a keepin his precious little head warm, and +Benjamin's stockings, drawed over his trowsers, a keepin his +precious little legs warm. He's snug and happy if ever a imp was +yet. 'Where's my beer!'--say it again, little dear, say it again!" + +If Trottle had seen the boy, with a light and a fire in the room, +clothed like other children, and playing naturally with a top, or a +box of soldiers, or a bouncing big India-rubber ball, he might have +been as cheerful under the circumstances as Benjamin's mother +herself. But seeing the child reduced (as he could not help +suspecting) for want of proper toys and proper child's company, to +take up with the mocking of an old woman at her scouring-work, for +something to stand in the place of a game, Trottle, though not a +family man, nevertheless felt the sight before him to be, in its +way, one of the saddest and the most pitiable that he had ever +witnessed. + +"Why, my man," says he, "you're the boldest little chap in all +England. You don't seem a bit afraid of being up here all by +yourself in the dark." + +"The big winder," says the child, pointing up to it, "sees in the +dark; and I see with the big winder." He stops a bit, and gets up +on his legs, and looks hard at Benjamin's mother. "I'm a good 'un," +says he, "ain't I? I save candle." + +Trottle wondered what else the forlorn little creature had been +brought up to do without, besides candle-light; and risked putting a +question as to whether he ever got a run in the open air to cheer +him up a bit. O, yes, he had a run now and then, out of doors (to +say nothing of his runs about the house), the lively little cricket- +-a run according to good Mr. Forley's instructions, which were +followed out carefully, as good Mr. Forley's friend would be glad to +hear, to the very letter. + +As Trottle could only have made one reply to this, namely, that good +Mr. Forley's instructions were, in his opinion, the instructions of +an infernal scamp; and as he felt that such an answer would +naturally prove the death-blow to all further discoveries on his +part, he gulped down his feelings before they got too many for him, +and held his tongue, and looked round towards the window again to +see what the forlorn little boy was going to amuse himself with +next. + +The child had gathered up his blacking-brush and bit of rag, and had +put them into the old tin saucepan; and was now working his way, as +well as his clothes would let him, with his make-believe pail hugged +up in his arms, towards a door of communication which led from the +back to the front garret. + +"I say," says he, looking round sharply over his shoulder, "what are +you two stopping here for? I'm going to bed now--and so I tell +you!" + +With that, he opened the door, and walked into the front room. +Seeing Trottle take a step or two to follow him, Benjamin's mother +opened her wicked old eyes in a state of great astonishment. + +"Mercy on us!" says she, "haven't you seen enough of him yet?" + +"No," says Trottle. "I should like to see him go to bed." + +Benjamin's mother burst into such a fit of chuckling that the loose +extinguisher in the candlestick clattered again with the shaking of +her hand. To think of good Mr. Forley's friend taking ten times +more trouble about the imp than good Mr. Forley himself! Such a +joke as that, Benjamin's mother had not often met with in the course +of her life, and she begged to be excused if she took the liberty of +having a laugh at it. + +Leaving her to laugh as much as she pleased, and coming to a pretty +positive conclusion, after what he had just heard, that Mr. Forley's +interest in the child was not of the fondest possible kind, Trottle +walked into the front room, and Benjamin's mother, enjoying herself +immensely, followed with the candle. + +There were two pieces of furniture in the front garret. One, an old +stool of the sort that is used to stand a cask of beer on; and the +other a great big ricketty straddling old truckle bedstead. In the +middle of this bedstead, surrounded by a dim brown waste of sacking, +was a kind of little island of poor bedding--an old bolster, with +nearly all the feathers out of it, doubled in three for a pillow; a +mere shred of patchwork counter-pane, and a blanket; and under that, +and peeping out a little on either side beyond the loose clothes, +two faded chair cushions of horsehair, laid along together for a +sort of makeshift mattress. When Trottle got into the room, the +lonely little boy had scrambled up on the bedstead with the help of +the beer-stool, and was kneeling on the outer rim of sacking with +the shred of counterpane in his hands, just making ready to tuck it +in for himself under the chair cushions. + +"I'll tuck you up, my man," says Trottle. "Jump into bed, and let +me try." + +"I mean to tuck myself up," says the poor forlorn child, "and I +don't mean to jump. I mean to crawl, I do--and so I tell you!" + +With that, he set to work, tucking in the clothes tight all down the +sides of the cushions, but leaving them open at the foot. Then, +getting up on his knees, and looking hard at Trottle as much as to +say, "What do you mean by offering to help such a handy little chap +as me?" he began to untie the big shawl for himself, and did it, +too, in less than half a minute. Then, doubling the shawl up loose +over the foot of the bed, he says, "I say, look here," and ducks +under the clothes, head first, worming his way up and up softly, +under the blanket and counterpane, till Trottle saw the top of the +large nightcap slowly peep out on the bolster. This over-sized +head-gear of the child's had so shoved itself down in the course of +his journey to the pillow, under the clothes, that when he got his +face fairly out on the bolster, he was all nightcap down to his +mouth. He soon freed himself, however, from this slight encumbrance +by turning the ends of the cap up gravely to their old place over +his eyebrows--looked at Trottle--said, "Snug, ain't it? Good-bye!"- +-popped his face under the clothes again--and left nothing to be +seen of him but the empty peak of the big nightcap standing up +sturdily on end in the middle of the bolster. + +"What a young limb it is, ain't it?" says Benjamin's mother, giving +Trottle a cheerful dig with her elbow. "Come on! you won't see no +more of him to-night!" + +"And so I tell you!" sings out a shrill, little voice under the +bedclothes, chiming in with a playful finish to the old woman's last +words. + +If Trottle had not been, by this time, positively resolved to follow +the wicked secret which accident had mixed him up with, through all +its turnings and windings, right on to the end, he would have +probably snatched the boy up then and there, and carried him off +from his garret prison, bed-clothes and all. As it was, he put a +strong check on himself, kept his eye on future possibilities, and +allowed Benjamin's mother to lead him down-stairs again. + +"Mind them top bannisters," says she, as Trottle laid his hand on +them. "They are as rotten as medlars every one of 'em." + +"When people come to see the premises," says Trottle, trying to feel +his way a little farther into the mystery of the House, "you don't +bring many of them up here, do you?" + +"Bless your heart alive!" says she, "nobody ever comes now. The +outside of the house is quite enough to warn them off. Mores the +pity, as I say. It used to keep me in spirits, staggering 'em all, +one after another, with the frightful high rent--specially the +women, drat 'em. 'What's the rent of this house?'--'Hundred and +twenty pound a-year!'--'Hundred and twenty? why, there ain't a house +in the street as lets for more than eighty!'--Likely enough, ma'am; +other landlords may lower their rents if they please; but this here +landlord sticks to his rights, and means to have as much for his +house as his father had before him!'--'But the neighbourhood's gone +off since then!'--'Hundred and twenty pound, ma'am.'--'The landlord +must be mad!'--'Hundred and twenty pound, ma'am.'--'Open the door +you impertinent woman!' Lord! what a happiness it was to see 'em +bounce out, with that awful rent a-ringing in their ears all down +the street!" + +She stopped on the second-floor landing to treat herself to another +chuckle, while Trottle privately posted up in his memory what he had +just heard. "Two points made out," he thought to himself: "the +house is kept empty on purpose, and the way it's done is to ask a +rent that nobody will pay." + +"Ah, deary me!" says Benjamin's mother, changing the subject on a +sudden, and twisting back with a horrid, greedy quickness to those +awkward money-matters which she had broached down in the parlour. +"What we've done, one way and another for Mr. Forley, it isn't in +words to tell! That nice little bit of business of ours ought to be +a bigger bit of business, considering the trouble we take, Benjamin +and me, to make the imp upstairs as happy as the day is long. If +good Mr. Forley would only please to think a little more of what a +deal he owes to Benjamin and me--" + +"That's just it," says Trottle, catching her up short in +desperation, and seeing his way, by the help of those last words of +hers, to slipping cleverly through her fingers. "What should you +say, if I told you that Mr. Forley was nothing like so far from +thinking about that little matter as you fancy? You would be +disappointed, now, if I told you that I had come to-day without the +money?"--(her lank old jaw fell, and her villainous old eyes glared, +in a perfect state of panic, at that!)--"But what should you say, if +I told you that Mr. Forley was only waiting for my report, to send +me here next Monday, at dusk, with a bigger bit of business for us +two to do together than ever you think for? What should you say to +that?" + +The old wretch came so near to Trottle, before she answered, and +jammed him up confidentially so close into the corner of the +landing, that his throat, in a manner, rose at her. + +"Can you count it off, do you think, on more than that?" says she, +holding up her four skinny fingers and her long crooked thumb, all +of a tremble, right before his face. + +"What do you say to two hands, instead of one?" says he, pushing +past her, and getting down-stairs as fast as he could. + +What she said Trottle thinks it best not to report, seeing that the +old hypocrite, getting next door to light-headed at the golden +prospect before her, took such liberties with unearthly names and +persons which ought never to have approached her lips, and rained +down such an awful shower of blessings on Trottle's head, that his +hair almost stood on end to hear her. He went on down-stairs as +fast as his feet would carry him, till he was brought up all +standing, as the sailors say, on the last flight, by agravating +Benjamin, lying right across the stair, and fallen off, as might +have been expected, into a heavy drunken sleep. + +The sight of him instantly reminded Trottle of the curious half +likeness which he had already detected between the face of Benjamin +and the face of another man, whom he had seen at a past time in very +different circumstances. He determined, before leaving the House, +to have one more look at the wretched muddled creature; and +accordingly shook him up smartly, and propped him against the +staircase wall, before his mother could interfere. + +"Leave him to me; I'll freshen him up," says Trottle to the old +woman, looking hard in Benjamin's face, while he spoke. + +The fright and surprise of being suddenly woke up, seemed, for about +a quarter of a minute, to sober the creature. When he first opened +his eyes, there was a new look in them for a moment, which struck +home to Trottle's memory as quick and as clear as a flash of light. +The old maudlin sleepy expression came back again in another +instant, and blurred out all further signs and tokens of the past. +But Trottle had seen enough in the moment before it came; and he +troubled Benjamin's face with no more inquiries. + +"Next Monday, at dusk," says he, cutting short some more of the old +woman's palaver about Benjamin's indisgestion. "I've got no more +time to spare, ma'am, to-night: please to let me out." + +With a few last blessings, a few last dutiful messages to good Mr. +Forley, and a few last friendly hints not to forget next Monday at +dusk, Trottle contrived to struggle through the sickening business +of leave-taking; to get the door opened; and to find himself, to his +own indescribable relief, once more on the outer side of the House +To Let. + + + +LET AT LAST + + + +"There, ma'am!" said Trottle, folding up the manuscript from which +he had been reading, and setting it down with a smart tap of triumph +on the table. "May I venture to ask what you think of that plain +statement, as a guess on my part (and not on Mr. Jarber's) at the +riddle of the empty House?" + +For a minute or two I was unable to say a word. When I recovered a +little, my first question referred to the poor forlorn little boy. + +"To-day is Monday the twentieth," I said. "Surely you have not let +a whole week go by without trying to find out something more?" + +"Except at bed-time, and meals, ma'am," answered Trottle, "I have +not let an hour go by. Please to understand that I have only come +to an end of what I have written, and not to an end of what I have +done. I wrote down those first particulars, ma'am, because they are +of great importance, and also because I was determined to come +forward with my written documents, seeing that Mr. Jarber chose to +come forward, in the first instance, with his. I am now ready to go +on with the second part of my story as shortly and plainly as +possible, by word of mouth. The first thing I must clear up, if you +please, is the matter of Mr. Forley's family affairs. I have heard +you speak of them, ma'am, at various times; and I have understood +that Mr. Forley had two children only by his deceased wife, both +daughters. The eldest daughter married, to her father's entire +satisfaction, one Mr. Bayne, a rich man, holding a high government +situation in Canada. She is now living there with her husband, and +her only child, a little girl of eight or nine years old. Right so +far, I think, ma'am?" + +"Quite right," I said. + +"The second daughter," Trottle went on, "and Mr. Forley's favourite, +set her father's wishes and the opinions of the world at flat +defiance, by running away with a man of low origin--a mate of a +merchant-vessel, named Kirkland. Mr. Forley not only never forgave +that marriage, but vowed that he would visit the scandal of it +heavily in the future on husband and wife. Both escaped his +vengeance, whatever he meant it to be. The husband was drowned on +his first voyage after his marriage, and the wife died in child-bed. +Right again, I believe, ma'am?" + +"Again quite right." + +"Having got the family matter all right, we will now go back, ma'am, +to me and my doings. Last Monday, I asked you for leave of absence +for two days; I employed the time in clearing up the matter of +Benjamin's face. Last Saturday I was out of the way when you wanted +me. I played truant, ma'am, on that occasion, in company with a +friend of mine, who is managing clerk in a lawyer's office; and we +both spent the morning at Doctors' Commons, over the last will and +testament of Mr. Forley's father. Leaving the will-business for a +moment, please to follow me first, if you have no objection, into +the ugly subject of Benjamin's face. About six or seven years ago +(thanks to your kindness) I had a week's holiday with some friends +of mine who live in the town of Pendlebury. One of those friends +(the only one now left in the place) kept a chemist's shop, and in +that shop I was made acquainted with one of the two doctors in the +town, named Barsham. This Barsham was a first-rate surgeon, and +might have got to the top of his profession, if he had not been a +first-rate blackguard. As it was, he both drank and gambled; nobody +would have anything to do with him in Pendlebury; and, at the time +when I was made known to him in the chemist's shop, the other +doctor, Mr. Dix, who was not to be compared with him for surgical +skill, but who was a respectable man, had got all the practice; and +Barsham and his old mother were living together in such a condition +of utter poverty, that it was a marvel to everybody how they kept +out of the parish workhouse." + +"Benjamin and Benjamin's mother!" + +"Exactly, ma'am. Last Thursday morning (thanks to your kindness, +again) I went to Pendlebury to my friend the chemist, to ask a few +questions about Barsham and his mother. I was told that they had +both left the town about five years since. When I inquired into the +circumstances, some strange particulars came out in the course of +the chemist's answer. You know I have no doubt, ma'am, that poor +Mrs. Kirkland was confined while her husband was at sea, in lodgings +at a village called Flatfield, and that she died and was buried +there. But what you may not know is, that Flatfield is only three +miles from Pendlebury; that the doctor who attended on Mrs. Kirkland +was Barsham; that the nurse who took care of her was Barsham's +mother; and that the person who called them both in, was Mr. Forley. +Whether his daughter wrote to him, or whether he heard of it in some +other way, I don't know; but he was with her (though he had sworn +never to see her again when she married) a month or more before her +confinement, and was backwards and forwards a good deal between +Flatfield and Pendlebury. How he managed matters with the Barshams +cannot at present be discovered; but it is a fact that he contrived +to keep the drunken doctor sober, to everybody's amazement. It is a +fact that Barsham went to the poor woman with all his wits about +him. It is a fact that he and his mother came back from Flatfield +after Mrs. Kirkland's death, packed up what few things they had, and +left the town mysteriously by night. And, lastly, it is also a fact +that the other doctor, Mr. Dix, was not called in to help, till a +week after the birth AND BURIAL of the child, when the mother was +sinking from exhaustion--exhaustion (to give the vagabond, Barsham, +his due) not produced, in Mr. Dix's opinion, by improper medical +treatment, but by the bodily weakness of the poor woman herself--" + +"Burial of the child?" I interrupted, trembling all over. "Trottle! +you spoke that word 'burial' in a very strange way--you are fixing +your eyes on me now with a very strange look--" + +Trottle leaned over close to me, and pointed through the window to +the empty house. + +"The child's death is registered, at Pendlebury," he said, "on +Barsham's certificate, under the head of Male Infant, Still-Born. +The child's coffin lies in the mother's grave, in Flatfield +churchyard. The child himself--as surely as I live and breathe, is +living and breathing now--a castaway and a prisoner in that +villainous house!" + +I sank back in my chair. + +"It's guess-work, so far, but it is borne in on my mind, for all +that, as truth. Rouse yourself, ma'am, and think a little. The +last I hear of Barsham, he is attending Mr. Forley's disobedient +daughter. The next I see of Barsham, he is in Mr. Forley's house, +trusted with a secret. He and his mother leave Pendlebury suddenly +and suspiciously five years back; and he and his mother have got a +child of five years old, hidden away in the house. Wait! please to +wait--I have not done yet. The will left by Mr. Forley's father, +strengthens the suspicion. The friend I took with me to Doctors' +Commons, made himself master of the contents of that will; and when +he had done so, I put these two questions to him. 'Can Mr. Forley +leave his money at his own discretion to anybody he pleases?' 'No,' +my friend says, 'his father has left him with only a life interest +in it.' 'Suppose one of Mr. Forley's married daughters has a girl, +and the other a boy, how would the money go?' 'It would all go,' my +friend says, 'to the boy, and it would be charged with the payment +of a certain annual income to his female cousin. After her death, +it would go back to the male descendant, and to his heirs.' +Consider that, ma'am! The child of the daughter whom Mr. Forley +hates, whose husband has been snatched away from his vengeance by +death, takes his whole property in defiance of him; and the child of +the daughter whom he loves, is left a pensioner on her low-born boy- +cousin for life! There was good--too good reason--why that child of +Mrs. Kirkland's should be registered stillborn. And if, as I +believe, the register is founded on a false certificate, there is +better, still better reason, why the existence of the child should +be hidden, and all trace of his parentage blotted out, in the garret +of that empty house." + +He stopped, and pointed for the second time to the dim, dust-covered +garret-windows opposite. As he did so, I was startled--a very +slight matter sufficed to frighten me now--by a knock at the door of +the room in which we were sitting. + +My maid came in, with a letter in her hand. I took it from her. +The mourning card, which was all the envelope enclosed, dropped from +my hands. + +George Forley was no more. He had departed this life three days +since, on the evening of Friday. + +"Did our last chance of discovering the truth," I asked, "rest with +HIM? Has it died with HIS death?" + +"Courage, ma'am! I think not. Our chance rests on our power to +make Barsham and his mother confess; and Mr. Forley's death, by +leaving them helpless, seems to put that power into our hands. With +your permission, I will not wait till dusk to-day, as I at first +intended, but will make sure of those two people at once. With a +policeman in plain clothes to watch the house, in case they try to +leave it; with this card to vouch for the fact of Mr. Forley's +death; and with a bold acknowledgment on my part of having got +possession of their secret, and of being ready to use it against +them in case of need, I think there is little doubt of bringing +Barsham and his mother to terms. In case I find it impossible to +get back here before dusk, please to sit near the window, ma'am, and +watch the house, a little before they light the street-lamps. If +you see the front-door open and close again, will you be good enough +to put on your bonnet, and come across to me immediately? Mr. +Forley's death may, or may not, prevent his messenger from coming as +arranged. But, if the person does come, it is of importance that +you, as a relative of Mr. Forley's should be present to see him, and +to have that proper influence over him which I cannot pretend to +exercise." + +The only words I could say to Trottle as he opened the door and left +me, were words charging him to take care that no harm happened to +the poor forlorn little boy. + +Left alone, I drew my chair to the window; and looked out with a +beating heart at the guilty house. I waited and waited through what +appeared to me to be an endless time, until I heard the wheels of a +cab stop at the end of the street. I looked in that direction, and +saw Trottle get out of the cab alone, walk up to the house, and +knock at the door. He was let in by Barsham's mother. A minute or +two later, a decently-dressed man sauntered past the house, looked +up at it for a moment, and sauntered on to the corner of the street +close by. Here he leant against the post, and lighted a cigar, and +stopped there smoking in an idle way, but keeping his face always +turned in the direction of the house-door. + +I waited and waited still. I waited and waited, with my eyes +riveted to the door of the house. At last I thought I saw it open +in the dusk, and then felt sure I heard it shut again softly. +Though I tried hard to compose myself, I trembled so that I was +obliged to call for Peggy to help me on with my bonnet and cloak, +and was forced to take her arm to lean on, in crossing the street. + +Trottle opened the door to us, before we could knock. Peggy went +back, and I went in. He had a lighted candle in his hand. + +"It has happened, ma'am, as I thought it would," he whispered, +leading me into the bare, comfortless, empty parlour. "Barsham and +his mother have consulted their own interests, and have come to +terms. My guess-work is guess-work no longer. It is now what I +felt it was--Truth!" + +Something strange to me--something which women who are mothers must +often know--trembled suddenly in my heart, and brought the warm +tears of my youthful days thronging back into my eyes. I took my +faithful old servant by the hand, and asked him to let me see Mrs. +Kirkland's child, for his mother's sake. + +"If you desire it, ma'am," said Trottle, with a gentleness of manner +that I had never noticed in him before. "But pray don't think me +wanting in duty and right feeling, if I beg you to try and wait a +little. You are agitated already, and a first meeting with the +child will not help to make you so calm, as you would wish to be, if +Mr. Forley's messenger comes. The little boy is safe up-stairs. +Pray think first of trying to compose yourself for a meeting with a +stranger; and believe me you shall not leave the house afterwards +without the child." + +I felt that Trottle was right, and sat down as patiently as I could +in a chair he had thoughtfully placed ready for me. I was so +horrified at the discovery of my own relation's wickedness that when +Trottle proposed to make me acquainted with the confession wrung +from Barsham and his mother, I begged him to spare me all details, +and only to tell me what was necessary about George Forley. + +"All that can be said for Mr. Forley, ma'am, is, that he was just +scrupulous enough to hide the child's existence and blot out its +parentage here, instead of consenting, at the first, to its death, +or afterwards, when the boy grew up, to turning him adrift, +absolutely helpless in the world. The fraud has been managed, +ma'am, with the cunning of Satan himself. Mr. Forley had the hold +over the Barshams, that they had helped him in his villany, and that +they were dependent on him for the bread they eat. He brought them +up to London to keep them securely under his own eye. He put them +into this empty house (taking it out of the agent's hands +previously, on pretence that he meant to manage the letting of it +himself); and by keeping the house empty, made it the surest of all +hiding places for the child. Here, Mr. Forley could come, whenever +he pleased, to see that the poor lonely child was not absolutely +starved; sure that his visits would only appear like looking after +his own property. Here the child was to have been trained to +believe himself Barsham's child, till he should be old enough to be +provided for in some situation, as low and as poor as Mr. Forley's +uneasy conscience would let him pick out. He may have thought of +atonement on his death-bed; but not before--I am only too certain of +it--not before!" + +A low, double knock startled us. + +"The messenger!" said Trottle, under his breath. He went out +instantly to answer the knock; and returned, leading in a +respectable-looking elderly man, dressed like Trottle, all in black, +with a white cravat, but otherwise not at all resembling him. + +"I am afraid I have made some mistake," said the stranger. + +Trottle, considerately taking the office of explanation into his own +hands, assured the gentleman that there was no mistake; mentioned to +him who I was; and asked him if he had not come on business +connected with the late Mr. Forley. Looking greatly astonished, the +gentleman answered, "Yes." There was an awkward moment of silence, +after that. The stranger seemed to be not only startled and amazed, +but rather distrustful and fearful of committing himself as well. +Noticing this, I thought it best to request Trottle to put an end to +further embarrassment, by stating all particulars truthfully, as he +had stated them to me; and I begged the gentleman to listen +patiently for the late Mr. Forley's sake. He bowed to me very +respectfully, and said he was prepared to listen with the greatest +interest. + +It was evident to me--and, I could see, to Trottle also--that we +were not dealing, to say the least, with a dishonest man. + +"Before I offer any opinion on what I have heard," he said, +earnestly and anxiously, after Trottle had done, "I must be allowed, +in justice to myself, to explain my own apparent connection with +this very strange and very shocking business. I was the +confidential legal adviser of the late Mr. Forley, and I am left his +executor. Rather more than a fortnight back, when Mr. Forley was +confined to his room by illness, he sent for me, and charged me to +call and pay a certain sum of money here, to a man and woman whom I +should find taking charge of the house. He said he had reasons for +wishing the affair to be kept a secret. He begged me so to arrange +my engagements that I could call at this place either on Monday +last, or to-day, at dusk; and he mentioned that he would write to +warn the people of my coming, without mentioning my name (Dalcott is +my name), as he did not wish to expose me to any future +importunities on the part of the man and woman. I need hardly tell +you that this commission struck me as being a strange one; but, in +my position with Mr. Forley, I had no resource but to accept it +without asking questions, or to break off my long and friendly +connection with my client. I chose the first alternative. Business +prevented me from doing my errand on Monday last--and if I am here +to-day, notwithstanding Mr. Forley's unexpected death, it is +emphatically because I understood nothing of the matter, on knocking +at this door; and therefore felt myself bound, as executor, to clear +it up. That, on my word of honour, is the whole truth, so far as I +am personally concerned." + +"I feel quite sure of it, sir," I answered. + +"You mentioned Mr. Forley's death, just now, as unexpected. May I +inquire if you were present, and if he has left any last +instructions?" + +"Three hours before Mr. Forley's death," said Mr. Dalcott, "his +medical attendant left him apparently in a fair way of recovery. +The change for the worse took place so suddenly, and was accompanied +by such severe suffering, to prevent him from communicating his last +wishes to any one. When I reached his house, he was insensible. I +have since examined his papers. Not one of them refers to the +present time or to the serious matter which now occupies us. In the +absence of instructions I must act cautiously on what you have told +me; but I will be rigidly fair and just at the same time. The first +thing to be done," he continued, addressing himself to Trottle, "is +to hear what the man and woman, down-stairs, have to say. If you +can supply me with writing-materials, I will take their declarations +separately on the spot, in your presence, and in the presence of the +policeman who is watching the house. To-morrow I will send copies +of those declarations, accompanied by a full statement of the case, +to Mr. and Mrs. Bayne in Canada (both of whom know me well as the +late Mr. Forley's legal adviser); and I will suspend all +proceedings, on my part, until I hear from them, or from their +solicitor in London. In the present posture of affairs this is all +I can safely do." + +We could do no less than agree with him, and thank him for his frank +and honest manner of meeting us. It was arranged that I should send +over the writing-materials from my lodgings; and, to my unutterable +joy and relief, it was also readily acknowledged that the poor +little orphan boy could find no fitter refuge than my old arms were +longing to offer him, and no safer protection for the night than my +roof could give. Trottle hastened away up-stairs, as actively as if +he had been a young man, to fetch the child down. + +And he brought him down to me without another moment of delay, and I +went on my knees before the poor little Mite, and embraced him, and +asked him if he would go with me to where I lived? He held me away +for a moment, and his wan, shrewd little eyes looked sharp at me. +Then he clung close to me all at once, and said: + +"I'm a-going along with you, I am--and so I tell you!" + +For inspiring the poor neglected child with this trust in my old +self, I thanked Heaven, then, with all my heart and soul, and I +thank it now! + +I bundled the poor darling up in my own cloak, and I carried him in +my own arms across the road. Peggy was lost in speechless amazement +to behold me trudging out of breath up-stairs, with a strange pair +of poor little legs under my arm; but, she began to cry over the +child the moment she saw him, like a sensible woman as she always +was, and she still cried her eyes out over him in a comfortable +manner, when he at last lay fast asleep, tucked up by my hands in +Trottle's bed. + +"And Trottle, bless you, my dear man," said I, kissing his hand, as +he looked on: "the forlorn baby came to this refuge through you, +and he will help you on your way to Heaven." + +Trottle answered that I was his dear mistress, and immediately went +and put his head out at an open window on the landing, and looked +into the back street for a quarter of an hour. + +That very night, as I sat thinking of the poor child, and of another +poor child who is never to be thought about enough at Christmas- +time, the idea came into my mind which I have lived to execute, and +in the realisation of which I am the happiest of women this day. + +"The executor will sell that House, Trottle?" said I. + +"Not a doubt of it, ma'am, if he can find a purchaser." + +"I'll buy it." + +I have often seen Trottle pleased; but, I never saw him so perfectly +enchanted as he was when I confided to him, which I did, then and +there, the purpose that I had in view. + +To make short of a long story--and what story would not be long, +coming from the lips of an old woman like me, unless it was made +short by main force!--I bought the House. Mrs. Bayne had her +father's blood in her; she evaded the opportunity of forgiving and +generous reparation that was offered her, and disowned the child; +but, I was prepared for that, and loved him all the more for having +no one in the world to look to, but me. + +I am getting into a flurry by being over-pleased, and I dare say I +am as incoherent as need be. I bought the House, and I altered it +from the basement to the roof, and I turned it into a Hospital for +Sick Children. + +Never mind by what degrees my little adopted boy came to the +knowledge of all the sights and sounds in the streets, so familiar +to other children and so strange to him; never mind by what degrees +he came to be pretty, and childish, and winning, and companionable, +and to have pictures and toys about him, and suitable playmates. As +I write, I look across the road to my Hospital, and there is the +darling (who has gone over to play) nodding at me out of one of the +once lonely windows, with his dear chubby face backed up by +Trottle's waistcoat as he lifts my pet for "Grandma" to see. + +Many an Eye I see in that House now, but it is never in solitude, +never in neglect. Many an Eye I see in that House now, that is more +and more radiant every day with the light of returning health. As +my precious darling has changed beyond description for the brighter +and the better, so do the not less precious darlings of poor women +change in that House every day in the year. For which I humbly +thank that Gracious Being whom the restorer of the Widow's son and +of the Ruler's daughter, instructed all mankind to call their +Father. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of A House to Let, by Dickens and Others + diff --git a/old/hslet10.zip b/old/hslet10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7de6a1a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hslet10.zip |
