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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 28636 ***
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+THE GREY WOMAN
+AND
+OTHER TALES.
+
+MRS. GASKELL
+
+
+
+SMITH ELDER & Co
+65 CORNHILL
+1865]
+
+
+
+
+THE GREY WOMAN.
+AND OTHER TALES.
+
+
+BY MRS. GASKELL,
+
+AUTHOR OF “MARY BARTON,” “NORTH AND SOUTH,” “SYLVIA’S
+LOVERS,” “COUSIN PHILLIS,” “CRANFORD,” ETC.
+
+
+ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
+
+
+LONDON:
+SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.
+M.DCCC.LXV.
+
+
+[_The Right of Translation is reserved._]
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.                      PAGE
+
+THE GREY WOMAN                    5
+CURIOUS IF TRUE                  82
+SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM         105
+LIBBIE MARSH’S THREE ERAS       158
+CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE   197
+HAND AND HEART                  213
+BESSY’S TROUBLES AT HOME        240
+DISAPPEARANCES                  267
+
+
+
+
+THE GREY WOMAN.
+
+PORTION I.
+
+
+There is a mill by the Neckar-side, to which many people resort for
+coffee, according to the fashion which is almost national in Germany.
+There is nothing particularly attractive in the situation of this mill;
+it is on the Mannheim (the flat and unromantic) side of Heidelberg.
+The river turns the mill-wheel with a plenteous gushing sound; the
+out-buildings and the dwelling-house of the miller form a well-kept
+dusty quadrangle. Again, further from the river, there is a garden
+full of willows, and arbours, and flower-beds not well kept, but very
+profuse in flowers and luxuriant creepers, knotting and looping the
+arbours together. In each of these arbours is a stationary table of
+white painted wood, and light moveable chairs of the same colour and
+material.
+
+I went to drink coffee there with some friends in 184—. The stately old
+miller came out to greet us, as some of the party were known to him of
+old. He was of a grand build of a man, and his loud musical voice, with
+its tone friendly and familiar, his rolling laugh of welcome, went well
+with the keen bright eye, the fine cloth of his coat, and the general
+look of substance about the place. Poultry of all kinds abounded in
+the mill-yard, where there were ample means of livelihood for them
+strewed on the ground; but not content with this, the miller took out
+handfuls of corn from the sacks, and threw liberally to the cocks and
+hens that ran almost under his feet in their eagerness. And all the
+time he was doing this, as it were habitually, he was talking to us,
+and ever and anon calling to his daughter and the serving-maids, to bid
+them hasten the coffee we had ordered. He followed us to an arbour, and
+saw us served to his satisfaction with the best of everything we could
+ask for; and then left us to go round to the different arbours and see
+that each party was properly attended to; and, as he went, this great,
+prosperous, happy-looking man whistled softly one of the most plaintive
+airs I ever heard.
+
+“His family have held this mill ever since the old Palatinate days;
+or rather, I should say, have possessed the ground ever since then,
+for two successive mills of theirs have been burnt down by the French.
+If you want to see Scherer in a passion, just talk to him of the
+possibility of a French invasion.”
+
+But at this moment, still whistling that mournful air, we saw the
+miller going down the steps that led from the somewhat raised garden
+into the mill-yard; and so I seemed to have lost my chance of putting
+him in a passion.
+
+We had nearly finished our coffee, and our “kucken,” and our cinnamon
+cake, when heavy splashes fell on our thick leafy covering; quicker and
+quicker they came, coming through the tender leaves as if they were
+tearing them asunder; all the people in the garden were hurrying under
+shelter, or seeking for their carriages standing outside. Up the steps
+the miller came hastening, with a crimson umbrella, fit to cover every
+one left in the garden, and followed by his daughter, and one or two
+maidens, each bearing an umbrella.
+
+“Come into the house—come in, I say. It is a summer-storm, and will
+flood the place for an hour or two, till the river carries it away.
+Here, here.”
+
+And we followed him back into his own house. We went into the kitchen
+first. Such an array of bright copper and tin vessels I never saw; and
+all the wooden things were as thoroughly scoured. The red tile floor
+was spotless when we went in, but in two minutes it was all over slop
+and dirt with the tread of many feet; for the kitchen was filled, and
+still the worthy miller kept bringing in more people under his great
+crimson umbrella. He even called the dogs in, and made them lie down
+under the tables.
+
+His daughter said something to him in German, and he shook his head
+merrily at her. Everybody laughed.
+
+“What did she say?” I asked.
+
+“She told him to bring the ducks in next; but indeed if more people
+come we shall be suffocated. What with the thundery weather, and the
+stove, and all these steaming clothes, I really think we must ask leave
+to pass on. Perhaps we might go in and see Frau Scherer.”
+
+My friend asked the daughter of the house for permission to go into an
+inner chamber and see her mother. It was granted, and we went into a
+sort of saloon, overlooking the Neckar; very small, very bright, and
+very close. The floor was slippery with polish; long narrow pieces
+of looking-glass against the walls reflected the perpetual motion of
+the river opposite; a white porcelain stove, with some old-fashioned
+ornaments of brass about it; a sofa, covered with Utrecht velvet, a
+table before it, and a piece of worsted-worked carpet under it; a
+vase of artificial flowers; and, lastly, an alcove with a bed in it,
+on which lay the paralysed wife of the good miller, knitting busily,
+formed the furniture. I spoke as if this was all that was to be seen
+in the room; but, sitting quietly, while my friend kept up a brisk
+conversation in a language which I but half understood, my eye was
+caught by a picture in a dark corner of the room, and I got up to
+examine it more nearly.
+
+It was that of a young girl of extreme beauty; evidently of middle
+rank. There was a sensitive refinement in her face, as if she almost
+shrank from the gaze which, of necessity, the painter must have fixed
+upon her. It was not over-well painted, but I felt that it must have
+been a good likeness, from this strong impress of peculiar character
+which I have tried to describe. From the dress, I should guess it
+to have been painted in the latter half of the last century. And I
+afterwards heard that I was right.
+
+There was a little pause in the conversation.
+
+“Will you ask Frau Scherer who this is?”
+
+My friend repeated my question, and received a long reply in German.
+Then she turned round and translated it to me.
+
+“It is the likeness of a great-aunt of her husband’s.” (My friend was
+standing by me, and looking at the picture with sympathetic curiosity.)
+“See! here is the name on the open page of this Bible, ‘Anna Scherer,
+1778.’ Frau Scherer says there is a tradition in the family that this
+pretty girl, with her complexion of lilies and roses, lost her colour
+so entirely through fright, that she was known by the name of the
+Grey Woman. She speaks as if this Anna Scherer lived in some state
+of life-long terror. But she does not know details; refers me to her
+husband for them. She thinks he has some papers which were written by
+the original of that picture for her daughter, who died in this very
+house not long after our friend there was married. We can ask Herr
+Scherer for the whole story if you like.”
+
+“Oh yes, pray do!” said I. And, as our host came in at this moment to
+ask how we were faring, and to tell us that he had sent to Heidelberg
+for carriages to convey us home, seeing no chance of the heavy rain
+abating, my friend, after thanking him, passed on to my request.
+
+“Ah!” said he, his face changing, “the aunt Anna had a sad history.
+It was all owing to one of those hellish Frenchmen; and her daughter
+suffered for it—the cousin Ursula, as we all called her when I was a
+child. To be sure, the good cousin Ursula was his child as well. The
+sins of the fathers are visited on their children. The lady would
+like to know all about it, would she? Well, there are papers—a kind
+of apology the aunt Anna wrote for putting an end to her daughter’s
+engagement—or rather facts which she revealed, that prevented cousin
+Ursula from marrying the man she loved; and so she would never have
+any other good fellow, else I have heard say my father would have been
+thankful to have made her his wife.” All this time he was rummaging in
+the drawer of an old-fashioned bureau, and now he turned round, with a
+bundle of yellow MSS. in his hand, which he gave to my friend, saying,
+“Take it home, take it home, and if you care to make out our crabbed
+German writing, you may keep it as long as you like, and read it at
+your leisure. Only I must have it back again when you have done with
+it, that’s all.”
+
+And so we became possessed of the manuscript of the following letter,
+which it was our employment, during many a long evening that ensuing
+winter, to translate, and in some parts to abbreviate. The letter
+began with some reference to the pain which she had already inflicted
+upon her daughter by some unexplained opposition to a project of
+marriage; but I doubt if, without the clue with which the good miller
+had furnished us, we could have made out even this much from the
+passionate, broken sentences that made us fancy that some scene between
+the mother and daughter—and possibly a third person—had occurred just
+before the mother had begun to write.
+
+
+“Thou dost not love thy child, mother! Thou dost not care if her heart
+is broken!” Ah, God! and these words of my heart-beloved Ursula ring in
+my ears as if the sound of them would fill them when I lie a-dying. And
+her poor tear-stained face comes between me and everything else. Child!
+hearts do not break; life is very tough as well as very terrible. But
+I will not decide for thee. I will tell thee all; and thou shalt bear
+the burden of choice. I may be wrong; I have little wit left, and never
+had much, I think; but an instinct serves me in place of judgment, and
+that instinct tells me that thou and thy Henri must never be married.
+Yet I may be in error. I would fain make my child happy. Lay this paper
+before the good priest Schriesheim; if, after reading it, thou hast
+doubts which make thee uncertain. Only I will tell thee all now, on
+condition that no spoken word ever passes between us on the subject. It
+would kill me to be questioned. I should have to see all present again.
+
+My father held, as thou knowest, the mill on the Neckar, where thy
+new-found uncle, Scherer, now lives. Thou rememberest the surprise with
+which we were received there last vintage twelvemonth. How thy uncle
+disbelieved me when I said that I was his sister Anna, whom he had
+long believed to be dead, and how I had to lead thee underneath the
+picture, painted of me long ago, and point out, feature by feature, the
+likeness between it and thee; and how, as I spoke, I recalled first to
+my own mind, and then by speech to his, the details of the time when it
+was painted; the merry words that passed between us then, a happy boy
+and girl; the position of the articles of furniture in the room; our
+father’s habits; the cherry-tree, now cut down, that shaded the window
+of my bedroom, through which my brother was wont to squeeze himself, in
+order to spring on to the topmost bough that would bear his weight; and
+thence would pass me back his cap laden with fruit to where I sat on
+the window-sill, too sick with fright for him to care much for eating
+the cherries.
+
+And at length Fritz gave way, and believed me to be his sister Anna,
+even as though I were risen from the dead. And thou rememberest how
+he fetched in his wife, and told her that I was not dead, but was
+come back to the old home once more, changed as I was. And she would
+scarce believe him, and scanned me with a cold, distrustful eye, till
+at length—for I knew her of old as Babette Müller—I said that I was
+well-to-do, and needed not to seek out friends for what they had to
+give. And then she asked—not me, but her husband—why I had kept silent
+so long, leading all—father, brother, every one that loved me in my own
+dear home—to esteem me dead. And then thine uncle (thou rememberest?)
+said he cared not to know more than I cared to tell; that I was his
+Anna, found again, to be a blessing to him in his old age, as I had
+been in his boyhood. I thanked him in my heart for his trust; for were
+the need for telling all less than it seems to me now I could not speak
+of my past life. But she, who was my sister-in-law still, held back
+her welcome, and, for want of that, I did not go to live in Heidelberg
+as I had planned beforehand, in order to be near my brother Fritz, but
+contented myself with his promise to be a father to my Ursula when I
+should die and leave this weary world.
+
+That Babette Müller was, as I may say, the cause of all my life’s
+suffering. She was a baker’s daughter in Heidelberg—a great beauty, as
+people said, and, indeed, as I could see for myself. I, too—thou sawest
+my picture—was reckoned a beauty, and I believe I was so. Babette
+Müller looked upon me as a rival. She liked to be admired, and had no
+one much to love her. I had several people to love me—thy grandfather,
+Fritz, the old servant Kätchen, Karl, the head apprentice at the
+mill—and I feared admiration and notice, and the being stared at as the
+“Schöne Müllerin,” whenever I went to make my purchases in Heidelberg.
+
+Those were happy, peaceful days. I had Kätchen to help me in the
+housework, and whatever we did pleased my brave old father, who was
+always gentle and indulgent towards us women, though he was stern
+enough with the apprentices in the mill. Karl, the oldest of these, was
+his favourite; and I can see now that my father wished him to marry me,
+and that Karl himself was desirous to do so. But Karl was rough-spoken,
+and passionate—not with me, but with the others—and I shrank from him
+in a way which, I fear, gave him pain. And then came thy uncle Fritz’s
+marriage; and Babette was brought to the mill to be its mistress. Not
+that I cared much for giving up my post, for, in spite of my father’s
+great kindness, I always feared that I did not manage well for so
+large a family (with the men, and a girl under Kätchen, we sat down
+eleven each night to supper). But when Babette began to find fault with
+Kätchen, I was unhappy at the blame that fell on faithful servants;
+and by-and-by I began to see that Babette was egging on Karl to make
+more open love to me, and, as she once said, to get done with it, and
+take me off to a home of my own. My father was growing old, and did
+not perceive all my daily discomfort. The more Karl advanced, the more
+I disliked him. He was good in the main, but I had no notion of being
+married, and could not bear any one who talked to me about it.
+
+Things were in this way when I had an invitation to go to Carlsruhe to
+visit a schoolfellow, of whom I had been very fond. Babette was all for
+my going; I don’t think I wanted to leave home, and yet I had been very
+fond of Sophie Rupprecht. But I was always shy among strangers. Somehow
+the affair was settled for me, but not until both Fritz and my father
+had made inquiries as to the character and position of the Rupprechts.
+They learned that the father had held some kind of inferior position
+about the Grand-duke’s court, and was now dead, leaving a widow, a
+noble lady, and two daughters, the elder of whom was Sophie, my friend.
+Madame Rupprecht was not rich, but more than respectable—genteel. When
+this was ascertained, my father made no opposition to my going; Babette
+forwarded it by all the means in her power, and even my dear Fritz had
+his word to say in its favour. Only Kätchen was against it—Kätchen
+and Karl. The opposition of Karl did more to send me to Carlsruhe
+than anything. For I could have objected to go; but when he took upon
+himself to ask what was the good of going a-gadding, visiting strangers
+of whom no one knew anything, I yielded to circumstances—to the pulling
+of Sophie and the pushing of Babette. I was silently vexed, I remember,
+at Babette’s inspection of my clothes; at the way in which she settled
+that this gown was too old-fashioned, or that too common, to go with
+me on my visit to a noble lady; and at the way in which she took upon
+herself to spend the money my father had given me to buy what was
+requisite for the occasion. And yet I blamed myself, for every one else
+thought her so kind for doing all this; and she herself meant kindly,
+too.
+
+At last I quitted the mill by the Neckar-side. It was a long day’s
+journey, and Fritz went with me to Carlsruhe. The Rupprechts lived
+on the third floor of a house a little behind one of the principal
+streets, in a cramped-up court, to which we gained admittance through a
+doorway in the street. I remember how pinched their rooms looked after
+the large space we had at the mill, and yet they had an air of grandeur
+about them which was new to me, and which gave me pleasure, faded as
+some of it was. Madame Rupprecht was too formal a lady for me; I was
+never at my ease with her; but Sophie was all that I had recollected
+her at school: kind, affectionate, and only rather too ready with her
+expressions of admiration and regard. The little sister kept out of
+our way; and that was all we needed, in the first enthusiastic renewal
+of our early friendship. The one great object of Madame Rupprecht’s
+life was to retain her position in society; and as her means were much
+diminished since her husband’s death, there was not much comfort,
+though there was a great deal of show, in their way of living; just
+the opposite of what it was at my father’s house. I believe that my
+coming was not too much desired by Madame Rupprecht, as I brought with
+me another mouth to be fed; but Sophie had spent a year or more in
+entreating for permission to invite me, and her mother, having once
+consented, was too well bred not to give me a stately welcome.
+
+The life in Carlsruhe was very different from what it was at home. The
+hours were later, the coffee was weaker in the morning, the pottage was
+weaker, the boiled beef less relieved by other diet, the dresses finer,
+the evening engagements constant. I did not find these visits pleasant.
+We might not knit, which would have relieved the tedium a little; but
+we sat in a circle, talking together, only interrupted occasionally by
+a gentleman, who, breaking out of the knot of men who stood near the
+door, talking eagerly together, stole across the room on tiptoe, his
+hat under his arm, and, bringing his feet together in the position we
+called the first at the dancing-school, made a low bow to the lady he
+was going to address. The first time I saw these manners I could not
+help smiling; but Madame Rupprecht saw me, and spoke to me next morning
+rather severely, telling me that, of course, in my country breeding I
+could have seen nothing of court manners, or French fashions, but that
+that was no reason for my laughing at them. Of course I tried never to
+smile again in company. This visit to Carlsruhe took place in ’89, just
+when every one was full of the events taking place at Paris; and yet
+at Carlsruhe French fashions were more talked of than French politics.
+Madame Rupprecht, especially, thought a great deal of all French
+people. And this again was quite different to us at home. Fritz could
+hardly bear the name of a Frenchman; and it had nearly been an obstacle
+to my visit to Sophie that her mother preferred being called Madame to
+her proper title of Frau.
+
+[Illustration p. 17: Monsieur de la Tourelle.]
+
+One night I was sitting next to Sophie, and longing for the time when
+we might have supper and go home, so as to be able to speak together,
+a thing forbidden by Madame Rupprecht’s rules of etiquette, which
+strictly prohibited any but the most necessary conversation passing
+between members of the same family when in society. I was sitting, I
+say, scarcely keeping back my inclination to yawn, when two gentlemen
+came in, one of whom was evidently a stranger to the whole party, from
+the formal manner in which the host led him up, and presented him to
+the hostess. I thought I had never seen any one so handsome or so
+elegant. His hair was powdered, of course, but one could see from his
+complexion that it was fair in its natural state. His features were as
+delicate as a girl’s, and set off by two little “mouches,” as we called
+patches in those days, one at the left corner of his mouth, the other
+prolonging, as it were, the right eye. His dress was blue and silver.
+I was so lost in admiration of this beautiful young man, that I was as
+much surprised as if the angel Gabriel had spoken to me, when the lady
+of the house brought him forward to present him to me. She called him
+Monsieur de la Tourelle, and he began to speak to me in French; but
+though I understood him perfectly, I dared not trust myself to reply to
+him in that language. Then he tried German, speaking it with a kind of
+soft lisp that I thought charming. But, before the end of the evening,
+I became a little tired of the affected softness and effeminacy of his
+manners, and the exaggerated compliments he paid me, which had the
+effect of making all the company turn round and look at me. Madame
+Rupprecht was, however, pleased with the precise thing that displeased
+me. She liked either Sophie or me to create a sensation; of course
+she would have preferred that it should have been her daughter, but
+her daughter’s friend was next best. As we went away, I heard Madame
+Rupprecht and Monsieur de la Tourelle reciprocating civil speeches with
+might and main, from which I found out that the French gentleman was
+coming to call on us the next day. I do not know whether I was more
+glad or frightened, for I had been kept upon stilts of good manners all
+the evening. But still I was flattered when Madame Rupprecht spoke as
+if she had invited him, because he had shown pleasure in my society,
+and even more gratified by Sophie’s ungrudging delight at the evident
+interest I had excited in so fine and agreeable a gentleman. Yet, with
+all this, they had hard work to keep me from running out of the salon
+the next day, when we heard his voice inquiring at the gate on the
+stairs for Madame Rupprecht. They had made me put on my Sunday gown,
+and they themselves were dressed as for a reception.
+
+When he was gone away, Madame Rupprecht congratulated me on the
+conquest I had made; for, indeed, he had scarcely spoken to any one
+else, beyond what mere civility required, and had almost invited
+himself to come in the evening to bring some new song, which was all
+the fashion in Paris, he said. Madame Rupprecht had been out all
+morning, as she told me, to glean information about Monsieur de la
+Tourelle. He was a propriétaire, had a small château on the Vosges
+mountains; he owned land there, but had a large income from some
+sources quite independent of this property. Altogether, he was a
+good match, as she emphatically observed. She never seemed to think
+that I could refuse him after this account of his wealth, nor do I
+believe she would have allowed Sophie a choice, even had he been as
+old and ugly as he was young and handsome. I do not quite know—so many
+events have come to pass since then, and blurred the clearness of my
+recollections—if I loved him or not. He was very much devoted to me; he
+almost frightened me by the excess of his demonstrations of love. And
+he was very charming to everybody around me, who all spoke of him as
+the most fascinating of men, and of me as the most fortunate of girls.
+And yet I never felt quite at my ease with him. I was always relieved
+when his visits were over, although I missed his presence when he did
+not come. He prolonged his visit to the friend with whom he was staying
+at Carlsruhe, on purpose to woo me. He loaded me with presents, which
+I was unwilling to take, only Madame Rupprecht seemed to consider me
+an affected prude if I refused them. Many of these presents consisted
+of articles of valuable old jewellery, evidently belonging to his
+family; by accepting these I doubled the ties which were formed around
+me by circumstances even more than by my own consent. In those days we
+did not write letters to absent friends as frequently as is done now,
+and I had been unwilling to name him in the few letters that I wrote
+home. At length, however, I learned from Madame Rupprecht that she had
+written to my father to announce the splendid conquest I had made, and
+to request his presence at my betrothal. I started with astonishment.
+I had not realized that affairs had gone so far as this. But when she
+asked me, in a stern, offended manner, what I had meant by my conduct
+if I did not intend to marry Monsieur de la Tourelle—I had received
+his visits, his presents, all his various advances without showing
+any unwillingness or repugnance—(and it was all true; I had shown no
+repugnance, though I did not wish to be married to him,—at least, not
+so soon)—what could I do but hang my head, and silently consent to the
+rapid enunciation of the only course which now remained for me if I
+would not be esteemed a heartless coquette all the rest of my days?
+
+There was some difficulty, which I afterwards learnt that my
+sister-in-law had obviated, about my betrothal taking place from home.
+My father, and Fritz especially, were for having me return to the mill,
+and there be betrothed, and from thence be married. But the Rupprechts
+and Monsieur de la Tourelle were equally urgent on the other side; and
+Babette was unwilling to have the trouble of the commotion at the mill;
+and also, I think, a little disliked the idea of the contrast of my
+grander marriage with her own.
+
+So my father and Fritz came over to the betrothal. They were to stay
+at an inn in Carlsruhe for a fortnight, at the end of which time the
+marriage was to take place. Monsieur de la Tourelle told me he had
+business at home, which would oblige him to be absent during the
+interval between the two events; and I was very glad of it, for I did
+not think that he valued my father and my brother as I could have
+wished him to do. He was very polite to them; put on all the soft,
+grand manner, which he had rather dropped with me; and complimented us
+all round, beginning with my father and Madame Rupprecht, and ending
+with little Alwina. But he a little scoffed at the old-fashioned church
+ceremonies which my father insisted on; and I fancy Fritz must have
+taken some of his compliments as satire, for I saw certain signs of
+manner by which I knew that my future husband, for all his civil words,
+had irritated and annoyed my brother. But all the money arrangements
+were liberal in the extreme, and more than satisfied, almost surprised,
+my father. Even Fritz lifted up his eyebrows and whistled. I alone
+did not care about anything. I was bewitched,—in a dream,—a kind of
+despair. I had got into a net through my own timidity and weakness, and
+I did not see how to get out of it. I clung to my own home-people that
+fortnight as I had never done before. Their voices, their ways were all
+so pleasant and familiar to me, after the constraint in which I had
+been living. I might speak and do as I liked without being corrected
+by Madame Rupprecht, or reproved in a delicate, complimentary way by
+Monsieur de la Tourelle. One day I said to my father that I did not
+want to be married, that I would rather go back to the dear old mill;
+but he seemed to feel this speech of mine as a dereliction of duty
+as great as if I had committed perjury; as if, after the ceremony of
+betrothal, no one had any right over me but my future husband. And yet
+he asked me some solemn questions; but my answers were not such as to
+do me any good.
+
+“Dost thou know any fault or crime in this man that should prevent
+God’s blessing from resting on thy marriage with him? Dost thou feel
+aversion or repugnance to him in any way?”
+
+And to all this what could I say? I could only stammer out that I
+did not think I loved him enough; and my poor old father saw in this
+reluctance only the fancy of a silly girl who did not know her own
+mind, but who had now gone too far to recede.
+
+So we were married, in the Court chapel, a privilege which Madame
+Rupprecht had used no end of efforts to obtain for us, and which she
+must have thought was to secure us all possible happiness, both at the
+time and in recollection afterwards.
+
+We were married; and after two days spent in festivity at Carlsruhe,
+among all our new fashionable friends there, I bade good-by for ever
+to my dear old father. I had begged my husband to take me by way of
+Heidelberg to his old castle in the Vosges; but I found an amount of
+determination, under that effeminate appearance and manner, for which
+I was not prepared, and he refused my first request so decidedly that
+I dared not urge it. “Henceforth, Anna,” said he, “you will move in a
+different sphere of life; and though it is possible that you may have
+the power of showing favour to your relations from time to time, yet
+much or familiar intercourse will be undesirable, and is what I cannot
+allow.” I felt almost afraid, after this formal speech, of asking my
+father and Fritz to come and see me; but, when the agony of bidding
+them farewell overcame all my prudence, I did beg them to pay me a
+visit ere long. But they shook their heads, and spoke of business at
+home, of different kinds of life, of my being a Frenchwoman now. Only
+my father broke out at last with a blessing, and said, “If my child is
+unhappy—which God forbid—let her remember that her father’s house is
+ever open to her.” I was on the point of crying out, “Oh! take me back
+then now, my father! oh, my father!” when I felt, rather than saw, my
+husband present near me. He looked on with a slightly contemptuous air;
+and, taking my hand in his, he led me weeping away, saying that short
+farewells were always the best when they were inevitable.
+
+It took us two days to reach his château in the Vosges, for the roads
+were bad and the way difficult to ascertain. Nothing could be more
+devoted than he was all the time of the journey. It seemed as if he
+were trying in every way to make up for the separation which every
+hour made me feel the more complete between my present and my former
+life. I seemed as if I were only now wakening up to a full sense of
+what marriage was, and I dare say I was not a cheerful companion on
+the tedious journey. At length, jealousy of my regret for my father
+and brother got the better of M. de la Tourelle, and he became so
+much displeased with me that I thought my heart would break with the
+sense of desolation. So it was in no cheerful frame of mind that we
+approached Les Rochers, and I thought that perhaps it was because I was
+so unhappy that the place looked so dreary. On one side, the château
+looked like a raw new building, hastily run up for some immediate
+purpose, without any growth of trees or underwood near it, only the
+remains of the stone used for building, not yet cleared away from the
+immediate neighbourhood, although weeds and lichens had been suffered
+to grow near and over the heaps of rubbish; on the other, were the
+great rocks from which the place took its name, and rising close
+against them, as if almost a natural formation, was the old castle,
+whose building dated many centuries back.
+
+It was not large nor grand, but it was strong and picturesque,
+and I used to wish that we lived in it rather than in the smart,
+half-furnished apartment in the new edifice, which had been hastily
+got ready for my reception. Incongruous as the two parts were, they
+were joined into a whole by means of intricate passages and unexpected
+doors, the exact positions of which I never fully understood. M. de
+la Tourelle led me to a suite of rooms set apart for me, and formally
+installed me in them, as in a domain of which I was sovereign. He
+apologised for the hasty preparation which was all he had been able
+to make for me, but promised, before I asked, or even thought of
+complaining, that they should be made as luxurious as heart could wish
+before many weeks had elapsed. But when, in the gloom of an autumnal
+evening, I caught my own face and figure reflected in all the mirrors,
+which showed only a mysterious background in the dim light of the
+many candles which failed to illuminate the great proportions of the
+half-furnished salon, I clung to M. de la Tourelle, and begged to be
+taken to the rooms he had occupied before his marriage, he seemed angry
+with me, although he affected to laugh, and so decidedly put aside
+the notion of my having any other rooms but these, that I trembled in
+silence at the fantastic figures and shapes which my imagination called
+up as peopling the background of those gloomy mirrors. There was my
+boudoir, a little less dreary—my bedroom, with its grand and tarnished
+furniture, which I commonly made into my sitting-room, locking up the
+various doors which led into the boudoir, the salon, the passages—all
+but one, through which M. de la Tourelle always entered from his own
+apartments in the older part of the castle. But this preference of mine
+for occupying my bedroom annoyed M. de la Tourelle, I am sure, though
+he did not care to express his displeasure. He would always allure me
+back into the salon, which I disliked more and more from its complete
+separation from the rest of the building by the long passage into
+which all the doors of my apartment opened. This passage was closed
+by heavy doors and portières, through which I could not hear a sound
+from the other parts of the house, and, of course, the servants could
+not hear any movement or cry of mine unless expressly summoned. To a
+girl brought up as I had been in a household where every individual
+lived all day in the sight of every other member of the family, never
+wanted either cheerful words or the sense of silent companionship, this
+grand isolation of mine was very formidable; and the more so, because
+M. de la Tourelle, as landed proprietor, sportsman, and what not, was
+generally out of doors the greater part of every day, and sometimes for
+two or three days at a time. I had no pride to keep me from associating
+with the domestics; it would have been natural to me in many ways
+to have sought them out for a word of sympathy in those dreary days
+when I was left so entirely to myself, had they been like our kindly
+German servants. But I disliked them, one and all; I could not tell
+why. Some were civil, but there was a familiarity in their civility
+which repelled me; others were rude, and treated me more as if I were
+an intruder than their master’s chosen wife; and yet of the two sets I
+liked these last the best.
+
+The principal male servant belonged to this latter class. I was very
+much afraid of him, he had such an air of suspicious surliness about
+him in all he did for me; and yet M. de la Tourelle spoke of him
+as most valuable and faithful. Indeed, it sometimes struck me that
+Lefebvre ruled his master in some things; and this I could not make
+out. For, while M. de la Tourelle behaved towards me as if I were some
+precious toy or idol, to be cherished, and fostered, and petted, and
+indulged, I soon found out how little I, or, apparently, any one else,
+could bend the terrible will of the man who had on first acquaintance
+appeared to me too effeminate and languid to exert his will in the
+slightest particular. I had learnt to know his face better now; and to
+see that some vehement depth of feeling, the cause of which I could
+not fathom, made his grey eye glitter with pale light, and his lips
+contract, and his delicate cheek whiten on certain occasions. But all
+had been so open and above board at home, that I had no experience to
+help me to unravel any mysteries among those who lived under the same
+roof. I understood that I had made what Madame Rupprecht and her set
+would have called a great marriage, because I lived in a château with
+many servants, bound ostensibly to obey me as a mistress. I understood
+that M. de la Tourelle was fond enough of me in his way—proud of my
+beauty, I dare say (for he often enough spoke about it to me)—but
+he was also jealous, and suspicious, and uninfluenced by my wishes,
+unless they tallied with his own. I felt at this time as if I could
+have been fond of him too, if he would have let me; but I was timid
+from my childhood, and before long my dread of his displeasure (coming
+down like thunder into the midst of his love, for such slight causes
+as a hesitation in reply, a wrong word, or a sigh for my father),
+conquered my humorous inclination to love one who was so handsome, so
+accomplished, so indulgent and devoted. But if I could not please him
+when indeed I loved him, you may imagine how often I did wrong when I
+was so much afraid of him as to quietly avoid his company for fear of
+his outbursts of passion. One thing I remember noticing, that the more
+M. de la Tourelle was displeased with me, the more Lefebvre seemed to
+chuckle; and when I was restored to favour, sometimes on as sudden
+an impulse as that which occasioned my disgrace, Lefebvre would look
+askance at me with his cold, malicious eyes, and once or twice at such
+times he spoke most disrespectfully to M. de la Tourelle.
+
+I have almost forgotten to say that, in the early days of my life at
+Les Rochers, M. de la Tourelle, in contemptuous indulgent pity at my
+weakness in disliking the dreary grandeur of the salon, wrote up to
+the milliner in Paris from whom my corbeille de mariage had come, to
+desire her to look out for me a maid of middle age, experienced in the
+toilette, and with so much refinement that she might on occasion serve
+as companion to me.
+
+
+PORTION II.
+
+A Norman woman, Amante by name, was sent to Les Rochers by the Paris
+milliner, to become my maid. She was tall and handsome, though upwards
+of forty, and somewhat gaunt. But, on first seeing her, I liked her;
+she was neither rude nor familiar in her manners, and had a pleasant
+look of straightforwardness about her that I had missed in all the
+inhabitants of the château, and had foolishly set down in my own
+mind as a national want. Amante was directed by M. de la Tourelle
+to sit in my boudoir, and to be always within call. He also gave
+her many instructions as to her duties in matters which, perhaps,
+strictly belonged to my department of management. But I was young and
+inexperienced, and thankful to be spared any responsibility.
+
+I daresay it was true what M. de la Tourelle said—before many weeks had
+elapsed—that, for a great lady, a lady of a castle, I became sadly too
+familiar with my Norman waiting-maid. But you know that by birth we
+were not very far apart in rank: Amante was the daughter of a Norman
+farmer, I of a German miller; and besides that, my life was so lonely!
+It almost seemed as if I could not please my husband. He had written
+for some one capable of being my companion at times, and now he was
+jealous of my free regard for her—angry because I could sometimes laugh
+at her original tunes and amusing proverbs, while when with him I was
+too much frightened to smile.
+
+From time to time families from a distance of some leagues drove
+through the bad roads in their heavy carriages to pay us a visit, and
+there was an occasional talk of our going to Paris when public affairs
+should be a little more settled. These little events and plans were the
+only variations in my life for the first twelve months, if I except the
+alternations in M. de la Tourelle’s temper, his unreasonable anger, and
+his passionate fondness.
+
+Perhaps one of the reasons that made me take pleasure and comfort in
+Amante’s society was, that whereas I was afraid of everybody (I do not
+think I was half as much afraid of things as of persons), Amante feared
+no one. She would quietly beard Lefebvre, and he respected her all the
+more for it; she had a knack of putting questions to M. de la Tourelle,
+which respectfully informed him that she had detected the weak point,
+but forebore to press him too closely upon it out of deference to his
+position as her master. And with all her shrewdness to others, she
+had quite tender ways with me; all the more so at this time because
+she knew, what I had not yet ventured to tell M. de la Tourelle, that
+by-and-by I might become a mother—that wonderful object of mysterious
+interest to single women, who no longer hope to enjoy such blessedness
+themselves.
+
+It was once more autumn; late in October. But I was reconciled to my
+habitation; the walls of the new part of the building no longer looked
+bare and desolate; the _débris_ had been so far cleared away by M. de
+la Tourelle’s desire as to make me a little flower-garden, in which I
+tried to cultivate those plants that I remembered as growing at home.
+Amante and I had moved the furniture in the rooms, and adjusted it to
+our liking; my husband had ordered many an article from time to time
+that he thought would give me pleasure, and I was becoming tame to my
+apparent imprisonment in a certain part of the great building, the
+whole of which I had never yet explored. It was October, as I say,
+once more. The days were lovely, though short in duration, and M. de
+la Tourelle had occasion, so he said, to go to that distant estate the
+superintendence of which so frequently took him away from home. He took
+Lefebvre with him, and possibly some more of the lacqueys; he often
+did. And my spirits rose a little at the thought of his absence; and
+then the new sensation that he was the father of my unborn babe came
+over me, and I tried to invest him with this fresh character. I tried
+to believe that it was his passionate love for me that made him so
+jealous and tyrannical, imposing, as he did, restrictions on my very
+intercourse with my dear father, from whom I was so entirely separated,
+as far as personal intercourse was concerned.
+
+I had, it is true, let myself go into a sorrowful review of all the
+troubles which lay hidden beneath the seeming luxury of my life. I
+knew that no one cared for me except my husband and Amante; for it was
+clear enough to see that I, as his wife, and also as a _parvenue_, was
+not popular among the few neighbours who surrounded us; and as for
+the servants, the women were all hard and impudent-looking, treating
+me with a semblance of respect that had more of mockery than reality
+in it; while the men had a lurking kind of fierceness about them,
+sometimes displayed even to M. de la Tourelle, who on his part, it must
+be confessed, was often severe even to cruelty in his management of
+them. My husband loved me, I said to myself, but I said it almost in
+the form of a question. His love was shown fitfully, and more in ways
+calculated to please himself than to please me. I felt that for no wish
+of mine would he deviate one tittle from any predetermined course of
+action. I had learnt the inflexibility of those thin, delicate lips;
+I knew how anger would turn his fair complexion to deadly white, and
+bring the cruel light into his pale blue eyes. The love I bore to
+any one seemed to be a reason for his hating them, and so I went on
+pitying myself one long dreary afternoon during that absence of his
+of which I have spoken, only sometimes remembering to check myself in
+my murmurings by thinking of the new unseen link between us, and then
+crying afresh to think how wicked I was. Oh, how well I remember that
+long October evening! Amante came in from time to time, talking away
+to cheer me—talking about dress and Paris, and I hardly know what, but
+from time to time looking at me keenly with her friendly dark eyes, and
+with serious interest, too, though all her words were about frivolity.
+At length she heaped the fire with wood, drew the heavy silken curtains
+close; for I had been anxious hitherto to keep them open, so that I
+might see the pale moon mounting the skies, as I used to see her—the
+same moon—rise from behind the Kaiser Stuhl at Heidelberg; but the
+sight made me cry, so Amante shut it out. She dictated to me as a nurse
+does to a child.
+
+“Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her company,” she
+said, “while I go and ask Marthon for a cup of coffee.” I remember
+that speech, and the way it roused me, for I did not like Amante to
+think I wanted amusing by a kitten. It might be my petulance, but
+this speech—such as she might have made to a child—annoyed me, and I
+said that I had reason for my lowness of spirits—meaning that they
+were not of so imaginary a nature that I could be diverted from them
+by the gambols of a kitten. So, though I did not choose to tell her
+all, I told her a part; and as I spoke, I began to suspect that the
+good creature knew much of what I withheld, and that the little speech
+about the kitten was more thoughtfully kind than it had seemed at
+first. I said that it was so long since I had heard from my father;
+that he was an old man, and so many things might happen—I might never
+see him again—and I so seldom heard from him or my brother. It was a
+more complete and total separation than I had ever anticipated when
+I married, and something of my home and of my life previous to my
+marriage I told the good Amante; for I had not been brought up as a
+great lady, and the sympathy of any human being was precious to me.
+
+Amante listened with interest, and in return told me some of the events
+and sorrows of her own life. Then, remembering her purpose, she set
+out in search of the coffee, which ought to have been brought to me an
+hour before; but, in my husband’s absence, my wishes were but seldom
+attended to, and I never dared to give orders.
+
+Presently she returned, bringing the coffee and a great large cake.
+
+“See!” said she, setting it down. “Look at my plunder. Madame must
+eat. Those who eat always laugh. And, besides, I have a little news
+that will please madame.” Then she told me that, lying on a table
+in the great kitchen, was a bundle of letters, come by the courier
+from Strasburg that very afternoon: then, fresh from her conversation
+with me, she had hastily untied the string that bound them, but had
+only just traced out one that she thought was from Germany, when a
+servant-man came in, and, with the start he gave her, she dropped the
+letters, which he picked up, swearing at her for having untied and
+disarranged them. She told him that she believed there was a letter
+there for her mistress; but he only swore the more, saying, that if
+there was it was no business of hers, or of his either, for that he had
+the strictest orders always to take all letters that arrived during his
+master’s absence into the private sitting-room of the latter—a room
+into which I had never entered, although it opened out of my husband’s
+dressing-room.
+
+I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought me this letter.
+No, indeed, she replied, it was almost as much as her life was worth
+to live among such a set of servants: it was only a month ago that
+Jacques had stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk. Had I never missed
+Valentin—that handsome young lad who carried up the wood into my salon?
+Poor fellow! he lies dead and cold now, and they said in the village
+he had put an end to himself, but those of the household knew better.
+Oh! I need not be afraid; Jacques was gone, no one knew where; but with
+such people it was not safe to upbraid or insist. Monsieur would be at
+home the next day, and it would not be long to wait.
+
+But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day, without the
+letter. It might be to say that my father was ill, dying—he might
+cry for his daughter from his death-bed! In short, there was no end
+to the thoughts and fancies that haunted me. It was of no use for
+Amante to say that, after all, she might be mistaken—that she did not
+read writing well—that she had but a glimpse of the address; I let my
+coffee cool, my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands with
+impatience to get at the letter, and have some news of my dear ones at
+home. All the time, Amante kept her imperturbable good temper, first
+reasoning, then scolding. At last she said, as if wearied out, that if
+I would consent to make a good supper, she would see what could be done
+as to our going to monsieur’s room in search of the letter, after the
+servants were all gone to bed. We agreed to go together when all was
+still, and look over the letters; there could be no harm in that; and
+yet, somehow, we were such cowards we dared not do it openly and in the
+face of the household.
+
+Presently my supper came up—partridges, bread, fruits, and cream. How
+well I remember that supper! We put the untouched cake away in a sort
+of buffet, and poured the cold coffee out of the window, in order that
+the servants might not take offence at the apparent fancifulness of
+sending down for food I could not eat. I was so anxious for all to
+be in bed, that I told the footman who served that he need not wait
+to take away the plates and dishes, but might go to bed. Long after
+I thought the house was quiet, Amante, in her caution, made me wait.
+It was past eleven before we set out, with cat-like steps and veiled
+light, along the passages, to go to my husband’s room and steal my own
+letter, if it was indeed there; a fact about which Amante had become
+very uncertain in the progress of our discussion.
+
+To make you understand my story, I must now try to explain to you the
+plan of the château. It had been at one time a fortified place of some
+strength, perched on the summit of a rock, which projected from the
+side of the mountain. But additions had been made to the old building
+(which must have borne a strong resemblance to the castles overhanging
+the Rhine), and these new buildings were placed so as to command a
+magnificent view, being on the steepest side of the rock, from which
+the mountain fell away, as it were, leaving the great plain of France
+in full survey. The ground-plan was something of the shape of three
+sides of an oblong; my apartments in the modern edifice occupied the
+narrow end, and had this grand prospect. The front of the castle was
+old, and ran parallel to the road far below. In this were contained the
+offices and public rooms of various descriptions, into which I never
+penetrated. The back wing (considering the new building, in which my
+apartments were, as the centre) consisted of many rooms, of a dark and
+gloomy character, as the mountain-side shut out much of the sun, and
+heavy pine woods came down within a few yards of the windows. Yet on
+this side—on a projecting plateau of the rock—my husband had formed the
+flower-garden of which I have spoken; for he was a great cultivator of
+flowers in his leisure moments.
+
+Now my bedroom was the corner room of the new buildings on the part
+next to the mountain. Hence I could have let myself down into the
+flower-garden by my hands on the window-sill on one side, without
+danger of hurting myself; while the windows at right angles with
+these looked sheer down a descent of a hundred feet at least. Going
+still farther along this wing, you came to the old building; in fact,
+these two fragments of the ancient castle had formerly been attached
+by some such connecting apartments as my husband had rebuilt. These
+rooms belonged to M. de la Tourelle. His bedroom opened into mine, his
+dressing-room lay beyond; and that was pretty nearly all I knew, for
+the servants, as well as he himself, had a knack of turning me back,
+under some pretence, if ever they found me walking about alone, as I
+was inclined to do, when first I came, from a sort of curiosity to
+see the whole of the place of which I found myself mistress. M. de la
+Tourelle never encouraged me to go out alone, either in a carriage or
+for a walk, saying always that the roads were unsafe in those disturbed
+times; indeed, I have sometimes fancied since that the flower-garden,
+to which the only access from the castle was through his rooms, was
+designed in order to give me exercise and employment under his own eye.
+
+But to return to that night. I knew, as I have said, that M. de la
+Tourelle’s private room opened out of his dressing-room, and this out
+of his bedroom, which again opened into mine, the corner-room. But
+there were other doors into all these rooms, and these doors led into
+a long gallery, lighted by windows, looking into the inner court. I
+do not remember our consulting much about it; we went through my room
+into my husband’s apartment through the dressing-room, but the door of
+communication into his study was locked, so there was nothing for it
+but to turn back and go by the gallery to the other door. I recollect
+noticing one or two things in these rooms, then seen by me for the
+first time. I remember the sweet perfume that hung in the air, the
+scent bottles of silver that decked his toilet-table, and the whole
+apparatus for bathing and dressing, more luxurious even than those
+which he had provided for me. But the room itself was less splendid in
+its proportions than mine. In truth, the new buildings ended at the
+entrance to my husband’s dressing-room. There were deep window recesses
+in walls eight or nine feet thick, and even the partitions between the
+chambers were three feet deep; but over all these doors or windows
+there fell thick, heavy draperies, so that I should think no one could
+have heard in one room what passed in another. We went back into my
+room, and out into the gallery. We had to shade our candle, from a
+fear that possessed us, I don’t know why, lest some of the servants
+in the opposite wing might trace our progress towards the part of the
+castle unused by any one except my husband. Somehow, I had always the
+feeling that all the domestics, except Amante, were spies upon me, and
+that I was trammelled in a web of observation and unspoken limitation
+extending over all my actions.
+
+There was a light in the upper room; we paused, and Amante would have
+again retreated, but I was chafing under the delays. What was the
+harm of my seeking my father’s unopened letter to me in my husband’s
+study? I, generally the coward, now blamed Amante for her unusual
+timidity. But the truth was, she had far more reason for suspicion as
+to the proceedings of that terrible household than I had ever known
+of. I urged her on, I pressed on myself; we came to the door, locked,
+but with the key in it; we turned it, we entered; the letters lay on
+the table, their white oblongs catching the light in an instant, and
+revealing themselves to my eager eyes, hungering after the words of
+love from my peaceful, distant home. But just as I pressed forward
+to examine the letters, the candle which Amante held, caught in some
+draught, went out, and we were in darkness. Amante proposed that we
+should carry the letters back to my salon, collecting them as well
+as we could in the dark, and returning all but the expected one for
+me; but I begged her to return to my room, where I kept tinder and
+flint, and to strike a fresh light; and so she went, and I remained
+alone in the room, of which I could only just distinguish the size,
+and the principal articles of furniture: a large table, with a deep,
+overhanging cloth, in the middle, escritoires and other heavy articles
+against the walls; all this I could see as I stood there, my hand on
+the table close by the letters, my face towards the window, which,
+both from the darkness of the wood growing high up the mountain-side
+and the faint light of the declining moon, seemed only like an oblong
+of paler purpler black than the shadowy room. How much I remembered
+from my one instantaneous glance before the candle went out, how much
+I saw as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I do not know,
+but even now, in my dreams, comes up that room of horror, distinct
+in its profound shadow. Amante could hardly have been gone a minute
+before I felt an additional gloom before the window, and heard soft
+movements outside—soft, but resolute, and continued until the end was
+accomplished, and the window raised.
+
+In mortal terror of people forcing an entrance at such an hour, and
+in such a manner as to leave no doubt of their purpose, I would have
+turned to fly when first I heard the noise, only that I feared by
+any quick motion to catch their attention, as I also ran the danger
+of doing by opening the door, which was all but closed, and to whose
+handlings I was unaccustomed. Again, quick as lightning, I bethought
+me of the hiding-place between the locked door to my husband’s
+dressing-room and the portière which covered it; but I gave that up,
+I felt as if I could not reach it without screaming or fainting. So I
+sank down softly, and crept under the table, hidden, as I hoped, by the
+great, deep table-cover, with its heavy fringe. I had not recovered my
+swooning senses fully, and was trying to reassure myself as to my being
+in a place of comparative safety, for, above all things, I dreaded the
+betrayal of fainting, and struggled hard for such courage as I might
+attain by deadening myself to the danger I was in by inflicting intense
+pain on myself. You have often asked me the reason of that mark on
+my hand; it was where, in my agony, I bit out a piece of flesh with
+my relentless teeth, thankful for the pain, which helped to numb my
+terror. I say, I was but just concealed when I heard the window lifted,
+and one after another stepped over the sill, and stood by me so close
+that I could have touched their feet. Then they laughed and whispered;
+my brain swam so that I could not tell the meaning of their words, but
+I heard my husband’s laughter among the rest—low, hissing, scornful—as
+he kicked something heavy that they had dragged in over the floor, and
+which lay near me; so near, that my husband’s kick, in touching it,
+touched me too. I don’t know why—I can’t tell how—but some feeling, and
+not curiosity, prompted me to put out my hand, ever so softly, ever
+so little, and feel in the darkness for what lay spurned beside me. I
+stole my groping palm upon the clenched and chilly hand of a corpse!
+
+Strange to say, this roused me to instant vividness of thought. Till
+this moment I had almost forgotten Amante; now I planned with feverish
+rapidity how I could give her a warning not to return; or rather, I
+should say, I tried to plan, for all my projects were utterly futile,
+as I might have seen from the first. I could only hope she would hear
+the voices of those who were now busy in trying to kindle a light,
+swearing awful oaths at the mislaid articles which would have enabled
+them to strike fire. I heard her step outside coming nearer and nearer;
+I saw from my hiding-place the line of light beneath the door more and
+more distinctly; close to it her footstep paused; the men inside—at
+the time I thought they had been only two, but I found out afterwards
+there were three—paused in their endeavours, and were quite still, as
+breathless as myself, I suppose. Then she slowly pushed the door open
+with gentle motion, to save her flickering candle from being again
+extinguished. For a moment all was still. Then I heard my husband say,
+as he advanced towards her (he wore riding-boots, the shape of which I
+knew well, as I could see them in the light),—
+
+“Amante, may I ask what brings you here into my private room?”
+
+He stood between her and the dead body of a man, from which ghastly
+heap I shrank away as it almost touched me, so close were we all
+together. I could not tell whether she saw it or not; I could give her
+no warning, nor make any dumb utterance of signs to bid her what to
+say—if, indeed, I knew myself what would be best for her to say.
+
+Her voice was quite changed when she spoke; quite hoarse, and very low;
+yet it was steady enough as she said, what was the truth, that she had
+come to look for a letter which she believed had arrived for me from
+Germany. Good, brave Amante! Not a word about me. M. de la Tourelle
+answered with a grim blasphemy and a fearful threat. He would have no
+one prying into his premises; madame should have her letters, if there
+were any, when he chose to give them to her, if, indeed, he thought
+it well to give them to her at all. As for Amante, this was her first
+warning, but it was also her last; and, taking the candle out of her
+hand, he turned her out of the room, his companions discreetly making
+a screen, so as to throw the corpse into deep shadow. I heard the key
+turn in the door after her—if I had ever had any thought of escape it
+was gone now. I only hoped that whatever was to befal me might soon
+be over, for the tension of nerve was growing more than I could bear.
+The instant she could be supposed to be out of hearing, two voices
+began speaking in the most angry terms to my husband, upbraiding him
+for not having detained her, gagged her—nay, one was for killing her,
+saying he had seen her eye fall on the face of the dead man, whom he
+now kicked in his passion. Though the form of their speech was as if
+they were speaking to equals, yet in their tone there was something of
+fear. I am sure my husband was their superior, or captain, or somewhat.
+He replied to them almost as if he were scoffing at them, saying it
+was such an expenditure of labour having to do with fools; that, ten
+to one, the woman was only telling the simple truth, and that she was
+frightened enough by discovering her master in his room to be thankful
+to escape and return to her mistress, to whom he could easily explain
+on the morrow how he happened to return in the dead of night. But his
+companions fell to cursing me, and saying that since M. de la Tourelle
+had been married he was fit for nothing but to dress himself fine and
+scent himself with perfume; that, as for me, they could have got him
+twenty girls prettier, and with far more spirit in them. He quietly
+answered that I suited him, and that was enough. All this time they
+were doing something—I could not see what—to the corpse; sometimes they
+were too busy rifling the dead body, I believe, to talk; again they let
+it fall with a heavy, resistless thud, and took to quarrelling. They
+taunted my husband with angry vehemence, enraged at his scoffing and
+scornful replies, his mocking laughter. Yes, holding up his poor dead
+victim, the better to strip him of whatever he wore that was valuable,
+I heard my husband laugh just as he had done when exchanging repartees
+in the little salon of the Rupprechts at Carlsruhe. I hated and dreaded
+him from that moment. At length, as if to make an end of the subject,
+he said, with cool determination in his voice,—
+
+“Now, my good friends, what is the use of all this talking, when you
+know in your hearts that, if I suspected my wife of knowing more than I
+chose of my affairs, she would not outlive the day? Remember Victorine.
+Because she merely joked about my affairs in an imprudent manner, and
+rejected my advice to keep a prudent tongue—to see what she liked, but
+ask nothing and say nothing—she has gone a long journey—longer than to
+Paris.”
+
+“But this one is different to her; we knew all that Madame Victorine
+knew, she was such a chatterbox; but this one may find out a vast deal,
+and never breathe a word about it, she is so sly. Some fine day we may
+have the country raised, and the gendarmes down upon us from Strasburg,
+and all owing to your pretty doll, with her cunning ways of coming over
+you.”
+
+I think this roused M. de la Tourelle a little from his contemptuous
+indifference, for he ground an oath through his teeth, and said, “Feel!
+this dagger is sharp, Henri. If my wife breathes a word, and I am such
+a fool as not to have stopped her mouth effectually before she can
+bring down gendarmes upon us, just let that good steel find its way to
+my heart. Let her guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight
+suspicion that I am not a ‘grand propriétaire,’ much less imagine that
+I am a chief of Chauffeurs, and she follows Victorine on the long
+journey beyond Paris that very day.”
+
+“She’ll outwit you yet; or I never judged women well. Those still
+silent ones are the devil. She’ll be off during some of your absences,
+having picked out some secret that will break us all on the wheel.”
+
+“Bah!” said his voice; and then in a minute he added, “Let her go if
+she will. But, where she goes, I will follow; so don’t cry before
+you’re hurt.”
+
+By this time, they had nearly stripped the body; and the conversation
+turned on what they should do with it. I learnt that the dead man was
+the Sieur de Poissy, a neighbouring gentleman, whom I had often heard
+of as hunting with my husband. I had never seen him, but they spoke as
+if he had come upon them while they were robbing some Cologne merchant,
+torturing him after the cruel practice of the Chauffeurs, by roasting
+the feet of their victims in order to compel them to reveal any hidden
+circumstances connected with their wealth, of which the Chauffeurs
+afterwards made use; and this Sieur de Poissy coming down upon them,
+and recognising M. de la Tourelle, they had killed him, and brought
+him thither after nightfall. I heard him whom I called my husband,
+laugh his little light laugh as he spoke of the way in which the dead
+body had been strapped before one of the riders, in such a way that it
+appeared to any passer-by as if, in truth, the murderer were tenderly
+supporting some sick person. He repeated some mocking reply of double
+meaning, which he himself had given to some one who made inquiry. He
+enjoyed the play upon words, softly applauding his own wit. And all
+the time the poor helpless outstretched arms of the dead lay close to
+his dainty boot! Then another stooped (my heart stopped beating), and
+picked up a letter lying on the ground—a letter that had dropped out
+of M. de Poissy’s pocket—a letter from his wife, full of tender words
+of endearment and pretty babblings of love. This was read aloud, with
+coarse ribald comments on every sentence, each trying to outdo the
+previous speaker. When they came to some pretty words about a sweet
+Maurice, their little child away with its mother on some visit, they
+laughed at M. de la Tourelle, and told him that he would be hearing
+such woman’s drivelling some day. Up to that moment, I think, I had
+only feared him, but his unnatural, half-ferocious reply made me hate
+even more than I dreaded him. But now they grew weary of their savage
+merriment; the jewels and watch had been apprised, the money and papers
+examined; and apparently there was some necessity for the body being
+interred quietly and before daybreak. They had not dared to leave him
+where he was slain for fear lest people should come and recognise him,
+and raise the hue and cry upon them. For they all along spoke as if it
+was their constant endeavour to keep the immediate neighbourhood of
+Les Rochers in the most orderly and tranquil condition, so as never to
+give cause for visits from the gendarmes. They disputed a little as
+to whether they should make their way into the castle larder through
+the gallery, and satisfy their hunger before the hasty interment, or
+afterwards. I listened with eager feverish interest as soon as this
+meaning of their speeches reached my hot and troubled brain, for at
+the time the words they uttered seemed only to stamp themselves with
+terrible force on my memory, so that I could hardly keep from repeating
+them aloud like a dull, miserable, unconscious echo; but my brain was
+numb to the sense of what they said, unless I myself were named, and
+then, I suppose, some instinct of self-preservation stirred within
+me, and quickened my sense. And how I strained my ears, and nerved my
+hands and limbs, beginning to twitch with convulsive movements, which I
+feared might betray me! I gathered every word they spoke, not knowing
+which proposal to wish for, but feeling that whatever was finally
+decided upon, my only chance of escape was drawing near. I once feared
+lest my husband should go to his bedroom before I had had that one
+chance, in which case he would most likely have perceived my absence.
+He said that his hands were soiled (I shuddered, for it might be with
+life-blood), and he would go and cleanse them; but some bitter jest
+turned his purpose, and he left the room with the other two—left it by
+the gallery door. Left me alone in the dark with the stiffening corpse!
+
+Now, now was my time, if ever; and yet I could not move. It was not my
+cramped and stiffened joints that crippled me, it was the sensation of
+that dead man’s close presence. I almost fancied—I almost fancy still—I
+heard the arm nearest to me move; lift itself up, as if once more
+imploring, and fall in dead despair. At that fancy—if fancy it were—I
+screamed aloud in mad terror, and the sound of my own strange voice
+broke the spell. I drew myself to the side of the table farthest from
+the corpse, with as much slow caution as if I really could have feared
+the clutch of that poor dead arm, powerless for evermore. I softly
+raised myself up, and stood sick and trembling, holding by the table,
+too dizzy to know what to do next. I nearly fainted, when a low voice
+spoke—when Amante, from the outside of the door, whispered, “Madame!”
+The faithful creature had been on the watch, had heard my scream, and
+having seen the three ruffians troop along the gallery down the stairs,
+and across the court to the offices in the other wing of the castle,
+she had stolen to the door of the room in which I was. The sound of her
+voice gave me strength; I walked straight towards it, as one benighted
+on a dreary moor, suddenly perceiving the small steady light which
+tells of human dwellings, takes heart, and steers straight onward.
+Where I was, where that voice was, I knew not; but go to it I must, or
+die. The door once opened—I know not by which of us—I fell upon her
+neck, grasping her tight, till my hands ached with the tension of their
+hold. Yet she never uttered a word. Only she took me up in her vigorous
+arms, and bore me to my room, and laid me on my bed. I do not know
+more; as soon as I was placed there I lost sense; I came to myself with
+a horrible dread lest my husband was by me, with a belief that he was
+in the room, in hiding, waiting to hear my first words, watching for
+the least sign of the terrible knowledge I possessed to murder me. I
+dared not breathe quicker, I measured and timed each heavy inspiration;
+I did not speak, nor move, nor even open my eyes, for long after I was
+in my full, my miserable senses. I heard some one treading softly about
+the room, as if with a purpose, not as if for curiosity, or merely to
+beguile the time; some one passed in and out of the salon; and I still
+lay quiet, feeling as if death were inevitable, but wishing that the
+agony of death were past. Again faintness stole over me; but just as I
+was sinking into the horrible feeling of nothingness, I heard Amante’s
+voice close to me, saying,—
+
+“Drink this, madame, and let us begone. All is ready.”
+
+I let her put her arm under my head and raise me, and pour something
+down my throat. All the time she kept talking in a quiet, measured
+voice, unlike her own, so dry and authoritative; she told me that
+a suit of her clothes lay ready for me, that she herself was as
+much disguised as the circumstances permitted her to be, that what
+provisions I had left from my supper were stowed away in her pockets,
+and so she went on, dwelling on little details of the most commonplace
+description, but never alluding for an instant to the fearful cause why
+flight was necessary. I made no inquiry as to how she knew, or what she
+knew. I never asked her either then or afterwards, I could not bear
+it—we kept our dreadful secret close. But I suppose she must have been
+in the dressing-room adjoining, and heard all.
+
+In fact, I dared not speak even to her, as if there were anything
+beyond the most common event in life in our preparing thus to leave
+the house of blood by stealth in the dead of night. She gave me
+directions—short condensed directions, without reasons—just as you
+do to a child; and like a child I obeyed her. She went often to the
+door and listened; and often, too, she went to the window, and looked
+anxiously out. For me, I saw nothing but her, and I dared not let my
+eyes wander from her for a minute; and I heard nothing in the deep
+midnight silence but her soft movements, and the heavy beating of my
+own heart. At last she took my hand, and led me in the dark, through
+the salon, once more into the terrible gallery, where across the black
+darkness the windows admitted pale sheeted ghosts of light upon the
+floor. Clinging to her I went; unquestioning—for she was human sympathy
+to me after the isolation of my unspeakable terror. On we went, turning
+to the left instead of to the right, past my suite of sitting-rooms
+where the gilding was red with blood, into that unknown wing of the
+castle that fronted the main road lying parallel far below. She guided
+me along the basement passages to which we had now descended, until we
+came to a little open door, through which the air blew chill and cold,
+bringing for the first time a sensation of life to me. The door led
+into a kind of cellar, through which we groped our way to an opening
+like a window, but which, instead of being glazed, was only fenced with
+iron bars, two of which were loose, as Amante evidently knew, for she
+took them out with the ease of one who had performed the action often
+before, and then helped me to follow her out into the free, open air.
+
+We stole round the end of the building, and on turning the corner—she
+first—I felt her hold on me tighten for an instant, and the next step
+I, too, heard distant voices, and the blows of a spade upon the heavy
+soil, for the night was very warm and still.
+
+We had not spoken a word; we did not speak now. Touch was safer and as
+expressive. She turned down towards the high road; I followed. I did
+not know the path; we stumbled again and again, and I was much bruised;
+so doubtless was she; but bodily pain did me good. At last, we were on
+the plainer path of the high road.
+
+I had such faith in her that I did not venture to speak, even when she
+paused, as wondering to which hand she should turn. But now, for the
+first time, she spoke:—
+
+“Which way did you come when he brought you here first?”
+
+I pointed, I could not speak.
+
+We turned in the opposite direction; still going along the high road.
+In about an hour, we struck up to the mountain-side, scrambling far
+up before we even dared to rest; far up and away again before day
+had fully dawned. Then we looked about for some place of rest and
+concealment: and now we dared to speak in whispers. Amante told me that
+she had locked the door of communication between his bedroom and mine,
+and, as in a dream, I was aware that she had also locked and brought
+away the key of the door between the latter and the salon.
+
+“He will have been too busy this night to think much about you—he will
+suppose you are asleep—I shall be the first to be missed; but they will
+only just now be discovering our loss.”
+
+I remember those last words of hers made me pray to go on; I felt as if
+we were losing precious time in thinking either of rest or concealment;
+but she hardly replied to me, so busy was she in seeking out some
+hiding-place. At length, giving it up in despair, we proceeded onwards
+a little way; the mountain-side sloped downwards rapidly, and in the
+full morning light we saw ourselves in a narrow valley, made by a
+stream which forced its way along it. About a mile lower down there
+rose the pale blue smoke of a village, a mill-wheel was lashing up the
+water close at hand, though out of sight. Keeping under the cover of
+every sheltering tree or bush, we worked our way down past the mill,
+down to a one-arched bridge, which doubtless formed part of the road
+between the village and the mill.
+
+“This will do,” said she; and we crept under the space, and climbing a
+little way up the rough stone-work, we seated ourselves on a projecting
+ledge, and crouched in the deep damp shadow. Amante sat a little above
+me, and made me lay my head on her lap. Then she fed me, and took some
+food herself; and opening out her great dark cloak, she covered up
+every light-coloured speck about us; and thus we sat, shivering and
+shuddering, yet feeling a kind of rest through it all, simply from the
+fact that motion was no longer imperative, and that during the daylight
+our only chance of safety was to be still. But the damp shadow in which
+we were sitting was blighting, from the circumstance of the sunlight
+never penetrating there; and I dreaded lest, before night and the time
+for exertion again came on, I should feel illness creeping all over me.
+To add to our discomfort, it had rained the whole day long, and the
+stream, fed by a thousand little mountain brooklets, began to swell
+into a torrent, rushing over the stones with a perpetual and dizzying
+noise.
+
+Every now and then I was wakened from the painful doze into which I
+continually fell, by a sound of horses’ feet over our head: sometimes
+lumbering heavily as if dragging a burden, sometimes rattling and
+galloping, and with the sharper cry of men’s voices coming cutting
+through the roar of the waters. At length, day fell. We had to drop
+into the stream, which came above our knees as we waded to the bank.
+There we stood, stiff and shivering. Even Amante’s courage seemed to
+fail.
+
+“We must pass this night in shelter, somehow,” said she. For indeed the
+rain was coming down pitilessly. I said nothing. I thought that surely
+the end must be death in some shape; and I only hoped that to death
+might not be added the terror of the cruelty of men. In a minute or so
+she had resolved on her course of action. We went up the stream to the
+mill. The familiar sounds, the scent of the wheat, the flour whitening
+the walls—all reminded me of home, and it seemed to me as if I must
+struggle out of this nightmare and waken, and find myself once more a
+happy girl by the Neckar-side. They were long in unbarring the door
+at which Amante had knocked: at length, an old feeble voice inquired
+who was there, and what was sought? Amante answered shelter from
+the storm for two women; but the old woman replied, with suspicious
+hesitation, that she was sure it was a man who was asking for shelter,
+and that she could not let us in. But at length she satisfied herself,
+and unbarred the heavy door, and admitted us. She was not an unkindly
+woman; but her thoughts all travelled in one circle, and that was, that
+her master, the miller, had told her on no account to let any man into
+the place during his absence, and that she did not know if he would
+not think two women as bad; and yet that as we were not men, no one
+could say she had disobeyed him, for it was a shame to let a dog be
+out such a night as this. Amante, with ready wit, told her to let no
+one know that we had taken shelter there that night, and that then her
+master could not blame her; and while she was thus enjoining secrecy
+as the wisest course, with a view to far other people than the miller,
+she was hastily helping me to take off my wet clothes, and spreading
+them, as well as the brown mantle that had covered us both, before the
+great stove which warmed the room with the effectual heat that the old
+woman’s failing vitality required. All this time the poor creature
+was discussing with herself as to whether she had disobeyed orders,
+in a kind of garrulous way that made me fear much for her capability
+of retaining anything secret if she was questioned. By-and-by, she
+wandered away to an unnecessary revelation of her master’s whereabouts:
+gone to help in the search for his landlord, the Sieur de Poissy, who
+lived at the château just above, and who had not returned from his
+chase the day before; so the intendant imagined he might have met with
+some accident, and had summoned the neighbours to beat the forest and
+the hill-side. She told us much besides, giving us to understand that
+she would fain meet with a place as housekeeper where there were more
+servants and less to do, as her life here was very lonely and dull,
+especially since her master’s son had gone away—gone to the wars.
+She then took her supper, which was evidently apportioned out to her
+with a sparing hand, as, even if the idea had come into her head, she
+had not enough to offer us any. Fortunately, warmth was all that we
+required, and that, thanks to Amante’s cares, was returning to our
+chilled bodies. After supper, the old woman grew drowsy; but she seemed
+uncomfortable at the idea of going to sleep and leaving us still in the
+house. Indeed, she gave us pretty broad hints as to the propriety of
+our going once more out into the bleak and stormy night; but we begged
+to be allowed to stay under shelter of some kind; and, at last, a
+bright idea came over her, and she bade us mount by a ladder to a kind
+of loft, which went half over the lofty mill-kitchen in which we were
+sitting. We obeyed her—what else could we do?—and found ourselves in a
+spacious floor, without any safeguard or wall, boarding, or railing,
+to keep us from falling over into the kitchen in case we went too near
+the edge. It was, in fact, the store-room or garret for the household.
+There was bedding piled up, boxes and chests, mill sacks, the winter
+store of apples and nuts, bundles of old clothes, broken furniture,
+and many other things. No sooner were we up there, than the old woman
+dragged the ladder, by which we had ascended, away with a chuckle, as
+if she was now secure that we could do no mischief, and sat herself
+down again once more, to doze and await her master’s return. We pulled
+out some bedding, and gladly laid ourselves down in our dried clothes
+and in some warmth, hoping to have the sleep we so much needed to
+refresh us and prepare us for the next day. But I could not sleep, and
+I was aware, from her breathing, that Amante was equally wakeful. We
+could both see through the crevices between the boards that formed the
+flooring into the kitchen below, very partially lighted by the common
+lamp that hung against the wall near the stove on the opposite side to
+that on which we were.
+
+
+PORTION III.
+
+Far on in the night there were voices outside reached us in our
+hiding-place; an angry knocking at the door, and we saw through the
+chinks the old woman rouse herself up to go and open it for her master,
+who came in, evidently half drunk. To my sick horror, he was followed
+by Lefebvre, apparently as sober and wily as ever. They were talking
+together as they came in, disputing about something; but the miller
+stopped the conversation to swear at the old woman for having fallen
+asleep, and, with tipsy anger, and even with blows, drove the poor
+old creature out of the kitchen to bed. Then he and Lefebvre went on
+talking—about the Sieur de Poissy’s disappearance. It seemed that
+Lefebvre had been out all day, along with other of my husband’s men,
+ostensibly assisting in the search; in all probability trying to blind
+the Sieur de Poissy’s followers by putting them on a wrong scent, and
+also, I fancied, from one or two of Lefebvre’s sly questions, combining
+the hidden purpose of discovering us.
+
+Although the miller was tenant and vassal to the Sieur de Poissy, he
+seemed to me to be much more in league with the people of M. de la
+Tourelle. He was evidently aware, in part, of the life which Lefebvre
+and the others led; although, again, I do not suppose he knew or
+imagined one-half of their crimes; and also, I think, he was seriously
+interested in discovering the fate of his master, little suspecting
+Lefebvre of murder or violence. He kept talking himself, and letting
+out all sorts of thoughts and opinions; watched by the keen eyes of
+Lefebvre gleaming out below his shaggy eyebrows. It was evidently not
+the cue of the latter to let out that his master’s wife had escaped
+from that vile and terrible den; but though he never breathed a word
+relating to us, not the less was I certain he was thirsting for our
+blood, and lying in wait for us at every turn of events. Presently he
+got up and took his leave; and the miller bolted him out, and stumbled
+off to bed. Then we fell asleep, and slept sound and long.
+
+The next morning, when I awoke, I saw Amante, half raised, resting on
+one hand, and eagerly gazing, with straining eyes, into the kitchen
+below. I looked too, and both heard and saw the miller and two of
+his men eagerly and loudly talking about the old woman, who had not
+appeared as usual to make the fire in the stove, and prepare her
+master’s breakfast, and who now, late on in the morning, had been
+found dead in her bed; whether from the effect of her master’s blows
+the night before, or from natural causes, who can tell? The miller’s
+conscience upbraided him a little, I should say, for he was eagerly
+declaring his value for his housekeeper, and repeating how often she
+had spoken of the happy life she led with him. The men might have their
+doubts, but they did not wish to offend the miller, and all agreed
+that the necessary steps should be taken for a speedy funeral. And
+so they went out, leaving us in our loft, but so much alone, that,
+for the first time almost, we ventured to speak freely, though still
+in a hushed voice, pausing to listen continually. Amante took a more
+cheerful view of the whole occurrence than I did. She said that, had
+the old woman lived, we should have had to depart that morning, and
+that this quiet departure would have been the best thing we could have
+had to hope for, as, in all probability, the housekeeper would have
+told her master of us and of our resting-place, and this fact would,
+sooner or later, have been brought to the knowledge of those from whom
+we most desired to keep it concealed; but that now we had time to rest,
+and a shelter to rest in, during the first hot pursuit, which we knew
+to a fatal certainty was being carried on. The remnants of our food,
+and the stored-up fruit, would supply us with provision; the only thing
+to be feared was, that something might be required from the loft, and
+the miller or some one else mount up in search of it. But even then,
+with a little arrangement of boxes and chests, one part might be so
+kept in shadow that we might yet escape observation. All this comforted
+me a little; but, I asked, how were we ever to escape? The ladder was
+taken away, which was our only means of descent. But Amante replied
+that she could make a sufficient ladder of the rope lying coiled among
+other things, to drop us down the ten feet or so—with the advantage of
+its being portable, so that we might carry it away, and thus avoid all
+betrayal of the fact that any one had ever been hidden in the loft.
+
+During the two days that intervened before we did escape, Amante made
+good use of her time. She looked into every box and chest during the
+man’s absence at his mill; and finding in one box an old suit of man’s
+clothes, which had probably belonged to the miller’s absent son, she
+put them on to see if they would fit her; and, when she found that they
+did, she cut her own hair to the shortness of a man’s, made me clip her
+black eyebrows as close as though they had been shaved, and by cutting
+up old corks into pieces such as would go into her cheeks, she altered
+both the shape of her face and her voice to a degree which I should not
+have believed possible.
+
+All this time I lay like one stunned; my body resting, and renewing
+its strength, but I myself in an almost idiotic state—else surely I
+could not have taken the stupid interest which I remember I did in all
+Amante’s energetic preparations for disguise. I absolutely recollect
+once the feeling of a smile coming over my stiff face as some new
+exercise of her cleverness proved a success.
+
+But towards the second day, she required me, too, to exert myself; and
+then all my heavy despair returned. I let her dye my fair hair and
+complexion with the decaying shells of the stored-up walnuts, I let her
+blacken my teeth, and even voluntarily broke a front tooth the better
+to effect my disguise. But through it all I had no hope of evading my
+terrible husband. The third night the funeral was over, the drinking
+ended, the guests gone; the miller put to bed by his men, being too
+drunk to help himself. They stopped a little while in the kitchen,
+talking and laughing about the new housekeeper likely to come; and
+they, too, went off, shutting, but not locking the door. Everything
+favoured us. Amante had tried her ladder on one of the two previous
+nights, and could, by a dexterous throw from beneath, unfasten it from
+the hook to which it was fixed, when it had served its office; she
+made up a bundle of worthless old clothes in order that we might the
+better preserve our characters of a travelling pedlar and his wife;
+she stuffed a hump on her back, she thickened my figure, she left her
+own clothes deep down beneath a heap of others in the chest from which
+she had taken the man’s dress which she wore; and with a few francs
+in her pocket—the sole money we had either of us had about us when we
+escaped—we let ourselves down the ladder, unhooked it, and passed into
+the cold darkness of night again.
+
+We had discussed the route which it would be well for us to take while
+we lay perdues in our loft. Amante had told me then that her reason for
+inquiring, when we first left Les Rochers, by which way I had first
+been brought to it, was to avoid the pursuit which she was sure would
+first be made in the direction of Germany; but that now she thought we
+might return to that district of country where my German fashion of
+speaking French would excite least observation. I thought that Amante
+herself had something peculiar in her accent, which I had heard M. de
+la Tourelle sneer at as Norman patois; but I said not a word beyond
+agreeing to her proposal that we should bend our steps towards Germany.
+Once there, we should, I thought, be safe. Alas! I forgot the unruly
+time that was overspreading all Europe, overturning all law, and all
+the protection which law gives.
+
+How we wandered—not daring to ask our way—how we lived, how we
+struggled through many a danger and still more terrors of danger, I
+shall not tell you now. I will only relate two of our adventures before
+we reached Frankfort. The first, although fatal to an innocent lady,
+was yet, I believe, the cause of my safety; the second I shall tell
+you, that you may understand why I did not return to my former home, as
+I had hoped to do when we lay in the miller’s loft, and I first became
+capable of groping after an idea of what my future life might be. I
+cannot tell you how much in these doubtings and wanderings I became
+attached to Amante. I have sometimes feared since, lest I cared for
+her only because she was so necessary to my own safety; but, no! it
+was not so; or not so only, or principally. She said once that she was
+flying for her own life as well as for mine; but we dared not speak
+much on our danger, or on the horrors that had gone before. We planned
+a little what was to be our future course; but even for that we did
+not look forward long; how could we, when every day we scarcely knew
+if we should see the sun go down? For Amante knew or conjectured far
+more than I did of the atrocity of the gang to which M. de la Tourelle
+belonged; and every now and then, just as we seemed to be sinking into
+the calm of security, we fell upon traces of a pursuit after us in
+all directions. Once I remember—we must have been nearly three weeks
+wearily walking through unfrequented ways, day after day, not daring
+to make inquiry as to our whereabouts, nor yet to seem purposeless
+in our wanderings—we came to a kind of lonely roadside farrier’s and
+blacksmith’s. I was so tired, that Amante declared that, come what
+might, we would stay there all night; and accordingly she entered the
+house, and boldly announced herself as a travelling tailor, ready to
+do any odd jobs of work that might be required, for a night’s lodging
+and food for herself and wife. She had adopted this plan once or
+twice before, and with good success; for her father had been a tailor
+in Rouen, and as a girl she had often helped him with his work, and
+knew the tailors’ slang and habits, down to the particular whistle
+and cry which in France tells so much to those of a trade. At this
+blacksmith’s, as at most other solitary houses far away from a town,
+there was not only a store of men’s clothes laid by as wanting mending
+when the housewife could afford time, but there was a natural craving
+after news from a distance, such news as a wandering tailor is bound
+to furnish. The early November afternoon was closing into evening, as
+we sat down, she cross-legged on the great table in the blacksmith’s
+kitchen, drawn close to the window, I close behind her, sewing at
+another part of the same garment, and from time to time well scolded by
+my seeming husband. All at once she turned round to speak to me. It was
+only one word, “Courage!” I had seen nothing; I sat out of the light;
+but I turned sick for an instant, and then I braced myself up into a
+strange strength of endurance to go through I knew not what.
+
+The blacksmith’s forge was in a shed beside the house, and fronting
+the road. I heard the hammers stop plying their continual rhythmical
+beat. She had seen why they ceased. A rider had come up to the forge
+and dismounted, leading his horse in to be re-shod. The broad red light
+of the forge-fire had revealed the face of the rider to Amante, and she
+apprehended the consequence that really ensued.
+
+The rider, after some words with the blacksmith, was ushered in by him
+into the house-place where we sat.
+
+“Here, good wife, a cup of wine and some galette for this gentleman.”
+
+“Anything, anything, madame, that I can eat and drink in my hand while
+my horse is being shod. I am in haste, and must get on to Forbach
+to-night.”
+
+The blacksmith’s wife lighted her lamp; Amante had asked her for
+it five minutes before. How thankful we were that she had not more
+speedily complied with our request! As it was, we sat in dusk shadow,
+pretending to stitch away, but scarcely able to see. The lamp was
+placed on the stove, near which my husband, for it was he, stood and
+warmed himself. By-and-by he turned round, and looked all over the
+room, taking us in with about the same degree of interest as the
+inanimate furniture. Amante, cross-legged, fronting him, stooped over
+her work, whistling softly all the while. He turned again to the stove,
+impatiently rubbing his hands. He had finished his wine and galette,
+and wanted to be off.
+
+“I am in haste, my good woman. Ask thy husband to get on more quickly.
+I will pay him double if he makes haste.”
+
+The woman went out to do his bidding; and he once more turned round to
+face us. Amante went on to the second part of the tune. He took it up,
+whistled a second for an instant or so, and then the blacksmith’s wife
+re-entering, he moved towards her, as if to receive her answer the more
+speedily.
+
+“One moment, monsieur—only one moment. There was a nail out of the
+off-foreshoe which my husband is replacing; it would delay monsieur
+again if that shoe also came off.”
+
+“Madame is right,” said he, “but my haste is urgent. If madame knew
+my reasons, she would pardon my impatience. Once a happy husband, now
+a deserted and betrayed man, I pursue a wife on whom I lavished all
+my love, but who has abused my confidence, and fled from my house,
+doubtless to some paramour; carrying off with her all the jewels and
+money on which she could lay her hands. It is possible madame may have
+heard or seen something of her; she was accompanied in her flight by
+a base, profligate woman from Paris, whom I, unhappy man, had myself
+engaged for my wife’s waiting-maid, little dreaming what corruption I
+was bringing into my house!”
+
+“Is it possible?” said the good woman, throwing up her hands.
+
+Amante went on whistling a little lower, out of respect to the
+conversation.
+
+“However, I am tracing the wicked fugitives; I am on their track” (and
+the handsome, effeminate face looked as ferocious as any demon’s).
+“They will not escape me; but every minute is a minute of misery to me,
+till I meet my wife. Madame has sympathy, has she not?”
+
+He drew his face into a hard, unnatural smile, and then both went out
+to the forge, as if once more to hasten the blacksmith over his work.
+
+Amante stopped her whistling for one instant.
+
+“Go on as you are, without change of an eyelid even; in a few minutes
+he will be gone, and it will be over!”
+
+It was a necessary caution, for I was on the point of giving way, and
+throwing myself weakly upon her neck. We went on; she whistling and
+stitching, I making semblance to sew. And it was well we did so; for
+almost directly he came back for his whip, which he had laid down and
+forgotten; and again I felt one of those sharp, quick-scanning glances,
+sent all round the room, and taking in all.
+
+Then we heard him ride away; and then, it had been long too dark to see
+well, I dropped my work, and gave way to my trembling and shuddering.
+The blacksmith’s wife returned. She was a good creature. Amante told
+her I was cold and weary, and she insisted on my stopping my work,
+and going to sit near the stove; hastening, at the same time, her
+preparations for supper, which, in honour of us, and of monsieur’s
+liberal payment, was to be a little less frugal than ordinary. It
+was well for me that she made me taste a little of the cider-soup
+she was preparing, or I could not have held up, in spite of Amante’s
+warning look, and the remembrance of her frequent exhortations to
+act resolutely up to the characters we had assumed, whatever befel.
+To cover my agitation, Amante stopped her whistling, and began to
+talk; and, by the time the blacksmith came in, she and the good woman
+of the house were in full flow. He began at once upon the handsome
+gentleman, who had paid him so well; all his sympathy was with him,
+and both he and his wife only wished he might overtake his wicked
+wife, and punish her as she deserved. And then the conversation took
+a turn, not uncommon to those whose lives are quiet and monotonous;
+every one seemed to vie with each other in telling about some horror;
+and the savage and mysterious band of robbers called the Chauffeurs,
+who infested all the roads leading to the Rhine, with Schinderhannes
+at their head, furnished many a tale which made the very marrow of my
+bones run cold, and quenched even Amante’s power of talking. Her eyes
+grew large and wild, her cheeks blanched, and for once she sought by
+her looks help from me. The new call upon me roused me. I rose and
+said, with their permission my husband and I would seek our bed, for
+that we had travelled far and were early risers. I added that we would
+get up betimes, and finish our piece of work. The blacksmith said we
+should be early birds if we rose before him; and the good wife seconded
+my proposal with kindly bustle. One other such story as those they had
+been relating, and I do believe Amante would have fainted.
+
+As it was, a night’s rest set her up; we arose and finished our work
+betimes, and shared the plentiful breakfast of the family. Then we had
+to set forth again; only knowing that to Forbach we must not go, yet
+believing, as was indeed the case, that Forbach lay between us and
+that Germany to which we were directing our course. Two days more we
+wandered on, making a round, I suspect, and returning upon the road
+to Forbach, a league or two nearer to that town than the blacksmith’s
+house. But as we never made inquiries I hardly knew where we were,
+when we came one night to a small town, with a good large rambling
+inn in the very centre of the principal street. We had begun to feel
+as if there were more safety in towns than in the loneliness of the
+country. As we had parted with a ring of mine not many days before to a
+travelling jeweller, who was too glad to purchase it far below its real
+value to make many inquiries as to how it came into the possession of a
+poor working tailor, such as Amante seemed to be, we resolved to stay
+at this inn all night, and gather such particulars and information as
+we could by which to direct our onward course.
+
+We took our supper in the darkest corner of the _salle-à-manger_,
+having previously bargained for a small bedroom across the court, and
+over the stables. We needed food sorely; but we hurried on our meal
+from dread of any one entering that public room who might recognize us.
+Just in the middle of our meal, the public diligence drove lumbering
+up under the _porte-cochère_, and disgorged its passengers. Most of
+them turned into the room where we sat, cowering and fearful, for the
+door was opposite to the porter’s lodge, and both opened on to the
+wide-covered entrance from the street. Among the passengers came in a
+young, fair-haired lady, attended by an elderly French maid. The poor
+young creature tossed her head, and shrank away from the common room,
+full of evil smells and promiscuous company, and demanded, in German
+French, to be taken to some private apartment. We heard that she and
+her maid had come in the coupé, and, probably from pride, poor young
+lady! she had avoided all association with her fellow-passengers,
+thereby exciting their dislike and ridicule. All these little pieces of
+hearsay had a significance to us afterwards, though, at the time, the
+only remark made that bore upon the future was Amante’s whisper to me
+that the young lady’s hair was exactly the colour of mine, which she
+had cut off and burnt in the stove in the miller’s kitchen in one of
+her descents from our hiding-place in the loft.
+
+As soon as we could, we struck round in the shadow, leaving the
+boisterous and merry fellow-passengers to their supper. We crossed the
+court, borrowed a lantern from the ostler, and scrambled up the rude
+steps to our chamber above the stable. There was no door into it; the
+entrance was the hole into which the ladder fitted. The window looked
+into the court. We were tired and soon fell asleep. I was wakened by
+a noise in the stable below. One instant of listening, and I wakened
+Amante, placing my hand on her mouth, to prevent any exclamation in
+her half-roused state. We heard my husband speaking about his horse
+to the ostler. It was his voice. I am sure of it. Amante said so too.
+We durst not move to rise and satisfy ourselves. For five minutes or
+so he went on giving directions. Then he left the stable, and, softly
+stealing to our window, we saw him cross the court and re-enter the
+inn. We consulted as to what we should do. We feared to excite remark
+or suspicion by descending and leaving our chamber, or else immediate
+escape was our strongest idea. Then the ostler left the stable, locking
+the door on the outside.
+
+“We must try and drop through the window—if, indeed, it is well to go
+at all,” said Amante.
+
+With reflection came wisdom. We should excite suspicion by leaving
+without paying our bill. We were on foot, and might easily be pursued.
+So we sat on our bed’s edge, talking and shivering, while from across
+the court the laughter rang merrily, and the company slowly dispersed
+one by one, their lights flitting past the windows as they went
+upstairs and settled each one to his rest.
+
+We crept into our bed, holding each other tight, and listening to every
+sound, as if we thought we were tracked, and might meet our death
+at any moment. In the dead of night, just at the profound stillness
+preceding the turn into another day, we heard a soft, cautious step
+crossing the yard. The key into the stable was turned—some one came
+into the stable—we felt rather than heard him there. A horse started
+a little, and made a restless movement with his feet, then whinnied
+recognition. He who had entered made two or three low sounds to the
+animal, and then led him into the court. Amante sprang to the window
+with the noiseless activity of a cat. She looked out, but dared not
+speak a word. We heard the great door into the street open—a pause for
+mounting, and the horse’s footsteps were lost in distance.
+
+Then Amante came back to me. “It was he! he is gone!” said she, and
+once more we lay down, trembling and shaking.
+
+This time we fell sound asleep. We slept long and late. We were wakened
+by many hurrying feet, and many confused voices; all the world seemed
+awake and astir. We rose and dressed ourselves, and coming down we
+looked around among the crowd collected in the court-yard, in order to
+assure ourselves _he_ was not there before we left the shelter of the
+stable.
+
+The instant we were seen, two or three people rushed to us.
+
+“Have you heard?—Do you know?—That poor young lady—oh, come and see!”
+and so we were hurried, almost in spite of ourselves, across the court,
+and up the great open stairs of the main building of the inn, into a
+bed-chamber, where lay the beautiful young German lady, so full of
+graceful pride the night before, now white and still in death. By her
+stood the French maid, crying and gesticulating.
+
+“Oh, madame! if you had but suffered me to stay with you! Oh! the
+baron, what will he say?” and so she went on. Her state had but just
+been discovered; it had been supposed that she was fatigued, and was
+sleeping late, until a few minutes before. The surgeon of the town had
+been sent for, and the landlord of the inn was trying vainly to enforce
+order until he came, and, from time to time, drinking little cups of
+brandy, and offering them to the guests, who were all assembled there,
+pretty much as the servants were doing in the court-yard.
+
+At last the surgeon came. All fell back, and hung on the words that
+were to fall from his lips.
+
+“See!” said the landlord. “This lady came last night by the diligence
+with her maid. Doubtless a great lady, for she must have a private
+sitting-room——”
+
+“She was Madame the Baroness de Roeder,” said the French maid.
+
+—“And was difficult to please in the matter of supper, and a
+sleeping-room. She went to bed well, though fatigued. Her maid left
+her——”
+
+“I begged to be allowed to sleep in her room, as we were in a strange
+inn, of the character of which we knew nothing; but she would not let
+me, my mistress was such a great lady.”
+
+—“And slept with my servants,” continued the landlord. “This morning
+we thought madame was still slumbering; but when eight, nine, ten, and
+near eleven o’clock came, I bade her maid use my pass-key, and enter
+her room——”
+
+“The door was not locked, only closed. And here she was found—dead is
+she not, monsieur?—with her face down on her pillow, and her beautiful
+hair all scattered wild; she never would let me tie it up, saying it
+made her head ache. Such hair!” said the waiting-maid, lifting up a
+long golden tress, and letting it fall again.
+
+I remembered Amante’s words the night before, and crept close up to her.
+
+Meanwhile, the doctor was examining the body underneath the
+bed-clothes, which the landlord, until now, had not allowed to be
+disarranged. The surgeon drew out his hand, all bathed and stained
+with blood; and holding up a short, sharp knife, with a piece of paper
+fastened round it.
+
+“Here has been foul play,” he said. “The deceased lady has been
+murdered. This dagger was aimed straight at her heart.” Then, putting
+on his spectacles, he read the writing on the bloody paper, dimmed and
+horribly obscured as it was:—
+
+                               NUMÉRO UN.
+                    Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
+
+“Let us go!” said I to Amante. “Oh, let us leave this horrible place!”
+
+“Wait a little,” said she. “Only a few minutes more. It will be better.”
+
+Immediately the voices of all proclaimed their suspicions of the
+cavalier who had arrived last the night before. He had, they said, made
+so many inquiries about the young lady, whose supercilious conduct all
+in the _salle-à-manger_ had been discussing on his entrance. They were
+talking about her as we left the room; he must have come in directly
+afterwards, and not until he had learnt all about her, had he spoken
+of the business which necessitated his departure at dawn of day, and
+made his arrangements with both landlord and ostler for the possession
+of the keys of the stable and _porte-cochère_. In short, there was
+no doubt as to the murderer, even before the arrival of the legal
+functionary who had been sent for by the surgeon; but the word on the
+paper chilled every one with terror. Les Chauffeurs, who were they? No
+one knew, some of the gang might even then be in the room overhearing,
+and noting down fresh objects for vengeance. In Germany, I had heard
+little of this terrible gang, and I had paid no greater heed to the
+stories related once or twice about them in Carlsruhe than one does to
+tales about ogres. But here in their very haunts, I learnt the full
+amount of the terror they inspired. No one would be legally responsible
+for any evidence criminating the murderer. The public prosecutor shrank
+from the duties of his office. What do I say? Neither Amante nor I,
+knowing far more of the actual guilt of the man who had killed that
+poor sleeping young lady, durst breathe a word. We appeared to be
+wholly ignorant of everything: we, who might have told so much. But
+how could we? we were broken down with terrific anxiety and fatigue,
+with the knowledge that we, above all, were doomed victims; and that
+the blood, heavily dripping from the bed-clothes on to the floor, was
+dripping thus out of the poor dead body, because, when living, she had
+been mistaken for me.
+
+At length Amante went up to the landlord, and asked permission to
+leave his inn, doing all openly and humbly, so as to excite neither
+ill-will nor suspicion. Indeed, suspicion was otherwise directed, and
+he willingly gave us leave to depart. A few days afterwards we were
+across the Rhine, in Germany, making our way towards Frankfort, but
+still keeping our disguises, and Amante still working at her trade.
+
+On the way, we met a young man, a wandering journeyman from Heidelberg.
+I knew him, although I did not choose that he should know me. I asked
+him, as carelessly as I could, how the old miller was now? He told me
+he was dead. This realization of the worst apprehensions caused by his
+long silence shocked me inexpressibly. It seemed as though every prop
+gave way from under me. I had been talking to Amante only that very day
+of the safety and comfort of the home that awaited her in my father’s
+house; of the gratitude which the old man would feel towards her; and
+how there, in that peaceful dwelling, far away from the terrible land
+of France, she should find ease and security for all the rest of her
+life. All this I thought I had to promise, and even yet more had I
+looked for, for myself. I looked to the unburdening of my heart and
+conscience by telling all I knew to my best and wisest friend. I looked
+to his love as a sure guidance as well as a comforting stay, and,
+behold, he was gone away from me for ever!
+
+I had left the room hastily on hearing of this sad news from the
+Heidelberger. Presently, Amante followed:
+
+“Poor madame,” said she, consoling me to the best of her ability. And
+then she told me by degrees what more she had learned respecting my
+home, about which she knew almost as much as I did, from my frequent
+talks on the subject both at Les Rochers and on the dreary, doleful
+road we had come along. She had continued the conversation after I
+left, by asking about my brother and his wife. Of course, they lived
+on at the mill, but the man said (with what truth I know not, but I
+believed it firmly at the time) that Babette had completely got the
+upper hand of my brother, who only saw through her eyes and heard with
+her ears. That there had been much Heidelberg gossip of late days about
+her sudden intimacy with a grand French gentleman who had appeared at
+the mill—a relation, by marriage—married, in fact, to the miller’s
+sister, who, by all accounts, had behaved abominably and ungratefully.
+But that was no reason for Babette’s extreme and sudden intimacy with
+him, going about everywhere with the French gentleman; and since he
+left (as the Heidelberger said he knew for a fact) corresponding with
+him constantly. Yet her husband saw no harm in it all, seemingly;
+though, to be sure, he was so out of spirits, what with his father’s
+death and the news of his sister’s infamy, that he hardly knew how to
+hold up his head.
+
+“Now,” said Amante, “all this proves that M. de la Tourelle has
+suspected that you would go back to the nest in which you were
+reared, and that he has been there, and found that you have not yet
+returned; but probably he still imagines that you will do so, and has
+accordingly engaged your sister-in-law as a kind of informant. Madame
+has said that her sister-in-law bore her no extreme good-will; and the
+defamatory story he has got the start of us in spreading, will not
+tend to increase the favour in which your sister-in-law holds you.
+No doubt the assassin was retracing his steps when we met him near
+Forbach, and having heard of the poor German lady, with her French
+maid, and her pretty blonde complexion, he followed her. If madame
+will still be guided by me—and, my child, I beg of you still to trust
+me,” said Amante, breaking out of her respectful formality into the
+way of talking more natural to those who had shared and escaped from
+common dangers—more natural, too, where the speaker was conscious of a
+power of protection which the other did not possess—“we will go on to
+Frankfort, and lose ourselves, for a time, at least, in the numbers of
+people who throng a great town; and you have told me that Frankfort is
+a great town. We will still be husband and wife; we will take a small
+lodging, and you shall housekeep and live in-doors. I, as the rougher
+and the more alert, will continue my father’s trade, and seek work at
+the tailors’ shops.”
+
+I could think of no better plan, so we followed this out. In a back
+street at Frankfort we found two furnished rooms to let on a sixth
+story. The one we entered had no light from day; a dingy lamp swung
+perpetually from the ceiling, and from that, or from the open door
+leading into the bedroom beyond, came our only light. The bedroom was
+more cheerful, but very small. Such as it was, it almost exceeded
+our possible means. The money from the sale of my ring was almost
+exhausted, and Amante was a stranger in the place, speaking only
+French, moreover, and the good Germans were hating the French people
+right heartily. However, we succeeded better than our hopes, and even
+laid by a little against the time of my confinement. I never stirred
+abroad, and saw no one, and Amante’s want of knowledge of German kept
+her in a state of comparative isolation.
+
+At length my child was born—my poor worse than fatherless child. It
+was a girl, as I had prayed for. I had feared lest a boy might have
+something of the tiger nature of its father, but a girl seemed all my
+own. And yet not all my own, for the faithful Amante’s delight and
+glory in the babe almost exceeded mine; in outward show it certainly
+did.
+
+We had not been able to afford any attendance beyond what a
+neighbouring sage-femme could give, and she came frequently, bringing
+in with her a little store of gossip, and wonderful tales culled out
+of her own experience, every time. One day she began to tell me about
+a great lady in whose service her daughter had lived as scullion, or
+some such thing. Such a beautiful lady! with such a handsome husband.
+But grief comes to the palace as well as to the garret, and why or
+wherefore no one knew, but somehow the Baron de Roeder must have
+incurred the vengeance of the terrible Chauffeurs; for not many months
+ago, as madame was going to see her relations in Alsace, she was
+stabbed dead as she lay in bed at some hotel on the road. Had I not
+seen it in the _Gazette_? Had I not heard? Why, she had been told that
+as far off as Lyons there were placards offering a heavy reward on the
+part of the Baron de Roeder for information respecting the murderer of
+his wife. But no one could help him, for all who could bear evidence
+were in such terror of the Chauffeurs; there were hundreds of them she
+had been told, rich and poor, great gentlemen and peasants, all leagued
+together by most frightful oaths to hunt to the death any one who bore
+witness against them; so that even they who survived the tortures to
+which the Chauffeurs subjected many of the people whom they plundered,
+dared not to recognise them again, would not dare, even did they see
+them at the bar of a court of justice; for, if one were condemned, were
+there not hundreds sworn to avenge his death?
+
+I told all this to Amante, and we began to fear that if M. de la
+Tourelle, or Lefebvre, or any of the gang at Les Rochers, had seen
+these placards, they would know that the poor lady stabbed by the
+former was the Baroness de Roeder, and that they would set forth again
+in search of me.
+
+This fresh apprehension told on my health and impeded my recovery. We
+had so little money we could not call in a physician, at least, not
+one in established practice. But Amante found out a young doctor for
+whom, indeed, she had sometimes worked; and offering to pay him in
+kind, she brought him to see me, her sick wife. He was very gentle
+and thoughtful, though, like ourselves, very poor. But he gave much
+time and consideration to the case, saying once to Amante that he saw
+my constitution had experienced some severe shock from which it was
+probable that my nerves would never entirely recover. By-and-by I shall
+name this doctor, and then you will know, better than I can describe,
+his character.
+
+I grew strong in time—stronger, at least. I was able to work a little
+at home, and to sun myself and my baby at the garret-window in the
+roof. It was all the air I dared to take. I constantly wore the
+disguise I had first set out with; as constantly had I renewed the
+disfiguring dye which changed my hair and complexion. But the perpetual
+state of terror in which I had been during the whole months succeeding
+my escape from Les Rochers made me loathe the idea of ever again
+walking in the open daylight, exposed to the sight and recognition of
+every passer-by. In vain Amante reasoned—in vain the doctor urged.
+Docile in every other thing, in this I was obstinate. I would not stir
+out. One day Amante returned from her work, full of news—some of it
+good, some such as to cause us apprehension. The good news was this;
+the master for whom she worked as journeyman was going to send her with
+some others to a great house at the other side of Frankfort, where
+there were to be private theatricals, and where many new dresses and
+much alteration of old ones would be required. The tailors employed
+were all to stay at this house until the day of representation was
+over, as it was at some distance from the town, and no one could tell
+when their work would be ended. But the pay was to be proportionately
+good.
+
+The other thing she had to say was this: she had that day met the
+travelling jeweller to whom she and I had sold my ring. It was rather
+a peculiar one, given to me by my husband; we had felt at the time
+that it might be the means of tracing us, but we were penniless and
+starving, and what else could we do? She had seen that this Frenchman
+had recognised her at the same instant that she did him, and she
+thought at the same time that there was a gleam of more than common
+intelligence on his face as he did so. This idea had been confirmed
+by his following her for some way on the other side of the street;
+but she had evaded him with her better knowledge of the town, and the
+increasing darkness of the night. Still it was well that she was going
+to such a distance from our dwelling on the next day; and she had
+brought me in a stock of provisions, begging me to keep within doors,
+with a strange kind of fearful oblivion of the fact that I had never
+set foot beyond the threshold of the house since I had first entered
+it—scarce ever ventured down the stairs. But, although my poor, my
+dear, very faithful Amante was like one possessed that last night, she
+spoke continually of the dead, which is a bad sign for the living.
+She kissed you—yes! it was you, my daughter, my darling, whom I bore
+beneath my bosom away from the fearful castle of your father—I call
+him so for the first time, I must call him so once again before I have
+done—Amante kissed you, sweet baby, blessed little comforter, as if she
+never could leave off. And then she went away, alive.
+
+Two days, three days passed away. That third evening I was sitting
+within my bolted doors—you asleep on your pillow by my side—when a
+step came up the stair, and I knew it must be for me; for ours were
+the topmost rooms. Some one knocked; I held my very breath. But some
+one spoke, and I knew it was the good Doctor Voss. Then I crept to the
+door, and answered.
+
+“Are you alone?” asked I.
+
+“Yes,” said he, in a still lower voice. “Let me in.” I let him in, and
+he was as alert as I in bolting and barring the door. Then he came and
+whispered to me his doleful tale. He had come from the hospital in
+the opposite quarter of the town, the hospital which he visited; he
+should have been with me sooner, but he had feared lest he should be
+watched. He had come from Amante’s death-bed. Her fears of the jeweller
+were too well founded. She had left the house where she was employed
+that morning, to transact some errand connected with her work in the
+town; she must have been followed, and dogged on her way back through
+solitary wood-paths, for some of the wood-rangers belonging to the
+great house had found her lying there, stabbed to death, but not dead;
+with the poniard again plunged through the fatal writing, once more;
+but this time with the word “un” underlined, so as to show that the
+assassin was aware of his previous mistake.
+
+                              Numéro _Un_.
+                    Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
+
+They had carried her to the house, and given her restoratives till she
+had recovered the feeble use of her speech. But, oh, faithful, dear
+friend and sister! even then she remembered me, and refused to tell
+(what no one else among her fellow workmen knew), where she lived or
+with whom. Life was ebbing away fast, and they had no resource but to
+carry her to the nearest hospital, where, of course, the fact of her
+sex was made known. Fortunately both for her and for me, the doctor in
+attendance was the very Doctor Voss whom we already knew. To him, while
+awaiting her confessor, she told enough to enable him to understand the
+position in which I was left; before the priest had heard half her tale
+Amante was dead.
+
+Doctor Voss told me he had made all sorts of _détours_, and waited
+thus, late at night, for fear of being watched and followed. But I do
+not think he was. At any rate, as I afterwards learnt from him, the
+Baron Roeder, on hearing of the similitude of this murder with that of
+his wife in every particular, made such a search after the assassins,
+that, although they were not discovered, they were compelled to take to
+flight for the time.
+
+I can hardly tell you now by what arguments Dr. Voss, at first merely
+my benefactor, sparing me a portion of his small modicum, at length
+persuaded me to become his wife. His wife he called it, I called
+it; for we went through the religious ceremony too much slighted at
+the time, and as we were both Lutherans, and M. de la Tourelle had
+pretended to be of the reformed religion, a divorce from the latter
+would have been easily procurable by German law both ecclesiastical and
+legal, could we have summoned so fearful a man into any court.
+
+The good doctor took me and my child by stealth to his modest dwelling;
+and there I lived in the same deep retirement, never seeing the full
+light of day, although when the dye had once passed away from my face
+my husband did not wish me to renew it. There was no need; my yellow
+hair was grey, my complexion was ashen-coloured, no creature could have
+recognized the fresh-coloured, bright-haired young woman of eighteen
+months before. The few people whom I saw knew me only as Madame Voss; a
+widow much older than himself, whom Dr. Voss had secretly married. They
+called me the Grey Woman.
+
+He made me give you his surname. Till now you have known no other
+father—while he lived you needed no father’s love. Once only, only once
+more, did the old terror come upon me. For some reason which I forget,
+I broke through my usual custom, and went to the window of my room for
+some purpose, either to shut or to open it. Looking out into the street
+for an instant, I was fascinated by the sight of M. de la Tourelle,
+gay, young, elegant as ever, walking along on the opposite side of the
+street. The noise I had made with the window caused him to look up; he
+saw me, an old grey woman, and he did not recognize me! Yet it was not
+three years since we had parted, and his eyes were keen and dreadful
+like those of the lynx.
+
+I told M. Voss, on his return home, and he tried to cheer me, but the
+shock of seeing M. de la Tourelle had been too terrible for me. I was
+ill for long months afterwards.
+
+Once again I saw him. Dead. He and Lefebvre were at last caught; hunted
+down by the Baron de Roeder in some of their crimes. Dr. Voss had heard
+of their arrest; their condemnation, their death; but he never said a
+word to me, until one day he bade me show him that I loved him by my
+obedience and my trust. He took me a long carriage journey, where to
+I know not, for we never spoke of that day again; I was led through a
+prison, into a closed court-yard, where, decently draped in the last
+robes of death, concealing the marks of decapitation, lay M. de la
+Tourelle, and two or three others, whom I had known at Les Rochers.
+
+After that conviction Dr. Voss tried to persuade me to return to a more
+natural mode of life, and to go out more. But although I sometimes
+complied with his wish, yet the old terror was ever strong upon me, and
+he, seeing what an effort it was, gave up urging me at last.
+
+You know all the rest. How we both mourned bitterly the loss of that
+dear husband and father—for such I will call him ever—and as such you
+must consider him, my child, after this one revelation is over.
+
+Why has it been made, you ask. For this reason, my child. The lover,
+whom you have only known as M. Lebrun, a French artist, told me but
+yesterday his real name, dropped because the blood-thirsty republicans
+might consider it as too aristocratic. It is Maurice de Poissy.
+
+
+
+
+CURIOUS IF TRUE.
+
+(EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM RICHARD WHITTINGHAM, ESQ.)
+
+
+You were formerly so much amused at my pride in my descent from that
+sister of Calvin’s, who married a Whittingham, Dean of Durham, that I
+doubt if you will be able to enter into the regard for my distinguished
+relation that has led me to France, in order to examine registers and
+archives, which, I thought, might enable me to discover collateral
+descendants of the great reformer, with whom I might call cousins. I
+shall not tell you of my troubles and adventures in this research; you
+are not worthy to hear of them; but something so curious befel me one
+evening last August, that if I had not been perfectly certain I was
+wide awake, I might have taken it for a dream.
+
+For the purpose I have named, it was necessary that I should make Tours
+my head-quarters for a time. I had traced descendants of the Calvin
+family out of Normandy into the centre of France; but I found it was
+necessary to have a kind of permission from the bishop of the diocese
+before I could see certain family papers, which had fallen into the
+possession of the Church; and, as I had several English friends at
+Tours, I awaited the answer to my request to Monseigneur de ——, at
+that town. I was ready to accept any invitation; but I received very
+few; and was sometimes a little at a loss what to do with my evenings.
+The _table d’hôte_ was at five o’clock; I did not wish to go to the
+expense of a private sitting-room, disliked the dinnery atmosphere
+of the _salle à manger_, could not play either at pool or billiards,
+and the aspect of my fellow guests was unprepossessing enough to make
+me unwilling to enter into any _tête-à-tête_ gamblings with them.
+So I usually rose from table early, and tried to make the most of
+the remaining light of the August evenings in walking briskly off to
+explore the surrounding country; the middle of the day was too hot
+for this purpose, and better employed in lounging on a bench in the
+Boulevards, lazily listening to the distant band, and noticing with
+equal laziness the faces and figures of the women who passed by.
+
+One Thursday evening, the 18th of August it was, I think, I had gone
+further than usual in my walk, and I found that it was later than I had
+imagined when I paused to turn back. I fancied I could make a round;
+I had enough notion of the direction in which I was, to see that by
+turning up a narrow straight lane to my left I should shorten my way
+back to Tours. And so I believe I should have done, could I have found
+an outlet at the right place, but field-paths are almost unknown in
+that part of France, and my lane, stiff and straight as any street,
+and marked into terribly vanishing perspective by the regular row of
+poplars on each side, seemed interminable. Of course night came on, and
+I was in darkness. In England I might have had a chance of seeing a
+light in some cottage only a field or two off, and asking my way from
+the inhabitants; but here I could see no such welcome sight; indeed, I
+believe French peasants go to bed with the summer daylight, so if there
+were any habitations in the neighbourhood I never saw them. At last—I
+believe I must have walked two hours in the darkness,—I saw the dusky
+outline of a wood on one side of the weariful lane, and, impatiently
+careless of all forest laws and penalties for trespassers, I made my
+way to it, thinking that if the worst came to the worst, I could find
+some covert—some shelter where I could lie down and rest, until the
+morning light gave me a chance of finding my way back to Tours. But
+the plantation, on the outskirts of what appeared to me a dense wood,
+was of young trees, too closely planted to be more than slender stems
+growing up to a good height, with scanty foliage on their summits.
+On I went towards the thicker forest, and once there I slackened my
+pace, and began to look about me for a good lair. I was as dainty as
+Lochiel’s grandchild, who made his grandsire indignant at the luxury of
+his pillow of snow: this brake was too full of brambles, that felt damp
+with dew; there was no hurry, since I had given up all hope of passing
+the night between four walls; and I went leisurely groping about, and
+trusting that there were no wolves to be poked up out of their summer
+drowsiness by my stick, when all at once I saw a château before me, not
+a quarter of a mile off, at the end of what seemed to be an ancient
+avenue (now overgrown and irregular), which I happened to be crossing,
+when I looked to my right, and saw the welcome sight. Large, stately,
+and dark was its outline against the dusky night-sky; there were
+pepper-boxes and tourelles and what-not fantastically going up into the
+dim starlight. And more to the purpose still, though I could not see
+the details of the building that I was now facing, it was plain enough
+that there were lights in many windows, as if some great entertainment
+was going on.
+
+“They are hospitable people, at any rate,” thought I. “Perhaps they
+will give me a bed. I don’t suppose French propriétaires have traps and
+horses quite as plentiful as English gentlemen; but they are evidently
+having a large party, and some of their guests may be from Tours, and
+will give me a cast back to the Lion d’Or. I am not proud, and I am
+dog-tired. I am not above hanging on behind, if need be.”
+
+So, putting a little briskness and spirit into my walk, I went up to
+the door, which was standing open, most hospitably, and showing a large
+lighted hall, all hung round with spoils of the chase, armour, &c, the
+details of which I had not time to notice, for the instant I stood
+on the threshold a huge porter appeared, in a strange, old-fashioned
+dress, a kind of livery which well befitted the general appearance
+of the house. He asked me, in French (so curiously pronounced that I
+thought I had hit upon a new kind of _patois_), my name, and whence I
+came. I thought he would not be much the wiser, still it was but civil
+to give it before I made my request for assistance; so, in reply, I
+said—
+
+“My name is Whittingham—Richard Whittingham, an English gentleman,
+staying at ——.” To my infinite surprise, a light of pleased
+intelligence came over the giant’s face; he made me a low bow, and said
+(still in the same curious dialect) that I was welcome, that I was long
+expected.
+
+“Long expected!” What could the fellow mean? Had I stumbled on a nest
+of relations by John Calvin’s side, who had heard of my genealogical
+inquiries, and were gratified and interested by them? But I was too
+much pleased to be under shelter for the night to think it necessary to
+account for my agreeable reception before I enjoyed it. Just as he was
+opening the great heavy _battants_ of the door that led from the hall
+to the interior, he turned round and said,—
+
+“Apparently Monsieur le Géanquilleur is not come with you.”
+
+“No! I am all alone; I have lost my way,”—and I was going on with my
+explanation, when he, as if quite indifferent to it, led the way up
+a great stone staircase, as wide as many rooms, and having on each
+landing-place massive iron wickets, in a heavy framework; these the
+porter unlocked with the solemn slowness of age. Indeed, a strange,
+mysterious awe of the centuries that had passed away since this château
+was built, came over me as I waited for the turning of the ponderous
+keys in the ancient locks. I could almost have fancied that I heard
+a mighty rushing murmur (like the ceaseless sound of a distant sea,
+ebbing and flowing for ever and for ever), coming forth from the great
+vacant galleries that opened out on each side of the broad staircase,
+and were to be dimly perceived in the darkness above us. It was as if
+the voices of generations of men yet echoed and eddied in the silent
+air. It was strange, too, that my friend the porter going before me,
+ponderously infirm, with his feeble old hands striving in vain to keep
+the tall flambeau he held steadily before him,—strange, I say, that he
+was the only domestic I saw in the vast halls and passages, or met with
+on the grand staircase. At length we stood before the gilded doors that
+led into the saloon where the family—or it might be the company, so
+great was the buzz of voices—was assembled. I would have remonstrated
+when I found he was going to introduce me, dusty and travel-smeared, in
+a morning costume that was not even my best, into this grand _salon_,
+with nobody knew how many ladies and gentlemen assembled; but the
+obstinate old man was evidently bent upon taking me straight to his
+master, and paid no heed to my words.
+
+The doors flew open, and I was ushered into a saloon curiously full of
+pale light, which did not culminate on any spot, nor proceed from any
+centre, nor flicker with any motion of the air, but filled every nook
+and corner, making all things deliciously distinct; different from our
+light of gas or candle, as is the difference between a clear southern
+atmosphere and that of our misty England.
+
+At the first moment, my arrival excited no attention, the apartment
+was so full of people, all intent on their own conversation. But my
+friend the porter went up to a handsome lady of middle age, richly
+attired in that antique manner which fashion has brought round again of
+late years, and, waiting first in an attitude of deep respect till her
+attention fell upon him, told her my name and something about me, as
+far as I could guess from the gestures of the one and the sudden glance
+of the eye of the other.
+
+She immediately came towards me with the most friendly actions of
+greeting, even before she had advanced near enough to speak. Then,—and
+was it not strange?—her words and accent were that of the commonest
+peasant of the country. Yet she herself looked high-bred, and would
+have been dignified had she been a shade less restless, had her
+countenance worn a little less lively and inquisitive expression. I
+had been poking a good deal about the old parts of Tours, and had had
+to understand the dialect of the people who dwelt in the Marché au
+Vendredi and similar places, or I really should not have understood
+my handsome hostess, as she offered to present me to her husband, a
+henpecked, gentlemanly man, who was more quaintly attired than she in
+the very extreme of that style of dress. I thought to myself that in
+France, as in England, it is the provincials who carry fashion to such
+an excess as to become ridiculous.
+
+However, he spoke (still in the _patois_) of his pleasure in making
+my acquaintance, and led me to a strange uneasy easy-chair, much of a
+piece with the rest of the furniture, which might have taken its place
+without any anachronism by the side of that in the Hôtel Cluny. Then
+again began the clatter of French voices, which my arrival had for an
+instant interrupted, and I had leisure to look about me. Opposite to
+me sat a very sweet-looking lady, who must have been a great beauty in
+her youth, I should think, and would be charming in old age, from the
+sweetness of her countenance. She was, however, extremely fat, and on
+seeing her feet laid up before her on a cushion, I at once perceived
+that they were so swollen as to render her incapable of walking, which
+probably brought on her excessive _embonpoint_. Her hands were plump
+and small, but rather coarse-grained in texture, not quite so clean as
+they might have been, and altogether not so aristocratic-looking as the
+charming face. Her dress was of superb black velvet, ermine-trimmed,
+with diamonds thrown all abroad over it.
+
+Not far from her stood the least little man I had ever seen; of such
+admirable proportions no one could call him a dwarf, because with that
+word we usually associate something of deformity; but yet with an
+elfin look of shrewd, hard, worldly wisdom in his face that marred the
+impression which his delicate regular little features would otherwise
+have conveyed. Indeed, I do not think he was quite of equal rank
+with the rest of the company, for his dress was inappropriate to the
+occasion (and he apparently was an invited, while I was an involuntary
+guest); and one or two of his gestures and actions were more like
+the tricks of an uneducated rustic than anything else. To explain
+what I mean: his boots had evidently seen much service, and had been
+re-topped, re-heeled, re-soled to the extent of cobbler’s powers. Why
+should he have come in them if they were not his best—his only pair?
+And what can be more ungenteel than poverty? Then again he had an
+uneasy trick of putting his hand up to his throat, as if he expected to
+find something the matter with it; and he had the awkward habit—which
+I do not think he could have copied from Dr. Johnson, because most
+probably he had never heard of him—of trying always to retrace his
+steps on the exact boards on which he had trodden to arrive at any
+particular part of the room. Besides, to settle the question, I once
+heard him addressed as Monsieur Poucet, without any aristocratic “de”
+for a prefix; and nearly every one else in the room was a marquis, at
+any rate.
+
+I say, “nearly every one;” for some strange people had the entrée;
+unless, indeed, they were, like me, benighted. One of the guests I
+should have taken for a servant, but for the extraordinary influence he
+seemed to have over the man I took for his master, and who never did
+anything without, apparently, being urged thereto by this follower.
+The master, magnificently dressed, but ill at ease in his clothes, as
+if they had been made for some one else, was a weak-looking, handsome
+man, continually sauntering about, and I almost guessed an object of
+suspicion to some of the gentlemen present, which, perhaps, drove him
+on the companionship of his follower, who was dressed something in the
+style of an ambassador’s chasseur; yet it was not a chasseur’s dress
+after all; it was something more thoroughly old-world; boots half way
+up his ridiculously small legs, which clattered as he walked along, as
+if they were too large for his little feet; and a great quantity of
+grey fur, as trimming to coat, court-mantle, boots, cap—everything. You
+know the way in which certain countenances remind you perpetually of
+some animal, be it bird or beast! Well, this chasseur (as I will call
+him for want of a better name) was exceedingly like the great Tom-cat
+that you have seen so often in my chambers, and laughed at almost
+as often for his uncanny gravity of demeanour. Grey whiskers has my
+Tom—grey whiskers had the chasseur: grey hair overshadows the upper
+lip of my Tom—grey mustachios hid that of the chasseur. The pupils of
+Tom’s eyes dilate and contract as I had thought cats’ pupils only could
+do, until I saw those of the chasseur. To be sure, canny as Tom is,
+the chasseur had the advantage in the more intelligent expression. He
+seemed to have obtained most complete sway over his master or patron,
+whose looks he watched, and whose steps he followed, with a kind of
+distrustful interest that puzzled me greatly.
+
+There were several other groups in the more distant part of the saloon,
+all of the stately old school, all grand and noble, I conjectured from
+their bearing. They seemed perfectly well acquainted with each other,
+as if they were in the habit of meeting. But I was interrupted in my
+observations by the tiny little gentleman on the opposite side of the
+room coming across to take a place beside me. It is no difficult matter
+to a Frenchman to slide into conversation, and so gracefully did my
+pigmy friend keep up the character of the nation, that we were almost
+confidential before ten minutes had elapsed.
+
+Now I was quite aware that the welcome which all had extended to me,
+from the porter up to the vivacious lady and meek lord of the castle,
+was intended for some other person. But it required either a degree
+of moral courage, of which I cannot boast, or the self-reliance and
+conversational powers of a bolder and cleverer man than I, to undeceive
+people who had fallen into so fortunate a mistake for me. Yet the
+little man by my side insinuated himself so much into my confidence,
+that I had half a mind to tell him of my exact situation, and to turn
+him into a friend and an ally.
+
+“Madame is perceptibly growing older,” said he, in the midst of my
+perplexity, glancing at our hostess.
+
+“Madame is still a very fine woman,” replied I.
+
+“Now, is it not strange,” continued he, lowering his voice, “how
+women almost invariably praise the absent, or departed, as if they
+were angels of light, while as for the present, or the living”—here
+he shrugged up his little shoulders, and made an expressive pause.
+“Would you believe it! Madame is always praising her late husband to
+monsieur’s face; till, in fact, we guests are quite perplexed how
+to look: for, you know, the late M. de Retz’s character was quite
+notorious,—everybody has heard of him.” All the world of Touraine,
+thought I, but I made an assenting noise.
+
+At this instant, monsieur our host came up to me, and with a civil
+look of tender interest (such as some people put on when they inquire
+after your mother, about whom they do not care one straw), asked if I
+had heard lately how my cat was? “How my cat was!” What could the man
+mean? My cat! Could he mean the tailless Tom, born in the Isle of Man,
+and now supposed to be keeping guard against the incursions of rats
+and mice into my chambers in London? Tom is, as you know, on pretty
+good terms with some of my friends, using their legs for rubbing-posts
+without scruple, and highly esteemed by them for his gravity of
+demeanour, and wise manner of winking his eyes. But could his fame have
+reached across the Channel? However, an answer must be returned to the
+inquiry, as monsieur’s face was bent down to mine with a look of polite
+anxiety; so I, in my turn, assumed an expression of gratitude, and
+assured him that, to the best of my belief, my cat was in remarkably
+good health.
+
+“And the climate agrees with her?”
+
+“Perfectly,” said I, in a maze of wonder at this deep solicitude in a
+tailless cat who had lost one foot and half an ear in some cruel trap.
+My host smiled a sweet smile, and, addressing a few words to my little
+neighbour, passed on.
+
+“How wearisome those aristocrats are!” quoth my neighbour, with a
+slight sneer. “Monsieur’s conversation rarely extends to more than two
+sentences to any one. By that time his faculties are exhausted, and
+he needs the refreshment of silence. You and I, monsieur, are, at any
+rate, indebted to our own wits for our rise in the world!”
+
+Here again I was bewildered! As you know, I am rather proud of my
+descent from families which, if not noble themselves, are allied to
+nobility,—and as to my “rise in the world”—if I had risen, it would
+have been rather for balloon-like qualities than for mother-wit, to
+being unencumbered with heavy ballast either in my head or my pockets.
+However, it was my cue to agree: so I smiled again.
+
+“For my part,” said he, “if a man does not stick at trifles, if
+he knows how to judiciously add to, or withhold facts, and is not
+sentimental in his parade of humanity, he is sure to do well; sure to
+affix a _de_ or _von_ to his name, and end his days in comfort. There
+is an example of what I am saying”—and he glanced furtively at the
+weak-looking master of the sharp, intelligent servant, whom I have
+called the chasseur.
+
+“Monsieur le Marquis would never have been anything but a miller’s son,
+if it had not been for the talents of his servant. Of course you know
+his antecedents?”
+
+I was going to make some remarks on the changes in the order of the
+peerage since the days of Louis XVI.—going, in fact, to be very
+sensible and historical—when there was a slight commotion among the
+people at the other end of the room. Lacqueys in quaint liveries
+must have come in from behind the tapestry, I suppose (for I never
+saw them enter, though I sate right opposite to the doors), and were
+handing about the slight beverages and slighter viands which are
+considered sufficient refreshments, but which looked rather meagre
+to my hungry appetite. These footmen were standing solemnly opposite
+to a lady,—beautiful, splendid as the dawn, but—sound asleep in a
+magnificent settee. A gentleman who showed so much irritation at her
+ill-timed slumbers, that I think he must have been her husband, was
+trying to awaken her with actions not far removed from shakings. All
+in vain; she was quite unconscious of his annoyance, or the smiles of
+the company, or the automatic solemnity of the waiting footman, or the
+perplexed anxiety of monsieur and madame.
+
+My little friend sat down with a sneer, as if his curiosity was
+quenched in contempt.
+
+“Moralists would make an infinity of wise remarks on that scene,” said
+he. “In the first place, note the ridiculous position into which their
+superstitious reverence for rank and title puts all these people.
+Because monsieur is a reigning prince over some minute principality,
+the exact situation of which no one has as yet discovered, no one must
+venture to take their glass of eau sucré till Madame la Princesse
+awakens; and, judging from past experience, those poor lacqueys may
+have to stand for a century before that happens. Next—always speaking
+as a moralist, you will observe—note how difficult it is to break off
+bad habits acquired in youth!”
+
+Just then the prince succeeded, by what means I did not see, in awaking
+the beautiful sleeper. But at first she did not remember where she was,
+and looking up at her husband with loving eyes, she smiled and said:
+
+“Is it you, my prince?”
+
+But he was too conscious of the suppressed amusement of the spectators
+and his own consequent annoyance, to be reciprocally tender, and turned
+away with some little French expression, best rendered into English by
+“Pooh, pooh, my dear!”
+
+After I had had a glass of delicious wine of some unknown quality, my
+courage was in rather better plight than before, and I told my cynical
+little neighbour—whom I must say I was beginning to dislike—that I
+had lost my way in the wood, and had arrived at the château quite by
+mistake.
+
+He seemed mightily amused at my story; said that the same thing had
+happened to himself more than once; and told me that I had better luck
+than he had on one of these occasions, when, from his account, he must
+have been in considerable danger of his life. He ended his story by
+making me admire his boots, which he said he still wore, patched though
+they were, and all their excellent quality lost by patching, because
+they were of such a first-rate make for long pedestrian excursions.
+“Though, indeed,” he wound up by saying, “the new fashion of railroads
+would seem to supersede the necessity for this description of boots.”
+
+When I consulted him as to whether I ought to make myself known to
+my host and hostess as a benighted traveller, instead of the guest
+whom they had taken me for, he exclaimed, “By no means! I hate such
+squeamish morality.” And he seemed much offended by my innocent
+question, as if it seemed by implication to condemn something in
+himself. He was offended and silent; and just at this moment I caught
+the sweet, attractive eyes of the lady opposite—that lady whom I
+named at first as being no longer in the bloom of youth, but as being
+somewhat infirm about the feet, which were supported on a raised
+cushion before her. Her looks seemed to say, “Come here, and let us
+have some conversation together;” and, with a bow of silent excuse
+to my little companion, I went across to the lame old lady. She
+acknowledged my coming with the prettiest gesture of thanks possible;
+and, half apologetically, said, “It is a little dull to be unable to
+move about on such evenings as this; but it is a just punishment to
+me for my early vanities. My poor feet, that were by nature so small,
+are now taking their revenge for my cruelty in forcing them into such
+little slippers.... Besides, monsieur,” with a pleasant smile, “I
+thought it was possible you might be weary of the malicious sayings
+of your little neighbour. He has not borne the best character in his
+youth, and such men are sure to be cynical in their old age.”
+
+“Who is he?” asked I, with English abruptness.
+
+“His name is Poucet, and his father was, I believe, a wood-cutter, or
+charcoal burner, or something of the sort. They do tell sad stories
+of connivance at murder, ingratitude, and obtaining money on false
+pretences—but you will think me as bad as he if I go on with my
+slanders. Rather let us admire the lovely lady coming up towards us,
+with the roses in her hand—I never see her without roses, they are so
+closely connected with her past history, as you are doubtless aware.
+Ah, beauty!” said my companion to the lady drawing near to us, “it
+is like you to come to me, now that I can no longer go to you.” Then
+turning to me, and gracefully drawing me into the conversation, she
+said, “You must know that, although we never met until we were both
+married, we have been almost like sisters ever since. There have been
+so many points of resemblance in our circumstances, and I think I may
+say in our characters. We had each two elder sisters—mine were but
+half-sisters, though—who were not so kind to us as they might have
+been.”
+
+“But have been sorry for it since,” put in the other lady.
+
+“Since we have married princes,” continued the same lady, with an arch
+smile that had nothing of unkindness in it, “for we both have married
+far above our original stations in life; we are both unpunctual in our
+habits, and, in consequence of this failing of ours, we have both had
+to suffer mortification and pain.”
+
+“And both are charming,” said a whisper close behind me. “My lord the
+marquis, say it—say, ‘And both are charming.’”
+
+“And both are charming,” was spoken aloud by another voice. I turned,
+and saw the wily cat-like chasseur, prompting his master to make civil
+speeches.
+
+The ladies bowed with that kind of haughty acknowledgment which shows
+that compliments from such a source are distasteful. But our trio of
+conversation was broken up, and I was sorry for it. The marquis looked
+as if he had been stirred up to make that one speech, and hoped that he
+would not be expected to say more; while behind him stood the chasseur,
+half impertinent and half servile in his ways and attitudes. The
+ladies, who were real ladies, seemed to be sorry for the awkwardness
+of the marquis, and addressed some trifling questions to him, adapting
+themselves to the subjects on which he could have no trouble in
+answering. The chasseur, meanwhile, was talking to himself in a
+growling tone of voice. I had fallen a little into the background at
+this interruption in a conversation which promised to be so pleasant,
+and I could not help hearing his words.
+
+“Really, De Carabas grows more stupid every day. I have a great mind to
+throw off his boots, and leave him to his fate. I was intended for a
+court, and to a court I will go, and make my own fortune as I have made
+his. The emperor will appreciate my talents.”
+
+And such are the habits of the French, or such his forgetfulness
+of good manners in his anger, that he spat right and left on the
+parquetted floor.
+
+Just then a very ugly, very pleasant-looking man, came towards the
+two ladies to whom I had lately been speaking, leading up to them a
+delicate, fair woman, dressed all in the softest white, as if she were
+_vouée au blanc_. I do not think there was a bit of colour about her.
+I thought I heard her making, as she came along, a little noise of
+pleasure, not exactly like the singing of a tea-kettle, nor yet like
+the cooing of a dove, but reminding me of each sound.
+
+“Madame de Mioumiou was anxious to see you,” said he, addressing
+the lady with the roses, “so I have brought her across to give you
+a pleasure!” What an honest, good face! but oh! how ugly! And yet I
+liked his ugliness better than most persons’ beauty. There was a look
+of pathetic acknowledgment of his ugliness, and a deprecation of your
+too hasty judgment, in his countenance that was positively winning.
+The soft, white lady kept glancing at my neighbour the chasseur, as if
+they had had some former acquaintance, which puzzled me very much, as
+they were of such different rank. However, their nerves were evidently
+strung to the same tune, for at a sound behind the tapestry, which was
+more like the scuttering of rats and mice than anything else, both
+Madame de Mioumiou and the chasseur started with the most eager look of
+anxiety on their countenances, and by their restless movements—madame’s
+panting, and the fiery dilation of his eyes—one might see that
+commonplace sounds affected them both in a manner very different to the
+rest of the company. The ugly husband of the lovely lady with the roses
+now addressed himself to me.
+
+“We are much disappointed,” he said, “in finding that monsieur is not
+accompanied by his countryman—le grand Jean d’Angleterre; I cannot
+pronounce his name rightly”—and he looked at me to help him out.
+
+“Le grand Jean d’Angleterre!” now who was le grand Jean d’Angleterre?
+John Bull? John Russell? John Bright?
+
+“Jean—Jean”—continued the gentleman, seeing my embarrassment. “Ah,
+these terrible English names—‘Jean de Géanquilleur!’”
+
+I was as wise as ever. And yet the name struck me as familiar, but
+slightly disguised. I repeated it to myself. It was mighty like John
+the Giant-killer, only his friends always call that worthy “Jack.” I
+said the name aloud.
+
+“Ah, that is it!” said he. “But why has he not accompanied you to our
+little reunion to-night?”
+
+I had been rather puzzled once or twice before, but this serious
+question added considerably to my perplexity. Jack the Giant-killer had
+once, it is true, been rather an intimate friend of mine, as far as
+(printer’s) ink and paper can keep up a friendship, but I had not heard
+his name mentioned for years; and for aught I knew he lay enchanted
+with King Arthur’s knights, who lie entranced until the blast of the
+trumpets of four mighty kings shall call them to help at England’s
+need. But the question had been asked in serious earnest by that
+gentleman, whom I more wished to think well of me than I did any other
+person in the room. So I answered respectfully that it was long since I
+had heard anything of my countryman; but that I was sure it would have
+given him as much pleasure as it was doing myself to have been present
+at such an agreeable gathering of friends. He bowed, and then the lame
+lady took up the word.
+
+“To-night is the night when, of all the year, this great old forest
+surrounding the castle is said to be haunted by the phantom of a little
+peasant girl who once lived hereabouts; the tradition is that she was
+devoured by a wolf. In former days I have seen her on this night out
+of yonder window at the end of the gallery. Will you, ma belle, take
+monsieur to see the view outside by the moonlight (you may possibly see
+the phantom-child); and leave me to a little _tête-à-tête_ with your
+husband?”
+
+With a gentle movement the lady with the roses complied with the
+other’s request, and we went to a great window, looking down on the
+forest, in which I had lost my way. The tops of the far-spreading and
+leafy trees lay motionless beneath us in that pale, wan light, which
+shows objects almost as distinct in form, though not in colour, as by
+day. We looked down on the countless avenues, which seemed to converge
+from all quarters to the great old castle; and suddenly across one,
+quite near to us, there passed the figure of a little girl, with the
+“capuchon” on, that takes the place of a peasant girl’s bonnet in
+France. She had a basket on one arm, and by her, on the side to which
+her head was turned, there went a wolf. I could almost have said it was
+licking her hand, as if in penitent love, if either penitence or love
+had ever been a quality of wolves,—but though not of living, perhaps it
+may be of phantom wolves.
+
+“There, we have seen her!” exclaimed my beautiful companion. “Though
+so long dead, her simple story of household goodness and trustful
+simplicity still lingers in the hearts of all who have ever heard
+of her; and the country-people about here say that seeing that
+phantom-child on this anniversary brings good luck for the year. Let us
+hope that we shall share in the traditionary good fortune. Ah! here is
+Madame de Retz—she retains the name of her first husband, you know, as
+he was of higher rank than the present.” We were joined by our hostess.
+
+“If monsieur is fond of the beauties of nature and art,” said she,
+perceiving that I had been looking at the view from the great window,
+“he will perhaps take pleasure in seeing the picture.” Here she sighed,
+with a little affectation of grief. “You know the picture I allude
+to,” addressing my companion, who bowed assent, and smiled a little
+maliciously, as I followed the lead of madame.
+
+I went after her to the other end of the saloon, noting by the way with
+what keen curiosity she caught up what was passing either in word or
+action on each side of her. When we stood opposite to the end wall, I
+perceived a full-length picture of a handsome, peculiar-looking man,
+with—in spite of his good looks—a very fierce and scowling expression.
+My hostess clasped her hands together as her arms hung down in front,
+and sighed once more. Then, half in soliloquy, she said—
+
+“He was the love of my youth; his stern yet manly character first
+touched this heart of mine. When—when shall I cease to deplore his
+loss!”
+
+Not being acquainted with her enough to answer this question (if,
+indeed, it were not sufficiently answered by the fact of her second
+marriage), I felt awkward; and, by way of saying something, I remarked,—
+
+“The countenance strikes me as resembling something I have seen
+before—in an engraving from an historical picture, I think; only, it
+is there the principal figure in a group: he is holding a lady by her
+hair, and threatening her with his scimitar, while two cavaliers are
+rushing up the stairs, apparently only just in time to save her life.”
+
+“Alas, alas!” said she, “you too accurately describe a miserable
+passage in my life, which has often been represented in a false light.
+The best of husbands”—here she sobbed, and became slightly inarticulate
+with her grief—“will sometimes be displeased. I was young and curious,
+he was justly angry with my disobedience—my brothers were too hasty—the
+consequence is, I became a widow!”
+
+After due respect for her tears, I ventured to suggest some commonplace
+consolation. She turned round sharply:—
+
+“No, monsieur: my only comfort is that I have never forgiven the
+brothers who interfered so cruelly, in such an uncalled-for manner,
+between my dear husband and myself. To quote my friend Monsieur
+Sganarelle—‘Ce sont petites choses qui sont de temps en temps
+necessaires dans l’amitié; et cinq ou six coups d’épée entre gens
+qui s’aiment ne font que ragaillardir l’affection.’ You observe the
+colouring is not quite what it should be?”
+
+“In this light the beard is of rather a peculiar tint,” said I.
+
+“Yes: the painter did not do it justice. It was most lovely, and gave
+him such a distinguished air, quite different from the common herd.
+Stay, I will show you the exact colour, if you will come near this
+flambeau!” And going near the light, she took off a bracelet of hair,
+with a magnificent clasp of pearls. It was peculiar, certainly. I did
+not know what to say. “His precious lovely beard!” said she. “And the
+pearls go so well with the delicate blue!”
+
+Her husband, who had come up to us, and waited till her eye fell upon
+him before venturing to speak, now said, “It is strange Monsieur Ogre
+is not yet arrived!”
+
+“Not at all strange,” said she, tartly. “He was always very stupid,
+and constantly falls into mistakes, in which he comes worse off; and
+it is very well he does, for he is a credulous and cowardly fellow.
+Not at all strange! If you will”—turning to her husband, so that I
+hardly heard her words, until I caught—“Then everybody would have their
+rights, and we should have no more trouble. Is it not, monsieur?”
+addressing me.
+
+“If I were in England, I should imagine madame was speaking of the
+reform bill, or the millennium,—but I am in ignorance.”
+
+And just as I spoke, the great folding-doors were thrown open wide, and
+every one started to their feet to greet a little old lady, leaning on
+a thin black wand—and—
+
+“Madame la Féemarraine,” was announced by a chorus of sweet shrill
+voices.
+
+And in a moment I was lying in the grass close by a hollow oak-tree,
+with the slanting glory of the dawning day shining full in my face, and
+thousands of little birds and delicate insects piping and warbling out
+their welcome to the ruddy splendour.
+
+
+
+
+SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM.
+
+
+After I left Oxford, I determined to spend some months in travel
+before settling down in life. My father had left me a few thousands,
+the income arising from which would be enough to provide for all the
+necessary requirements of a lawyer’s education; such as lodgings in a
+quiet part of London, fees and payment to the distinguished barrister
+with whom I was to read; but there would be small surplus left over for
+luxuries or amusements; and as I was rather in debt on leaving college,
+since I had forestalled my income, and the expenses of my travelling
+would have to be defrayed out of my capital, I determined that they
+should not exceed fifty pounds. As long as that sum would last me I
+would remain abroad; when it was spent my holiday should be over, and I
+would return and settle down somewhere in the neighbourhood of Russell
+Square, in order to be near Mr. ——’s chambers in Lincoln’s-inn. I had
+to wait in London for one day while my passport was being made out, and
+I went to examine the streets in which I purposed to live; I had picked
+them out, from studying a map, as desirable; and so they were, if
+judged entirely by my reason; but their aspect was very depressing to
+one country-bred, and just fresh from the beautiful street-architecture
+of Oxford. The thought of living in such a monotonous gray district for
+years made me all the more anxious to prolong my holiday by all the
+economy which could eke out my fifty pounds. I thought I could make it
+last for one hundred days at least. I was a good walker, and had no
+very luxurious tastes in the matter of accommodation or food; I had as
+fair a knowledge of German and French as any untravelled Englishman
+can have; and I resolved to avoid expensive hotels such as my own
+countrymen frequented.
+
+I have stated this much about myself to explain how I fell in with the
+little story that I am going to record, but with which I had not much
+to do,—my part in it being little more than that of a sympathizing
+spectator. I had been through France into Switzerland, where I had
+gone beyond my strength in the way of walking, and I was on my way
+home, when one evening I came to the village of Heppenheim, on the
+Berg-Strasse. I had strolled about the dirty town of Worms all morning,
+and dined in a filthy hotel; and after that I had crossed the Rhine,
+and walked through Lorsch to Heppenheim. I was unnaturally tired and
+languid as I dragged myself up the rough-paved and irregular village
+street to the inn recommended to me. It was a large building, with a
+green court before it. A cross-looking but scrupulously clean hostess
+received me, and showed me into a large room with a dinner-table in it,
+which, though it might have accommodated thirty or forty guests, only
+stretched down half the length of the eating-room. There were windows
+at each end of the room; two looked to the front of the house, on which
+the evening shadows had already fallen; the opposite two were partly
+doors, opening into a large garden full of trained fruit-trees and beds
+of vegetables, amongst which rose-bushes and other flowers seemed to
+grow by permission, not by original intention. There was a stove at
+each end of the room, which, I suspect, had originally been divided
+into two. The door by which I had entered was exactly in the middle,
+and opposite to it was another, leading to a great bed-chamber, which
+my hostess showed me as my sleeping quarters for the night.
+
+If the place had been much less clean and inviting, I should have
+remained there; I was almost surprised myself at my vis inertiæ; once
+seated in the last warm rays of the slanting sun by the garden window,
+I was disinclined to move, or even to speak. My hostess had taken my
+orders as to my evening meal, and had left me. The sun went down, and I
+grew shivery. The vast room looked cold and bare; the darkness brought
+out shadows that perplexed me, because I could not fully make out the
+objects that produced them after dazzling my eyes by gazing out into
+the crimson light.
+
+Some one came in; it was the maiden to prepare for my supper. She began
+to lay the cloth at one end of the large table. There was a smaller one
+close by me. I mustered up my voice, which seemed a little as if it was
+getting beyond my control, and called to her,—
+
+“Will you let me have my supper here on this table?”
+
+She came near; the light fell on her while I was in shadow. She was
+a tall young woman, with a fine strong figure, a pleasant face,
+expressive of goodness and sense, and with a good deal of comeliness
+about it, too, although the fair complexion was bronzed and reddened
+by weather, so as to have lost much of its delicacy, and the features,
+as I had afterwards opportunity enough of observing, were anything
+but regular. She had white teeth, however, and well-opened blue
+eyes—grave-looking eyes which had shed tears for past sorrow—plenty of
+light-brown hair, rather elaborately plaited, and fastened up by two
+great silver pins. That was all—perhaps more than all—I noticed that
+first night. She began to lay the cloth where I had directed. A shiver
+passed over me: she looked at me, and then said,—
+
+“The gentleman is cold: shall I light the stove?”
+
+Something vexed me—I am not usually so impatient: it was the coming-on
+of serious illness—I did not like to be noticed so closely; I believed
+that food would restore me, and I did not want to have my meal delayed,
+as I feared it might be by the lighting of the stove; and most of all I
+was feverishly annoyed by movement. I answered sharply and abruptly,—
+
+“No; bring supper quickly; that is all I want.”
+
+Her quiet, sad eyes met mine for a moment; but I saw no change in their
+expression, as if I had vexed her by my rudeness: her countenance did
+not for an instant lose its look of patient sense, and that is pretty
+nearly all I can remember of Thekla that first evening at Heppenheim.
+
+I suppose I ate my supper, or tried to do so, at any rate; and I must
+have gone to bed, for days after I became conscious of lying there,
+weak as a new-born babe, and with a sense of past pain in all my weary
+limbs. As is the case in recovering from fever, one does not care to
+connect facts, much less to reason upon them; so how I came to be
+lying in that strange bed, in that large, half-furnished room; in what
+house that room was; in what town, in what country, I did not take
+the trouble to recal. It was of much more consequence to me then to
+discover what was the well-known herb that gave the scent to the clean,
+coarse sheets in which I lay. Gradually I extended my observations,
+always confining myself to the present. I must have been well cared-for
+by some one, and that lately, too, for the window was shaded, so as
+to prevent the morning sun from coming in upon the bed; there was the
+crackling of fresh wood in the great white china stove, which must have
+been newly replenished within a short time.
+
+By-and-by the door opened slowly. I cannot tell why, but my impulse
+was to shut my eyes as if I were still asleep. But I could see through
+my apparently closed eyelids. In came, walking on tip-toe, with a
+slow care that defeated its object, two men. The first was aged from
+thirty to forty, in the dress of a Black Forest peasant,—old-fashioned
+coat and knee-breeches of strong blue cloth, but of a thoroughly
+good quality; he was followed by an older man, whose dress, of more
+pretension as to cut and colour (it was all black), was, nevertheless,
+as I had often the opportunity of observing afterwards, worn threadbare.
+
+Their first sentences, in whispered German, told me who they were: the
+landlord of the inn where I was lying a helpless log, and the village
+doctor who had been called in. The latter felt my pulse, and nodded his
+head repeatedly in approbation. I had instinctively known that I was
+getting better, and hardly cared for this confirmation; but it seemed
+to give the truest pleasure to the landlord, who shook the hand of the
+doctor, in a pantomime expressive of as much thankfulness as if I had
+been his brother. Some low-spoken remarks were made, and then some
+question was asked, to which, apparently, my host was unable to reply.
+He left the room, and in a minute or two returned, followed by Thekla,
+who was questioned by the doctor, and replied with a quiet clearness,
+showing how carefully the details of my illness had been observed
+by her. Then she left the room, and, as if every minute had served
+to restore to my brain its power of combining facts, I was suddenly
+prompted to open my eyes, and ask in the best German I could muster
+what day of the month it was; not that I clearly remembered the date
+of my arrival at Heppenheim, but I knew it was about the beginning of
+September.
+
+Again the doctor conveyed his sense of extreme satisfaction in a series
+of rapid pantomimic nods, and then replied in deliberate but tolerable
+English, to my great surprise,—
+
+“It is the 29th of September, my dear sir. You must thank the dear God.
+Your fever has made its course of twenty-one days. Now patience and
+care must be practised. The good host and his household will have the
+care; you must have the patience. If you have relations in England, I
+will do my endeavours to tell them the state of your health.”
+
+“I have no near relations,” said I, beginning in my weakness to cry, as
+I remembered, as if it had been a dream, the days when I had father,
+mother, sister.
+
+“Chut, chut!” said he; then, turning to the landlord, he told him in
+German to make Thekla bring me one of her good bouillons; after which
+I was to have certain medicines, and to sleep as undisturbedly as
+possible. For days, he went on, I should require constant watching and
+careful feeding; every twenty minutes I was to have something, either
+wine or soup, in small quantities.
+
+A dim notion came into my hazy mind that my previous husbandry of my
+fifty pounds, by taking long walks and scanty diet, would prove in the
+end very bad economy; but I sank into dozing unconsciousness before I
+could quite follow out my idea. I was roused by the touch of a spoon on
+my lips; it was Thekla feeding me. Her sweet, grave face had something
+approaching to a mother’s look of tenderness upon it, as she gave me
+spoonful after spoonful with gentle patience and dainty care: and then
+I fell asleep once more. When next I wakened it was night; the stove
+was lighted, and the burning wood made a pleasant crackle, though I
+could only see the outlines and edges of red flame through the crevices
+of the small iron door. The uncurtained window on my left looked into
+the purple, solemn night. Turning a little, I saw Thekla sitting near
+a table, sewing diligently at some great white piece of household
+work. Every now and then she stopped to snuff the candle; sometimes
+she began to ply her needle again immediately; but once or twice she
+let her busy hands lie idly in her lap, and looked into the darkness,
+and thought deeply for a moment or two; these pauses always ended in
+a kind of sobbing sigh, the sound of which seemed to restore her to
+self-consciousness, and she took to her sewing even more diligently
+than before. Watching her had a sort of dreamy interest for me; this
+diligence of hers was a pleasant contrast to my repose; it seemed to
+enhance the flavour of my rest. I was too much of an animal just then
+to have my sympathy, or even my curiosity, strongly excited by her look
+of sad remembrance, or by her sighs.
+
+After a while she gave a little start, looked at a watch lying by her
+on the table, and came, shading the candle by her hand, softly to my
+bedside. When she saw my open eyes she went to a porringer placed at
+the top of the stove, and fed me with soup. She did not speak while
+doing this. I was half aware that she had done it many times since
+the doctor’s visit, although this seemed to be the first time that I
+was fully awake. She passed her arm under the pillow on which my head
+rested, and raised me a very little; her support was as firm as a man’s
+could have been. Again back to her work, and I to my slumbers, without
+a word being exchanged.
+
+It was broad daylight when I wakened again; I could see the sunny
+atmosphere of the garden outside stealing in through the nicks at the
+side of the shawl hung up to darken the room—a shawl which I was sure
+had not been there when I had observed the window in the night. How
+gently my nurse must have moved about while doing her thoughtful act!
+
+My breakfast was brought me by the hostess; she who had received me on
+my first arrival at this hospitable inn. She meant to do everything
+kindly, I am sure; but a sick room was not her place; by a thousand
+little mal-adroitnesses she fidgeted me past bearing; her shoes
+creaked, her dress rustled; she asked me questions about myself which
+it irritated me to answer; she congratulated me on being so much
+better, while I was faint for want of the food which she delayed giving
+me in order to talk. My host had more sense in him when he came in,
+although his shoes creaked as well as hers. By this time I was somewhat
+revived, and could talk a little; besides, it seemed churlish to be
+longer without acknowledging so much kindness received.
+
+“I am afraid I have been a great trouble,” said I. “I can only say that
+I am truly grateful.”
+
+His good broad face reddened, and he moved a little uneasily.
+
+“I don’t see how I could have done otherwise than I——than we, did,”
+replied he, in the soft German of the district. “We were all glad
+enough to do what we could; I don’t say it was a pleasure, because
+it is our busiest time of year,—but then,” said he, laughing a
+little awkwardly, as if he feared his expression might have been
+misunderstood, “I don’t suppose it has been a pleasure to you either,
+sir, to be laid up so far from home.”
+
+“No, indeed.”
+
+“I may as well tell you now, sir, that we had to look over your papers
+and clothes. In the first place, when you were so ill I would fain have
+let your kinsfolk know, if I could have found a clue; and besides, you
+needed linen.”
+
+“I am wearing a shirt of yours though,” said I, touching my sleeve.
+
+“Yes, sir!” said he again, reddening a little. “I told Thekla to take
+the finest out of the chest; but I am afraid you find it coarser than
+your own.”
+
+For all answer I could only lay my weak hand on the great brown paw
+resting on the bed-side. He gave me a sudden squeeze in return that I
+thought would have crushed my bones.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir,” said he, misinterpreting the sudden look of
+pain which I could not repress; “but watching a man come out of the
+shadow of death into life makes one feel very friendly towards him.”
+
+“No old or true friend that I have had could have done more for me than
+you, and your wife, and Thekla, and the good doctor.”
+
+“I am a widower,” said he, turning round the great wedding-ring that
+decked his third finger. “My sister keeps house for me, and takes care
+of the children,—that is to say, she does it with the help of Thekla,
+the house-maiden. But I have other servants,” he continued. “I am well
+to do, the good God be thanked! I have land, and cattle, and vineyards.
+It will soon be our vintage-time, and then you must go and see my
+grapes as they come into the village. I have a ‘_chasse_,’ too, in the
+Odenwald; perhaps one day you will be strong enough to go and shoot the
+‘_chevreuil_’ with me.”
+
+His good, true heart was trying to make me feel like a welcome guest.
+Some time afterwards I learnt from the doctor that—my poor fifty
+pounds being nearly all expended—my host and he had been brought to
+believe in my poverty, as the necessary examination of my clothes and
+papers showed so little evidence of wealth. But I myself have but
+little to do with my story; I only name these things, and repeat these
+conversations, to show what a true, kind, honest man my host was. By
+the way, I may as well call him by his name henceforward, Fritz Müller.
+The doctor’s name, Wiedermann.
+
+I was tired enough with this interview with Fritz Müller; but when Dr.
+Wiedermann came he pronounced me to be much better; and through the day
+much the same course was pursued as on the previous one: being fed,
+lying still, and sleeping, were my passive and active occupations.
+It was a hot, sunshiny day, and I craved for air. Fresh air does
+not enter into the pharmacopoeia of a German doctor; but somehow I
+obtained my wish. During the morning hours the window through which
+the sun streamed—the window looking on to the front court—was opened a
+little; and through it I heard the sounds of active life, which gave
+me pleasure and interest enough. The hen’s cackle, the cock’s exultant
+call when he had found the treasure of a grain of corn,—the movements
+of a tethered donkey, and the cooing and whirring of the pigeons which
+lighted on the window-sill, gave me just subjects enough for interest.
+Now and then a cart or carriage drove up,—I could hear them ascending
+the rough village street long before they stopped at the “Halbmond,”
+the village inn. Then there came a sound of running and haste in the
+house; and Thekla was always called for in sharp, imperative tones. I
+heard little children’s footsteps, too, from time to time; and once
+there must have been some childish accident or hurt, for a shrill,
+plaintive little voice kept calling out, “Thekla, Thekla, liebe
+Thekla.” Yet, after the first early morning hours, when my hostess
+attended on my wants, it was always Thekla who came to give me my food
+or my medicine; who redded up my room; who arranged the degree of
+light, shifting the temporary curtain with the shifting sun; and always
+as quietly and deliberately as though her attendance upon me were her
+sole work. Once or twice my hostess came into the large eating-room
+(out of which my room opened), and called Thekla away from whatever was
+her occupation in my room at the time, in a sharp, injured, imperative
+whisper. Once I remember it was to say that sheets were wanted for some
+stranger’s bed, and to ask where she, the speaker, could have put the
+keys, in a tone of irritation, as though Thekla were responsible for
+Fräulein Müller’s own forgetfulness.
+
+Night came on; the sounds of daily life died away into silence; the
+children’s voices were no more heard; the poultry were all gone to
+roost; the beasts of burden to their stables; and travellers were
+housed. Then Thekla came in softly and quietly, and took up her
+appointed place, after she had done all in her power for my comfort.
+I felt that I was in no state to be left all those weary hours which
+intervened between sunset and sunrise; but I did feel ashamed that
+this young woman, who had watched by me all the previous night, and
+for aught I knew, for many before, and had worked hard, been run off
+her legs, as English servants would say, all day long, should come and
+take up her care of me again; and it was with a feeling of relief that
+I saw her head bend forwards, and finally rest on her arms, which had
+fallen on the white piece of sewing spread before her on the table. She
+slept; and I slept. When I wakened dawn was stealing into the room,
+and making pale the lamplight. Thekla was standing by the stove, where
+she had been preparing the bouillon I should require on wakening. But
+she did not notice my half-open eyes, although her face was turned
+towards the bed. She was reading a letter slowly, as if its words were
+familiar to her, yet as though she were trying afresh to extract some
+fuller or some different meaning from their construction. She folded
+it up softly and slowly, and replaced it in her pocket with the quiet
+movement habitual to her. Then she looked before her, not at me, but
+at vacancy filled up by memories; and as the enchanter brought up the
+scenes and people which she saw, but I could not, her eyes filled with
+tears—tears that gathered almost imperceptibly to herself as it would
+seem—for when one large drop fell on her hands (held slightly together
+before her as she stood) she started a little, and brushed her eyes
+with the back of her hand, and then came towards the bed to see if I
+was awake. If I had not witnessed her previous emotion, I could never
+have guessed that she had any hidden sorrow or pain from her manner;
+tranquil, self-restrained as usual. The thought of this letter haunted
+me, especially as more than once I, wakeful or watchful during the
+ensuing nights, either saw it in her hands, or suspected that she had
+been recurring to it from noticing the same sorrowful, dreamy look
+upon her face when she thought herself unobserved. Most likely every
+one has noticed how inconsistently out of proportion some ideas become
+when one is shut up in any place without change of scene or thought. I
+really grew quite irritated about this letter. If I did not see it, I
+suspected it lay _perdu_ in her pocket. What was in it? Of course it
+was a love-letter; but if so, what was going wrong in the course of her
+love? I became like a spoilt child in my recovery; every one whom I saw
+for the time being was thinking only of me, so it was perhaps no wonder
+that I became my sole object of thought; and at last the gratification
+of my curiosity about this letter seemed to me a duty that I owed to
+myself. As long as my fidgety inquisitiveness remained ungratified, I
+felt as if I could not get well. But to do myself justice, it was more
+than inquisitiveness. Thekla had tended me with the gentle, thoughtful
+care of a sister, in the midst of her busy life. I could often hear
+the Fräulein’s sharp voice outside blaming her for something that had
+gone wrong; but I never heard much from Thekla in reply. Her name was
+called in various tones by different people, more frequently than I
+could count, as if her services were in perpetual requisition, yet I
+was never neglected, or even long uncared-for. The doctor was kind and
+attentive; my host friendly and really generous; his sister subdued
+her acerbity of manner when in my room, but Thekla was the one of all
+to whom I owed my comforts, if not my life. If I could do anything to
+smooth her path (and a little money goes a great way in these primitive
+parts of Germany), how willingly would I give it? So one night I
+began—she was no longer needed to watch by my bedside, but she was
+arranging my room before leaving me for the night—
+
+“Thekla,” said I, “you don’t belong to Heppenheim, do you?”
+
+She looked at me, and reddened a little.
+
+“No. Why do you ask?”
+
+“You have been so good to me that I cannot help wanting to know more
+about you. I must needs feel interested in one who has been by my side
+through my illness as you have. Where do your friends live? Are your
+parents alive?”
+
+All this time I was driving at the letter.
+
+“I was born at Altenahr. My father is an innkeeper there. He owns the
+‘Golden Stag.’ My mother is dead, and he has married again, and has
+many children.”
+
+“And your stepmother is unkind to you,” said I, jumping to a conclusion.
+
+“Who said so?” asked she, with a shade of indignation in her tone. “She
+is a right good woman, and makes my father a good wife.”
+
+“Then why are you here living so far from home?”
+
+Now the look came back to her face which I had seen upon it during the
+night hours when I had watched her by stealth; a dimming of the grave
+frankness of her eyes, a light quiver at the corners of her mouth. But
+all she said was, “It was better.”
+
+Somehow, I persisted with the wilfulness of an invalid. I am half
+ashamed of it now.
+
+“But why better, Thekla? Was there——” How should I put it? I stopped a
+little, and then rushed blindfold at my object: “Has not that letter
+which you read so often something to do with your being here?”
+
+She fixed me with her serious eyes till I believe I reddened far
+more than she; and I hastened to pour out, incoherently enough, my
+conviction that she had some secret care, and my desire to help her if
+she was in any trouble.
+
+“You cannot help me,” said she, a little softened by my explanation,
+though some shade of resentment at having been thus surreptitiously
+watched yet lingered in her manner. “It is an old story; a sorrow gone
+by, past, at least it ought to be, only sometimes I am foolish”—her
+tones were softening now—“and it is punishment enough that you have
+seen my folly.”
+
+“If you had a brother here, Thekla, you would let him give you his
+sympathy if he could not give you his help, and you would not blame
+yourself if you had shown him your sorrow, should you? I tell you
+again, let me be as a brother to you.”
+
+“In the first place, sir”—this “sir” was to mark the distinction
+between me and the imaginary brother—“I should have been ashamed to
+have shown even a brother my sorrow, which is also my reproach and my
+disgrace.” These were strong words; and I suppose my face showed that
+I attributed to them a still stronger meaning than they warranted;
+but _honi soit qui mal y pense_—for she went on dropping her eyes and
+speaking hurriedly.
+
+“My shame and my reproach is this: I have loved a man who has not loved
+me”—she grasped her hands together till the fingers made deep white
+dents in the rosy flesh—“and I can’t make out whether he ever did, or
+whether he did once and is changed now; if only he did once love me, I
+could forgive myself.”
+
+With hasty, trembling hands she began to rearrange the tisane and
+medicines for the night on the little table at my bed-side. But, having
+got thus far, I was determined to persevere.
+
+“Thekla,” said I, “tell me all about it, as you would to your mother,
+if she were alive. There are often misunderstandings which, never set
+to rights, make the misery and desolation of a life-time.”
+
+She did not speak at first. Then she pulled out the letter, and said,
+in a quiet, hopeless tone of voice:—
+
+“You can read German writing? Read that, and see if I have any reason
+for misunderstanding.”
+
+The letter was signed “Franz Weber,” and dated from some small town in
+Switzerland—I forget what—about a month previous to the time when I
+read it. It began with acknowledging the receipt of some money which
+had evidently been requested by the writer, and for which the thanks
+were almost fulsome; and then, by the quietest transition in the world,
+he went on to consult her as to the desirability of his marrying
+some girl in the place from which he wrote, saying that this Anna
+Somebody was only eighteen and very pretty, and her father a well-to-do
+shopkeeper, and adding, with coarse coxcombry, his belief that he was
+not indifferent to the maiden herself. He wound up by saying that, if
+this marriage did take place, he should certainly repay the various
+sums of money which Thekla had lent him at different times.
+
+I was some time in making out all this. Thekla held the candle for me
+to read it; held it patiently and steadily, not speaking a word till I
+had folded up the letter again, and given it back to her. Then our eyes
+met.
+
+“There is no misunderstanding possible, is there, sir?” asked she, with
+a faint smile.
+
+“No,” I replied; “but you are well rid of such a fellow.”
+
+She shook her head a little. “It shows his bad side, sir. We have all
+our bad sides. You must not judge him harshly; at least, I cannot. But
+then we were brought up together.”
+
+“At Altenahr?”
+
+“Yes; his father kept the other inn, and our parents, instead of being
+rivals, were great friends. Franz is a little younger than I, and was a
+delicate child. I had to take him to school, and I used to be so proud
+of it and of my charge. Then he grew strong, and was the handsomest
+lad in the village. Our fathers used to sit and smoke together, and
+talk of our marriage, and Franz must have heard as much as I. Whenever
+he was in trouble, he would come to me for what advice I could give
+him; and he danced twice as often with me as with any other girl at
+all the dances, and always brought his nosegay to me. Then his father
+wished him to travel, and learn the ways at the great hotels on the
+Rhine before he settled down in Altenahr. You know that is the custom
+in Germany, sir. They go from town to town as journeymen, learning
+something fresh everywhere, they say.”
+
+“I knew that was done in trades,” I replied.
+
+“Oh, yes; and among inn-keepers, too,” she said. “Most of the waiters
+at the great hotels in Frankfort, and Heidelberg, and Mayence, and, I
+daresay, at all the other places, are the sons of innkeepers in small
+towns, who go out into the world to learn new ways, and perhaps to pick
+up a little English and French; otherwise, they say, they should never
+get on. Franz went off from Altenahr on his journeyings four years ago
+next May-day; and before he went, he brought me back a ring from Bonn,
+where he bought his new clothes. I don’t wear it now; but I have got
+it upstairs, and it comforts me to see something that shows me it was
+not all my silly fancy. I suppose he fell among bad people, for he soon
+began to play for money,—and then he lost more than he could always
+pay—and sometimes I could help him a little, for we wrote to each other
+from time to time, as we knew each other’s addresses; for the little
+ones grew around my father’s hearth, and I thought that I, too, would
+go forth into the world and earn my own living, so that——well, I will
+tell the truth—I thought that by going into service, I could lay by
+enough for buying a handsome stock of household linen, and plenty of
+pans and kettles against—against what will never come to pass now.”
+
+“Do the German women buy the pots and kettles, as you call them,
+when they are married?” asked I, awkwardly, laying hold of a trivial
+question to conceal the indignant sympathy with her wrongs which I did
+not like to express.
+
+“Oh, yes; the bride furnishes all that is wanted in the kitchen, and
+all the store of house-linen. If my mother had lived, it would have
+been laid by for me, as she could have afforded to buy it, but my
+stepmother will have hard enough work to provide for her own four
+little girls. However,” she continued, brightening up, “I can help her,
+for now I shall never marry; and my master here is just and liberal,
+and pays me sixty florins a year, which is high wages.” (Sixty florins
+are about five pounds sterling.) “And now, good-night, sir. This cup to
+the left holds the tisane, that to the right the acorn-tea.” She shaded
+the candle, and was leaving the room. I raised myself on my elbow, and
+called her back.
+
+“Don’t go on thinking about this man,” said I. “He was not good enough
+for you. You are much better unmarried.”
+
+“Perhaps so,” she answered gravely. “But you cannot do him justice; you
+do not know him.”
+
+A few minutes after, I heard her soft and cautious return; she had
+taken her shoes off, and came in her stockinged feet up to my bedside,
+shading the light with her hand. When she saw that my eyes were open,
+she laid down two letters on the table, close by my night-lamp.
+
+“Perhaps, some time, sir, you would take the trouble to read these
+letters; you would then see how noble and clever Franz really is. It is
+I who ought to be blamed, not he.”
+
+No more was said that night.
+
+Some time the next morning I read the letters. They were filled with
+vague, inflated, sentimental descriptions of his inner life and
+feelings; entirely egotistical, and intermixed with quotations from
+second-rate philosophers and poets. There was, it must be said, nothing
+in them offensive to good principle or good feeling, however much they
+might be opposed to good taste. I was to go into the next room that
+afternoon for the first time of leaving my sick chamber. All morning
+I lay and ruminated. From time to time I thought of Thekla and Franz
+Weber. She was the strong, good, helpful character, he the weak and
+vain; how strange it seemed that she should have cared for one so
+dissimilar; and then I remembered the various happy marriages when to
+an outsider it seemed as if one was so inferior to the other that their
+union would have appeared a subject for despair if it had been looked
+at prospectively. My host came in, in the midst of these meditations,
+bringing a great flowered dressing-gown, lined with flannel, and the
+embroidered smoking-cap which he evidently considered as belonging
+to this Indian-looking robe. They had been his father’s, he told me;
+and as he helped me to dress, he went on with his communications on
+small family matters. His inn was flourishing; the numbers increased
+every year of those who came to see the church at Heppenheim: the
+church which was the pride of the place, but which I had never yet
+seen. It was built by the great Kaiser Karl. And there was the Castle
+of Starkenburg, too, which the Abbots of Lorsch had often defended,
+stalwart churchmen as they were, against the temporal power of the
+emperors. And Melibocus was not beyond a walk either. In fact, it was
+the work of one person to superintend the inn alone; but he had his
+farm and his vineyards beyond, which of themselves gave him enough
+to do. And his sister was oppressed with the perpetual calls made
+upon her patience and her nerves in an inn; and would rather go back
+and live at Worms. And his children wanted so much looking after. By
+the time he had placed himself in a condition for requiring my full
+sympathy, I had finished my slow toilette; and I had to interrupt his
+confidences, and accept the help of his good strong arm to lead me
+into the great eating-room, out of which my chamber opened. I had a
+dreamy recollection of the vast apartment. But how pleasantly it was
+changed! There was the bare half of the room, it is true, looking as
+it had done on that first afternoon, sunless and cheerless, with the
+long, unoccupied table, and the necessary chairs for the possible
+visitors; but round the windows that opened on the garden a part of
+the room was enclosed by the household clothes’-horses hung with great
+pieces of the blue homespun cloth of which the dress of the Black
+Forest peasant is made. This shut-in space was warmed by the lighted
+stove, as well as by the lowering rays of the October sun. There was
+a little round walnut table with some flowers upon it, and a great
+cushioned armchair placed so as to look out upon the garden and the
+hills beyond. I felt sure that this was all Thekla’s arrangement; I
+had rather wondered that I had seen so little of her this day. She had
+come once or twice on necessary errands into my room in the morning,
+but had appeared to be in great haste, and had avoided meeting my eye.
+Even when I had returned the letters, which she had entrusted to me
+with so evident a purpose of placing the writer in my good opinion, she
+had never inquired as to how far they had answered her design; she had
+merely taken them with some low word of thanks, and put them hurriedly
+into her pocket. I suppose she shrank from remembering how fully she
+had given me her confidence the night before, now that daylight and
+actual life pressed close around her. Besides, there surely never
+was anyone in such constant request as Thekla. I did not like this
+estrangement, though it was the natural consequence of my improved
+health, which would daily make me less and less require services which
+seemed so urgently claimed by others. And, moreover, after my host
+left me—I fear I had cut him a little short in the recapitulation of
+his domestic difficulties, but he was too thorough and good-hearted a
+man to bear malice—I wanted to be amused or interested. So I rang my
+little hand-bell, hoping that Thekla would answer it, when I could have
+fallen into conversation with her, without specifying any decided want.
+Instead of Thekla the Fräulein came, and I had to invent a wish; for I
+could not act as a baby, and say that I wanted my nurse. However, the
+Fräulein was better than no one, so I asked her if I could have some
+grapes, which had been provided for me on every day but this, and which
+were especially grateful to my feverish palate. She was a good, kind
+woman, although, perhaps, her temper was not the best in the world;
+and she expressed the sincerest regret as she told me that there were
+no more in the house. Like an invalid I fretted at my wish not being
+granted, and spoke out.
+
+“But Thekla told me the vintage was not till the fourteenth; and you
+have a vineyard close beyond the garden on the slope of the hill out
+there, have you not?”
+
+“Yes; and grapes for the gathering. But perhaps the gentleman does not
+know our laws. Until the vintage—(the day of beginning the vintage is
+fixed by the Grand Duke, and advertised in the public papers)—until
+the vintage, all owners of vineyards may only go on two appointed days
+in every week to gather their grapes; on those two days (Tuesdays and
+Fridays this year) they must gather enough for the wants of their
+families; and if they do not reckon rightly, and gather short measure,
+why they have to go without. And these two last days the Half-Moon has
+been besieged with visitors, all of whom have asked for grapes. But
+to-morrow the gentleman can have as many as he will; it is the day for
+gathering them.”
+
+“What a strange kind of paternal law,” I grumbled out. “Why is it so
+ordained? Is it to secure the owners against pilfering from their
+unfenced vineyards?”
+
+“I am sure I cannot tell,” she replied. “Country people in these
+villages have strange customs in many ways, as I daresay the English
+gentleman has perceived. If he would come to Worms he would see a
+different kind of life.”
+
+“But not a view like this,” I replied, caught by a sudden change of
+light—some cloud passing away from the sun, or something. Right outside
+of the windows was, as I have so often said, the garden. Trained
+plum-trees with golden leaves, great bushes of purple, Michaelmas
+daisy, late flowering roses, apple-trees partly stripped of their rosy
+fruit, but still with enough left on their boughs to require the props
+set to support the luxuriant burden; to the left an arbour covered
+over with honeysuckle and other sweet-smelling creepers—all bounded by
+a low gray stone wall which opened out upon the steep vineyard, that
+stretched up the hill beyond, one hill of a series rising higher and
+higher into the purple distance. “Why is there a rope with a bunch of
+straw tied in it stretched across the opening of the garden into the
+vineyard?” I inquired, as my eye suddenly caught upon the object.
+
+“It is the country way of showing that no one must pass along that
+path. To-morrow the gentleman will see it removed; and then he shall
+have the grapes. Now I will go and prepare his coffee.” With a
+curtsey, after the fashion of Worms gentility, she withdrew. But an
+under-servant brought me my coffee; and with her I could not exchange
+a word: she spoke in such an execrable patois. I went to bed early,
+weary, and depressed. I must have fallen asleep immediately, for I
+never heard any one come to arrange my bed-side table; yet in the
+morning I found that every usual want or wish of mine had been attended
+to.
+
+I was wakened by a tap at my door, and a pretty piping child’s voice
+asking, in broken German, to come in. On giving the usual permission,
+Thekla entered, carrying a great lovely boy of two years old, or
+thereabouts, who had only his little night-shirt on, and was all
+flushed with sleep. He held tight in his hands a great cluster of
+muscatel and noble grapes. He seemed like a little Bacchus, as she
+carried him towards me with an expression of pretty loving pride upon
+her face as she looked at him. But when he came close to me—the grim,
+wasted, unshorn—he turned quick away, and hid his face in her neck,
+still grasping tight his bunch of grapes. She spoke to him rapidly and
+softly, coaxing him as I could tell full well, although I could not
+follow her words; and in a minute or two the little fellow obeyed her,
+and turned and stretched himself almost to overbalancing out of her
+arms, and half-dropped the fruit on the bed by me. Then he clutched at
+her again, burying his face in her kerchief, and fastening his little
+fists in her luxuriant hair.
+
+[Illustration p. 129: He seemed like a little Bacchus.]
+
+“It is my master’s only boy,” said she, disentangling his fingers with
+quiet patience, only to have them grasp her braids afresh. “He is my
+little Max, my heart’s delight, only he must not pull so hard. Say
+his ‘to-meet-again,’ and kiss his hand lovingly, and we will go.” The
+promise of a speedy departure from my dusky room proved irresistible;
+he babbled out his Aufwiedersehen, and kissing his chubby hand, he was
+borne away joyful and chattering fast in his infantile half-language. I
+did not see Thekla again until late afternoon, when she brought me in
+my coffee. She was not like the same creature as the blooming, cheerful
+maiden whom I had seen in the morning; she looked wan and careworn,
+older by several years.
+
+“What is the matter, Thekla?” said I, with true anxiety as to what
+might have befallen my good, faithful nurse.
+
+She looked round before answering. “I have seen him,” she said. “He has
+been here, and the Fräulein has been so angry! She says she will tell
+my master. Oh, it has been such a day!” The poor young woman, who was
+usually so composed and self-restrained, was on the point of bursting
+into tears; but by a strong effort she checked herself, and tried to
+busy herself with rearranging the white china cup, so as to place it
+more conveniently to my hand.
+
+“Come, Thekla,” said I, “tell me all about it. I have heard loud voices
+talking, and I fancied something had put the Fräulein out; and Lottchen
+looked flurried when she brought me my dinner. Is Franz here? How has
+he found you out?”
+
+“He is here. Yes, I am sure it is he; but four years makes such a
+difference in a man; his whole look and manner seemed so strange to me;
+but he knew me at once, and called me all the old names which we used
+to call each other when we were children; and he must needs tell me how
+it had come to pass that he had not married that Swiss Anna. He said he
+had never loved her; and that now he was going home to settle, and he
+hoped that I would come too, and——” There she stopped short.
+
+“And marry him, and live at the inn at Altenahr,” said I, smiling, to
+reassure her, though I felt rather disappointed about the whole affair.
+
+“No,” she replied. “Old Weber, his father, is dead; he died in debt,
+and Franz will have no money. And he was always one that needed money.
+Some are, you know; and while I was thinking, and he was standing near
+me, the Fräulein came in; and—and—I don’t wonder—for poor Franz is
+not a pleasant-looking man now-a-days—she was very angry, and called
+me a bold, bad girl, and said she could have no such goings on at the
+‘Halbmond,’ but would tell my master when he came home from the forest.”
+
+“But you could have told her that you were old friends.” I hesitated,
+before saying the word lovers, but, after a pause, out it came.
+
+“Franz might have said so,” she replied, a little stiffly. “I could
+not; but he went off as soon as she bade him. He went to the ‘Adler’
+over the way, only saying he would come for my answer to-morrow
+morning. I think it was he that should have told her what we
+were—neighbours’ children and early friends—not have left it all to me.
+Oh,” said she, clasping her hands tight together, “she will make such a
+story of it to my master.”
+
+“Never mind,” said I, “tell the master I want to see him, as soon as
+he comes in from the forest, and trust me to set him right before the
+Fräulein has the chance to set him wrong.”
+
+She looked up at me gratefully, and went away without any more words.
+Presently the fine burly figure of my host stood at the opening to
+my enclosed sitting-room. He was there, three-cornered hat in hand,
+looking tired and heated as a man does after a hard day’s work, but as
+kindly and genial as ever, which is not what every man is who is called
+to business after such a day, before he has had the necessary food and
+rest.
+
+I had been reflecting a good deal on Thekla’s story; I could not quite
+interpret her manner to-day to my full satisfaction; but yet the love
+which had grown with her growth, must assuredly have been called forth
+by her lover’s sudden reappearance; and I was inclined to give him
+some credit for having broken off an engagement to Swiss Anna, which
+had promised so many worldly advantages; and, again, I had considered
+that if he was a little weak and sentimental, it was Thekla, who would
+marry him by her own free will, and perhaps she had sense and quiet
+resolution enough for both. So I gave the heads of the little history I
+have told you to my good friend and host, adding that I should like to
+have a man’s opinion of this man; but that if he were not an absolute
+good-for-nothing, and if Thekla still loved him, as I believed, I
+would try and advance them the requisite money towards establishing
+themselves in the hereditary inn at Altenahr.
+
+Such was the romantic ending to Thekla’s sorrows, I had been planning
+and brooding over for the last hour. As I narrated my tale, and hinted
+at the possible happy conclusion that might be in store, my host’s
+face changed. The ruddy colour faded, and his look became almost
+stern—certainly very grave in expression. It was so unsympathetic,
+that I instinctively cut my words short. When I had done, he paused a
+little, and then said: “You would wish me to learn all I can respecting
+this stranger now at the ‘Adler,’ and give you the impression I receive
+of the fellow.”
+
+“Exactly so,” said I; “I want to learn all I can about him for Thekla’s
+sake.”
+
+“For Thekla’s sake I will do it,” he gravely repeated.
+
+“And come to me to-night, even if I am gone to bed?”
+
+“Not so,” he replied. “You must give me all the time you can in a
+matter like this.”
+
+“But he will come for Thekla’s answer in the morning.”
+
+“Before he comes you shall know all I can learn.”
+
+I was resting during the fatigues of dressing the next day, when my
+host tapped at my door. He looked graver and sterner than I had ever
+seen him do before; he sat down almost before I had begged him to do so.
+
+“He is not worthy of her,” he said. “He drinks brandy right hard; he
+boasts of his success at play, and”—here he set his teeth hard—“he
+boasts of the women who have loved him. In a village like this, sir,
+there are always those who spend their evenings in the gardens of the
+inns; and this man, after he had drank his fill, made no secrets; it
+needed no spying to find out what he was, else I should not have been
+the one to do it.”
+
+“Thekla must be told of this,” said I. “She is not the woman to love
+any one whom she cannot respect.”
+
+Herr Müller laughed a low bitter laugh, quite unlike himself. Then he
+replied,—
+
+“As for that matter, sir, you are young; you have had no great
+experience of women. From what my sister tells me there can be little
+doubt of Thekla’s feeling towards him. She found them standing together
+by the window; his arm round Thekla’s waist, and whispering in her
+ear—and to do the maiden justice she is not the one to suffer such
+familiarities from every one. No”—continued he, still in the same
+contemptuous tone—“you’ll find she will make excuses for his faults and
+vices; or else, which is perhaps more likely, she will not believe your
+story, though I who tell it you can vouch for the truth of every word
+I say.” He turned short away and left the room. Presently I saw his
+stalwart figure in the hill-side vineyard, before my windows, scaling
+the steep ascent with long regular steps, going to the forest beyond.
+I was otherwise occupied than in watching his progress during the next
+hour; at the end of that time he re-entered my room, looking heated and
+slightly tired, as if he had been walking fast, or labouring hard; but
+with the cloud off his brows, and the kindly light shining once again
+out of his honest eyes.
+
+“I ask your pardon, sir,” he began, “for troubling you afresh. I
+believe I was possessed by the devil this morning. I have been thinking
+it over. One has perhaps no right to rule for another person’s
+happiness. To have such a”—here the honest fellow choked a little—“such
+a woman as Thekla to love him ought to raise any man. Besides, I am no
+judge for him or for her. I have found out this morning that I love her
+myself, and so the end of it is, that if you, sir, who are so kind as
+to interest yourself in the matter, and if you think it is really her
+heart’s desire to marry this man—which ought to be his salvation both
+for earth and heaven—I shall be very glad to go halves with you in any
+place for setting them up in the inn at Altenahr; only allow me to see
+that whatever money we advance is well and legally tied up, so that it
+is secured to her. And be so kind as to take no notice of what I have
+said about my having found out that I have loved her; I named it as a
+kind of apology for my hard words this morning, and as a reason why I
+was not a fit judge of what was best.” He had hurried on, so that I
+could not have stopped his eager speaking even had I wished to do so;
+but I was too much interested in the revelation of what was passing in
+his brave tender heart to desire to stop him. Now, however, his rapid
+words tripped each other up, and his speech ended in an unconscious
+sigh.
+
+“But,” I said, “since you were here Thekla has come to me, and we
+have had a long talk. She speaks now as openly to me as she would if
+I were her brother; with sensible frankness, where frankness is wise,
+with modest reticence, where confidence would be unbecoming. She came
+to ask me, if I thought it her duty to marry this fellow, whose very
+appearance, changed for the worse, as she says it is, since she last
+saw him four years ago, seemed to have repelled her.”
+
+“She could let him put his arm round her waist yesterday,” said Herr
+Müller, with a return of his morning’s surliness.
+
+“And she would marry him now if she could believe it to be her duty.
+For some reason of his own, this Franz Weber has tried to work upon
+this feeling of hers. He says it would be the saving of him.”
+
+“As if a man had not strength enough in him—a man who is good for
+aught—to save himself, but needed a woman to pull him through life!”
+
+“Nay,” I replied, hardly able to keep from smiling. “You yourself said,
+not five minutes ago, that her marrying him might be his salvation both
+for earth and heaven.”
+
+“That was when I thought she loved the fellow,” he answered quick.
+“Now——but what did you say to her, sir?”
+
+“I told her, what I believe to be as true as gospel, that as she owned
+she did not love him any longer now his real self had come to displace
+his remembrance, that she would be sinning in marrying him; doing evil
+that possible good might come. I was clear myself on this point, though
+I should have been perplexed how to advise, if her love had still
+continued.”
+
+“And what answer did she make?”
+
+“She went over the history of their lives; she was pleading against her
+wishes to satisfy her conscience. She said that all along through their
+childhood she had been his strength; that while under her personal
+influence he had been negatively good; away from her, he had fallen
+into mischief—”
+
+“Not to say vice,” put in Herr Müller.
+
+“And now he came to her penitent, in sorrow, desirous of amendment,
+asking her for the love she seems to have considered as tacitly
+plighted to him in years gone by—”
+
+“And which he has slighted and insulted. I hope you told her of his
+words and conduct last night in the ‘Adler’ gardens?”
+
+“No. I kept myself to the general principle, which, I am sure, is a
+true one. I repeated it in different forms; for the idea of the duty
+of self-sacrifice had taken strong possession of her fancy. Perhaps,
+if I had failed in setting her notion of her duty in the right aspect,
+I might have had recourse to the statement of facts, which would have
+pained her severely, but would have proved to her how little his words
+of penitence and promises of amendment were to be trusted to.”
+
+“And it ended?”
+
+“Ended by her being quite convinced that she would be doing wrong
+instead of right if she married a man whom she had entirely ceased to
+love, and that no real good could come from a course of action based on
+wrong-doing.”
+
+“That is right and true,” he replied, his face broadening into
+happiness again.
+
+“But she says she must leave your service, and go elsewhere.”
+
+“Leave my service she shall; go elsewhere she shall not.”
+
+“I cannot tell what you may have the power of inducing her to do; but
+she seems to me very resolute.”
+
+“Why?” said he, firing round at me, as if I had made her resolute.
+
+“She says your sister spoke to her before the maids of the household,
+and before some of the townspeople, in a way that she could not stand;
+and that you yourself by your manner to her last night showed how she
+had lost your respect. She added, with her face of pure maidenly truth,
+that he had come into such close contact with her only the instant
+before your sister had entered the room.”
+
+“With your leave, sir,” said Herr Müller, turning towards the door, “I
+will go and set all that right at once.”
+
+It was easier said than done. When I next saw Thekla, her eyes were
+swollen up with crying, but she was silent, almost defiant towards
+me. A look of resolute determination had settled down upon her face.
+I learnt afterwards that parts of my conversation with Herr Müller
+had been injudiciously quoted by him in the talk he had had with her.
+I thought I would leave her to herself, and wait till she unburdened
+herself of the feeling of unjust resentment towards me. But it was days
+before she spoke to me with anything like her former frankness. I had
+heard all about it from my host long before.
+
+He had gone to her straight on leaving me; and like a foolish,
+impetuous lover, had spoken out his mind and his wishes to her in
+the presence of his sister, who, it must be remembered, had heard no
+explanation of the conduct which had given her propriety so great a
+shock the day before. Herr Müller thought to re-instate Thekla in his
+sister’s good opinion by giving her in the Fräulein’s very presence
+the highest possible mark of his own love and esteem. And there in
+the kitchen, where the Fräulein was deeply engaged in the hot work
+of making some delicate preserve on the stove, and ordering Thekla
+about with short, sharp displeasure in her tones, the master had come
+in, and possessing himself of the maiden’s hand, had, to her infinite
+surprise—to his sister’s infinite indignation—made her the offer of
+his heart, his wealth, his life; had begged of her to marry him. I
+could gather from his account that she had been in a state of trembling
+discomfiture at first; she had not spoken, but had twisted her hand out
+of his, and had covered her face with her apron. And then the Fräulein
+had burst forth—“accursed words” he called her speech. Thekla uncovered
+her face to listen; to listen to the end; to listen to the passionate
+recrimination between the brother and the sister. And then she went
+up, close up to the angry Fräulein, and had said quite quietly, but
+with a manner of final determination which had evidently sunk deep
+into her suitor’s heart, and depressed him into hopelessness, that the
+Fräulein had no need to disturb herself; that on this very day she had
+been thinking of marrying another man, and that her heart was not like
+a room to let, into which as one tenant went out another might enter.
+Nevertheless, she felt the master’s goodness. He had always treated her
+well from the time when she had entered the house as his servant. And
+she should be sorry to leave him; sorry to leave the children; very
+sorry to leave little Max: yes, she should even be sorry to leave the
+Fräulein, who was a good woman, only a little too apt to be hard on
+other women. But she had already been that very day and deposited her
+warning at the police office; the busy time would be soon over, and
+she should be glad to leave their service on All Saints’ Day. Then (he
+thought) she had felt inclined to cry, for she suddenly braced herself
+up, and said, yes, she should be very glad; for somehow, though they
+had been kind to her, she had been very unhappy at Heppenheim; and she
+would go back to her home for a time, and see her old father and kind
+stepmother, and her nursling half-sister Ida, and be among her own
+people again.
+
+I could see it was this last part that most of all rankled in Herr
+Müller’s mind. In all probability Franz Weber was making his way back
+to Heppenheim too; and the bad suspicion would keep welling up that
+some lingering feeling for her old lover and disgraced playmate was
+making her so resolute to leave and return to Altenahr.
+
+For some days after this I was the confidant of the whole household,
+excepting Thekla. She, poor creature, looked miserable enough; but
+the hardy, defiant expression was always on her face. Lottchen spoke
+out freely enough; the place would not be worth having if Thekla left
+it; it was she who had the head for everything, the patience for
+everything; who stood between all the under-servants and the Fräulein’s
+tempers. As for the children, poor motherless children! Lottchen was
+sure that the master did not know what he was doing when he allowed
+his sister to turn Thekla away—and all for what? for having a lover,
+as every girl had who could get one. Why, the little boy Max slept in
+the room which Lottchen shared with Thekla; and she heard him in the
+night as quickly as if she was his mother; when she had been sitting up
+with me, when I was so ill, Lottchen had had to attend to him; and it
+was weary work after a hard day to have to get up and soothe a teething
+child; she knew she had been cross enough sometimes; but Thekla was
+always good and gentle with him, however tired he was. And as Lottchen
+left the room I could hear her repeating that she thought she should
+leave when Thekla went, for that her place would not be worth having.
+
+Even the Fräulein had her word of regret—regret mingled with
+self-justification. She thought she had been quite right in speaking to
+Thekla for allowing such familiarities; how was she to know that the
+man was an old friend and playmate? He looked like a right profligate
+good-for-nothing. And to have a servant take up her scolding as an
+unpardonable offence, and persist in quitting her place, just when
+she had learnt all her work, and was so useful in the household—so
+useful that the Fräulein could never put up with any fresh, stupid
+house-maiden, but, sooner than take the trouble of teaching the new
+servant where everything was, and how to give out the stores if she was
+busy, she would go back to Worms. For, after all, housekeeping for a
+brother was thankless work; there was no satisfying men; and Heppenheim
+was but a poor ignorant village compared to Worms.
+
+She must have spoken to her brother about her intention of leaving him,
+and returning to her former home; indeed a feeling of coolness had
+evidently grown up between the brother and sister during these latter
+days. When one evening Herr Müller brought in his pipe, and, as his
+custom had sometimes been, sat down by my stove to smoke, he looked
+gloomy and annoyed. I let him puff away, and take his own time. At
+length he began,—
+
+“I have rid the village of him at last. I could not bear to have him
+here disgracing Thekla with speaking to her whenever she went to the
+vineyard or the fountain. I don’t believe she likes him a bit.”
+
+“No more do I,” I said. He turned on me.
+
+“Then why did she speak to him at all? Why cannot she like an honest
+man who likes her? Why is she so bent on going home to Altenahr?”
+
+“She speaks to him because she has known him from a child, and has a
+faithful pity for one whom she has known so innocent, and who is now so
+lost in all good men’s regard. As for not liking an honest man—(though
+I may have my own opinion about that)—liking goes by fancy, as we
+say in English; and Altenahr is her home; her father’s house is at
+Altenahr, as you know.”
+
+“I wonder if he will go there,” quoth Herr Müller, after two or three
+more puffs. “He was fast at the ‘Adler;’ he could not pay his score, so
+he kept on staying here, saying that he should receive a letter from a
+friend with money in a day or two; lying in wait, too, for Thekla, who
+is well-known and respected all through Heppenheim: so his being an old
+friend of hers made him have a kind of standing. I went in this morning
+and paid his score, on condition that he left the place this day; and
+he left the village as merrily as a cricket, caring no more for Thekla
+than for the Kaiser who built our church: for he never looked back at
+the ‘Halbmond,’ but went whistling down the road.”
+
+“That is a good riddance,” said I.
+
+“Yes. But my sister says she must return to Worms. And Lottchen has
+given notice; she says the place will not be worth having when Thekla
+leaves. I wish I could give notice too.”
+
+“Try Thekla again.”
+
+“Not I,” said he, reddening. “It would seem now as if I only wanted
+her for a housekeeper. Besides, she avoids me at every turn, and will
+not even look at me. I am sure she bears me some ill-will about that
+ne’er-do-well.”
+
+There was silence between us for some time, which he at length broke.
+
+“The pastor has a good and comely daughter. Her mother is a famous
+housewife. They often have asked me to come to the parsonage and smoke
+a pipe. When the vintage is over, and I am less busy, I think I will go
+there, and look about me.”
+
+“When is the vintage?” asked I. “I hope it will take place soon, for I
+am growing so well and strong I fear I must leave you shortly; but I
+should like to see the vintage first.”
+
+“Oh, never fear! you must not travel yet awhile; and Government has
+fixed the grape-gathering to begin on the fourteenth.”
+
+“What a paternal Government! How does it know when the grapes will
+be ripe? Why cannot every man fix his own time for gathering his own
+grapes?”
+
+“That has never been our way in Germany. There are people employed by
+the Government to examine the vines, and report when the grapes are
+ripe. It is necessary to make laws about it; for, as you must have
+seen, there is nothing but the fear of the law to protect our vineyards
+and fruit-trees; there are no enclosures along the Berg-Strasse, as you
+tell me you have in England; but, as people are only allowed to go into
+the vineyards on stated days, no one, under pretence of gathering his
+own produce, can stray into his neighbour’s grounds and help himself,
+without some of the duke’s foresters seeing him.”
+
+“Well,” said I, “to each country its own laws.”
+
+I think it was on that very evening that Thekla came in for something.
+She stopped arranging the tablecloth and the flowers, as if she had
+something to say, yet did not know how to begin. At length I found that
+her sore, hot heart, wanted some sympathy; her hand was against every
+one’s, and she fancied every one had turned against her. She looked up
+at me, and said, a little abruptly,—
+
+“Does the gentleman know that I go on the fifteenth?”
+
+“So soon?” said I, with surprise. “I thought you were to remain here
+till All Saints’ Day.”
+
+“So I should have done—so I must have done—if the Fräulein had not
+kindly given me leave to accept of a place—a very good place too—of
+housekeeper to a widow lady at Frankfort. It is just the sort of
+situation I have always wished for. I expect I shall be so happy and
+comfortable there.”
+
+“Methinks the lady doth profess too much,” came into my mind. I saw she
+expected me to doubt the probability of her happiness, and was in a
+defiant mood.
+
+“Of course,” said I, “you would hardly have wished to leave Heppenheim
+if you had been happy here; and every new place always promises fair,
+whatever its performance may be. But wherever you go, remember you have
+always a friend in me.”
+
+“Yes,” she replied, “I think you are to be trusted. Though, from my
+experience, I should say that of very few men.”
+
+“You have been unfortunate,” I answered; “many men would say the same
+of women.”
+
+She thought a moment, and then said, in a changed tone of voice, “The
+Fräulein here has been much more friendly and helpful of these late
+days than her brother; yet I have served him faithfully, and have cared
+for his little Max as though he were my own brother. But this morning
+he spoke to me for the first time for many days,—he met me in the
+passage, and, suddenly stopping, he said he was glad I had met with so
+comfortable a place, and that I was at full liberty to go whenever I
+liked: and then he went quickly on, never waiting for my answer.”
+
+“And what was wrong in that? It seems to me he was trying to make you
+feel entirely at your ease, to do as you thought best, without regard
+to his own interests.”
+
+“Perhaps so. It is silly, I know,” she continued, turning full on me
+her grave, innocent eyes; “but one’s vanity suffers a little when every
+one is so willing to part with one.”
+
+“Thekla! I owe you a great debt—let me speak to you openly. I know
+that your master wanted to marry you, and that you refused him. Do not
+deceive yourself. You are sorry for that refusal now?”
+
+She kept her serious look fixed upon me; but her face and throat
+reddened all over.
+
+“No,” said she, at length; “I am not sorry. What can you think I am
+made of; having loved one man ever since I was a little child until a
+fortnight ago, and now just as ready to love another? I know you do not
+rightly consider what you say, or I should take it as an insult.”
+
+“You loved an ideal man; he disappointed you, and you clung to your
+remembrance of him. He came, and the reality dispelled all illusions.”
+
+“I do not understand philosophy,” said she. “I only know that I think
+that Herr Müller had lost all respect for me from what his sister had
+told him; and I know that I am going away; and I trust I shall be
+happier in Frankfort than I have been here of late days.” So saying,
+she left the room.
+
+I was wakened up on the morning of the fourteenth by the merry ringing
+of church bells, and the perpetual firing and popping off of guns
+and pistols. But all this was over by the time I was up and dressed,
+and seated at breakfast in my partitioned room. It was a perfect
+October day; the dew not yet off the blades of grass, glistening on
+the delicate gossamer webs, which stretched from flower to flower
+in the garden, lying in the morning shadow of the house. But beyond
+the garden, on the sunny hill-side, men, women, and children were
+clambering up the vineyards like ants,—busy, irregular in movement,
+clustering together, spreading wide apart,—I could hear the shrill
+merry voices as I sat,—and all along the valley, as far as I could
+see, it was much the same; for every one filled his house for the day
+of the vintage, that great annual festival. Lottchen, who had brought
+in my breakfast, was all in her Sunday best, having risen early to get
+her work done and go abroad to gather grapes. Bright colours seemed to
+abound; I could see dots of scarlet, and crimson, and orange through
+the fading leaves; it was not a day to languish in the house; and I
+was on the point of going out by myself, when Herr Müller came in to
+offer me his sturdy arm, and help me in walking to the vineyard. We
+crept through the garden scented with late flowers and sunny fruit,—we
+passed through the gate I had so often gazed at from the easy-chair,
+and were in the busy vineyard; great baskets lay on the grass already
+piled nearly full of purple and yellow grapes. The wine made from
+these was far from pleasant to my taste; for the best Rhine wine is
+made from a smaller grape, growing in closer, harder clusters; but the
+larger and less profitable grape is by far the most picturesque in its
+mode of growth, and far the best to eat into the bargain. Wherever we
+trod, it was on fragrant, crushed vine-leaves; every one we saw had
+his hands and face stained with the purple juice. Presently I sat down
+on a sunny bit of grass, and my host left me to go farther afield, to
+look after the more distant vineyards. I watched his progress. After
+he left me, he took off coat and waistcoat, displaying his snowy shirt
+and gaily-worked braces; and presently he was as busy as any one. I
+looked down on the village; the gray and orange and crimson roofs lay
+glowing in the noonday sun. I could see down into the streets; but they
+were all empty—even the old people came toiling up the hill-side to
+share in the general festivity. Lottchen had brought up cold dinners
+for a regiment of men; every one came and helped himself. Thekla was
+there, leading the little Karoline, and helping the toddling steps
+of Max; but she kept aloof from me; for I knew, or suspected, or had
+probed too much. She alone looked sad and grave, and spoke so little,
+even to her friends, that it was evident to see that she was trying
+to wean herself finally from the place. But I could see that she had
+lost her short, defiant manner. What she did say was kindly and gently
+spoken. The Fräulein came out late in the morning, dressed, I suppose,
+in the latest Worms fashion—quite different to anything I had ever seen
+before. She came up to me, and talked very graciously to me for some
+time.
+
+“Here comes the proprietor (squire) and his lady, and their dear
+children. See, the vintagers have tied bunches of the finest grapes on
+to a stick, heavier than the children or even the lady can carry. Look!
+look! how he bows!—one can tell he has been an _attaché_ at Vienna.
+That is the court way of bowing there—holding the hat right down before
+them, and bending the back at right angles. How graceful! And here
+is the doctor! I thought he would spare time to come up here. Well,
+doctor, you will go all the more cheerfully to your next patient for
+having been up into the vineyards. Nonsense, about grapes making other
+patients for you. Ah, here is the pastor and his wife, and the Fräulein
+Anna. Now, where is my brother, I wonder? Up in the far vineyard, I
+make no doubt. Mr. Pastor, the view up above is far finer than what
+it is here, and the best grapes grow there; shall I accompany you and
+madame, and the dear Fräulein? The gentleman will excuse me.”
+
+I was left alone. Presently I thought I would walk a little farther,
+or at any rate change my position. I rounded a corner in the pathway,
+and there I found Thekla, watching by little sleeping Max. He lay on
+her shawl; and over his head she had made an arching canopy of broken
+vine-branches, so that the great leaves threw their cool, flickering
+shadows on his face. He was smeared all over with grape-juice, his
+sturdy fingers grasped a half-eaten bunch even in his sleep. Thekla was
+keeping Lina quiet by teaching her how to weave a garland for her head
+out of field-flowers and autumn-tinted leaves. The maiden sat on the
+ground, with her back to the valley beyond, the child kneeling by her,
+watching the busy fingers with eager intentness. Both looked up as I
+drew near, and we exchanged a few words.
+
+“Where is the master?” I asked. “I promised to await his return; he
+wished to give me his arm down the wooden steps; but I do not see him.”
+
+“He is in the higher vineyard,” said Thekla, quietly, but not looking
+round in that direction. “He will be some time there, I should think.
+He went with the pastor and his wife; he will have to speak to his
+labourers and his friends. My arm is strong, and I can leave Max in
+Lina’s care for five minutes. If you are tired, and want to go back,
+let me help you down the steps; they are steep and slippery.”
+
+I had turned to look up the valley. Three or four hundred yards off,
+in the higher vineyard, walked the dignified pastor, and his homely,
+decorous wife. Behind came the Fräulein Anna, in her short-sleeved
+Sunday gown, daintily holding a parasol over her luxuriant brown
+hair. Close behind her came Herr Müller, stopping now to speak to his
+men,—again, to cull out a bunch of grapes to tie on to the Fräulein’s
+stick; and by my feet sate the proud serving-maid in her country dress,
+waiting for my answer, with serious, up-turned eyes, and sad, composed
+face.
+
+“No, I am much obliged to you, Thekla; and if I did not feel so strong
+I would have thankfully taken your arm. But I only wanted to leave a
+message for the master, just to say that I have gone home.”
+
+“Lina will give it to the father when he comes down,” said Thekla.
+
+I went slowly down into the garden. The great labour of the day was
+over, and the younger part of the population had returned to the
+village, and were preparing the fireworks and pistol-shootings for the
+evening. Already one or two of those well-known German carts (in the
+shape of a V) were standing near the vineyard gates, the patient oxen
+meekly waiting while basketful after basketful of grapes were being
+emptied into the leaf-lined receptacle.
+
+As I sat down in my easy-chair close to the open window through which I
+had entered, I could see the men and women on the hill-side drawing to
+a centre, and all stand round the pastor, bareheaded, for a minute or
+so. I guessed that some words of holy thanksgiving were being said, and
+I wished that I had stayed to hear them, and mark my especial gratitude
+for having been spared to see that day. Then I heard the distant
+voices, the deep tones of the men, the shriller pipes of women and
+children, join in the German harvest-hymn, which is generally sung on
+such occasions;[1] then silence, while I concluded that a blessing was
+spoken by the pastor, with outstretched arms; and then they once more
+dispersed, some to the village, some to finish their labours for the
+day among the vines. I saw Thekla coming through the garden with Max in
+her arms, and Lina clinging to her woollen skirts. Thekla made for my
+open window; it was rather a shorter passage into the house than round
+by the door. “I may come through, may I not?” she asked, softly. “I
+fear Max is not well; I cannot understand his look, and he wakened up
+so strange!” She paused to let me see the child’s face; it was flushed
+almost to a crimson look of heat, and his breathing was laboured and
+uneasy, his eyes half-open and filmy.
+
+“Something is wrong, I am sure,” said I. “I don’t know anything about
+children, but he is not in the least like himself.”
+
+She bent down and kissed the cheek so tenderly that she would not
+have bruised the petal of a rose. “Heart’s darling,” she murmured. He
+quivered all over at her touch, working his fingers in an unnatural
+kind of way, and ending with a convulsive twitching all over his body.
+Lina began to cry at the grave, anxious look on our faces.
+
+“You had better call the Fräulein to look at him,” said I. “I feel sure
+he ought to have a doctor; I should say he was going to have a fit.”
+
+“The Fräulein and the master are gone to the pastor’s for coffee, and
+Lottchen is in the higher vineyard, taking the men their bread and
+beer. Could you find the kitchen girl, or old Karl? he will be in the
+stables, I think. I must lose no time.” Almost without waiting for my
+reply, she had passed through the room, and in the empty house I could
+hear her firm, careful footsteps going up the stair; Lina’s pattering
+beside her; and the one voice wailing, the other speaking low comfort.
+
+I was tired enough, but this good family had treated me too much like
+one of their own for me not to do what I could in such a case as this.
+I made my way out into the street, for the first time since I had come
+to the house on that memorable evening six weeks ago. I bribed the
+first person I met to guide me to the doctor’s, and send him straight
+down to the “Halbmond,” not staying to listen to the thorough scolding
+he fell to giving me; then on to the parsonage, to tell the master and
+the Fräulein of the state of things at home.
+
+I was sorry to be the bearer of bad news into such a festive chamber
+as the pastor’s. There they sat, resting after heat and fatigue,
+each in their best gala dress, the table spread with “Dicker-milch,”
+potato-salad, cakes of various shapes and kinds—all the dainty cates
+dear to the German palate. The pastor was talking to Herr Müller,
+who stood near the pretty young Fräulein Anna, in her fresh white
+chemisette, with her round white arms, and her youthful coquettish
+airs, as she prepared to pour out the coffee; our Fräulein was talking
+busily to the Frau Mama; the younger boys and girls of the family
+filling up the room. A ghost would have startled the assembled party
+less than I did, and would probably have been more welcome, considering
+the news I brought. As he listened, the master caught up his hat and
+went forth, without apology or farewell. Our Fräulein made up for
+both, and questioned me fully; but now she, I could see, was in haste
+to go, although restrained by her manners, and the kind-hearted Frau
+Pastorin soon set her at liberty to follow her inclination. As for me
+I was dead-beat, and only too glad to avail myself of the hospitable
+couple’s pressing request that I would stop and share their meal. Other
+magnates of the village came in presently, and relieved me of the
+strain of keeping up a German conversation about nothing at all with
+entire strangers. The pretty Fräulein’s face had clouded over a little
+at Herr Müller’s sudden departure; but she was soon as bright as could
+be, giving private chase and sudden little scoldings to her brothers,
+as they made raids upon the dainties under her charge. After I was
+duly rested and refreshed, I took my leave; for I, too, had my quieter
+anxieties about the sorrow in the Müller family.
+
+The only person I could see at the “Halbmond” was Lottchen; every one
+else was busy about the poor little Max, who was passing from one fit
+into another. I told Lottchen to ask the doctor to come in and see me
+before he took his leave for the night, and tired as I was, I kept up
+till after his visit, though it was very late before he came; I could
+see from his face how anxious he was. He would give me no opinion as to
+the child’s chances of recovery, from which I guessed that he had not
+much hope. But when I expressed my fear he cut me very short.
+
+“The truth is, you know nothing about it; no more do I, for that
+matter. It is enough to try any man, much less a father, to hear his
+perpetual moans—not that he is conscious of pain, poor little worm; but
+if she stops for a moment in her perpetual carrying him backwards and
+forwards, he plains so piteously it is enough to—enough to make a man
+bless the Lord who never led him into the pit of matrimony. To see the
+father up there, following her as she walks up and down the room, the
+child’s head over her shoulder, and Müller trying to make the heavy
+eyes recognize the old familiar ways of play, and the chirruping sounds
+which he can scarce make for crying——I shall be here to-morrow early,
+though before that either life or death will have come without the old
+doctor’s help.”
+
+All night long I dreamt my feverish dream—of the vineyard—the carts,
+which held little coffins instead of baskets of grapes—of the pastor’s
+daughter, who would pull the dying child out of Thekla’s arms; it was
+a bad, weary night! I slept long into the morning; the broad daylight
+filled my room, and yet no one had been near to waken me! Did that
+mean life or death? I got up and dressed as fast as I could; for I
+was aching all over with the fatigue of the day before. Out into the
+sitting-room; the table was laid for breakfast, but no one was there.
+I passed into the house beyond, up the stairs, blindly seeking for the
+room where I might know whether it was life or death. At the door of a
+room I found Lottchen crying; at the sight of me in that unwonted place
+she started, and began some kind of apology, broken both by tears and
+smiles, as she told me that the doctor said the danger was over—past,
+and that Max was sleeping a gentle peaceful slumber in Thekla’s
+arms—arms that had held him all through the livelong night.
+
+“Look at him, sir; only go in softly; it is a pleasure to see the child
+to-day; tread softly, sir.”
+
+She opened the chamber-door. I could see Thekla sitting, propped up by
+cushions and stools, holding her heavy burden, and bending over him
+with a look of tenderest love. Not far off stood the Fräulein, all
+disordered and tearful, stirring or seasoning some hot soup, while the
+master stood by her impatient. As soon as it was cooled or seasoned
+enough he took the basin and went to Thekla, and said something very
+low; she lifted up her head, and I could see her face; pale, weary with
+watching, but with a soft peaceful look upon it, which it had not worn
+for weeks. Fritz Müller began to feed her, for her hands were occupied
+in holding his child; I could not help remembering Mrs. Inchbald’s
+pretty description of Dorriforth’s anxiety in feeding Miss Milner; she
+compares it, if I remember rightly, to that of a tender-hearted boy,
+caring for his darling bird, the loss of which would embitter all the
+joys of his holidays. We closed the door without noise, so as not to
+waken the sleeping child. Lottchen brought me my coffee and bread; she
+was ready either to laugh or to weep on the slightest occasion. I could
+not tell if it was in innocence or mischief. She asked me the following
+question,—
+
+“Do you think Thekla will leave to-day, sir?”
+
+In the afternoon I heard Thekla’s step behind my extemporary screen. I
+knew it quite well. She stopped for a moment before emerging into my
+view.
+
+She was trying to look as composed as usual, but, perhaps because her
+steady nerves had been shaken by her night’s watching, she could not
+help faint touches of dimples at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes
+were veiled from any inquisitive look by their drooping lids.
+
+“I thought you would like to know that the doctor says Max is quite out
+of danger now. He will only require care.”
+
+“Thank you, Thekla; Doctor —— has been in already this afternoon to
+tell me so, and I am truly glad.”
+
+She went to the window, and looked out for a moment. Many people were
+in the vineyards again to-day; although we, in our household anxiety,
+had paid them but little heed. Suddenly she turned round into the room,
+and I saw that her face was crimson with blushes. In another instant
+Herr Müller entered by the window.
+
+“Has she told you, sir?” said he, possessing himself of her hand, and
+looking all a-glow with happiness. “Hast thou told our good friend?”
+addressing her.
+
+“No. I was going to tell him, but I did not know how to begin.”
+
+“Then I will prompt thee. Say after me—‘I have been a wilful, foolish
+woman——’”
+
+She wrenched her hand out of his, half-laughing—“I am a foolish woman,
+for I have promised to marry him. But he is a still more foolish man,
+for he wishes to marry me. That is what I say.”
+
+“And I have sent Babette to Frankfort with the pastor. He is going
+there, and will explain all to Frau v. Schmidt; and Babette will serve
+her for a time. When Max is well enough to have the change of air the
+doctor prescribes for him, thou shalt take him to Altenahr, and thither
+will I also go; and become known to thy people and thy father. And
+before Christmas the gentleman here shall dance at our wedding.”
+
+“I must go home to England, dear friends, before many days are over.
+Perhaps we may travel together as far as Remagen. Another year I will
+come back to Heppenheim and see you.”
+
+As I planned it, so it was. We left Heppenheim all together on a lovely
+All-Saints’ Day. The day before—the day of All-Souls—I had watched
+Fritz and Thekla lead little Lina up to the Acre of God, the Field of
+Rest, to hang the wreath of immortelles on her mother’s grave. Peace be
+with the dead and the living.
+
+
+
+
+LIBBIE MARSH’S THREE ERAS.
+
+ERA I.
+
+VALENTINE’S DAY.
+
+
+Last November but one, there was a flitting in our neighbourhood;
+hardly a flitting, after all, for it was only a single person changing
+her place of abode from one lodging to another; and instead of a
+cartload of drawers and baskets, dressers and beds, with old king
+clock at the top of all, it was only one large wooden chest to be
+carried after the girl, who moved slowly and heavily along the streets,
+listless and depressed, more from the state of her mind than of her
+body. It was Libbie Marsh, who had been obliged to quit her room in
+Dean Street, because the acquaintances whom she had been living with
+were leaving Manchester. She tried to think herself fortunate in having
+met with lodgings rather more out of the town, and with those who were
+known to be respectable; she did indeed try to be contented, but in
+spite of her reason, the old feeling of desolation came over her, as
+she was now about to be thrown again entirely among strangers.
+
+No. 2, —— Court, Albemarle Street, was reached at last, and the pace,
+slow as it was, slackened as she drew near the spot where she was to be
+left by the man who carried her box, for, trivial as her acquaintance
+with him was, he was not quite a stranger, as every one else was,
+peering out of their open doors, and satisfying themselves it was only
+“Dixon’s new lodger.”
+
+Dixon’s house was the last on the left-hand side of the court. A high
+dead brick wall connected it with its opposite neighbour. All the
+dwellings were of the same monotonous pattern, and one side of the
+court looked at its exact likeness opposite, as if it were seeing
+itself in a looking-glass.
+
+Dixon’s house was shut up, and the key left next door; but the woman
+in whose charge it was left knew that Libbie was expected, and came
+forward to say a few explanatory words, to unlock the door, and stir
+the dull grey ashes that were lazily burning in the grate: and then she
+returned to her own house, leaving poor Libbie standing alone with the
+great big chest in the middle of the house-place floor, with no one to
+say a word to (even a common-place remark would have been better than
+this dull silence), that could help her to repel the fast-coming tears.
+
+Dixon and his wife, and their eldest girl, worked in factories, and
+were absent all day from the house: the youngest child, also a little
+girl, was boarded out on the week-days at the neighbour’s where the
+door-key was deposited, but although busy making dirt-pies, at the
+entrance to the court, when Libbie came in, she was too young to care
+much about her parents’ new lodger. Libbie knew that she was to sleep
+with the elder girl in the front bedroom, but, as you may fancy, it
+seemed a liberty even to go upstairs to take off her things, when no
+one was at home to marshal the way up the ladder-like steps. So she
+could only take off her bonnet, and sit down, and gaze at the now
+blazing fire, and think sadly on the past, and on the lonely creature
+she was in this wide world—father and mother gone, her little brother
+long since dead—he would have been more than nineteen had he been
+alive, but she only thought of him as the darling baby; her only
+friends (to call friends) living far away at their new house; her
+employers, kind enough people in their way, but too rapidly twirling
+round on this bustling earth to have leisure to think of the little
+work-woman, excepting when they wanted gowns turned, carpets mended,
+or household linen darned; and hardly even the natural though hidden
+hope of a young girl’s heart, to cheer her on with the bright visions
+of a home of her own at some future day, where, loving and beloved, she
+might fulfil a woman’s dearest duties.
+
+For Libbie was very plain, as she had known so long that the
+consciousness of it had ceased to mortify her. You can hardly live in
+Manchester without having some idea of your personal appearance: the
+factory lads and lasses take good care of that; and if you meet them
+at the hours when they are pouring out of the mills, you are sure to
+hear a good number of truths, some of them combined with such a spirit
+of impudent fun, that you can scarcely keep from laughing, even at the
+joke against yourself. Libbie had often and often been greeted by such
+questions as—“How long is it since you were a beauty?”—“What would you
+take a day to stand in the fields to scare away the birds?” &c., for
+her to linger under any impression as to her looks.
+
+While she was thus musing, and quietly crying, under the pictures her
+fancy had conjured up, the Dixons came dropping in, and surprised her
+with her wet cheeks and quivering lips.
+
+She almost wished to have the stillness again that had so oppressed her
+an hour ago, they talked and laughed so loudly and so much, and bustled
+about so noisily over everything they did. Dixon took hold of one
+iron handle of her box, and helped her to bump it upstairs, while his
+daughter Anne followed to see the unpacking, and what sort of clothes
+“little sewing body had gotten.” Mrs. Dixon rattled out her tea-things,
+and put the kettle on, fetched home her youngest child, which added to
+the commotion. Then she called Anne downstairs, and sent her for this
+thing and that: eggs to put to the cream, it was so thin; ham, to give
+a relish to the bread and butter; some new bread, hot, if she could get
+it. Libbie heard all these orders, given at full pitch of Mrs. Dixon’s
+voice, and wondered at their extravagance, so different from the habits
+of the place where she had last lodged. But they were fine spinners,
+in the receipt of good wages; and confined all day in an atmosphere
+ranging from seventy-five to eighty degrees. They had lost all natural,
+healthy appetite for simple food, and, having no higher tastes, found
+their greatest enjoyment in their luxurious meals.
+
+When tea was ready, Libbie was called downstairs, with a rough but
+hearty invitation, to share their meal; she sat mutely at the corner
+of the tea-table, while they went on with their own conversation about
+people and things she knew nothing about, till at length she ventured
+to ask for a candle, to go and finish her unpacking before bedtime,
+as she had to go out sewing for several succeeding days. But once in
+the comparative peace of her bedroom, her energy failed her, and she
+contented herself with locking her Noah’s ark of a chest, and put out
+her candle, and went to sit by the window, and gaze out at the bright
+heavens; for ever and ever “the blue sky, that bends over all,” sheds
+down a feeling of sympathy with the sorrowful at the solemn hours when
+the ceaseless stars are seen to pace its depths.
+
+By-and-by her eye fell down to gazing at the corresponding window to
+her own, on the opposite side of the court. It was lighted, but the
+blind was drawn down: upon the blind she saw, first unconsciously, the
+constant weary motion of a little spectral shadow, a child’s hand and
+arm—no more; long, thin fingers hanging down from the wrist, while the
+arm moved up and down, as if keeping time to the heavy pulses of dull
+pain. She could not help hoping that sleep would soon come to still
+that incessant, feeble motion: and now and then it did cease, as if
+the little creature had dropped into a slumber from very weariness;
+but presently the arm jerked up with the fingers clenched, as if
+with a sudden start of agony. When Anne came up to bed, Libbie was
+still sitting, watching the shadow, and she directly asked to whom it
+belonged.
+
+“It will be Margaret Hall’s lad. Last summer, when it was so hot, there
+was no biding with the window shut at night, and theirs was open too:
+and many’s the time he has waked me with his moans; they say he’s been
+better sin’ cold weather came.”
+
+“Is he always in bed? Whatten ails him?” asked Libbie.
+
+“Summat’s amiss wi’ his backbone, folks say; he’s better and worse,
+like. He’s a nice little chap enough, and his mother’s not that bad
+either; only my mother and her had words, so now we don’t speak.”
+
+Libbie went on watching, and when she next spoke, to ask who and what
+his mother was, Anne Dixon was fast asleep.
+
+Time passed away, and as usual unveiled the hidden things. Libbie
+found out that Margaret Hall was a widow, who earned her living as a
+washerwoman; that the little suffering lad was her only child, her
+dearly beloved. That while she scolded, pretty nearly, everybody else,
+“till her name was up” in the neighbourhood for a termagant, to him
+she was evidently most tender and gentle. He lay alone on his little
+bed, near the window, through the day, while she was away toiling for
+a livelihood. But when Libbie had plain sewing to do at her lodgings,
+instead of going out to sew, she used to watch from her bedroom window
+for the time when the shadows opposite, by their mute gestures, told
+that the mother had returned to bend over her child, to smooth his
+pillow, to alter his position, to get him his nightly cup of tea. And
+often in the night Libbie could not help rising gently from bed, to see
+if the little arm was waving up and down, as was his accustomed habit
+when sleepless from pain.
+
+Libbie had a good deal of sewing to do at home that winter, and
+whenever it was not so cold as to benumb her fingers, she took it
+upstairs, in order to watch the little lad in her few odd moments of
+pause. On his better days he could sit up enough to peep out of his
+window, and she found he liked to look at her. Presently she ventured
+to nod to him across the court; and his faint smile, and ready nod back
+again, showed that this gave him pleasure. I think she would have been
+encouraged by this smile to have proceeded to a speaking acquaintance,
+if it had not been for his terrible mother, to whom it seemed to be
+irritation enough to know that Libbie was a lodger at the Dixons’ for
+her to talk at her whenever they encountered each other, and to live
+evidently in wait for some good opportunity of abuse.
+
+With her constant interest in him, Libbie soon discovered his great
+want of an object on which to occupy his thoughts, and which might
+distract his attention, when alone through the long day, from the pain
+he endured. He was very fond of flowers. It was November when she had
+first removed to her lodgings, but it had been very mild weather, and
+a few flowers yet lingered in the gardens, which the country people
+gathered into nosegays, and brought on market-days into Manchester.
+His mother had brought him a bunch of Michaelmas daisies the very day
+Libbie had become a neighbour, and she watched their history. He put
+them first in an old teapot, of which the spout was broken off and the
+lid lost; and he daily replenished the teapot from the jug of water
+his mother left near him to quench his feverish thirst. By-and-by, one
+or two of the constellation of lilac stars faded, and then the time he
+had hitherto spent in admiring, almost caressing them, was devoted to
+cutting off those flowers whose decay marred the beauty of the nosegay.
+It took him half the morning, with his feeble, languid motions, and
+his cumbrous old scissors, to trim up his diminished darlings. Then at
+last he seemed to think he had better preserve the few that remained
+by drying them; so they were carefully put between the leaves of the
+old Bible; and then, whenever a better day came, when he had strength
+enough to lift the ponderous book, he used to open the pages to look at
+his flower friends. In winter he could have no more living flowers to
+tend.
+
+Libbie thought and thought, till at last an idea flashed upon her mind,
+that often made a happy smile steal over her face as she stitched
+away, and that cheered her through the solitary winter—for solitary
+it continued to be, though the Dixons were very good sort of people,
+never pressed her for payment, if she had had but little work to do
+that week; never grudged her a share of their extravagant meals, which
+were far more luxurious than she could have met with anywhere else,
+for her previously agreed payment in case of working at home; and they
+would fain have taught her to drink rum in her tea, assuring her that
+she should have it for nothing and welcome. But they were too touchy,
+too prosperous, too much absorbed in themselves, to take off Libbie’s
+feeling of solitariness; not half as much as the little face by day,
+and the shadow by night, of him with whom she had never yet exchanged a
+word.
+
+Her idea was this: her mother came from the east of England, where, as
+perhaps you know, they have the pretty custom of sending presents on
+St. Valentine’s day, with the donor’s name unknown, and, of course, the
+mystery constitutes half the enjoyment. The fourteenth of February was
+Libbie’s birthday too, and many a year, in the happy days of old, had
+her mother delighted to surprise her with some little gift, of which
+she more than half-guessed the giver, although each Valentine’s day the
+manner of its arrival was varied. Since then the fourteenth of February
+had been the dreariest of all the year, because the most haunted by
+memory of departed happiness. But now, this year, if she could not have
+the old gladness of heart herself, she would try and brighten the life
+of another. She would save, and she would screw, but she would buy a
+canary and a cage for that poor little laddie opposite, who wore out
+his monotonous life with so few pleasures, and so much pain.
+
+I doubt I may not tell you here of the anxieties and the fears, of
+the hopes and the self-sacrifices—all, perhaps small in the tangible
+effect as the widow’s mite, yet not the less marked by the viewless
+angels who go about continually among us—which varied Libbie’s life
+before she accomplished her purpose. It is enough to say it was
+accomplished. The very day before the fourteenth she found time to go
+with her half-guinea to a barber’s who lived near Albemarle Street, and
+who was famous for his stock of singing-birds. There are enthusiasts
+about all sorts of things, both good and bad, and many of the weavers
+in Manchester know and care more about birds than any one would easily
+credit. Stubborn, silent, reserved men on many things, you have only to
+touch on the subject of birds to light up their faces with brightness.
+They will tell you who won the prizes at the last canary show, where
+the prize birds may be seen, and give you all the details of those
+funny, but pretty and interesting mimicries of great people’s cattle
+shows. Among these amateurs, Emanuel Morris the barber was an oracle.
+
+He took Libbie into his little back room, used for private shaving of
+modest men, who did not care to be exhibited in the front shop decked
+out in the full glories of lather; and which was hung round with birds
+in rude wicker cages, with the exception of those who had won prizes,
+and were consequently honoured with gilt-wire prisons. The longer and
+thinner the body of the bird was, the more admiration it received, as
+far as external beauty went; and when, in addition to this, the colour
+was deep and clear, and its notes strong and varied, the more did
+Emanuel dwell upon its perfections. But these were all prize birds;
+and, on inquiry, Libbie heard, with some little sinking at heart, that
+their price ran from one to two guineas.
+
+“I’m not over-particular as to shape and colour,” said she, “I should
+like a good singer, that’s all!”
+
+She dropped a little in Emanuel’s estimation. However, he showed her
+his good singers, but all were above Libbie’s means.
+
+“After all, I don’t think I care so much about the singing very loud;
+it’s but a noise after all, and sometimes noise fidgets folks.”
+
+“They must be nesh folks as is put out with the singing o’ birds,”
+replied Emanuel, rather affronted.
+
+“It’s for one who is poorly,” said Libbie, deprecatingly.
+
+“Well,” said he, as if considering the matter, “folk that are cranky,
+often take more to them as shows ’em love, than to them as is clever
+and gifted. Happen yo’d rather have this’n,” opening a cage-door,
+and calling to a dull-coloured bird, sitting moped up in a corner,
+“Here—Jupiter, Jupiter!”
+
+The bird smoothed its feathers in an instant, and, uttering a little
+note of delight, flew to Emanuel, putting his beak to his lips, as if
+kissing him, and then, perching on his head, it began a gurgling warble
+of pleasure, not by any means so varied or so clear as the song of the
+others, but which pleased Libbie more; for she was always one to find
+out she liked the gooseberries that were accessible, better than the
+grapes that were beyond her reach. The price too was just right, so
+she gladly took possession of the cage, and hid it under her cloak,
+preparatory to carrying it home. Emanuel meanwhile was giving her
+directions as to its food, with all the minuteness of one loving his
+subject.
+
+“Will it soon get to know any one?” asked she.
+
+“Give him two days only, and you and he’ll be as thick as him and me
+are now. You’ve only to open his door, and call him, and he’ll follow
+you round the room; but he’ll first kiss you, and then perch on your
+head. He only wants larning, which I’ve no time to give him, to do many
+another accomplishment.”
+
+“What’s his name? I did not rightly catch it.”
+
+“Jupiter,—it’s not common; but the town’s o’errun with Bobbies and
+Dickies, and as my birds are thought a bit out o’ the way, I like to
+have better names for ’em, so I just picked a few out o’ my lad’s
+school books. It’s just as ready, when you’re used to it, to say
+Jupiter as Dicky.”
+
+“I could bring my tongue round to Peter better; would he answer to
+Peter?” asked Libbie, now on the point of departing.
+
+“Happen he might; but I think he’d come readier to the three syllables.”
+
+On Valentine’s day, Jupiter’s cage was decked round with ivy leaves,
+making quite a pretty wreath on the wicker work; and to one of them
+was pinned a slip of paper, with these words, written in Libbie’s best
+round hand:—
+
+“From your faithful Valentine. Please take notice his name is Peter,
+and he’ll come if you call him, after a bit.”
+
+But little work did Libbie do that afternoon, she was so engaged in
+watching for the messenger who was to bear her present to her little
+valentine, and run away as soon as he had delivered up the canary, and
+explained to whom it was sent.
+
+At last he came; then there was a pause before the woman of the house
+was at liberty to take it upstairs. Then Libbie saw the little face
+flush up into a bright colour, the feeble hands tremble with delighted
+eagerness, the head bent down to try and make out the writing (beyond
+his power, poor lad, to read), the rapturous turning round of the
+cage in order to see the canary in every point of view, head, tail,
+wings, and feet; an intention in which Jupiter, in his uneasiness at
+being again among strangers, did not second, for he hopped round so,
+as continually to present a full front to the boy. It was a source of
+never wearying delight to the little fellow, till daylight closed in;
+he evidently forgot to wonder who had sent it him, in his gladness at
+his possession of such a treasure; and when the shadow of his mother
+darkened on the blind, and the bird had been exhibited, Libbie saw her
+do what, with all her tenderness, seemed rarely to have entered into
+her thoughts—she bent down and kissed her boy, in a mother’s sympathy
+with the joy of her child.
+
+The canary was placed for the night between the little bed and window;
+and when Libbie rose once, to take her accustomed peep, she saw the
+little arm put fondly round the cage, as if embracing his new treasure
+even in his sleep. How Jupiter slept this first night is quite another
+thing.
+
+So ended the first day in Libbie’s three eras in last year.
+
+
+ERA II.
+
+WHITSUNTIDE.
+
+The brightest, fullest daylight poured down into No. 2, —— Court,
+Albemarle Street, and the heat, even at the early hour of five, as at
+the noontide on the June days of many years past.
+
+The court seemed alive, and merry with voices and laughter. The bedroom
+windows were open wide, and had been so all night, on account of
+the heat; and every now and then you might see a head and a pair of
+shoulders, simply encased in shirt sleeves, popped out, and you might
+hear the inquiry passed from one to the other,—“Well, Jack, and where
+art thee bound for?”
+
+“Dunham!”
+
+“Why, what an old-fashioned chap thou be’st. Thy grandad afore
+thee went to Dunham: but thou wert always a slow coach. I’m off to
+Alderley,—me and my missis.”
+
+“Ay, that’s because there’s only thee and thy missis. Wait till thou
+hast gotten four childer, like me, and thou’lt be glad enough to take
+’em to Dunham, oud-fashioned way, for fourpence apiece.”
+
+“I’d still go to Alderley; I’d not be bothered with my children; they
+should keep house at home.”
+
+A pair of hands, the person to whom they belonged invisible, boxed his
+ears on this last speech, in a very spirited, though playful, manner,
+and the neighbours all laughed at the surprised look of the speaker,
+at this assault from an unseen foe. The man who had been holding
+conversation with him cried out,—
+
+“Sarved him right, Mrs. Slater: he knows nought about it yet; but
+when he gets them he’ll be as loth to leave the babbies at home on a
+Whitsuntide as any on us. We shall live to see him in Dunham Park yet,
+wi’ twins in his arms, and another pair on ’em clutching at daddy’s
+coat-tails, let alone your share of youngsters, missis.”
+
+At this moment our friend Libbie appeared at her window, and Mrs.
+Slater, who had taken her discomfited husband’s place, called out,—
+
+“Elizabeth Marsh, where are Dixons and you bound to?”
+
+“Dixons are not up yet; he said last night he’d take his holiday out in
+lying in bed. I’m going to the old-fashioned place, Dunham.”
+
+“Thou art never going by thyself, moping!”
+
+“No. I’m going with Margaret Hall and her lad,” replied Libbie, hastily
+withdrawing from the window, in order to avoid hearing any remarks on
+the associates she had chosen for her day of pleasure—the scold of the
+neighbourhood, and her sickly, ailing child!
+
+But Jupiter might have been a dove, and his ivy leaves an olive branch,
+for the peace he had brought, the happiness he had caused, to three
+individuals at least. For of course it could not long be a mystery
+who had sent little Frank Hall his valentine; nor could his mother
+long entertain her hard manner towards one who had given her child a
+new pleasure. She was shy, and she was proud, and for some time she
+struggled against the natural desire of manifesting her gratitude; but
+one evening, when Libbie was returning home, with a bundle of work half
+as large as herself, as she dragged herself along through the heated
+streets, she was overtaken by Margaret Hall, her burden gently pulled
+from her, and her way home shortened, and her weary spirits soothed
+and cheered, by the outpourings of Margaret’s heart; for the barrier
+of reserve once broken down, she had much to say, to thank her for
+days of amusement and happy employment for her lad, to speak of his
+gratitude, to tell of her hopes and fears,—the hopes and fears that
+made up the dates of her life. From that time, Libbie lost her awe of
+the termagant in interest for the mother, whose all was ventured in so
+frail a bark. From this time, Libbie was a fast friend with both mother
+and son, planning mitigations for the sorrowful days of the latter as
+eagerly as poor Margaret Hall, and with far more success. His life had
+flickered up under the charm and excitement of the last few months. He
+even seemed strong enough to undertake the journey to Dunham, which
+Libbie had arranged as a Whitsuntide treat, and for which she and his
+mother had been hoarding up for several weeks. The canal boat left
+Knott-mill at six, and it was now past five; so Libbie let herself out
+very gently, and went across to her friends. She knocked at the door of
+their lodging-room, and, without waiting for an answer, entered.
+
+Franky’s face was flushed, and he was trembling with excitement,—partly
+with pleasure, but partly with some eager wish not yet granted.
+
+“He wants sore to take Peter with him,” said his mother to Libbie, as
+if referring the matter to her. The boy looked imploringly at her.
+
+“He would like it, I know; for one thing, he’d miss me sadly, and
+chirrup for me all day long, he’d be so lonely. I could not be half so
+happy a-thinking on him, left alone here by himself. Then, Libbie, he’s
+just like a Christian, so fond of flowers and green leaves, and them
+sort of things. He chirrups to me so when mother brings me a pennyworth
+of wall-flowers to put round his cage. He would talk if he could, you
+know; but I can tell what he means quite as one as if he spoke. Do let
+Peter go, Libbie; I’ll carry him in my own arms.”
+
+So Jupiter was allowed to be of the party. Now Libbie had overcome the
+great difficulty of conveying Franky to the boat, by offering to “slay”
+for a coach, and the shouts and exclamations of the neighbours told
+them that their conveyance awaited them at the bottom of the court. His
+mother carried Franky, light in weight, though heavy in helplessness,
+and he would hold the cage, believing that he was thus redeeming his
+pledge, that Peter should be a trouble to no one. Libbie proceeded
+to arrange the bundle containing their dinner, as a support in the
+corner of the coach. The neighbours came out with many blunt speeches,
+and more kindly wishes, and one or two of them would have relieved
+Margaret of her burden, if she would have allowed it. The presence of
+that little crippled fellow seemed to obliterate all the angry feelings
+which had existed between his mother and her neighbours, and which had
+formed the politics of that little court for many a day.
+
+And now they were fairly off! Franky bit his lips in attempted
+endurance of the pain the motion caused him; he winced and shrank,
+until they were fairly on a Macadamized thoroughfare, when he closed
+his eyes, and seemed desirous of a few minutes’ rest. Libbie felt very
+shy, and very much afraid of being seen by her employers, “set up in a
+coach!” and so she hid herself in a corner, and made herself as small
+as possible; while Mrs. Hall had exactly the opposite feeling, and was
+delighted to stand up, stretching out of the window, and nodding to
+pretty nearly every one they met or passed on the foot-paths; and they
+were not a few, for the streets were quite gay, even at that early
+hour, with parties going to this or that railway station, or to the
+boats which crowded the canals on this bright holiday week; and almost
+every one they met seemed to enter into Mrs. Hall’s exhilaration of
+feeling, and had a smile or nod in return. At last she plumped down by
+Libbie, and exclaimed, “I never was in a coach but once afore, and that
+was when I was a-going to be married. It’s like heaven; and all done
+over with such beautiful gimp, too!” continued she, admiring the lining
+of the vehicle. Jupiter did not enjoy it so much.
+
+As if the holiday time, the lovely weather, and the “sweet hour of
+prime” had a genial influence, as no doubt they have, everybody’s
+heart seemed softened towards poor Franky. The driver lifted him out
+with the tenderness of strength, and bore him carefully down to the
+boat; the people then made way, and gave him the best seat in their
+power,—or rather I should call it a couch, for they saw he was weary,
+and insisted on his lying down,—an attitude he would have been ashamed
+to assume without the protection of his mother and Libbie, who now
+appeared, bearing their baskets and carrying Peter.
+
+Away the boat went, to make room for others, for every conveyance,
+both by land and water, is in requisition in Whitsun-week, to give
+the hard-worked crowds the opportunity of enjoying the charms of the
+country. Even every standing-place in the canal packets was occupied,
+and as they glided along, the banks were lined with people, who seemed
+to find it object enough to watch the boats go by, packed close
+and full with happy beings brimming with anticipations of a day’s
+pleasure. The country through which they passed is as uninteresting
+as can well be imagined; but still it is the country: and the screams
+of delight from the children, and the low laughs of pleasure from the
+parents, at every blossoming tree that trailed its wreath against some
+cottage wall, or at the tufts of late primroses which lingered in the
+cool depths of grass along the canal banks, the thorough relish of
+everything, as if dreading to let the least circumstance of this happy
+day pass over without its due appreciation, made the time seem all too
+short, although it took two hours to arrive at a place only eight miles
+from Manchester. Even Franky, with all his impatience to see Dunham
+woods (which I think he confused with London, believing both to be
+paved with gold), enjoyed the easy motion of the boat so much, floating
+along, while pictures moved before him, that he regretted when the time
+came for landing among the soft, green meadows, that came sloping down
+to the dancing water’s brim. His fellow-passengers carried him to the
+park, and refused all payment, although his mother had laid by sixpence
+on purpose, as a recompense for this service.
+
+“Oh, Libbie, how beautiful! Oh, mother, mother! is the whole world out
+of Manchester as beautiful as this? I did not know trees were like
+this! Such green homes for birds! Look, Peter! would not you like to be
+there, up among those boughs? But I can’t let you go, you know, because
+you’re my little bird brother, and I should be quite lost without you.”
+
+They spread a shawl upon the fine mossy turf, at the root of a
+beech-tree, which made a sort of natural couch, and there they laid
+him, and bade him rest, in spite of the delight which made him believe
+himself capable of any exertion. Where he lay,—always holding Jupiter’s
+cage, and often talking to him as to a playfellow,—he was on the verge
+of a green area, shut in by magnificent trees, in all the glory of
+their early foliage, before the summer heats had deepened their verdure
+into one rich, monotonous tint. And hither came party after party;
+old men and maidens, young men and children,—whole families trooped
+along after the guiding fathers, who bore the youngest in their arms,
+or astride upon their backs, while they turned round occasionally to
+the wives, with whom they shared some fond local remembrance. For
+years has Dunham Park been the favourite resort of the Manchester
+work-people; for more years than I can tell; probably ever since “the
+Duke,” by his canals, opened out the system of cheap travelling. Its
+scenery, too, which presents such a complete contrast to the whirl
+and turmoil of Manchester; so thoroughly woodland, with its ancestral
+trees (here and there lightning blanched); its “verdurous walls;” its
+grassy walks, leading far away into some glade, where you start at the
+rabbit rustling among the last year’s fern, and where the wood-pigeon’s
+call seems the only fitting and accordant sound. Depend upon it, this
+complete sylvan repose, this accessible quiet, this lapping the soul
+in green images of the country, forms the most complete contrast to a
+town’s-person, and consequently has over such the greatest power to
+charm.
+
+Presently Libbie found out she was very hungry. Now they were but
+provided with dinner, which was, of course, to be eaten as near twelve
+o’clock as might be; and Margaret Hall, in her prudence, asked a
+working-man near to tell her what o’clock it was.
+
+“Nay,” said he, “I’ll ne’er look at clock or watch to-day. I’ll not
+spoil my pleasure by finding out how fast it’s going away. If thou’rt
+hungry, eat. I make my own dinner hour, and I have eaten mine an hour
+ago.”
+
+So they had their veal pies, and then found out it was only about
+half-past ten o’clock; by so many pleasurable events had that morning
+been marked. But such was their buoyancy of spirits, that they only
+enjoyed their mistake, and joined in the general laugh against the man
+who had eaten his dinner somewhere about nine. He laughed most heartily
+of all, till, suddenly stopping, he said,—
+
+“I must not go on at this rate; laughing gives one such an appetite.”
+
+“Oh! if that’s all,” said a merry-looking man, lying at full length,
+and brushing the fresh scent out of the grass, while two or three
+little children tumbled over him, and crept about him, as kittens
+or puppies frolic with their parents, “if that’s all, we’ll have a
+subscription of eatables for them improvident folk as have eaten their
+dinner for their breakfast. Here’s a sausage pasty and a handful of
+nuts for my share. Bring round a hat, Bob, and see what the company
+will give.”
+
+Bob carried out the joke, much to little Franky’s amusement; and no one
+was so churlish as to refuse, although the contributions varied from a
+peppermint drop up to a veal pie and a sausage pasty.
+
+“It’s a thriving trade,” said Bob, as he emptied his hatful of
+provisions on the grass by Libbie’s side. “Besides, it’s tiptop, too,
+to live on the public. Hark! what is that?”
+
+The laughter and the chat were suddenly hushed, and mothers told their
+little ones to listen,—as, far away in the distance, now sinking and
+falling, now swelling and clear, came a ringing peal of children’s
+voices, blended together in one of those psalm tunes which we are all
+of us familiar with, and which bring to mind the old, old days, when
+we, as wondering children, were first led to worship “Our Father,” by
+those beloved ones who have since gone to the more perfect worship.
+Holy was that distant choral praise, even to the most thoughtless; and
+when it, in fact, was ended, in the instant’s pause, during which the
+ear awaits the repetition of the air, they caught the noontide hum
+and buzz of the myriads of insects who danced away their lives in the
+glorious day; they heard the swaying of the mighty woods in the soft
+but resistless breeze, and then again once more burst forth the merry
+jests and the shouts of childhood; and again the elder ones resumed
+their happy talk, as they lay or sat “under the greenwood tree.” Fresh
+parties came dropping in; some laden with wild flowers—almost with
+branches of hawthorn, indeed; while one or two had made prizes of the
+earliest dog-roses, and had cast away campion, stitchwort, ragged
+robin, all to keep the lady of the hedges from being obscured or hidden
+by the community.
+
+One after another drew near to Franky, and looked on with interest
+as he lay sorting the flowers given to him. Happy parents stood by,
+with their household bands around them, in health and comeliness, and
+felt the sad prophecy of those shrivelled limbs, those wasted fingers,
+those lamp-like eyes, with their bright, dark lustre. His mother was
+too eagerly watching his happiness to read the meaning of those grave
+looks, but Libbie saw them and understood them; and a chill shudder
+went through her, even on that day, as she thought on the future.
+
+“Ay! I thought we should give you a start!”
+
+A start they did give, with their terrible slap on Libbie’s back,
+as she sat idly grouping flowers, and following out her sorrowful
+thoughts. It was the Dixons. Instead of keeping their holiday by
+lying in bed, they and their children had roused themselves, and had
+come by the omnibus to the nearest point. For an instant the meeting
+was an awkward one, on account of the feud between Margaret Hall and
+Mrs. Dixon, but there was no long resisting of kindly mother Nature’s
+soothings, at that holiday time, and in that lonely tranquil spot;
+or if they could have been unheeded, the sight of Franky would have
+awed every angry feeling into rest, so changed was he since the Dixons
+had last seen him; and since he had been the Puck or Robin Goodfellow
+of the neighbourhood, whose marbles were always rolling under other
+people’s feet, and whose top-strings were always hanging in nooses to
+catch the unwary. Yes, he, the feeble, mild, almost girlish-looking
+lad, had once been a merry, happy rogue, and as such often cuffed by
+Mrs. Dixon, the very Mrs. Dixon who now stood gazing with the tears in
+her eyes. Could she, in sight of him, the changed, the fading, keep up
+a quarrel with his mother?
+
+“How long hast thou been here?” asked Dixon.
+
+“Welly on for all day,” answered Libbie.
+
+“Hast never been to see the deer, or the king and queen oaks? Lord, how
+stupid.”
+
+His wife pinched his arm, to remind him of Franky’s helpless condition,
+which of course tethered the otherwise willing feet. But Dixon had a
+remedy. He called Bob, and one or two others, and each taking a corner
+of the strong plaid shawl, they slung Franky as in a hammock, and thus
+carried him merrily along, down the wood paths, over the smooth, grassy
+turf, while the glimmering shine and shadow fell on his upturned face.
+The women walked behind, talking, loitering along, always in sight of
+the hammock; now picking up some green treasure from the ground, now
+catching at the low hanging branches of the horse-chestnut. The soul
+grew much on this day, and in these woods, and all unconsciously, as
+souls do grow. They followed Franky’s hammock-bearers up a grassy
+knoll, on the top of which stood a group of pine trees, whose stems
+looked like dark red gold in the sunbeams. They had taken Franky there
+to show him Manchester, far away in the blue plain, against which the
+woodland foreground cut with a soft clear line. Far, far away in the
+distance on that flat plain, you might see the motionless cloud of
+smoke hanging over a great town, and that was Manchester,—ugly, smoky
+Manchester, dear, busy, earnest, noble-working Manchester; where their
+children had been born, and where, perhaps, some lay buried; where
+their homes were, and where God had cast their lives, and told them to
+work out their destiny.
+
+“Hurrah! for oud smoke-jack!” cried Bob, putting Franky softly down on
+the grass, before he whirled his hat round, preparatory to a shout.
+“Hurrah! hurrah!” from all the men. “There’s the rim of my hat lying
+like a quoit yonder,” observed Bob quietly, as he replaced his brimless
+hat on his head with the gravity of a judge.
+
+“Here’s the Sunday-school children a-coming to sit on this shady side,
+and have their buns and milk. Hark! they’re singing the infant-school
+grace.”
+
+They sat close at hand, so that Franky could hear the words they sang,
+in rings of children, making, in their gay summer prints, newly donned
+for that week, garlands of little faces, all happy and bright upon
+that green hill-side. One little “Dot” of a girl came shily behind
+Franky, whom she had long been watching, and threw her half-bun at
+his side, and then ran away and hid herself, in very shame at the
+boldness of her own sweet impulse. She kept peeping from her screen at
+Franky all the time; and he meanwhile was almost too much pleased and
+happy to eat; the world was so beautiful, and men, women, and children
+all so tender and kind; so softened, in fact, by the beauty of this
+earth, so unconsciously touched by the spirit of love, which was the
+Creator of this lovely earth. But the day drew to an end; the heat
+declined; the birds once more began their warblings; the fresh scents
+again hung about plant, and tree, and grass, betokening the fragrant
+presence of the reviving dew, and—the boat time was near. As they trod
+the meadow-path once more, they were joined by many a party they had
+encountered during the day, all abounding in happiness, all full of
+the day’s adventures. Long-cherished quarrels had been forgotten, new
+friendships formed. Fresh tastes and higher delights had been imparted
+that day. We have all of us our look, now and then, called up by some
+noble or loving thought (our highest on earth), which will be our
+likeness in heaven. I can catch the glance on many a face, the glancing
+light of the cloud of glory from heaven, “which is our home.” That look
+was present on many a hard-worked, wrinkled countenance, as they turned
+backwards to catch a longing, lingering look at Dunham woods, fast
+deepening into blackness of night, but whose memory was to haunt, in
+greenness and freshness, many a loom, and workshop, and factory, with
+images of peace and beauty.
+
+That night, as Libbie lay awake, revolving the incidents of the day,
+she caught Franky’s voice through the open windows. Instead of the
+frequent moan of pain, he was trying to recall the burden of one of the
+children’s hymns,—
+
+  Here we suffer grief and pain,
+  Here we meet to part again;
+    In Heaven we part no more.
+          Oh! that will be joyful, &c.
+
+She recalled his question, the whispered question, to her, in the
+happiest part of the day. He asked Libbie, “Is Dunham like heaven? the
+people here are as kind as angels, and I don’t want heaven to be more
+beautiful than this place. If you and mother would but die with me, I
+should like to die, and live always there!” She had checked him, for
+she feared he was impious; but now the young child’s craving for some
+definite idea of the land to which his inner wisdom told him he was
+hastening, had nothing in it wrong, or even sorrowful, for—
+
+  In Heaven we part no more.
+
+
+ERA III.
+
+MICHAELMAS.
+
+The church clocks had struck three; the crowds of gentlemen returning
+to business, after their early dinners, had disappeared within offices
+and warehouses; the streets were clear and quiet, and ladies were
+venturing to sally forth for their afternoon shoppings and their
+afternoon calls.
+
+Slowly, slowly, along the streets, elbowed by life at every turn, a
+little funeral wound its quiet way. Four men bore along a child’s
+coffin; two women with bowed heads followed meekly.
+
+I need not tell you whose coffin it was, or who were those two
+mourners. All was now over with little Frank Hall: his romps, his
+games, his sickening, his suffering, his death. All was now over, but
+the Resurrection and the Life.
+
+His mother walked as in a stupor. Could it be that he was dead! If he
+had been less of an object of her thoughts, less of a motive for her
+labours, she could sooner have realized it. As it was, she followed
+his poor, cast-off, worn-out body as if she were borne along by some
+oppressive dream. If he were really dead, how could she be still alive?
+
+Libbie’s mind was far less stunned, and consequently far more active,
+than Margaret Hall’s. Visions, as in a phantasmagoria, came rapidly
+passing before her—recollections of the time (which seemed now so
+long ago) when the shadow of the feebly-waving arm first caught her
+attention; of the bright, strangely isolated day at Dunham Park, where
+the world had seemed so full of enjoyment, and beauty, and life; of
+the long-continued heat, through which poor Franky had panted away his
+strength in the little close room, where there was no escaping the hot
+rays of the afternoon sun; of the long nights when his mother and she
+had watched by his side, as he moaned continually, whether awake or
+asleep; of the fevered moaning slumber of exhaustion; of the pitiful
+little self-upbraidings for his own impatience of suffering, only
+impatient in his own eyes—most true and holy patience in the sight
+of others; and then the fading away of life, the loss of power, the
+increased unconsciousness, the lovely look of angelic peace, which
+followed the dark shadow on the countenance, where was he—what was he
+now?
+
+And so they laid him in his grave, and heard the solemn funeral words;
+but far off in the distance, as if not addressed to them.
+
+Margaret Hall bent over the grave to catch one last glance—she had not
+spoken, nor sobbed, nor done aught but shiver now and then, since the
+morning; but now her weight bore more heavily on Libbie’s arm, and
+without sigh or sound she fell an unconscious heap on the piled-up
+gravel. They helped Libbie to bring her round; but long after her
+half-opened eyes and altered breathing showed that her senses were
+restored, she lay, speechless and motionless, without attempting to
+rise from her strange bed, as if the earth contained nothing worth even
+that trifling exertion.
+
+At last Libbie and she left that holy, consecrated spot, and bent their
+steps back to the only place more consecrated still; where he had
+rendered up his spirit; and where memories of him haunted each common,
+rude piece of furniture that their eyes fell upon. As the woman of the
+house opened the door, she pulled Libbie on one side, and said—
+
+“Anne Dixon has been across to see you; she wants to have a word with
+you.”
+
+“I cannot go now,” replied Libbie, as she pushed hastily along, in
+order to enter the room (_his_ room), at the same time with the
+childless mother: for, as she had anticipated, the sight of that empty
+spot, the glance at the uncurtained open window, letting in the fresh
+air, and the broad, rejoicing light of day, where all had so long been
+darkened and subdued, unlocked the waters of the fountain, and long and
+shrill were the cries for her boy that the poor woman uttered.
+
+“Oh! dear Mrs. Hall,” said Libbie, herself drenched in tears, “do not
+take on so badly; I’m sure it would grieve _him_ sore if he were alive,
+and you know he is—Bible tells us so; and may be he’s here watching how
+we go on without him, and hoping we don’t fret over much.”
+
+Mrs. Hall’s sobs grew worse and more hysterical.
+
+“Oh! listen,” said Libbie, once more struggling against her own
+increasing agitation. “Listen! there’s Peter chirping as he always does
+when he’s put about, frightened like; and you know he that’s gone could
+never abide to hear the canary chirp in that shrill way.”
+
+Margaret Hall did check herself, and curb her expressions of agony,
+in order not to frighten the little creature he had loved; and as her
+outward grief subsided, Libbie took up the large old Bible, which fell
+open at the never-failing comfort of the fourteenth chapter of St.
+John’s Gospel.
+
+How often these large family Bibles do open at that chapter! as if,
+unused in more joyous and prosperous times, the soul went home to its
+words of loving sympathy when weary and sorrowful, just as the little
+child seeks the tender comfort of its mother in all its griefs and
+cares.
+
+And Margaret put back her wet, ruffled, grey hair from her heated,
+tear-stained, woeful face, and listened with such earnest eyes, trying
+to form some idea of the “Father’s house,” where her boy had gone to
+dwell.
+
+They were interrupted by a low tap at the door. Libbie went. “Anne
+Dixon has watched you home, and wants to have a word with you,” said
+the woman of the house, in a whisper. Libbie went back and closed
+the book, with a word of explanation to Margaret Hall, and then ran
+downstairs, to learn the reason of Anne’s anxiety to see her.
+
+“Oh, Libbie!” she burst out with, and then, checking herself with the
+remembrance of Libbie’s last solemn duty, “how’s Margaret Hall? But,
+of course, poor thing, she’ll fret a bit at first; she’ll be some time
+coming round, mother says, seeing it’s as well that poor lad is taken;
+for he’d always ha’ been a cripple, and a trouble to her—he was a fine
+lad once, too.”
+
+She had come full of another and a different subject; but the sight of
+Libbie’s sad, weeping face, and the quiet, subdued tone of her manner,
+made her feel it awkward to begin on any other theme than the one which
+filled up her companion’s mind. To her last speech Libbie answered
+sorrowfully—
+
+“No doubt, Anne, it’s ordered for the best; but oh! don’t call him,
+don’t think he could ever ha’ been, a trouble to his mother, though he
+were a cripple. She loved him all the more for each thing she had to do
+for him—I am sure I did.” Libbie cried a little behind her apron. Anne
+Dixon felt still more awkward in introducing the discordant subject.
+
+“Well! ‘flesh is grass,’ Bible says,” and having fulfilled the
+etiquette of quoting a text if possible, if not of making a moral
+observation on the fleeting nature of earthly things, she thought she
+was at liberty to pass on to her real errand.
+
+“You must not go on moping yourself, Libbie Marsh. What I wanted
+special for to see you this afternoon, was to tell you, you must come
+to my wedding to-morrow. Nanny Dawson has fallen sick, and there’s none
+as I should like to have bridesmaid in her place as well as you.”
+
+“To-morrow! Oh, I cannot!—indeed I cannot!”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+Libbie did not answer, and Anne Dixon grew impatient.
+
+“Surely, in the name o’ goodness, you’re never going to baulk yourself
+of a day’s pleasure for the sake of yon little cripple that’s dead and
+gone!”
+
+“No,—it’s not baulking myself of—don’t be angry, Anne Dixon, with him,
+please; but I don’t think it would be a pleasure to me,—I don’t feel as
+if I could enjoy it; thank you all the same. But I did love that little
+lad very dearly—I did,” sobbing a little, “and I can’t forget him and
+make merry so soon.”
+
+“Well—I never!” exclaimed Anne, almost angrily.
+
+“Indeed, Anne, I feel your kindness, and you and Bob have my best
+wishes,—that’s what you have; but even if I went, I should be thinking
+all day of him, and of his poor, poor mother, and they say it’s bad to
+think very much on them that’s dead, at a wedding.”
+
+“Nonsense,” said Anne, “I’ll take the risk of the ill-luck. After
+all, what is marrying? Just a spree, Bob says. He often says he does
+not think I shall make him a good wife, for I know nought about house
+matters, wi’ working in a factory; but he says he’d rather be uneasy
+wi’ me than easy wi’ anybody else. There’s love for you! And I tell him
+I’d rather have him tipsy than any one else sober.”
+
+“Oh! Anne Dixon, hush! you don’t know yet what it is to have a drunken
+husband. I have seen something of it: father used to get fuddled, and,
+in the long run, it killed mother, let alone—oh! Anne, God above only
+knows what the wife of a drunken man has to bear. Don’t tell,” said
+she, lowering her voice, “but father killed our little baby in one of
+his bouts; mother never looked up again, nor father either, for that
+matter, only his was in a different way. Mother will have gotten to
+little Jemmie now, and they’ll be so happy together,—and perhaps Franky
+too. Oh!” said she, recovering herself from her train of thought,
+“never say aught lightly of the wife’s lot whose husband is given to
+drink!”
+
+“Dear, what a preachment. I tell you what, Libbie, you’re as born an
+old maid as ever I saw. You’ll never be married to either drunken or
+sober.”
+
+Libbie’s face went rather red, but without losing its meek expression.
+
+“I know that as well as you can tell me; and more reason, therefore, as
+God has seen fit to keep me out of woman’s natural work, I should try
+and find work for myself. I mean,” seeing Anne Dixon’s puzzled look,
+“that as I know I’m never likely to have a home of my own, or a husband
+that would look to me to make all straight, or children to watch over
+or care for, all which I take to be woman’s natural work, I must not
+lose time in fretting and fidgetting after marriage, but just look
+about me for somewhat else to do. I can see many a one misses it in
+this. They will hanker after what is ne’er likely to be theirs, instead
+of facing it out, and settling down to be old maids; and, as old maids,
+just looking round for the odd jobs God leaves in the world for such as
+old maids to do. There’s plenty of such work, and there’s the blessing
+of God on them as does it.” Libbie was almost out of breath at this
+outpouring of what had long been her inner thoughts.
+
+“That’s all very true, I make no doubt, for them as is to be old maids;
+but as I’m not, please God to-morrow comes, you might have spared your
+breath to cool your porridge. What I want to know is, whether you’ll be
+bridesmaid to-morrow or not. Come, now do; it will do you good, after
+all your working, and watching, and slaving yourself for that poor
+Franky Hall.”
+
+“It was one of my odd jobs,” said Libbie, smiling, though her eyes
+were brimming over with tears; “but, dear Anne,” said she, recovering
+itself, “I could not do it to-morrow, indeed I could not.”
+
+“And I can’t wait,” said Anne Dixon, almost sulkily, “Bob and I put
+it off from to-day, because of the funeral, and Bob had set his heart
+on its being on Michaelmas-day; and mother says the goose won’t keep
+beyond to-morrow. Do come: father finds eatables, and Bob finds drink,
+and we shall be so jolly! and after we’ve been to church, we’re to
+walk round the town in pairs, white satin ribbon in our bonnets, and
+refreshments at any public-house we like, Bob says. And after dinner
+there’s to be a dance. Don’t be a fool; you can do no good by staying.
+Margaret Hall will have to go out washing, I’ll be bound.”
+
+“Yes, she must go to Mrs. Wilkinson’s, and, for that matter, I must go
+working too. Mrs. Williams has been after me to make her girl’s winter
+things ready; only I could not leave Franky, he clung so to me.”
+
+“Then you won’t be bridesmaid! is that your last word?”
+
+“It is; you must not be angry with me, Anne Dixon,” said Libbie,
+deprecatingly.
+
+But Anne was gone without a reply.
+
+With a heavy heart Libbie mounted the little staircase, for she felt
+how ungracious her refusal of Anne’s kindness must appear, to one who
+understood so little the feelings which rendered her acceptance of it a
+moral impossibility.
+
+On opening the door she saw Margaret Hall, with the Bible open on the
+table before her. For she had puzzled out the place where Libbie was
+reading, and, with her finger under the line, was spelling out the
+words of consolation, piecing the syllables together aloud, with the
+earnest anxiety of comprehension with which a child first learns to
+read. So Libbie took the stool by her side, before she was aware that
+any one had entered the room.
+
+“What did she want you for?” asked Margaret. “But I can guess; she
+wanted you to be at th’ wedding that is to come off this week, they
+say. Ay, they’ll marry, and laugh, and dance, all as one as if my boy
+was alive,” said she, bitterly. “Well, he was neither kith nor kin of
+yours, so I maun try and be thankful for what you’ve done for him, and
+not wonder at your forgetting him afore he’s well settled in his grave.”
+
+“I never can forget him, and I’m not going to the wedding,” said
+Libbie, quietly, for she understood the mother’s jealousy of her dead
+child’s claims.
+
+“I must go work at Mrs. Williams’ to-morrow,” she said, in explanation,
+for she was unwilling to boast of her tender, fond regret, which had
+been her principal motive for declining Anne’s invitation.
+
+“And I mun go washing, just as if nothing had happened,” sighed forth
+Mrs. Hall, “and I mun come home at night, and find his place empty,
+and all still where I used to be sure of hearing his voice ere ever
+I got up the stair: no one will ever call me mother again.” She fell
+crying pitifully, and Libbie could not speak for her own emotion for
+some time. But during this silence she put the keystone in the arch of
+thoughts she had been building up for many days; and when Margaret was
+again calm in her sorrow, Libbie said, “Mrs. Hall, I should like—would
+you like me to come for to live here altogether?”
+
+Margaret Hall looked up with a sudden light in her countenance, which
+encouraged Libbie to go on.
+
+“I could sleep with you, and pay half, you know; and we should be
+together in the evenings; and her as was home first would watch for the
+other, and” (dropping her voice) “we could talk of him at nights, you
+know.”
+
+She was going on, but Mrs. Hall interrupted her.
+
+“Oh, Libbie Marsh! and can you really think of coming to live wi’ me. I
+should like it above—but no! it must not be; you’ve no notion on what
+a creature I am, at times; more like a mad one when I’m in a rage,
+and I cannot keep it down. I seem to get out of bed wrong side in the
+morning, and I must have my passion out with the first person I meet.
+Why, Libbie,” said she, with a doleful look of agony on her face, “I
+even used to fly out on him, poor sick lad as he was, and you may judge
+how little you can keep it down frae that. No, you must not come. I
+must live alone now,” sinking her voice into the low tones of despair.
+
+But Libbie’s resolution was brave and strong. “I’m not afraid,” said
+she, smiling. “I know you better than you know yourself, Mrs. Hall.
+I’ve seen you try of late to keep it down, when you’ve been boiling
+over, and I think you’ll go on a-doing so. And at any rate, when you’ve
+had your fit out, you’re very kind, and I can forget if you’ve been a
+bit put out. But I’ll try not to put you out. Do let me come: I think
+_he_ would like us to keep together. I’ll do my very best to make you
+comfortable.”
+
+“It’s me! it’s me as will be making your life miserable with my temper;
+or else, God knows, how my heart clings to you. You and me is folk
+alone in the world, for we both loved one who is dead, and who had
+none else to love him. If you will live with me, Libbie, I’ll try as I
+never did afore to be gentle and quiet-tempered. Oh! will you try me,
+Libbie Marsh?” So out of the little grave there sprang a hope and a
+resolution, which made life an object to each of the two.
+
+
+When Elizabeth Marsh returned home the next evening from her day’s
+labours, Anne (Dixon no longer) crossed over, all in her bridal finery,
+to endeavour to induce her to join the dance going on in her father’s
+house.
+
+“Dear Anne, this is good of you, a-thinking of me to-night,” said
+Libbie, kissing her, “and though I cannot come,—I’ve promised Mrs. Hall
+to be with her,—I shall think on you, and I trust you’ll be happy. I
+have got a little needle-case I have looked out for you; stay, here it
+is,—I wish it were more—only——”
+
+“Only, I know what. You’ve been a-spending all your money in nice
+things for poor Franky. Thou’rt a real good un, Libbie, and I’ll keep
+your needle-book to my dying day, that I will.” Seeing Anne in such a
+friendly mood, emboldened Libbie to tell her of her change of place; of
+her intention of lodging henceforward with Margaret Hall.
+
+“Thou never will! Why father and mother are as fond of thee as can be;
+they’ll lower thy rent if that’s what it is—and thou knowst they never
+grudge thee bit or drop. And Margaret Hall, of all folk, to lodge wi’!
+She’s such a Tartar! Sooner than not have a quarrel, she’d fight right
+hand against left. Thou’lt have no peace of thy life. What on earth can
+make you think of such a thing, Libbie Marsh?”
+
+“She’ll be so lonely without me,” pleaded Libbie. “I’m sure I could
+make her happier, even if she did scold me a bit now and then, than
+she’d be a living alone, and I’m not afraid of her; and I mean to do my
+best not to vex her: and it will ease her heart, maybe, to talk to me
+at times about Franky. I shall often see your father and mother, and I
+shall always thank them for their kindness to me. But they have you and
+little Mary, and poor Mrs. Hall has no one.”
+
+Anne could only repeat, “Well, I never!” and hurry off to tell the news
+at home.
+
+But Libbie was right. Margaret Hall is a different woman to the scold
+of the neighbourhood she once was; touched and softened by the two
+purifying angels, Sorrow and Love. And it is beautiful to see her
+affection, her reverence, for Libbie Marsh. Her dead mother could
+hardly have cared for her more tenderly than does the hard-hearted
+washerwoman, not long ago so fierce and unwomanly. Libbie, herself, has
+such peace shining on her countenance, as almost makes it beautiful, as
+she tenders the services of a daughter to Franky’s mother, no longer
+the desolate lonely orphan, a stranger on the earth.
+
+
+Do you ever read the moral, concluding sentence of a story? I never do,
+but I once (in the year 1811, I think) heard of a deaf old lady, living
+by herself, who did; and as she may have left some descendants with
+the same amiable peculiarity, I will put in, for their benefit, what I
+believe to be the secret of Libbie’s peace of mind, the real reason why
+she no longer feels oppressed at her own loneliness in the world,—
+
+
+She has a purpose in life; and that purpose is a holy one.
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE.
+
+
+In the town of —— (no matter where) there circulated two local
+newspapers (no matter when). Now the _Flying Post_ was long established
+and respectable—alias bigoted and Tory; the _Examiner_ was spirited
+and intelligent—alias new-fangled and democratic. Every week these
+newspapers contained articles abusing each other; as cross and peppery
+as articles could be, and evidently the production of irritated minds,
+although they seemed to have one stereotyped commencement,—“Though
+the article appearing in last week’s _Post_ (or _Examiner_) is below
+contempt, yet we have been induced,” &c., &c., and every Saturday the
+Radical shopkeepers shook hands together, and agreed that the _Post_
+was done for, by the slashing, clever _Examiner_; while the more
+dignified Tories began by regretting that Johnson should think that low
+paper, only read by a few of the vulgar, worth wasting his wit upon;
+however the _Examiner_ was at its last gasp.
+
+It was not though. It lived and flourished; at least it paid its way,
+as one of the heroes of my story could tell. He was chief compositor,
+or whatever title may be given to the head-man of the mechanical
+part of a newspaper. He hardly confined himself to that department.
+Once or twice, unknown to the editor, when the manuscript had fallen
+short, he had filled up the vacant space by compositions of his own;
+announcements of a forthcoming crop of green peas in December; a
+grey thrush having been seen, or a white hare, or such interesting
+phenomena; invented for the occasion, I must confess; but what of that?
+His wife always knew when to expect a little specimen of her husband’s
+literary talent by a peculiar cough, which served as prelude; and,
+judging from this encouraging sign, and the high-pitched and emphatic
+voice in which he read them, she was inclined to think, that an “Ode
+to an early Rose-bud,” in the corner devoted to original poetry, and
+a letter in the correspondence department, signed “Pro Bono Publico,”
+were her husband’s writing, and to hold up her head accordingly.
+
+I never could find out what it was that occasioned the Hodgsons to
+lodge in the same house as the Jenkinses. Jenkins held the same office
+in the Tory paper as Hodgson did in the _Examiner_, and, as I said
+before, I leave you to give it a name. But Jenkins had a proper sense
+of his position, and a proper reverence for all in authority, from the
+king down to the editor and sub-editor. He would as soon have thought
+of borrowing the king’s crown for a nightcap, or the king’s sceptre
+for a walking-stick, as he would have thought of filling up any spare
+corner with any production of his own; and I think it would have even
+added to his contempt of Hodgson (if that were possible), had he known
+of the “productions of his brain,” as the latter fondly alluded to the
+paragraphs he inserted, when speaking to his wife.
+
+Jenkins had his wife too. Wives were wanting to finish the completeness
+of the quarrel, which existed one memorable Christmas week, some dozen
+years ago, between the two neighbours, the two compositors. And with
+wives, it was a very pretty, a very complete quarrel. To make the
+opposing parties still more equal, still more well-matched, if the
+Hodgsons had a baby (“such a baby!—a poor, puny little thing”), Mrs.
+Jenkins had a cat (“such a cat! a great, nasty, miowling tom-cat, that
+was always stealing the milk put by for little Angel’s supper”). And
+now, having matched Greek with Greek, I must proceed to the tug of war.
+It was the day before Christmas; such a cold east wind! such an inky
+sky! such a blue-black look in people’s faces, as they were driven
+out more than usual, to complete their purchases for the next day’s
+festival.
+
+Before leaving home that morning, Jenkins had given some money to his
+wife to buy the next day’s dinner.
+
+“My dear, I wish for turkey and sausages. It may be a weakness, but
+I own I am partial to sausages. My deceased mother was. Such tastes
+are hereditary. As to the sweets—whether plum-pudding or mince-pies—I
+leave such considerations to you; I only beg you not to mind expense.
+Christmas comes but once a year.”
+
+And again he had called out from the bottom of the first flight of
+stairs, just close to the Hodgsons’ door (“such ostentatiousness,” as
+Mrs. Hodgson observed), “You will not forget the sausages, my dear?”
+
+“I should have liked to have had something above common, Mary,” said
+Hodgson, as they too made their plans for the next day, “but I think
+roast beef must do for us. You see, love, we’ve a family.”
+
+“Only one, Jem! I don’t want more than roast beef, though, I’m sure.
+Before I went to service, mother and me would have thought roast beef a
+very fine dinner.”
+
+“Well, let’s settle it then, roast beef and a plum-pudding; and now,
+good-by. Mind and take care of little Tom. I thought he was a bit
+hoarse this morning.”
+
+And off he went to his work.
+
+Now, it was a good while since Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Hodgson had spoken
+to each other, although they were quite as much in possession of the
+knowledge of events and opinions as though they did. Mary knew that
+Mrs. Jenkins despised her for not having a real lace cap, which Mrs.
+Jenkins had; and for having been a servant, which Mrs. Jenkins had not;
+and the little occasional pinchings which the Hodgsons were obliged
+to resort to, to make both ends meet, would have been very patiently
+endured by Mary, if she had not winced under Mrs. Jenkins’s knowledge
+of such economy. But she had her revenge. She had a child, and Mrs.
+Jenkins had none. To have had a child, even such a puny baby as little
+Tom, Mrs. Jenkins would have worn commonest caps, and cleaned grates,
+and drudged her fingers to the bone. The great unspoken disappointment
+of her life soured her temper, and turned her thoughts inward, and made
+her morbid and selfish.
+
+“Hang that cat! he’s been stealing again! he’s gnawed the cold mutton
+in his nasty mouth till it’s not fit to set before a Christian; and
+I’ve nothing else for Jem’s dinner. But I’ll give it him now I’ve
+caught him, that I will!”
+
+So saying, Mary Hodgson caught up her husband’s Sunday cane, and
+despite pussy’s cries and scratches, she gave him such a beating as she
+hoped might cure him of his thievish propensities; when lo! and behold,
+Mrs. Jenkins stood at the door with a face of bitter wrath.
+
+“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, ma’am, to abuse a poor dumb animal,
+ma’am, as knows no better than to take food when he sees it, ma’am? He
+only follows the nature which God has given, ma’am; and it’s a pity
+your nature, ma’am, which I’ve heard, is of the stingy saving species,
+does not make you shut your cupboard-door a little closer. There is
+such a thing as law for brute animals. I’ll ask Mr. Jenkins, but I
+don’t think them Radicals has done away with that law yet, for all
+their Reform Bill, ma’am. My poor precious love of a Tommy, is he hurt?
+and is his leg broke for taking a mouthful of scraps, as most people
+would give away to a beggar,—if he’d take ’em?” wound up Mrs. Jenkins,
+casting a contemptuous look on the remnant of a scrag end of mutton.
+
+Mary felt very angry and very guilty. For she really pitied the poor
+limping animal as he crept up to his mistress, and there lay down to
+bemoan himself; she wished she had not beaten him so hard, for it
+certainly was her own careless way of never shutting the cupboard-door
+that had tempted him to his fault. But the sneer at her little bit of
+mutton turned her penitence to fresh wrath, and she shut the door in
+Mrs. Jenkins’s face, as she stood caressing her cat in the lobby, with
+such a bang, that it wakened little Tom, and he began to cry.
+
+Everything was to go wrong with Mary to-day. Now baby was awake, who
+was to take her husband’s dinner to the office? She took the child in
+her arms, and tried to hush him off to sleep again, and as she sung she
+cried, she could hardly tell why,—a sort of reaction from her violent
+angry feelings. She wished she had never beaten the poor cat; she
+wondered if his leg was really broken. What would her mother say if she
+knew how cross and cruel her little Mary was getting? If she should
+live to beat her child in one of her angry fits?
+
+It was of no use lullabying while she sobbed so; it must be given up,
+and she must just carry her baby in her arms, and take him with her
+to the office, for it was long past dinner-time. So she pared the
+mutton carefully, although by so doing she reduced the meat to an
+infinitesimal quantity, and taking the baked potatoes out of the oven,
+she popped them piping hot into her basket with the et-cæteras of
+plate, butter, salt, and knife and fork.
+
+It was, indeed, a bitter wind. She bent against it as she ran, and the
+flakes of snow were sharp and cutting as ice. Baby cried all the way,
+though she cuddled him up in her shawl. Then her husband had made his
+appetite up for a potato pie, and (literary man as he was) his body got
+so much the better of his mind, that he looked rather black at the cold
+mutton. Mary had no appetite for her own dinner when she arrived at
+home again. So, after she had tried to feed baby, and he had fretfully
+refused to take his bread and milk, she laid him down as usual on his
+quilt, surrounded by playthings, while she sided away, and chopped
+suet for the next day’s pudding. Early in the afternoon a parcel came,
+done up first in brown paper, then in such a white, grass-bleached,
+sweet-smelling towel, and a note from her dear, dear mother; in which
+quaint writing she endeavoured to tell her daughter that she was not
+forgotten at Christmas time; but that learning that Farmer Burton was
+killing his pig, she had made interest for some of his famous pork, out
+of which she had manufactured some sausages, and flavoured them just as
+Mary used to like when she lived at home.
+
+“Dear, dear mother!” said Mary to herself. “There never was any one
+like her for remembering other folk. What rare sausages she used to
+make! Home things have a smack with ’em, no bought things can ever
+have. Set them up with their sausages! I’ve a notion if Mrs. Jenkins
+had ever tasted mother’s she’d have no fancy for them town-made things
+Fanny took in just now.”
+
+And so she went on thinking about home, till the smiles and the dimples
+came out again at the remembrance of that pretty cottage, which would
+look green even now in the depth of winter, with its pyracanthus, and
+its holly-bushes, and the great Portugal laurel that was her mother’s
+pride. And the back path through the orchard to Farmer Burton’s; how
+well she remembered it. The bushels of unripe apples she had picked
+up there, and distributed among his pigs, till he had scolded her for
+giving them so much green trash.
+
+She was interrupted—her baby (I call him a baby, because his father and
+mother did, and because he was so little of his age, but I rather think
+he was eighteen months old,) had fallen asleep some time before among
+his playthings; an uneasy, restless sleep; but of which Mary had been
+thankful, as his morning’s nap had been too short, and as she was so
+busy. But now he began to make such a strange crowing noise, just like
+a chair drawn heavily and gratingly along a kitchen-floor! His eyes was
+open, but expressive of nothing but pain.
+
+“Mother’s darling!” said Mary, in terror, lifting him up. “Baby, try
+not to make that noise. Hush, hush, darling; what hurts him?” But the
+noise came worse and worse.
+
+“Fanny! Fanny!” Mary called in mortal fright, for her baby was almost
+black with his gasping breath, and she had no one to ask for aid or
+sympathy but her landlady’s daughter, a little girl of twelve or
+thirteen, who attended to the house in her mother’s absence, as daily
+cook in gentlemen’s families. Fanny was more especially considered the
+attendant of the upstairs lodgers (who paid for the use of the kitchin,
+“for Jenkins could not abide the smell of meat cooking”), but just
+now she was fortunately sitting at her afternoon’s work of darning
+stockings, and hearing Mrs. Hodgson’s cry of terror, she ran to her
+sitting-room, and understood the case at a glance.
+
+“He’s got the croup! Oh, Mrs. Hodgson, he’ll die as sure as fate.
+Little brother had it, and he died in no time. The doctor said he
+could do nothing for him—it had gone too far. He said if we’d put him
+in a warm bath at first, it might have saved him; but, bless you! he
+was never half so bad as your baby.” Unconsciously there mingled in
+her statement some of a child’s love of producing an effect; but the
+increasing danger was clear enough.
+
+“Oh, my baby! my baby! Oh, love, love! don’t look so ill; I cannot bear
+it. And my fire so low! There, I was thinking of home, and picking
+currants, and never minding the fire. Oh, Fanny! what is the fire like
+in the kitchen? Speak.”
+
+“Mother told me to screw it up, and throw some slack on as soon as Mrs.
+Jenkins had done with it, and so I did. It’s very low and black. But,
+oh, Mrs. Hodgson! let me run for the doctor—I cannot abear to hear him,
+it’s so like little brother.”
+
+Through her streaming tears Mary motioned her to go; and trembling,
+sinking, sick at heart, she laid her boy in his cradle, and ran to fill
+her kettle.
+
+Mrs. Jenkins, having cooked her husband’s snug little dinner, to which
+he came home; having told him her story of pussy’s beating, at which
+he was justly and dignifiedly indignant, saying it was all of a piece
+with that abusive _Examiner_; having received the sausages, and turkey,
+and mince pies, which her husband had ordered; and cleaned up the room,
+and prepared everything for tea, and coaxed and duly bemoaned her cat
+(who had pretty nearly forgotten his beating, but very much enjoyed the
+petting), having done all these and many other things, Mrs. Jenkins
+sate down to get up the real lace cap. Every thread was pulled out
+separately, and carefully stretched: when, what was that? Outside, in
+the street, a chorus of piping children’s voices sang the old carol she
+had heard a hundred times in the days of her youth:—
+
+  “As Joseph was a walking he heard an angel sing,
+  ‘This night shall be born our heavenly King.
+   He neither shall be born in housen nor in hall,
+   Nor in the place of Paradise, but in an ox’s stall.
+   He neither shall be clothed in purple nor in pall,
+   But all in fair linen, as were babies all:
+   He neither shall be rocked in silver nor in gold,
+   But in a wooden cradle that rocks on the mould,’” &c.
+
+She got up and went to the window. There, below, stood the group
+of grey black little figures, relieved against the snow, which now
+enveloped everything. “For old sake’s sake,” as she phrased it, she
+counted out a halfpenny apiece for the singers, out of the copper bag,
+and threw them down below.
+
+The room had become chilly while she had been counting out and throwing
+down her money, so she stirred her already glowing fire, and sat down
+right before it—but not to stretch her lace; like Mary Hodgson, she
+began to think over long-past days, on softening remembrances of the
+dead and gone, on words long forgotten, on holy stories heard at her
+mother’s knee.
+
+“I cannot think what’s come over me to-night,” said she, half aloud,
+recovering herself by the sound of her own voice from her train of
+thought—“My head goes wandering on them old times. I’m sure more texts
+have come into my head with thinking on my mother within this last half
+hour, than I’ve thought on for years and years. I hope I’m not going to
+die. Folks say, thinking too much on the dead betokens we’re going to
+join ’em; I should be loth to go just yet—such a fine turkey as we’ve
+got for dinner to-morrow, too!”
+
+Knock, knock, knock, at the door, as fast as knuckles could go. And
+then, as if the comer could not wait, the door was opened, and Mary
+Hodgson stood there as white as death.
+
+“Mrs. Jenkins!—oh, your kettle is boiling, thank God! Let me have the
+water for my baby, for the love of God! He’s got croup, and is dying!”
+
+Mrs. Jenkins turned on her chair with a wooden inflexible look on her
+face, that (between ourselves) her husband knew and dreaded for all his
+pompous dignity.
+
+“I’m sorry I can’t oblige you, ma’am; my kettle is wanted for my
+husband’s tea. Don’t be afeared, Tommy, Mrs. Hodgson won’t venture to
+intrude herself where she’s not desired. You’d better send for the
+doctor, ma’am, instead of wasting your time in wringing your hands,
+ma’am—my kettle is engaged.”
+
+Mary clasped her hands together with passionate force, but spoke no
+word of entreaty to that wooden face—that sharp, determined voice; but,
+as she turned away, she prayed for strength to bear the coming trial,
+and strength to forgive Mrs. Jenkins.
+
+Mrs. Jenkins watched her go away meekly, as one who has no hope, and
+then she turned upon herself as sharply as she ever did on any one else.
+
+“What a brute I am, Lord forgive me! What’s my husband’s tea to a
+baby’s life? In croup, too, where time is everything. You crabbed old
+vixen, you!—any one may know you never had a child!”
+
+She was down stairs (kettle in hand) before she had finished her
+self-upbraiding; and when in Mrs. Hodgson’s room, she rejected all
+thanks (Mary had not the voice for many words), saying, stiffly, “I do
+it for the poor babby’s sake, ma’am, hoping he may live to have mercy
+to poor dumb beasts, if he does forget to lock his cupboards.”
+
+But she did everything, and more than Mary, with her young
+inexperience, could have thought of. She prepared the warm bath,
+and tried it with her husband’s own thermometer (Mr. Jenkins was as
+punctual as clockwork in noting down the temperature of every day).
+She let his mother place her baby in the tub, still preserving the
+same rigid, affronted aspect, and then she went upstairs without a
+word. Mary longed to ask her to stay, but dared not; though, when she
+left the room, the tears chased each other down her cheeks faster than
+ever. Poor young mother! how she counted the minutes till the doctor
+should come. But, before he came, down again stalked Mrs. Jenkins, with
+something in her hand.
+
+“I’ve seen many of these croup-fits, which, I take it, you’ve not,
+ma’am. Mustard plaisters is very sovereign, put on the throat; I’ve
+been up and made one, ma’am, and, by your leave, I’ll put it on the
+poor little fellow.”
+
+Mary could not speak, but she signed her grateful assent.
+
+It began to smart while they still kept silence; and he looked up to
+his mother as if seeking courage from her looks to bear the stinging
+pain; but she was softly crying, to see him suffer, and her want of
+courage reacted upon him, and he began to sob aloud. Instantly Mrs.
+Jenkins’s apron was up, hiding her face: “Peep-bo, baby,” said she, as
+merrily as she could. His little face brightened, and his mother having
+once got the cue, the two women kept the little fellow amused, until
+his plaister had taken effect.
+
+“He’s better,—oh, Mrs. Jenkins, look at his eyes! how different! And he
+breathes quite softly——”
+
+As Mary spoke thus, the doctor entered. He examined his patient. Baby
+was really better.
+
+“It has been a sharp attack, but the remedies you have applied have
+been worth all the Pharmacopoeia an hour later.—I shall send a powder,”
+&c. &c.
+
+Mrs. Jenkins stayed to hear this opinion; and (her heart wonderfully
+more easy) was going to leave the room, when Mary seized her hand and
+kissed it; she could not speak her gratitude.
+
+Mrs. Jenkins looked affronted and awkward, and as if she must go
+upstairs and wash her hand directly.
+
+But, in spite of these sour looks, she came softly down an hour or so
+afterwards to see how baby was.
+
+The little gentleman slept well after the fright he had given his
+friends; and on Christmas morning, when Mary awoke and looked at the
+sweet little pale face lying on her arm, she could hardly realize the
+danger he had been in.
+
+When she came down (later than usual), she found the household in
+a commotion. What do you think had happened? Why, pussy had been a
+traitor to his best friend, and eaten up some of Mr. Jenkins’s own
+especial sausages; and gnawed and tumbled the rest so, that they were
+not fit to be eaten! There were no bounds to that cat’s appetite! he
+would have eaten his own father if he had been tender enough. And now
+Mrs. Jenkins stormed and cried—“Hang the cat!”
+
+Christmas Day, too! and all the shops shut! “What was turkey without
+sausages?” gruffly asked Mr. Jenkins.
+
+“Oh, Jem!” whispered Mary, “hearken what a piece of work he’s making
+about sausages,—I should like to take Mrs. Jenkins up some of mother’s;
+they’re twice as good as bought sausages.”
+
+“I see no objection, my dear. Sausages do not involve intimacies, else
+his politics are what I can no ways respect.”
+
+“But, oh, Jem, if you had seen her last night about baby! I’m sure
+she may scold me for ever, and I’ll not answer. I’d even make her cat
+welcome to the sausages.” The tears gathered to Mary’s eyes as she
+kissed her boy.
+
+“Better take ’em upstairs, my dear, and give them to the cat’s
+mistress.” And Jem chuckled at his saying.
+
+Mary put them on a plate, but still she loitered.
+
+“What must I say, Jem? I never know.”
+
+“Say—I hope you’ll accept of these sausages, as my mother—no, that’s
+not grammar;—say what comes uppermost, Mary, it will be sure to be
+right.”
+
+So Mary carried them upstairs and knocked at the door; and when told to
+“come in,” she looked very red, but went up to Mrs. Jenkins, saying,
+“Please take these. Mother made them.” And was away before an answer
+could be given.
+
+Just as Hodgson was ready to go to church, Mrs. Jenkins came
+downstairs, and called Fanny. In a minute, the latter entered the
+Hodgsons’ room, and delivered Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins’s compliments, and
+they would be particular glad if Mr. and Mrs. Hodgson would eat their
+dinner with them.
+
+“And carry baby upstairs in a shawl, be sure,” added Mrs. Jenkins’s
+voice in the passage, close to the door, whither she had followed her
+messenger. There was no discussing the matter, with the certainty of
+every word being overheard.
+
+Mary looked anxiously at her husband. She remembered his saying he did
+not approve of Mr. Jenkins’s politics.
+
+“Do you think it would do for baby?” asked he.
+
+“Oh, yes,” answered she, eagerly; “I would wrap him up so warm.”
+
+“And I’ve got our room up to sixty-five already, for all it’s so
+frosty,” added the voice outside.
+
+Now, how do you think they settled the matter? The very best way in
+the world. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins came down into the Hodgsons’ room, and
+dined there. Turkey at the top, roast beef at the bottom, sausages at
+one side, potatoes at the other. Second course, plum-pudding at the
+top, and mince pies at the bottom.
+
+And after dinner, Mrs. Jenkins would have baby on her knee; and he
+seemed quite to take to her; she declared he was admiring the real lace
+on her cap, but Mary thought (though she did not say so) that he was
+pleased by her kind looks and coaxing words. Then he was wrapped up and
+carried carefully upstairs to tea, in Mrs. Jenkins’s room. And after
+tea, Mrs. Jenkins, and Mary, and her husband, found out each other’s
+mutual liking for music, and sat singing old glees and catches, till I
+don’t know what o’clock, without one word of politics or newspapers.
+
+Before they parted, Mary had coaxed pussy on to her knee; for Mrs.
+Jenkins would not part with baby, who was sleeping on her lap.
+
+“When you’re busy, bring him to me. Do, now, it will be a real favour.
+I know you must have a deal to do, with another coming; let him come
+up to me. I’ll take the greatest of cares of him; pretty darling, how
+sweet he looks when he’s asleep!”
+
+When the couples were once more alone, the husbands unburdened their
+minds to their wives.
+
+Mr. Jenkins said to his—“Do you know, Burgess tried to make me believe
+Hodgson was such a fool as to put paragraphs into the _Examiner_ now
+and then; but I see he knows his place, and has got too much sense to
+do any such thing.”
+
+Hodgson said—“Mary, love, I almost fancy from Jenkins’s way of speaking
+(so much civiler than I expected), he guesses I wrote that ‘Pro Bono’
+and the ‘Rose-bud,’—at any rate, I’ve no objection to your naming it,
+if the subject should come uppermost; I should like him to know I’m a
+literary man.”
+
+Well! I’ve ended my tale; I hope you don’t think it too long; but,
+before I go, just let me say one thing.
+
+If any of you have any quarrels, or misunderstandings, or coolnesses,
+or cold shoulders, or shynesses, or tiffs, or miffs, or huffs, with
+any one else, just make friends before Christmas,—you will be so much
+merrier if you do.
+
+I ask it of you for the sake of that old angelic song, heard so many
+years ago by the shepherds, keeping watch by night, on Bethlehem
+Heights.
+
+
+
+
+HAND AND HEART.
+
+
+“Mother, I should so like to have a great deal of money,” said little
+Tom Fletcher one evening, as he sat on a low stool by his mother’s
+knee. His mother was knitting busily by the firelight, and they had
+both been silent for some time.
+
+“What would you do with a great deal of money if you had it?”
+
+“Oh! I don’t know—I would do a great many things. But should not you
+like to have a great deal of money, mother?” persisted he.
+
+“Perhaps I should,” answered Mrs. Fletcher. “I am like you sometimes,
+dear, and think that I should be very glad of a little more money. But
+then I don’t think I am like you in one thing, for I have always some
+little plan in my mind, for which I should want the money. I never wish
+for it just for its own sake.”
+
+“Why, mother! there are so many things we could do if we had but
+money;—real good, wise things I mean.”
+
+“And if we have real good, wise things in our head to do, which cannot
+be done without money, I can quite enter into the wish for money. But
+you know, my little boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise thing.”
+
+“No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise things just then, but
+only how much I should like money to do what I liked,” answered little
+Tom ingenuously, looking up in his mother’s face. She smiled down upon
+him, and stroked his head. He knew she was pleased with him for having
+told her openly what was passing in his mind. Presently he began again.
+
+“Mother, if you wanted to do something very good and wise, and if you
+could not do it without money, what should you do?”
+
+“There are two ways of obtaining money for such wants; one is by
+earning; and the other is by saving. Now both are good, because both
+imply self-denial. Do you understand me, Tom? If you have to earn
+money, you must steadily go on doing what you do not like perhaps;
+such as working when you would like to be playing, or in bed, or
+sitting talking with me over the fire. You deny yourself these little
+pleasures; and that is a good habit in itself, to say nothing of the
+industry and energy you have to exert in working. If you save money,
+you can easily see how you exercise self-denial. You do without
+something you wish for in order to possess the money it would have
+cost. Inasmuch as self-denial, energy, and industry are all good
+things, you do well either to earn or to save. But you see the purpose
+for which you want the money must be taken into consideration. You say,
+for ‘something wise and good.’ Either earning or saving becomes holy
+in this case. I must then think which will be most consistent with my
+other duties, before I decide whether I will earn or save money.”
+
+“I don’t quite know what you mean, mother.”
+
+“I will try and explain myself. You know I have to keep a little shop,
+and to try and get employment in knitting stockings, and to clean my
+house, and to mend our clothes, and many other things. Now, do you
+think I should be doing my duty if I left you in the evenings, when
+you come home from school, to go out as a waiter at ladies’ parties? I
+could earn a good deal of money by it, and I could spend it well among
+those who are poorer than I am (such as lame Harry), but then I should
+be leaving you alone in the little time that we have to be together;
+I do not think I should be doing right even for our ‘good and wise
+purpose’ to earn money, if it took me away from you at nights: do you,
+Tom?”
+
+“No, indeed; you never mean to do it, do you, mother?”
+
+“No,” said she, smiling; “at any rate not till you are older. You see
+at present then, I cannot _earn_ money, if I want a little more than
+usual to help a sick neighbour. I must then try and _save_ money.
+Nearly every one can do that.”
+
+“Can _we_, mother? We are so careful of everything. Ned Dixon calls us
+stingy: what could _we save_?”
+
+“Oh, many and many a little thing. We use many things which are
+luxuries; which we do not want, but only use them for pleasure. Tea and
+sugar—butter—our Sunday’s dinner of bacon or meat—the grey ribbon I
+bought for my bonnet, because you thought it prettier than the black,
+which was cheaper; all these are luxuries. We use very little tea or
+sugar, it is true; but we might do without any.”
+
+“You did do without any, mother, for a long, long time, you know, to
+help widow Black; it was only for your bad head-aches.”
+
+“Well! but you see we can save money; a penny, a halfpenny a day, or
+even a penny a week, would in time make a little store ready to be
+applied to the ‘good and wise’ purpose, when the time comes. But do you
+know, my little boy, I think we may be considering money too much as
+the only thing required if we want to do a kindness.”
+
+“If it is not the only thing, it is the chief thing, at any rate.”
+
+“No, love, it is not the chief thing. I should think very poorly of
+that beggar who liked sixpence given with a curse (as I have sometimes
+heard it), better than the kind and gentle words some people use in
+refusing to give. The curse sinks deep into the heart; or if it does
+not, it is a proof that the poor creature has been made hard before by
+harsh treatment. And mere money can do little to cheer a sore heart. It
+is kindness only that can do this. Now we have all of us kindness in
+our power. The little child of two years old, who can only just totter
+about, can show kindness?”
+
+“Can I, mother?”
+
+“To be sure, dear; and you often do, only perhaps not quite so often
+as you might do. Neither do I. But instead of wishing for money (of
+which I don’t think either you or I are ever likely to have much),
+suppose you try to-morrow how you can make people happier, by thinking
+of little loving actions of help. Let us try and take for our text,
+‘Silver and gold I have none, but such as I have give I unto thee.’”
+
+“Ay, mother, we will.”
+
+Must I tell you about little Tom’s “to-morrow.”
+
+I do not know if little Tom dreamed of what his mother and he had been
+talking about, but I do know that the first thing he thought about,
+when he awoke in the morning, was his mother’s saying that he might
+try how many kind actions he could do that day without money; and he
+was so impatient to begin, that he jumped up and dressed himself,
+although it was more than an hour before his usual time of getting
+up. All the time he kept wondering what a little boy like him, only
+eight years old, could do for other people; till at last he grew so
+puzzled with inventing occasions for showing kindness, that he very
+wisely determined to think no more about it, but learn his lessons very
+perfectly; that was the first thing he had to do; and then he would
+try, without too much planning beforehand, to keep himself ready to
+lend a helping hand, or to give a kind word, when the right time came.
+So he screwed himself into a corner, out of the way of his mother’s
+sweeping and dusting, and tucked his feet up on the rail of the chair,
+turned his face to the wall, and in about half an hour’s time, he could
+turn round with a light heart, feeling he had learnt his lesson well,
+and might employ his time as he liked till breakfast was ready. He
+looked round the room; his mother had arranged all neatly, and was now
+gone to the bedroom; but the coal-scuttle and the can for water were
+empty, and Tom ran away to fill them; and as he came back with the
+latter from the pump, he saw Ann Jones (the scold of the neighbourhood)
+hanging out her clothes on a line stretched across from side to side of
+the little court, and speaking very angrily and loudly to her little
+girl, who was getting into some mischief in the house-place, as her
+mother perceived through the open door.
+
+“There never were such plagues as my children are, to be sure,” said
+Ann Jones, as she went into her house, looking very red and passionate.
+Directly after, Tom heard the sound of a slap, and then a little
+child’s cry of pain.
+
+“I wonder,” thought he, “if I durst go and offer to nurse and play
+with little Hester. Ann Jones is fearful cross, and just as likely to
+take me wrong as right; but she won’t box me for mother’s sake; mother
+nursed Jemmy many a day through the fever, so she won’t slap me, I
+think. Any rate, I’ll try.” But it was with a beating heart he said to
+the fierce-looking Mrs. Jones, “Please, may I go and play with Hester.
+May be I could keep her quiet while you’re busy hanging out clothes.”
+
+“What! and let you go slopping about, I suppose, just when I’d made
+all ready for my master’s breakfast. Thank you, but my own children’s
+mischief is as much as I reckon on; I’ll have none of strange lads in
+my house.”
+
+“I did not mean to do mischief or slop,” said Tom, a little sadly at
+being misunderstood in his good intentions. “I only wanted to help.”
+
+“If you want to help, lift me up those clothes’ pegs, and save me
+stooping; my back’s broken with it.”
+
+Tom would much rather have gone to play with and amuse little Hester;
+but it was true enough that giving Mrs. Jones the clothes’ pegs as she
+wanted them would help her as much; and perhaps keep her from being so
+cross with her children if they did anything to hinder her. Besides,
+little Hester’s cry had died away, and she was evidently occupied in
+some new pursuit (Tom could only hope that it was not in mischief this
+time); so he began to give Ann the pegs as she wanted them, and she,
+soothed by his kind help, opened her heart a little to him.
+
+“I wonder how it is your mother has trained you up to be so handy, Tom;
+you’re as good as a girl—better than many a girl. I don’t think Hester
+in three years’ time will be as thoughtful as you. There!” (as a fresh
+scream reached them from the little ones inside the house), “they are
+at some mischief again; but I’ll teach ’em,” said she, getting down
+from her stool in a fresh access of passion.
+
+“Let me go,” said Tom, in a begging voice, for he dreaded the cruel
+sound of another slap. “I’ll lift the basket of pegs on to a stool,
+so that you need not stoop; and I’ll keep the little ones safe out of
+mischief till you’re done. Do let me go, missus.”
+
+With some grumblings at losing his help, she let him go into the
+house-place. He found Hester, a little girl of five, and two younger
+ones. They had been fighting for a knife, and in the struggle, the
+second, Johnnie, had cut his finger—not very badly, but he was
+frightened at the sight of the blood; and Hester, who might have
+helped, and who was really sorry, stood sullenly aloof, dreading the
+scolding her mother always gave her if either of the little ones hurt
+themselves while under her care.
+
+“Hester,” said Tom, “will you get me some cold water, please? it will
+stop the bleeding better than anything. I daresay you can find me a
+basin to hold it.”
+
+Hester trotted off, pleased at Tom’s confidence in her power. When the
+bleeding was partly stopped, he asked her to find him a bit of rag, and
+she scrambled under the dresser for a little piece she had hidden there
+the day before. Meanwhile, Johnny ceased crying, he was so interested
+in all the preparation for dressing his little wound, and so much
+pleased to find himself an object of so much attention and consequence.
+The baby, too, sat on the floor, gravely wondering at the commotion;
+and thus busily occupied, they were quiet and out of mischief till Ann
+Jones came in, and, having hung out her clothes, and finished that
+morning’s piece of work, she was ready to attend to her children in her
+rough, hasty kind of way.
+
+[Illustration p. 220: The Cut Finger.]
+
+“Well! I’m sure, Tom, you’ve tied it up as neatly as I could have done.
+I wish I’d always such an one as you to see after the children; but you
+must run off now, lad, your mother was calling you as I came in, and I
+said I’d send you—good-by, and thank you.”
+
+As Tom was going away, the baby, sitting in square gravity on the
+floor, but somehow conscious of Tom’s gentle helpful ways, put up
+her mouth to be kissed; and he stooped down in answer to the little
+gesture, feeling very happy, and very full of love and kindliness.
+
+After breakfast, his mother told him it was school time, and he must
+set off, as she did not like him to run in out of breath and flurried,
+just when the schoolmaster was going to begin; but she wished him to
+come in decently and in order, with quiet decorum, and thoughtfulness
+as to what he was going to do. So Tom got his cap and his bag, and went
+off with a light heart, which I suppose made his footsteps light, for
+he found himself above half way to school while it wanted yet a quarter
+to the time. So he slackened his pace, and looked about him a little
+more than he had been doing. There was a little girl on the other side
+of the street carrying a great big basket, and lugging along a little
+child just able to walk; but who, I suppose, was tired, for he was
+crying pitifully, and sitting down every two or three steps. Tom ran
+across the street, for, as perhaps you have found out, he was very fond
+of babies, and could not bear to hear them cry.
+
+“Little girl, what is he crying about? Does he want to be carried? I’ll
+take him up, and carry him as far as I go alongside of you.”
+
+So saying, Tom was going to suit the action to the word; but the
+baby did not choose that any one should carry him but his sister,
+and refused Tom’s kindness. Still he could carry the heavy basket of
+potatoes for the little girl, which he did as far as their road lay
+together, when she thanked him, and bade him good-by, and said she
+could manage very well now, her home was so near. So Tom went into
+school very happy and peaceful; and had a good character to take home
+to his mother for that morning’s lesson.
+
+It happened that this very day was the weekly half-holiday, so that
+Tom had many hours unoccupied that afternoon. Of course, his first
+employment after dinner was to learn his lessons for the next day; and
+then, when he had put his books away, he began to wonder what he should
+do next.
+
+He stood lounging against the door wishing all manner of idle wishes;
+a habit he was apt to fall into. He wished he were the little boy
+who lived opposite, who had three brothers ready to play with him on
+half-holidays; he wished he were Sam Harrison, whose father had taken
+him one day a trip by the railroad; he wished he were the little boy
+who always went with the omnibuses,—it must be so pleasant to go
+riding about on the step, and to see so many people; he wished he
+were a sailor, to sail away to the countries where grapes grew wild,
+and monkeys and parrots were to be had for the catching. Just as he
+was wishing himself the little Prince of Wales, to drive about in a
+goat-carriage, and wondering if he should not feel very shy with the
+three great ostrich-feathers always niddle-noddling on his head, for
+people to know him by, his mother came from washing up the dishes, and
+saw him deep in the reveries little boys and girls are apt to fall into
+when they are the only children in a house.
+
+“My dear Tom,” said she, “why don’t you go out, and make the most of
+this fine afternoon?”
+
+“Oh, mother,” answered he (suddenly recalled to the fact that he was
+little Tom Fletcher, instead of the Prince of Wales, and consequently
+feeling a little bit flat), “it is so dull going out by myself. I have
+no one to play with. Can’t you go with me, mother—just this once, into
+the fields?”
+
+Poor Mrs. Fletcher heartily wished she could gratify this very natural
+desire of her little boy; but she had the shop to mind, and many a
+little thing besides to do; it was impossible. But however much she
+might regret a thing, she was too faithful to repine. So, after a
+moment’s thought, she said, cheerfully, “Go into the fields for a walk,
+and see how many wild flowers you can bring me home, and I’ll get down
+father’s jug for you to put them in when you come back.”
+
+“But, mother, there are so few pretty flowers near a town,” said Tom,
+a little unwillingly, for it was a coming down from being Prince of
+Wales, and he was not yet quite reconciled to it.
+
+“Oh dear! there are a great many if you’ll only look for them. I dare
+say you’ll make me up as many as twenty different kinds.”
+
+“Will you reckon daisies, mother?”
+
+“To be sure; they are just as pretty as any.”
+
+“Oh, if you’ll reckon such as them, I dare say I can bring you more
+than twenty.”
+
+So off he ran; his mother watching him till he was out of sight, and
+then she returned to her work. In about two hours he came back, his
+pale cheeks looking quite rosy, and his eyes quite bright. His country
+walk, taken with cheerful spirits, had done him all the good his mother
+desired, and had restored his usually even, happy temper.
+
+“Look, mother! here are three-and-twenty different kinds; you said I
+might count all, so I have even counted this thing like a nettle with
+lilac flowers, and this little common blue thing.”
+
+“Robin-run-in-the-hedge is its name,” said his mother. “It’s very
+pretty if you look at it close. One, two, three”—she counted them all
+over, and there really were three-and-twenty. She went to reach down
+the best jug.
+
+“Mother,” said little Tom, “do you like them very much?”
+
+“Yes, very much,” said she, not understanding his meaning. He was
+silent, and gave a little sigh. “Why, my dear?”
+
+“Oh, only—it does not signify if you like them very much; but I thought
+how nice it would be to take them to lame Harry, who can never walk so
+far as the fields, and can hardly know what summer is like, I think.”
+
+“Oh, that will be very nice; I am glad you thought of it.”
+
+Lame Harry was sitting by himself, very patiently, in a neighbouring
+cellar. He was supported by his daughter’s earnings; but as she worked
+in a factory, he was much alone.
+
+If the bunch of flowers had looked pretty in the fields, they looked
+ten times as pretty in the cellar to which they were now carried. Lame
+Harry’s eyes brightened up with pleasure at the sight; and he began to
+talk of the times long ago, when he was a little boy in the country,
+and had a corner of his father’s garden to call his own, and grow
+lad’s-love and wall-flower in. Little Tom put them in water for him,
+and put the jug on the table by him; on which his daughter had placed
+the old Bible, worn with much reading, although treated with careful
+reverence. It was lying open, with Harry’s horn spectacles put in to
+mark the place.
+
+“I reckon my spectacles are getting worn out; they are not so clear
+as they used to be; they are dim-like before my eyes, and it hurts me
+to read long together,” said Harry. “It’s a sad miss to me. I never
+thought the time long when I could read; but now I keep wearying for
+the day to be over, though the nights, when I cannot sleep for my legs
+paining me, are almost as bad. However, it’s the Lord’s will.”
+
+“Would you like me—I cannot read very well aloud, but I’d do my best,
+if you’d like me to read a bit to you. I’ll just run home and get my
+tea, and be back directly.” And off Tom ran.
+
+He found it very pleasant reading aloud to lame Harry, for the old man
+had so much to say that was worth listening to, and was so glad of a
+listener, that I think there was as much talking as reading done that
+evening. But the Bible served as a text-book to their conversation;
+for in a long life old Harry had seen and heard so much, which he
+had connected with events, or promises, or precepts contained in the
+Scriptures, that it was quite curious to find how everything was
+brought in and dove-tailed, as an illustration of what they were
+reading.
+
+When Tom got up to go away, lame Harry gave him many thanks, and told
+him he would not sleep the worse for having made an old man’s evening
+so pleasant. Tom came home in high self-satisfaction. “Mother,” said
+he, “it’s all very true what you said about the good that may be done
+without money: I’ve done many pieces of good to-day without a farthing.
+First,” said he, taking hold of his little finger, “I helped Ann Jones
+with hanging out her clothes when she was”—
+
+His mother had been listening while she turned over the pages of the
+New Testament which lay by her, and now having found what she wanted,
+she put her arm gently round his waist, and drew him fondly towards
+her. He saw her finger put under one passage, and read,—
+
+“Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.”
+
+He was silent in a moment.
+
+Then his mother spoke in her soft low voice:—“Dearest Tom, though I
+don’t want us to talk about it, as if you had been doing more than just
+what you ought, I am glad you have seen the truth of what I said; how
+far more may be done by the loving heart than by mere money-giving; and
+every one may have the loving heart.”
+
+I have told you of one day of little Tom’s life, when he was eight
+years old, and lived with his mother. I must now pass over a year, and
+tell you of a very different kind of life he had then to lead. His
+mother had never been very strong, and had had a good deal of anxiety;
+at last she was taken ill, and soon felt that there was no hope for
+her recovery. For a long time the thought of leaving her little boy
+was a great distress to her, and a great trial to her faith. But God
+strengthened her, and sent his peace into her soul, and before her
+death she was content to leave her precious child in his hands, who is
+a Father to the fatherless, and defendeth the cause of the widow.
+
+When she felt that she had not many more days to live, she sent for her
+husband’s brother, who lived in a town not many miles off; and gave her
+little Tom in charge to him to bring up.
+
+“There are a few pounds in the savings-bank—I don’t know how many
+exactly—and the furniture and bit of stock in the shop; perhaps they
+would be enough to bring him up to be a joiner, like his father before
+him.”
+
+She spoke feebly, and with many pauses. Her brother-in-law, though a
+rough kind of man, wished to do all he could to make her feel easy in
+her last moments, and touched with the reference to his dead brother,
+promised all she required.
+
+“I’ll take him back with me after”—the funeral, he was going to say,
+but he stopped. She smiled gently, fully understanding his meaning.
+
+“We shall, may be, not be so tender with him as you’ve been; but I’ll
+see he comes to no harm. It will be a good thing for him to rough it a
+bit with other children,—he’s too nesh for a boy; but I’ll pay them if
+they aren’t kind to him in the long run, never fear.”
+
+Though this speech was not exactly what she liked, there was quite
+enough of good feeling in it to make her thankful for such a protector
+and friend for her boy. And so, thankful for the joys she had had, and
+thankful for the sorrows which had taught her meekness, thankful for
+life, and thankful for death, she died.
+
+Her brother-in-law arranged all as she had wished. After the quiet
+simple funeral was over, he took Tom by the hand, and set off on the
+six-mile walk to his home. Tom had cried till he could cry no more, but
+sobs came quivering up from his heart every now and then, as he passed
+some well-remembered cottage, or thorn-bush, or tree on the road. His
+uncle was very sorry for him, but did not know what to say, or how to
+comfort him.
+
+“Now mind, lad, thou com’st to me if thy cousins are o’er hard upon
+thee. Let me hear if they misuse thee, and I’ll give it them.”
+
+Tom shrunk from the idea that this gave him of the cousins, whose
+companionship he had, until then, been looking forward to as a
+pleasure. He was not reassured when, after threading several streets
+and by-ways, they came into a court of dingy-looking houses, and his
+uncle opened the door of one, from which the noise of loud, if not
+angry voices was heard.
+
+A tall large woman was whirling one child out of her way with a rough
+movement of her arm; while she was scolding a boy a little older than
+Tom, who stood listening sullenly to her angry words.
+
+“I’ll tell father of thee, I will,” said she; and turning to uncle
+John, she began to pour out her complaints against Jack, without
+taking any notice of little Tom, who clung to his uncle’s hand as to a
+protector in the scene of violence into which he had entered.
+
+“Well, well, wife!—I’ll leather Jack the next time I catch him letting
+the water out of the pipe; but now get this lad and me some tea, for
+we’re weary and tired.”
+
+His aunt seemed to wish Jack might be leathered now, and to be angry
+with her husband for not revenging her injuries; for an injury it was
+that the boy had done her in letting the water all run off, and that
+on the very eve of the washing day. The mother grumbled as she left
+off mopping the wet floor, and went to the fire to stir it up ready
+for the kettle, without a word of greeting to her little nephew, or of
+welcome to her husband. On the contrary, she complained of the trouble
+of getting tea ready afresh, just when she had put slack on the fire,
+and had no water in the house to fill the kettle with. Her husband grew
+angry, and Tom was frightened to hear his uncle speaking sharply.
+
+“If I can’t have a cup of tea in my own house without all this ado,
+I’ll go to the Spread Eagle, and take Tom with me. They’ve a bright
+fire there at all times, choose how they manage it; and no scolding
+wives. Come, Tom, let’s be off.”
+
+Jack had been trying to scrape acquaintance with his cousin by winks
+and grimaces behind his mother’s back, and now made a sign of drinking
+out of an imaginary glass. But Tom clung to his uncle, and softly
+pulled him down again on his chair, from which he had risen to go to
+the public-house.
+
+“If you please, ma’am,” said he, sadly frightened of his aunt, “I think
+I could find the pump, if you’d let me try.”
+
+She muttered something like an acquiescence; so Tom took up the kettle,
+and, tired as he was, went out to the pump. Jack, who had done nothing
+but mischief all day, stood amazed, but at last settled that his cousin
+was a “softy.”
+
+When Tom came back, he tried to blow the fire with the broken bellows,
+and at last the water boiled, and the tea was made. “Thou’rt a rare
+lad, Tom,” said his uncle. “I wonder when our Jack will be of as much
+use.”
+
+This comparison did not please either Jack or his mother, who
+liked to keep to herself the privilege of directing their father’s
+dissatisfaction with his children. Tom felt their want of kindliness
+towards him; and now that he had nothing to do but rest and eat, he
+began to feel very sad, and his eyes kept filling with tears, which he
+brushed away with the back of his hand, not wishing to have them seen.
+But his uncle noticed him.
+
+“Thou had’st better have had a glass at the Spread Eagle,” said he,
+compassionately.
+
+“No; I only am rather tired. May I go to bed?” said he, longing for a
+good cry unobserved under the bed-clothes.
+
+“Where’s he to sleep?” asked the husband of the wife.
+
+“Nay,” said she, still offended on Jack’s account, “that’s thy
+look-out. He’s thy flesh and blood, not mine.”
+
+“Come, wife,” said uncle John, “he’s an orphan, poor chap. An orphan is
+kin to every one.”
+
+She was softened directly, for she had much kindness in her, although
+this evening she had been so much put out.
+
+“There’s no place for him but with Jack and Dick. We’ve the baby, and
+the other three are packed close enough.”
+
+She took Tom up to the little back room, and stopped to talk with him
+for a minute or two, for her husband’s words had smitten her heart, and
+she was sorry for the ungracious reception she had given Tom at first.
+
+“Jack and Dick are never in bed till we come, and it’s work enough to
+catch them then on fine evenings,” said she, as she took the candle
+away.
+
+Tom tried to speak to God as his mother had taught him, out of the
+fulness of his little heart, which was heavy enough that night. He
+tried to think how she would have wished him to speak and to do, and
+when he felt puzzled with the remembrance of the scene of disorder and
+anger which he had seen, he earnestly prayed God would make and keep
+clear his path before him. And then he fell asleep.
+
+He had had a long dream of other and happier days, and had thought he
+was once more taking a Sunday evening walk with his mother, when he was
+roughly wakened up by his cousins.
+
+“I say, lad, you’re lying right across the bed. You must get up, and
+let Dick and me come in, and then creep into the space that’s left.”
+
+Tom got up dizzy and half awake. His cousins got into bed, and then
+squabbled about the largest share. It ended in a kicking match, during
+which Tom stood shivering by the bedside.
+
+“I’m sure we’re pinched enough as it is,” said Dick at last. “And why
+they’ve put Tom in with us I can’t think. But I’ll not stand it. Tom
+shan’t sleep with us. He may lie on the floor, if he likes. I’ll not
+hinder him.”
+
+He expected an opposition from Tom, and was rather surprised when he
+heard the little fellow quietly lie down, and cover himself as well as
+he could with his clothes. After some more quarrelling, Jack and Dick
+fell asleep. But in the middle of the night Dick awoke, and heard by
+Tom’s breathing that he was still awake, and was crying gently.
+
+“What! molly-coddle, crying for a softer bed?” asked Dick.
+
+“Oh, no—I don’t care for that—if—oh! if mother were but alive,” little
+Tom sobbed aloud.
+
+“I say,” said Dick, after a pause. “There’s room at my back, if you’ll
+creep in. There! don’t be afraid—why, how cold you are, lad.”
+
+Dick was sorry for his cousin’s loss, but could not speak about it.
+However, his kind tone sank into Tom’s heart, and he fell asleep once
+more.
+
+The three boys all got up at the same time in the morning, but were
+not inclined to talk. Jack and Dick put on their clothes as fast as
+possible, and ran downstairs; but this was quite a different way of
+going on to what Tom had been accustomed. He looked about for some kind
+of basin or mug to wash in; there was none—not even a jug of water in
+the room. He slipped on a few necessary clothes, and went downstairs,
+found a pitcher, and went off to the pump. His cousins, who were
+playing in the court, laughed at him, and would not tell him where the
+soap was kept: he had to look some minutes before he could find it.
+Then he went back to the bedroom; but on entering it from the fresh
+air, the smell was so oppressive that he could not endure it. Three
+people had been breathing the air all night, and had used up every
+particle many times over and over again; and each time that it had been
+sent out from the lungs, it was less fit than before to be breathed
+again. They had not felt how poisonous it was while they stayed in it;
+they had only felt tired and unrefreshed, with a dull headache; but now
+that Tom came back again into it, he could not mistake its oppressive
+nature. He went to the window to try and open it. It was what people
+call a “Yorkshire light,” where you know one-half has to be pushed on
+one side. It was very stiff, for it had not been opened for a long
+time. Tom pushed against it with all his might; at length it gave way
+with a jerk; and the shake sent out a cracked pane, which fell on the
+floor in a hundred little bits. Tom was sadly frightened when he saw
+what he had done. He would have been sorry to have done mischief at any
+time, but he had seen enough of his aunt the evening before to find out
+that she was sharp, and hasty, and cross; and it was hard to have to
+begin the first day in his new home by getting into a scrape. He sat
+down on the bedside, and began to cry. But the morning air blowing in
+upon him, refreshed him, and made him feel stronger. He grew braver as
+he washed himself in the pure, cold water. “She can’t be cross with me
+longer than a day; by to-night it will be all over; I can bear it for a
+day.”
+
+Dick came running upstairs for something he had forgotten.
+
+“My word, Tom! but you’ll catch it!” exclaimed he, when he saw the
+broken window. He was half pleased at the event, and half sorry for
+Tom. “Mother did so beat Jack last week for throwing a stone right
+through the window downstairs. He kept out of the way till night, but
+she was on the look-out for him, and as soon as she saw him, she caught
+hold of him and gave it him. Eh! Tom, I would not be you for a deal!”
+
+Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt’s anger; Dick became
+more and more sorry for him.
+
+“I’ll tell thee what; we’ll go down and say it was a lad in yon
+back-yard throwing stones, and that one went smack through the window.
+I’ve got one in my pocket that will just do to show.”
+
+“No,” said Tom, suddenly stopping crying. “I dare not do that.”
+
+“Daren’t! Why you’ll have to dare much more if you go down and face
+mother without some such story.”
+
+“No! I shan’t. I shan’t have to dare God’s anger. Mother taught me to
+fear that; she said I need never be really afraid of aught else. Just
+be quiet, Dick, while I say my prayers.”
+
+Dick watched his little cousin kneel down by the bed, and bury his
+face in the clothes; he did not say any set prayer (which Dick was
+accustomed to think was the only way of praying), but Tom seemed, by
+the low murmuring which Dick heard, to be talking to a dear friend; and
+though at first he sobbed and cried, as he asked for help and strength,
+yet when he got up, his face looked calm and bright, and he spoke
+quietly as he said to Dick, “Now I’m ready to go and tell aunt.”
+
+“Aunt” meanwhile had missed her pitcher and her soap, and was in no
+good-tempered mood when Tom came to make his confession. She had been
+hindered in her morning’s work by his taking her things away; and now
+he was come to tell her of the pane being broken and that it must be
+mended, and money must go all for a child’s nonsense.
+
+She gave him (as he had been led to expect) one or two very sharp
+blows. Jack and Dick looked on with curiosity, to see how he would take
+it; Jack, at any rate, expecting a hearty crying from “softy” (Jack
+himself had cried loudly at his last beating), but Tom never shed a
+tear, though his face did go very red, and his mouth did grow set with
+the pain. But what struck the boys more even than his being “hard” in
+bearing such blows, was his quietness afterwards. He did not grumble
+loudly, as Jack would have done, nor did he turn sullen, as was Dick’s
+custom; but the minute afterwards he was ready to run an errand for his
+aunt; nor did he make any mention of the hard blows, when his uncle
+came in to breakfast, as his aunt had rather expected he would. She was
+glad he did not, for she knew her husband would have been displeased to
+know how early she had begun to beat his orphan nephew. So she almost
+felt grateful to Tom for his silence, and certainly began to be sorry
+she had struck him so hard.
+
+Poor Tom! he did not know that his cousins were beginning to respect
+him, nor that his aunt was learning to like him; and he felt very
+lonely and desolate that first morning. He had nothing to do. Jack went
+to work at the factory; and Dick went grumbling to school. Tom wondered
+if he was to go to school again, but he did not like to ask. He sat on
+a little stool, as much out of his terrible aunt’s way as he could. She
+had her youngest child, a little girl of about a year and a half old,
+crawling about on the floor. Tom longed to play with her; but he was
+not sure how far his aunt would like it. But he kept smiling at her,
+and doing every little thing he could to attract her attention and make
+her come to him. At last she was coaxed to come upon his knee. His aunt
+saw it, and though she did not speak, she did not look displeased. He
+did everything he could think of to amuse little Annie; and her mother
+was very glad to have her attended to. When Annie grew sleepy, she
+still kept fast hold of one of Tom’s fingers in her little, round, soft
+hand, and he began to know the happy feeling of loving somebody again.
+Only the night before, when his cousins had made him get out of bed, he
+had wondered if he should live to be an old man, and never have anybody
+to love all that long time; but now his heart felt quite warm to the
+little thing that lay on his lap.
+
+“She’ll tire you, Tom,” said her mother, “you’d better let me put her
+down in the cot.”
+
+“Oh, no!” said he, “please don’t! I like so much to have her here.” He
+never moved, though she lay very heavy on his arm, for fear of wakening
+her.
+
+When she did rouse up, his aunt said, “Thank you, Tom. I’ve got my work
+done rarely with you for a nurse. Now take a run in the yard, and play
+yourself a bit.”
+
+His aunt was learning something, and Tom was teaching, though they
+would both have been very much surprised to hear it. Whenever, in a
+family, every one is selfish, and (as it is called) “stands up for
+his own rights,” there are no feelings of gratitude; the gracefulness
+of “thanks” is never called for; nor can there be any occasion for
+thoughtfulness for others when those others are sure to get the start
+in thinking for themselves, and taking care of number one. Tom’s aunt
+had never had to remind Jack or Dick to go out to play. They were ready
+enough to see after their own pleasures.
+
+Well! dinner-time came, and all the family gathered to the meal. It
+seemed to be a scramble who should be helped first, and cry out for the
+best pieces. Tom looked very red. His aunt in her new-born liking for
+him, helped him early to what she thought he would like. But he did
+not begin to eat. It had been his mother’s custom to teach her little
+son to say a simple “grace” with her before they began their dinner.
+He expected his uncle to follow the same observance; and waited. Then
+he felt very hot and shy; but, thinking that it was right to say it,
+he put away his shyness, and very quietly, but very solemnly said
+the old accustomed sentence of thanksgiving. Jack burst out laughing
+when he had done; for which Jack’s father gave him a sharp rap and
+a sharp word, which made him silent through the rest of the dinner.
+But, excepting Jack, who was angry, I think all the family were the
+happier for having listened reverently (if with some surprise) to Tom’s
+thanksgiving. They were not an ill-disposed set of people, but wanted
+thoughtfulness in their every-day life; that sort of thoughtfulness
+which gives order to a home, and makes a wise and holy spirit of love
+the groundwork of order.
+
+From that first day Tom never went back in the regard he began then
+to win. He was useful to his aunt, and patiently bore her hasty ways,
+until for very shame she left off being hasty with one who was always
+so meek and mild. His uncle sometimes said he was more like a girl than
+a boy, as was to be looked for from being brought up for so many years
+by a woman; but that was the greatest fault he ever had to find with
+him; and in spite of it, he really respected him for the very qualities
+which are most truly “manly;” for the courage with which he dared to do
+what was right, and the quiet firmness with which he bore many kinds
+of pain. As for little Annie, her friendship and favour and love were
+the delight of Tom’s heart. He did not know how much the others were
+growing to like him, but Annie showed it in every way, and he loved her
+in return most dearly. Dick soon found out how useful Tom could be to
+him in his lessons; for though older than his cousin, Master Dick was
+a regular dunce, and had never even wished to learn till Tom came; and
+long before Jack could be brought to acknowledge it, Dick maintained
+that “Tom had a great deal of pluck in him, though it was not of Jack’s
+kind.”
+
+Now I shall jump another year, and tell you a very little about the
+household twelve months after Tom had entered it. I said above that his
+aunt had learned to speak less crossly to one who was always gentle
+after her scoldings. By-and-by her ways to all became less hasty and
+passionate, for she grew ashamed of speaking to any one in an angry way
+before Tom; he always looked so sad and sorry to hear her. She has also
+spoken to him sometimes about his mother; at first because she thought
+he would like it; but latterly because she became really interested
+to hear of her ways; and Tom being an only child, and his mother’s
+friend and companion, has been able to tell her of many household
+arts of comfort, which coming quite unconscious of any purpose, from
+the lips of a child, have taught her many things which she would have
+been too proud to learn from an older person. Her husband is softened
+by the additional cleanliness and peace of his home. He does not now
+occasionally take refuge in a public-house, to get out of the way of
+noisy children, an unswept hearth, and a scolding wife. Once when Tom
+was ill for a day or two, his uncle missed the accustomed grace, and
+began to say it himself. He is now the person to say “Silence, boys;”
+and then to ask the blessing on the meal. It makes them gather round
+the table, instead of sitting down here and there in the comfortless,
+unsociable way they used to do. Tom and Dick go to school together now,
+and Dick is getting on famously, and will soon be able to help his next
+brother over his lessons, as Tom has helped him.
+
+Even Jack has been heard to acknowledge that Tom has “pluck” in him;
+and as “pluck” in Jack’s mind is a short way of summing up all the
+virtues, he has lately become very fond of his cousin. Tom does not
+think about happiness, but is happy; and I think we may hope that he,
+and the household among whom he is adopted, will go “from strength to
+strength.”
+
+Now do you not see how much happier this family are from the one
+circumstance of a little child’s coming among them? Could money have
+made one-tenth part of this real and increasing happiness? I think you
+will all say no. And yet Tom was no powerful person; he was not clever;
+he was very friendless at first; but he was loving and good; and on
+those two qualities, which any of us may have if we try, the blessing
+of God lies in rich abundance.
+
+
+
+
+BESSY’S TROUBLES AT HOME.
+
+
+“Well, mother, I’ve got you a Southport ticket,” said Bessy Lee, as she
+burst into a room where a pale, sick woman lay dressed on the outside
+of a bed. “Aren’t you glad?” asked she, as her mother moved uneasily,
+but did not speak.
+
+“Yes, dear, I’m very thankful to you; but your sudden coming in has
+made my heart flutter so, I’m ready to choke.”
+
+Poor Bessy’s eyes filled with tears: but, it must be owned, they were
+tears half of anger. She had taken such pains, ever since the doctor
+said that Southport was the only thing for her mother, to get her an
+order from some subscriber to the charity; and she had rushed to her,
+in the full glow of success, and now her mother seemed more put out by
+the noise she had made on coming in, than glad to receive the news she
+had brought.
+
+Mrs. Lee took her hand and tried to speak, but, as she said, she was
+almost choked with the palpitation at her heart.
+
+“You think it very silly in me, dear, to be so easily startled; but it
+is not altogether silliness; it is I am so weak that every little noise
+gives me quite a fright. I shall be better, love, please God, when I
+come back from Southport. I am so glad you’ve got the order, for you’ve
+taken a deal of pains about it.” Mrs. Lee sighed.
+
+“Don’t you want to go?” asked Bessy, rather sadly. “You always seem so
+sorrowful and anxious when we talk about it.”
+
+“It’s partly my being ailing that makes me anxious, I know,” said Mrs.
+Lee. “But it seems as if so many things might happen while I was away.”
+
+Bessy felt a little impatient. Young people in strong health can hardly
+understand the fears that beset invalids. Bessy was a kind-hearted
+girl, but rather headstrong, and just now a little disappointed. She
+forgot that her mother had had to struggle hard with many cares ever
+since she had been left a widow, and that her illness now had made her
+nervous.
+
+“What nonsense, mother! What can happen? I can take care of the house
+and the little ones, and Tom and Jem can take care of themselves. What
+is to happen?”
+
+“Jenny may fall into the fire,” murmured Mrs. Lee, who found little
+comfort in being talked to in this way. “Or your father’s watch may be
+stolen while you are in, talking with the neighbours, or——”
+
+“Now come, mother, you know I’ve had the charge of Jenny ever since
+father died, and you began to go out washing—and I’ll lock father’s
+watch up in the box in our room.”
+
+“Then Tom and Jem won’t know at what time to go to the factory.
+Besides, Bessy,” said she, raising herself up, “they’re are but young
+lads, and there’s a deal of temptation to take them away from their
+homes, if their homes are not comfortable and pleasant to them. It’s
+that, more than anything, I’ve been fretting about all the time I’ve
+been ill,—that I’ve lost the power of making this house the cleanest
+and brightest place they know. But it’s no use fretting,” said she,
+falling back weakly upon the bed and sighing. “I must leave it in God’s
+hands. He raiseth up and He bringeth low.”
+
+Bessy stood silent for a minute or two. Then she said, “Well, mother, I
+will try to make home comfortable for the lads, if you’ll but keep your
+mind easy, and go off to Southport quiet and cheerful.”
+
+“I’ll try,” said Mrs. Lee, taking hold of Bessy’s hand, and looking up
+thankfully in her face.
+
+The next Wednesday she set off, leaving home with a heavy heart, which,
+however, she struggled against, and tried to make more faithful. But
+she wished her three weeks at Southport were over.
+
+Tom and Jem were both older than Bessy, and she was fifteen. Then came
+Bill and Mary and little Jenny. They were all good children, and all
+had faults. Tom and Jem helped to support the family by their earnings
+at the factory, and gave up their wages very cheerfully for this
+purpose, to their mother, who, however, insisted on a little being put
+by every week in the savings’ bank. It was one of her griefs now that,
+when the doctor ordered her some expensive delicacy in the way of diet
+during her illness (a thing which she persisted in thinking she could
+have done without), her boys had gone and taken their money out in
+order to procure it for her. The article in question did not cost one
+quarter of the amount of their savings, but they had put off returning
+the remainder into the bank, saying the doctor’s bill had yet to be
+paid, and that it seemed so silly to be always taking money in and
+out. But meanwhile Mrs. Lee feared lest it should be spent, and begged
+them to restore it to the savings’ bank. This had not been done when
+she left for Southport. Bill and Mary went to school. Little Jenny was
+the darling of all, and toddled about at home, having been her sister
+Bessy’s especial charge when all went on well, and the mother used to
+go out to wash.
+
+Mrs. Lee, however, had always made a point of giving all her children
+who were at home a comfortable breakfast at seven, before she set out
+to her day’s work; and she prepared the boys’ dinner ready for Bessy
+to warm for them. At night, too, she was anxious to be at home as soon
+after her boys as she could; and many of her employers respected her
+wish, and, finding her hard-working and conscientious, took care to set
+her at liberty early in the evening.
+
+Bessy felt very proud and womanly when she returned home from seeing
+her mother off by the railway. She looked round the house with a new
+feeling of proprietorship, and then went to claim little Jenny from
+the neighbour’s where she had been left while Bessy had gone to the
+station. They asked her to stay and have a bit of chat; but she replied
+that she could not, for that it was near dinner-time, and she refused
+the invitation that was then given her to go in some evening. She was
+full of good plans and resolutions.
+
+That afternoon she took Jenny and went to her teacher’s to borrow a
+book, which she meant to ask one of her brothers to read to her in
+the evenings while she worked. She knew that it was a book which Jem
+would like, for though she had never read it, one of her school-fellows
+had told her it was all about the sea, and desert islands, and
+cocoanut-trees, just the things that Jem liked to hear about. How happy
+they would all be this evening.
+
+She hurried Jenny off to bed before her brothers came home; Jenny did
+not like to go so early, and had to be bribed and coaxed to give up the
+pleasure of sitting on brother Tom’s knee; and when she was in bed,
+she could not go to sleep, and kept up a little whimper of distress.
+Bessy kept calling out to her, now in gentle, now in sharp tones, as
+she made the hearth clean and bright against her brothers’ return, as
+she settled Bill and Mary to their next day’s lessons, and got her work
+ready for a happy evening.
+
+Presently the elder boys came in.
+
+“Where’s Jenny?” asked Tom, the first thing.
+
+“I’ve put her to bed,” said Bessy. “I’ve borrowed a book for you to
+read to me while I darn the stockings; and it was time for Jenny to go.”
+
+“Mother never puts her to bed so soon,” said Tom, dissatisfied.
+
+“But she’d be so in the way of any quietness over our reading,” said
+Bessy.
+
+“I don’t want to read,” said Tom; “I want Jenny to sit on my knee, as
+she always does, while I eat my supper.”
+
+“Tom, Tom, dear Tom!” called out little Jenny, who had heard his voice,
+and, perhaps, a little of the conversation.
+
+Tom made but two steps upstairs, and re-appeared with Jenny in his
+arms, in her night-clothes. The little girl looked at Bessy half
+triumphant and half afraid. Bessy did not speak, but she was evidently
+very much displeased. Tom began to eat his porridge with Jenny on his
+knee. Bessy sat in sullen silence; she was vexed with Tom, vexed with
+Jenny, and vexed with Jem, to gratify whose taste for reading travels
+she had especially borrowed this book, which he seemed to care so
+little about. She brooded over her fancied wrongs, ready to fall upon
+the first person who might give the slightest occasion for anger.
+It happened to be poor little Jenny, who, by some awkward movement,
+knocked over the jug of milk, and made a great splash on Bessy’s clean
+white floor.
+
+“Never mind!” said Tom, as Jenny began to cry. “I like my porridge as
+well without milk as with it.”
+
+“Oh, never mind!” said Bessy, her colour rising, and her breath growing
+shorter. “Never mind dirtying anything, Jenny; it’s only giving trouble
+to Bessy! But I’ll make you mind,” continued she, as she caught a
+glance of intelligence peep from Jem’s eyes to Tom; and she slapped
+Jenny’s head. The moment she had done it she was sorry for it; she
+could have beaten herself now with the greatest pleasure for having
+given way to passion; for she loved little Jenny dearly, and she saw
+that she really had hurt her. But Jem, with his loud, deep, “For shame,
+Bessy!” and Tom, with his excess of sympathy with his little sister’s
+wrongs, checked back any expression which Bessy might have uttered of
+sorrow and regret. She sat there ten times more unhappy than she had
+been before the accident, hardening her heart to the reproaches of her
+conscience, yet feeling most keenly that she had been acting wrongly.
+No one seemed to notice her; this was the evening she had planned and
+arranged for so busily; and the others, who never thought about it at
+all, were all quiet and happy, at least in outward appearance, while
+she was so wretched. By-and-by, she felt the touch of a little soft
+hand stealing into her own. She looked to see who it was; it was Mary,
+who till now had been busy learning her lessons, but uncomfortably
+conscious of the discordant spirit prevailing in the room; and who had
+at last ventured up to Bessy, as the one who looked the most unhappy,
+to express, in her own little gentle way, her sympathy in sorrow. Mary
+was not a quick child; she was plain and awkward in her ways, and did
+not seem to have many words in which to tell her feelings, but she was
+very tender and loving, and submitted meekly and humbly to the little
+slights and rebuffs she often met with for her stupidity.
+
+“Dear Bessy! good night!” said she, kissing her sister; and, at the
+soft kiss, Bessy’s eyes filled with tears, and her heart began to melt.
+
+“Jenny,” continued Mary, going to the little spoilt, wilful girl, “will
+you come to bed with me, and I’ll tell you stories about school, and
+sing you my songs as I undress? Come, little one!” said she, holding
+out her arms. Jenny was tempted by this speech, and went off to bed in
+a more reasonable frame of mind than any one had dared to hope.
+
+And now all seemed clear and open for the reading, but each was too
+proud to propose it. Jem, indeed, seemed to have forgotten the book
+altogether, he was so busy whittling away at a piece of wood. At last
+Tom, by a strong effort, said, “Bessy, mayn’t we have the book now?”
+
+“No!” said Jem, “don’t begin reading, for I must go out and try and
+make Ned Bates give me a piece of ash-wood—deal is just good for
+nothing.”
+
+“Oh!” said Bessy, “I don’t want any one to read this book who does not
+like it. But I know mother would be better pleased if you were stopping
+at home quiet, rather than rambling to Ned Bates’s at this time of
+night.”
+
+“I know what mother would like as well as you, and I’m not going to be
+preached to by a girl,” said Jem, taking up his cap and going out. Tom
+yawned and went up to bed. Bessy sat brooding over the evening.
+
+“So much as I thought and I planned! I’m sure I tried to do what was
+right, and make the boys happy at home. And yet nothing has happened
+as I wanted it to do. Every one has been so cross and contrary. Tom
+would take Jenny up when she ought to have been in bed. Jem did not
+care a straw for this book that I borrowed on purpose for him, but sat
+laughing. I saw, though he did not think I did, when all was going
+provoking and vexatious. Mary—no! Mary was a help and a comfort, as she
+always is, I think, though she is so stupid over her book. Mary always
+contrives to get people right, and to have her own way somehow; and yet
+I’m sure she does not take half the trouble I do to please people.”
+
+Jem came back soon, disappointed because Ned Bates was out, and could
+not give him any ash-wood. Bessy said it served him right for going at
+that time of night, and the brother and sister spoke angrily to each
+other all the way upstairs, and parted without even saying good-night.
+Jenny was asleep when Bessy entered the bedroom which she shared with
+her sisters and her mother; but she saw Mary’s wakeful eyes looking at
+her as she came in.
+
+“Oh, Mary,” said she, “I wish mother was back. The lads would mind her,
+and now I see they’ll just go and get into mischief to spite and plague
+me.”
+
+“I don’t think it’s for that,” said Mary, softly. “Jem did want that
+ash-wood, I know, for he told me in the morning he didn’t think that
+deal would do. He wants to make a wedge to keep the window from
+rattling so on windy nights; you know how that fidgets mother.”
+
+The next day, little Mary, on her way to school, went round by Ned
+Bates’s to beg a piece of wood for her brother Jem; she brought it
+home to him at dinner-time, and asked him to be so good as to have
+everything ready for a quiet whittling at night, while Tom or Bessy
+read aloud. She told Jenny she would make haste with her lessons, so
+as to be ready to come to bed early, and talk to her about school
+(a grand, wonderful place, in Jenny’s eyes), and thus Mary quietly
+and gently prepared for a happy evening, by attending to the kind of
+happiness for which every one wished.
+
+While Mary had thus been busy preparing for a happy evening, Bessy had
+been spending part of the afternoon at a Mrs. Foster’s, a neighbour
+of her mother’s, and a very tidy, industrious old widow. Mrs. Foster
+earned part of her livelihood by working for the shops where knitted
+work of all kinds is to be sold; and Bessy’s attention was caught,
+almost as soon as she went in, by a very gay piece of wool-knitting,
+in a new stitch, that was to be used as a warm covering for the feet.
+After admiring its pretty looks, Bessy thought how useful it might be
+to her mother; and when Mrs. Foster heard this, she offered to teach
+Bessy how to do it. But where were the wools to come from? Those which
+Mrs. Foster used were provided her by the shop; and she was a very poor
+woman—too poor to make presents, though rich enough (as we all are) to
+give help of many other kinds, and willing too to do what she could
+(which some of us are not).
+
+The two sat perplexed. “How much did you say it would cost?” said Bessy
+at last; as if the article was likely to have become cheaper, since she
+asked the question before.
+
+“Well! it’s sure to be more than two shillings if it’s German wool. You
+might get it for eighteenpence if you could be content with English.”
+
+“But I’ve not got eighteenpence,” said Bessy, gloomily.
+
+“I could lend it you,” said Mrs. Foster, “if I was sure of having it
+back before Monday. But it’s part of my rent-money. Could you make
+sure, do you think?”
+
+“Oh, yes!” said Bessy, eagerly. “At least I’d try. But perhaps I had
+better not take it, for after all I don’t know where I could get it.
+What Tom and Jem earn is little enough for the house, now that mother’s
+washing is cut off.”
+
+“They are good, dutiful lads, to give it to their mother,” said Mrs.
+Foster, sighing: for she thought of her own boys, that had left her in
+her old age to toil on, with faded eyesight and weakened strength.
+
+“Oh! but mother makes them each keep a shilling out of it for
+themselves,” said Bessy, in a complaining tone, for she wanted money,
+and was inclined to envy any one who possessed it.
+
+“That’s right enough,” said Mrs. Foster. “They that earn it should have
+some of the power over it.”
+
+“But about this wool; this eighteenpence! I wish I was a boy and could
+earn money. I wish mother would have let me go to work in the factory.”
+
+“Come now, Bessy, I can have none of that nonsense. Thy mother knows
+what’s best for thee; and I’m not going to hear thee complain of what
+she has thought right. But may be, I can help you to a way of gaining
+eighteenpence. Mrs. Scott at the worsted shop told me that she should
+want some one to clean on Saturday; now you’re a good strong girl, and
+can do a woman’s work if you’ve a mind. Shall I say you will go? and
+then I don’t mind if I lend you my eighteenpence. You’ll pay me before
+I want my rent on Monday.”
+
+“Oh! thank you, dear Mrs. Foster,” said Bessy. “I can scour as well as
+any woman, mother often says so; and I’ll do my best on Saturday; they
+shan’t blame you for having spoken up for me.”
+
+“No, Bessy, they won’t, I’m sure, if you do your best. You’re a good
+sharp girl for your years.”
+
+Bessy lingered for some time, hoping that Mrs. Foster would remember
+her offer of lending her the money; but finding that she had quite
+forgotten it, she ventured to remind the kind old woman. That it was
+nothing but forgetfulness, was evident from the haste with which Mrs.
+Foster bustled up to her tea-pot and took from it the money required.
+
+“You’re as welcome to it as can be, Bessy, as long as I’m sure of
+its being repaid by Monday. But you’re in a mighty hurry about this
+coverlet,” continued she, as she saw Bessy put on her bonnet and
+prepare to go out. “Stay, you must take patterns, and go to the right
+shop in St. Mary’s Gate. Why, your mother won’t be back this three
+weeks, child.”
+
+“No. But I can’t abide waiting, and I want to set to it before it is
+dark; and you’ll teach me the stitch, won’t you, when I come back with
+the wools? I won’t be half an hour away.”
+
+But Mary and Bill had to “abide waiting” that afternoon; for though
+the neighbour at whose house the key was left could let them into the
+house, there was no supper ready for them on their return from school;
+even Jenny was away spending the afternoon with a playfellow; the fire
+was nearly out, the milk had been left at a neighbour’s; altogether
+home was very comfortless to the poor tired children, and Bill grumbled
+terribly; Mary’s head ached, and the very tones of her brother’s voice,
+as he complained, gave her pain; and for a minute she felt inclined to
+sit down and cry. But then she thought of many little sayings which
+she had heard from her teacher—such as “Never complain of what you
+can cure,” “Bear and forbear,” and several other short sentences of a
+similar description. So she began to make up the fire, and asked Bill
+to fetch some chips; and when he gave her the gruff answer, that he did
+not see any use in making a fire when there was nothing to cook by it,
+she went herself and brought the wood without a word of complaint.
+
+Presently Bill said, “Here! you lend me those bellows; you’re not
+blowing it in the right way; girls never do!” He found out that Mary
+was wise in making a bright fire ready; for before the blowing was
+ended, the neighbour with whom the milk had been left brought it in,
+and little handy Mary prepared the porridge as well as the mother
+herself could have done. They had just ended when Bessy came in almost
+breathless; for she had suddenly remembered, in the middle of her
+knitting-lesson, that Bill and Mary must be at home from school.
+
+“Oh!” she said, “that’s right. I have so hurried myself! I was afraid
+the fire would be out. Where’s Jenny? You were to have called for her,
+you know, as you came from school. Dear! how stupid you are, Mary. I am
+sure I told you over and over again. Now don’t cry, silly child. The
+best thing you can do is to run off back again for her.”
+
+“But my lessons, Bessy. They are so bad to learn. It’s tables day
+to-morrow,” pleaded Mary.
+
+“Nonsense; tables are as easy as can be. I can say up to sixteen times
+sixteen in no time.”
+
+“But you know, Bessy, I’m very stupid, and my head aches so to-night!”
+
+“Well! the air will do it good. Really, Mary, I would go myself, only
+I’m so busy; and you know Bill is too careless, mother says, to fetch
+Jenny through the streets; and besides they would quarrel, and you can
+always manage Jenny.”
+
+Mary sighed, and went away to bring her sister home. Bessy sat down to
+her knitting. Presently Bill came up to her with some question about
+his lesson. She told him the answer without looking at the book; it was
+all wrong, and made nonsense; but Bill did not care to understand what
+he learnt, and went on saying, “Twelve inches make one shilling,” as
+contentedly as if it were right.
+
+Mary brought Jenny home quite safely. Indeed, Mary always did succeed
+in everything, except learning her lessons well; and sometimes, if the
+teacher could have known how many tasks fell upon the willing, gentle
+girl at home, she would not have thought that poor Mary was slow or a
+dunce; and such thoughts would come into the teacher’s mind sometimes,
+although she fully appreciated Mary’s sweetness and humility of
+disposition.
+
+To-night she tried hard at her tables, and all to no use. Her head
+ached so, she could not remember them, do what she would. She longed to
+go to her mother, whose cool hands around her forehead always seemed
+to do her so much good, and whose soft, loving words were such a help
+to her when she had to bear pain. She had arranged so many plans for
+to-night, and now all were deranged by Bessy’s new fancy for knitting.
+But Mary did not see this in the plain, clear light in which I have
+put it before you. She only was sorry that she could not make haste
+with her lessons, as she had promised Jenny, who was now upbraiding her
+with the non-fulfilment of her words. Jenny was still up when Tom and
+Jem came in. They spoke sharply to Bessy for not having their porridge
+ready; and while she was defending herself, Mary, even at the risk of
+imperfect lessons, began to prepare the supper for her brothers. She
+did it all so quietly, that, almost before they were aware, it was
+ready for them; and Bessy, suddenly ashamed of herself, and touched by
+Mary’s quiet helpfulness, bent down and kissed her, as once more she
+settled to the never-ending difficulty of her lesson.
+
+Mary threw her arms round Bessy’s neck, and began to cry, for this
+little mark of affection went to her heart; she had been so longing for
+a word or a sign of love in her suffering.
+
+“Come, Molly,” said Jem, “don’t cry like a baby;” but he spoke very
+kindly. “What’s the matter? the old headache come back? Never mind. Go
+to bed, and it will be better in the morning.”
+
+“But I can’t go to bed. I don’t know my lesson!” Mary looked happier,
+though the tears were in her eyes.
+
+“I know mine,” said Bill, triumphantly.
+
+“Come here,” said Jem. “There! I’ve time enough to whittle away at this
+before mother comes back. Now let’s see this difficult lesson.”
+
+Jem’s help soon enabled Mary to conquer her lesson; but, meanwhile,
+Jenny and Bill had taken to quarrelling in spite of Bessy’s scolding,
+administered in small sharp doses, as she looked up from her
+all-absorbing knitting.
+
+“Well,” said Tom, “with this riot on one side, and this dull lesson on
+the other, and Bessy as cross as can be in the midst, I can understand
+what makes a man go out to spend his evenings from home.”
+
+Bessy looked up, suddenly wakened up to a sense of the danger which her
+mother had dreaded.
+
+Bessy thought it was very fortunate that it fell on a Saturday, of all
+days in the week, that Mrs. Scott wanted her; for Mary would be at
+home, who could attend to the household wants of everybody; and so she
+satisfied her conscience at leaving the post of duty that her mother
+had assigned to her, and that she had promised to fulfil. She was so
+eager about her own plans that she did not consider this; she did not
+consider at all, or else I think she would have seen many things to
+which she seemed to be blind now. When were Mary’s lessons for Monday
+to be learnt? Bessy knew as well as we do, that lesson-learning was
+hard work to Mary. If Mary worked as hard as she could after morning
+school she could hardly get the house cleaned up bright and comfortable
+before her brothers came home from the factory, which “loosed” early
+on the Saturday afternoon; and if pails of water, chairs heaped up one
+on the other, and tables put topsy-turvy on the dresser, were the most
+prominent objects in the house-place, there would be no temptation for
+the lads to stay at home; besides which, Mary, tired and weary (however
+gentle she might be), would not be able to give the life to the evening
+that Bessy, a clever, spirited girl, near their own age, could easily
+do, if she chose to be interested and sympathising in what they had to
+tell. But Bessy did not think of all this. What she did think about
+was the pleasant surprise she should give her mother by the warm and
+pretty covering for her feet, which she hoped to present her with on
+her return home. And if she had done the duties she was pledged to on
+her mother’s departure first, if they had been compatible with her plan
+of being a whole day absent from home, in order to earn the money for
+the wools, the project of the surprise would have been innocent and
+praiseworthy.
+
+Bessy prepared everything for dinner before she left home that Saturday
+morning. She made a potato-pie all ready for putting in the oven; she
+was very particular in telling Mary what was to be cleaned, and how it
+was all to be cleaned; and then she kissed the children, and ran off
+to Mrs. Scott’s. Mary was rather afraid of the responsibility thrust
+upon her; but still she was pleased that Bessy could trust her to do
+so much. She took Jenny to the ever-useful neighbour, as she and Bill
+went to school; but she was rather frightened when Mrs. Jones began to
+grumble about these frequent visits of the child.
+
+“I was ready enough to take care of the wench when thy mother was ill;
+there was reason for that. And the child is a nice child enough, when
+she is not cross; but still there are some folks, it seems, who, if you
+give them an inch, will take an ell. Where’s Bessy, that she can’t mind
+her own sister?”
+
+“Gone out charing,” said Mary, clasping the little hand in hers
+tighter, for she was afraid of Mrs. Jones’s anger.
+
+“I could go out charing every day in the week if I’d the face to
+trouble other folks with my children,” said Mrs. Jones, in a surly tone.
+
+“Shall I take her back, ma’am?” said Mary, timidly, though she knew
+this would involve her staying away from school, and being blamed by
+the dear teacher. But Mrs. Jones growled worse than she bit, this time
+at least.
+
+“No,” said she, “you may leave her with me. I suppose she’s had her
+breakfast?”
+
+“Yes; and I’ll fetch her away as soon as ever I can after twelve.”
+
+If Mary had been one to consider the hardships of her little lot, she
+might have felt this morning’s occurrence as one;—that she, who dreaded
+giving trouble to anybody, and was painfully averse from asking any
+little favour for herself, should be the very one on whom it fell to
+presume upon another person’s kindness. But Mary never did think of any
+hardships; they seemed the natural events of life, and as if it was
+fitting and proper that she, who managed things badly, and was such a
+dunce, should be blamed. Still she was rather flurried by Mrs. Jones’s
+scolding; and almost wished that she had taken Jenny home again. Her
+lessons were not well said, owing to the distraction of her mind.
+
+When she went for Jenny she found that Mrs. Jones, repenting of her
+sharp words, had given the little girl bread and treacle, and made her
+very comfortable; so much so that Jenny was not all at once ready to
+leave her little playmates, and when once she had set out on the road,
+she was in no humour to make haste. Mary thought of the potato-pie and
+her brothers, and could almost have cried, as Jenny, heedless of her
+sister’s entreaties, would linger at the picture-shops.
+
+“I shall be obliged to go and leave you, Jenny! I must get dinner
+ready.”
+
+“I don’t care,” said Jenny. “I don’t want any dinner, and I can come
+home quite well by myself.”
+
+Mary half longed to give her a fright, it was so provoking. But she
+thought of her mother, who was so anxious always about Jenny, and she
+did not do it. She kept patiently trying to attract her onwards, and
+at last they were at home. Mary stirred up the fire, which was to all
+appearance quite black; it blazed up, but the oven was cold. She put
+the pie in, and blew the fire; but the paste was quite white and soft
+when her brothers came home, eager and hungry.
+
+“Oh! Mary, what a manager you are!” said Tom. “Any one else would have
+remembered and put the pie in in time.”
+
+Mary’s eyes filled full of tears; but she did not try to justify
+herself. She went on blowing, till Jem took the bellows, and kindly
+told her to take off her bonnet, and lay the cloth. Jem was always
+kind. He gave Tom the best baked side of the pie, and quietly took the
+side himself where the paste was little better than dough, and the
+potatoes quite hard; and when he caught Mary’s little anxious face
+watching him, as he had to leave part of his dinner untasted, he said,
+“Mary, I should like this pie warmed up for supper; there is nothing so
+good as potato-pie made hot the second time.”
+
+Tom went off saying, “Mary, I would not have you for a wife on any
+account. Why, my dinner would never be ready, and your sad face would
+take away my appetite if it were.”
+
+But Jem kissed her and said, “Never mind, Mary! you and I will live
+together, old maid and old bachelor.”
+
+So she could set to with spirit to her cleaning, thinking there never
+was such a good brother as Jem; and as she dwelt upon his perfections,
+she thought who it was who had given her such a good, kind brother,
+and felt her heart full of gratitude to Him. She scoured and cleaned
+in right-down earnest. Jenny helped her for some time, delighted to be
+allowed to touch and lift things. But then she grew tired; and Bill was
+out of doors; so Mary had to do all by herself, and grew very nervous
+and frightened, lest all should not be finished and tidy against Tom
+came home. And the more frightened she grew, the worse she got on. Her
+hands trembled, and things slipped out of them; and she shook so, she
+could not lift heavy pieces of furniture quickly and sharply; and in
+the middle the clock struck the hour for her brothers’ return, when all
+ought to have been tidy and ready for tea. She gave it up in despair,
+and began to cry.
+
+“Oh, Bessy, Bessy! why did you go away? I have tried hard, and I cannot
+do it,” said she aloud, as if Bessy could hear.
+
+“Dear Mary, don’t cry,” said Jenny, suddenly coming away from her play.
+“I’ll help you. I am very strong. I can do anything. I can lift that
+pan off the fire.”
+
+The pan was full of boiling water, ready for Mary. Jenny took hold of
+the handle, and dragged it along the bar over the fire. Mary sprung
+forwards in terror to stop the little girl. She never knew how it was,
+but the next moment her arm and side were full of burning pain, which
+turned her sick and dizzy, and Jenny was crying passionately beside her.
+
+“Oh, Mary! Mary! Mary! my hand is so scalded. What shall I do? I cannot
+bear it. It’s all about my feet on the ground.” She kept shaking her
+hand to cool it by the action of the air. Mary thought that she herself
+was dying, so acute and terrible was the pain; she could hardly keep
+from screaming out aloud; but she felt that if she once began she could
+not stop herself, so she sat still, moaning, and the tears running down
+her face like rain. “Go, Jenny,” said she, “and tell some one to come.”
+
+“I can’t, I can’t, my hand hurts so,” said Jenny. But she flew wildly
+out of the house the next minute, crying out, “Mary is dead. Come,
+come, come!” For Mary could bear it no longer; but had fainted away,
+and looked, indeed, like one that was dead. Neighbours flocked in; and
+one ran for a doctor. In five minutes Tom and Jem came home. What a
+home it seems! People they hardly knew standing in the house-place,
+which looked as if it had never been cleaned—all was so wet, and in
+such disorder, and dirty with the trampling of many feet; Jenny still
+crying passionately, but half comforted at being at present the only
+authority as to how the affair happened; and faint moans from the room
+upstairs, where some women were cutting the clothes off poor Mary,
+preparatory for the doctor’s inspection. Jem said directly, “Some one
+go straight to Mrs. Scott’s, and fetch our Bessy. Her place is here,
+with Mary.”
+
+And then he civilly, but quietly, dismissed all the unnecessary and
+useless people, feeling sure that in case of any kind of illness, quiet
+was the best thing. Then he went upstairs.
+
+Mary’s face was scarlet now with violent pain; but she smiled a little
+through her tears at seeing Jem. As for him, he cried outright.
+
+“I don’t think it was anybody’s fault, Jem,” said she, softly. “It was
+very heavy to lift.”
+
+“Are you in great pain, dear?” asked Jem, in a whisper.
+
+“I think I’m killed, Jem. I do think I am. And I did so want to see
+mother again.”
+
+“Nonsense!” said the woman who had been helping Mary. For, as she said
+afterwards, whether Mary died or lived, crying was a bad thing for her;
+and she saw the girl was ready to cry when she thought of her mother,
+though she had borne up bravely all the time the clothes were cut off.
+
+Bessy’s face, which had been red with hard running, faded to a dead
+white when she saw Mary; she looked so shocked and ill that Jem had
+not the heart to blame her, although the minute before she came in, he
+had been feeling very angry with her. Bessy stood quite still at the
+foot of Mary’s bed, never speaking a word, while the doctor examined
+her side and felt her pulse; only great round tears gathered in her
+eyes, and rolled down her cheeks, as she saw Mary quiver with pain. Jem
+followed the doctor downstairs. Then Bessy went and knelt beside Mary,
+and wiped away the tears that were trickling down the little face.
+
+“Is it very bad, Mary?” asked Bessy.
+
+“Oh yes! yes! if I speak, I shall scream.”
+
+Then Bessy covered her head in the bed-clothes and cried outright.
+
+“I was not cross, was I? I did not mean to be—but I hardly know what I
+am saying,” moaned out little Mary. “Please forgive me, Bessy, if I was
+cross.”
+
+“God forgive me!” said Bessy, very low. They were the first words she
+had spoken since she came home. But there could be no more talking
+between the sisters, for now the woman returned who had at first been
+assisting Mary. Presently Jem came to the door, and beckoned. Bessy
+rose up, and went with, him below. Jem looked very grave, yet not so
+sad as he had done before the doctor came. “He says she must go into
+the infirmary. He will see about getting her in.”
+
+“Oh, Jem! I did so want to nurse her myself!” said Bessy, imploringly.
+“It was all my own fault,” (she choked with crying); “and I thought I
+might do that for her, to make up.”
+
+“My dear Bessy,”—before he had seen Bessy, he had thought he could
+never call her “dear” again, but now he began—“My dear Bessy, we both
+want Mary to get better, don’t we? I am sure we do. And we want to take
+the best way of making her so, whatever that is; well, then, I think we
+must not be considering what we should like best just for ourselves,
+but what people, who know as well as doctors do, say is the right way.
+I can’t remember all that he said; but I’m clear that he told me, all
+wounds on the skin required more and better air to heal in than Mary
+could have here: and there the doctor will see her twice a day, if need
+be.”
+
+Bessy shook her head, but could not speak at first. At last she said,
+“Jem, I did so want to do something for her. No one could nurse her as
+I should.”
+
+Jem was silent. At last he took Bessy’s hand, for he wanted to say
+something to her that he was afraid might vex her, and yet that he
+thought he ought to say.
+
+“Bessy!” said he, “when mother went away, you planned to do all things
+right at home, and to make us all happy. I know you did. Now may I tell
+you how I think you went wrong? Don’t be angry, Bessy.”
+
+“I think I shall never have spirit enough in me to be angry again,”
+said Bessy, humbly and sadly.
+
+“So much the better, dear. But don’t over-fret about Mary. The doctor
+has good hopes of her, if he can get her into the infirmary. Now, I’m
+going on to tell you how I think you got wrong after mother left. You
+see, Bessy, you wanted to make us all happy your way—as you liked; just
+as you are wanting now to nurse Mary in your way, and as you like. Now,
+as far as I can make out, those folks who make home the happiest, are
+people who try and find out how others think they could be happy, and
+then, if it’s not wrong, help them on with their wishes as far as they
+can. You know, you wanted us all to listen to your book; and very kind
+it was in you to think of it; only, you see, one wanted to whittle, and
+another wanted to do this or that, and then you were vexed with us all.
+I don’t say but what I should have been if I had been in your place,
+and planned such a deal for others; only lookers-on always see a deal;
+and I saw that if you’d done what poor little Mary did next day, we
+should all have been far happier. She thought how she could forward us
+in our plans, instead of trying to force a plan of her own on us. She
+got me my right sort of wood for whittling, and arranged all nicely
+to get the little ones off to bed, so as to get the house quiet, if
+you wanted some reading, as she thought you did. And that’s the way, I
+notice, some folks have of making a happy home. Others may mean just as
+well, but they don’t hit the thing.”
+
+“I dare say it’s true,” said Bessy. “But sometimes you all hang about
+as if you did not know what to do. And I thought reading travels would
+just please you all.”
+
+Jem was touched by Bessy’s humble way of speaking, so different from
+her usual cheerful, self-confident manner. He answered, “I know you
+did, dear. And many a time we should have been glad enough of it, when
+we had nothing to do, as you say.”
+
+“I had promised mother to try and make you all happy, and this is the
+end of it!” said Bessy, beginning to cry afresh.
+
+“But, Bessy! I think you were not thinking of your promise, when you
+fixed to go out and char.”
+
+“I thought of earning money.”
+
+“Earning money would not make us happy. We have enough, with care and
+management. If you were to have made us happy, you should have been at
+home, with a bright face, ready to welcome us; don’t you think so, dear
+Bessy?”
+
+“I did not want the money for home. I wanted to make mother a present
+of such a pretty thing!”
+
+“Poor mother! I am afraid we must send for her home now. And she has
+only been three days at Southport!”
+
+“Oh!” said Bessy, startled by this notion of Jem’s; “don’t, don’t send
+for mother. The doctor did say so much about her going to Southport
+being the only thing for her, and I did so try to get her an order!
+It will kill her, Jem! indeed it will; you don’t know how weak and
+frightened she is,—oh, Jem, Jem!”
+
+Jem felt the truth of what his sister was saying. At last, he resolved
+to leave the matter for the doctor to decide, as he had attended his
+mother, and now knew exactly how much danger there was about Mary. He
+proposed to Bessy that they should go and relieve the kind neighbour
+who had charge of Mary.
+
+“But you won’t send for mother,” pleaded Bessy; “if it’s the best thing
+for Mary, I’ll wash up her things to-night, all ready for her to go
+into the infirmary. I won’t think of myself, Jem.”
+
+“Well! I must speak to the doctor,” said Jem. “I must not try and fix
+any way just because we wish it, but because it is right.”
+
+All night long, Bessy washed and ironed, and yet was always ready to
+attend to Mary when Jem called her. She took Jenny’s scalded hand in
+charge as well, and bathed it with the lotion the doctor sent; and all
+was done so meekly and patiently that even Tom was struck with it,
+and admired the change. The doctor came very early. He had prepared
+everything for Mary’s admission into the infirmary. And Jem consulted
+him about sending for his mother home. Bessy sat trembling, awaiting
+his answer.
+
+“I am very unwilling to sanction any concealment. And yet, as you say,
+your mother is in a very delicate state. It might do her serious harm
+if she had any shock. Well! suppose for this once, I take it on myself.
+If Mary goes on as I hope, why—well! well! we’ll see. Mind that your
+mother is told all when she comes home. And if our poor Mary grows
+worse—but I’m not afraid of that, with infirmary care and nursing—but
+if she does, I’ll write to your mother myself, and arrange with a kind
+friend I have at Southport all about sending her home. And now,” said
+he, turning suddenly to Bessy, “tell me what you were doing from home
+when this happened. Did not your mother leave you in charge of all at
+home?”
+
+“Yes, sir!” said Bessy, trembling. “But, sir, I thought I could earn
+money to make mother a present!”
+
+“Thought! fiddle-de-dee. I’ll tell you what; never you neglect the
+work clearly laid out for you by either God or man, to go making work
+for yourself, according to your own fancies. God knows what you are
+most fit for. Do that. And then wait; if you don’t see your next duty
+clearly. You will not long be idle in this world, if you are ready for
+a summons. Now let me see that you send Mary all clean and tidy to the
+infirmary.”
+
+Jem was holding Bessy’s hand. “She has washed everything and made it
+fit for a queen. Our Bessy worked all night long, and was content to
+let me be with Mary (where she wished sore to be), because I could lift
+her better, being the stronger.”
+
+“That’s right. Even when you want to be of service to others, don’t
+think how to please yourself.”
+
+I have not much more to tell you about Bessy. This sad accident of
+Mary’s did her a great deal of good, although it cost her so much
+sorrow at first. It taught her several lessons, which it is good for
+every woman to learn, whether she is called upon, as daughter, sister,
+wife, or mother, to contribute to the happiness of a home. And Mary
+herself was hardly more thoughtful and careful to make others happy
+in their own way, provided that way was innocent, than was Bessy
+hereafter. It was a struggle between her and Mary which could be
+the least selfish, and do the duties nearest to them with the most
+faithfulness and zeal. The mother stayed at Southport her full time,
+and came home well and strong. Then Bessy put her arms round her
+mother’s neck, and told her all—and far more severely against herself
+than either the doctor or Jem did, when they related the same story
+afterwards.
+
+
+
+
+DISAPPEARANCES.
+
+
+I am not in the habit of seeing the _Household Words_ regularly; but a
+friend, who lately sent me some of the back numbers, recommended me to
+read “all the papers relating to the Detective and Protective Police,”
+which I accordingly did—not as the generality of readers have done, as
+they appeared week by week, or with pauses between, but consecutively,
+as a popular history of the Metropolitan Police; and, as I suppose it
+may also be considered, a history of the police force in every large
+town in England. When I had ended these papers, I did not feel disposed
+to read any others at that time, but preferred falling into a train of
+reverie and recollection.
+
+First of all I remembered, with a smile, the unexpected manner in which
+a relation of mine was discovered by an acquaintance, who had mislaid
+or forgotten Mr. B.’s address. Now my dear cousin, Mr. B., charming as
+he is in many points, has the little peculiarity of liking to change
+his lodgings once every three months on an average, which occasions
+some bewilderment to his country friends, who have no sooner learnt the
+19, Belle Vue Road, Hampstead, than they have to take pains to forget
+that address, and to remember the 27½, Upper Brown Street, Camberwell;
+and so on, till I would rather learn a page of _Walker’s Pronouncing
+Dictionary_, than try to remember the variety of directions which I
+have had to put on my letters to Mr. B. during the last three years.
+Last summer it pleased him to remove to a beautiful village not ten
+miles out of London, where there is a railway station. Thither his
+friend sought him. (I do not now speak of the following scent there
+had been through three or four different lodgings, where Mr. B. had
+been residing, before his country friend ascertained that he was now
+lodging at R——.) He spent the morning in making inquiries as to Mr.
+B.’s whereabouts in the village; but many gentlemen were lodging there
+for the summer, and neither butcher nor baker could inform him where
+Mr. B. was staying; his letters were unknown at the post-office,
+which was accounted for by the circumstance of their always being
+directed to his office in town. At last the country friend sauntered
+back to the railway-office, and while he waited for the train he made
+inquiry, as a last resource, of the book-keeper at the station. “No,
+sir, I cannot tell you where Mr. B. lodges—so many gentlemen go by the
+trains; but I have no doubt but that the person standing by that pillar
+can inform you.” The individual to whom he directed the inquirer’s
+attention had the appearance of a tradesman—respectable enough, yet
+with no pretensions to “gentility,” and had, apparently, no more urgent
+employment than lazily watching the passengers who came dropping in to
+the station. However, when he was spoken to, he answered civilly and
+promptly. “Mr. B.? tall gentleman, with light hair? Yes, sir, I know
+Mr. B. He lodges at No. 8, Morton Villas—has done these three weeks or
+more; but you’ll not find him there, sir, now. He went to town by the
+eleven o’clock train, and does not usually return until the half-past
+four train.”
+
+The country friend had no time to lose in returning to the village, to
+ascertain the truth of this statement. He thanked his informant, and
+said he would call on Mr. B. at his office in town; but before he left
+R——station, he asked the book-keeper who the person was to whom he had
+referred him for information as to his friend’s place of residence.
+“One of the Detective Police, sir,” was the answer. I need hardly say
+that Mr. B., not without a little surprise, confirmed the accuracy of
+the policeman’s report in every particular.
+
+When I heard this anecdote of my cousin and his friend, I thought that
+there could be no more romances written on the same kind of plot as
+Caleb Williams; the principal interest of which, to the superficial
+reader, consists in the alternation of hope and fear, that the hero
+may, or may not, escape his pursuer. It is long since I have read the
+story, and I forget the name of the offended and injured gentleman,
+whose privacy Caleb has invaded; but I know that his pursuit of
+Caleb—his detection of the various hiding-places of the latter—his
+following up of slight clues—all, in fact, depended upon his own
+energy, sagacity, and perseverance. The interest was caused by the
+struggle of man against man; and the uncertainty as to which would
+ultimately be successful in his object; the unrelenting pursuer, or the
+ingenious Caleb, who seeks by every device to conceal himself. Now,
+in 1851, the offended master would set the Detective Police to work;
+there would be no doubt as to their success; the only question would
+be as to the time that would elapse before the hiding-place could be
+detected, and that could not be a question long. It is no longer a
+struggle between man and man, but between a vast organized machinery,
+and a weak, solitary individual; we have no hopes, no fears—only
+certainty. But if the materials of pursuit and evasion, as long as
+the chase is confined to England, are taken away from the store-house
+of the romancer, at any rate we can no more be haunted by the idea
+of the possibility of mysterious disappearances; and any one who has
+associated much with those who were alive at the end of the last
+century, can testify that there was some reason for such fears.
+
+When I was a child, I was sometimes permitted to accompany a relation
+to drink tea with a very clever old lady, of one hundred and twenty—or,
+so I thought then; I now think she, perhaps, was only about seventy.
+She was lively, and intelligent, and had seen and known much that was
+worth narrating. She was a cousin of the Sneyds, the family whence Mr.
+Edgeworth took two of his wives; had known Major André; had mixed in
+the Old Whig Society that the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire and “Buff
+and Blue Mrs. Crewe” gathered round them; her father had been one of
+the early patrons of the lovely Miss Linley. I name these facts to show
+that she was too intelligent and cultivated by association, as well as
+by natural powers, to lend an over-easy credence to the marvellous; and
+yet I have heard her relate stories of disappearances which haunted
+my imagination longer than any tale of wonder. One of her stories was
+this:—Her father’s estate lay in Shropshire, and his park-gates opened
+right on to a scattered village of which he was landlord. The houses
+formed a straggling irregular street—here a garden, next a gable-end of
+a farm, there a row of cottages, and so on. Now, at the end house or
+cottage lived a very respectable man and his wife. They were well known
+in the village, and were esteemed for the patient attention which they
+paid to the husband’s father, a paralytic old man. In winter, his chair
+was near the fire; in summer, they carried him out into the open space
+in front of the house to bask in the sunshine, and to receive what
+placid amusement he could from watching the little passings to and fro
+of the villagers. He could not move from his bed to his chair without
+help. One hot and sultry June day, all the village turned out to the
+hay-fields. Only the very old and the very young remained.
+
+The old father of whom I have spoken was carried out to bask in the
+sunshine that afternoon as usual, and his son and daughter-in-law
+went to the hay-making. But when they came home in the early evening,
+their paralysed father had disappeared—was gone! and from that day
+forwards, nothing more was ever heard of him. The old lady, who told
+this story, said with the quietness that always marked the simplicity
+of her narration, that every inquiry which her father could make was
+made, and that it could never be accounted for. No one had observed any
+stranger in the village; no small household robbery, to which the old
+man might have been supposed an obstacle, had been committed in his
+son’s dwelling that afternoon. The son and daughter-in-law (noted too
+for their attention to the helpless father) had been a-field among all
+the neighbours the whole of the time. In short, it never was accounted
+for; and left a painful impression on many minds.
+
+I will answer for it, the Detective Police would have ascertained every
+fact relating to it in a week.
+
+This story from its mystery was painful, but had no consequences
+to make it tragical. The next which I shall tell (and although
+traditionary, these anecdotes of disappearances which I relate in this
+paper are correctly repeated, and were believed by my informants to be
+strictly true), had consequences, and melancholy ones too. The scene of
+it is in a little country-town, surrounded by the estates of several
+gentlemen of large property. About a hundred years ago there lived in
+this small town an attorney, with his mother and sister. He was agent
+for one of the squires near, and received rents for him on stated days,
+which of course were well known. He went at these times to a small
+public-house, perhaps five miles from ——, where the tenants met him,
+paid their rents, and were entertained at dinner afterwards. One night
+he did not return from this festivity. He never returned. The gentleman
+whose agent he was, employed the Dogberrys of the time to find him,
+and the missing cash; the mother, whose support and comfort he was,
+sought him with all the perseverance of faithful love. But he never
+returned; and by-and-by the rumour spread that he must have gone abroad
+with the money; his mother heard the whispers all around her, and could
+not disprove it; and so her heart broke, and she died. Years after, I
+think as many as fifty, the well-to-do butcher and grazier of —— died;
+but, before his death, he confessed that he had waylaid Mr. —— on the
+heath close to the town, almost within call of his own house, intending
+only to rob him, but meeting with more resistance than he anticipated,
+had been provoked to stab him; and had buried him that very night deep
+under the loose sand of the heath. There his skeleton was found; but
+too late for his poor mother to know that his fame was cleared. His
+sister, too, was dead, unmarried, for no one liked the possibilities
+which might arise from being connected with the family. None cared if
+he was guilty or innocent now.
+
+If our Detective Police had only been in existence!
+
+This last is hardly a story of unaccounted-for disappearance. It is
+only unaccounted for in one generation. But disappearances never to be
+accounted for on any supposition are not uncommon, among the traditions
+of the last century. I have heard (and I think I have read it in one of
+the earlier numbers of _Chambers’s Journal_), of a marriage which took
+place in Lincolnshire about the year 1750. It was not then _de rigueur_
+that the happy couple should set out on a wedding journey; but instead,
+they and their friends had a merry jovial dinner at the house of either
+bride or groom; and in this instance the whole party adjourned to the
+bridegroom’s residence, and dispersed, some to ramble in the garden,
+some to rest in the house until the dinner-hour. The bridegroom, it is
+to be supposed, was with his bride, when he was suddenly summoned away
+by a domestic, who said that a stranger wished to speak to him; and
+henceforward he was never seen more. The same tradition hangs about
+an old deserted Welsh Hall standing in a wood near Festiniog; there,
+too, the bridegroom was sent for to give audience to a stranger on his
+wedding-day, and disappeared from the face of the earth from that time;
+but there, they tell in addition, that the bride lived long,—that she
+passed her three-score years and ten, but that daily during all those
+years, while there was light of sun or moon to lighten the earth, she
+sat watching,—watching at one particular window which commanded a view
+of the approach to the house. Her whole faculties, her whole mental
+powers, became absorbed in that weary watching; long before she died,
+she was childish, and only conscious of one wish—to sit in that long
+high window, and watch the road, along which he might come. She was as
+faithful as Evangeline, if pensive and inglorious.
+
+That these two similar stories of disappearance on a wedding-day
+“obtained,” as the French say, shows us that anything which adds to
+our facility of communication, and organization of means, adds to
+our security of life. Only let a bridegroom try to disappear from an
+untamed _Katherine_ of a bride, and he will soon be brought home, like
+a recreant coward, overtaken by the electric telegraph, and clutched
+back to his fate by a detective policeman.
+
+Two more stories of disappearance, and I have done. I will give you
+the last in date first, because it is the most melancholy; and we will
+wind up cheerfully (after a fashion). Some time between 1820 and 1830,
+there lived in North Shields a respectable old woman, and her son, who
+was trying to struggle into sufficient knowledge of medicine, to go
+out as ship-surgeon in a Baltic vessel, and perhaps in this manner to
+earn money enough to spend a session in Edinburgh. He was furthered in
+all his plans by the late benevolent Dr. G——, of that town. I believe
+the usual premium was not required in his case; the young man did many
+useful errands and offices which a finer young gentleman would have
+considered beneath him; and he resided with his mother in one of the
+alleys (or “chares,”) which lead down from the main street of North
+Shields to the river. Dr. G——had been with a patient all night, and
+left her very early on a winter’s morning to return home to bed; but
+first he stepped down to his apprentice’s home, and bade him get up,
+and follow him to his own house, where some medicine was to be mixed,
+and then taken to the lady. Accordingly the poor lad came, prepared the
+dose, and set off with it some time between five and six on a winter’s
+morning. He was never seen again. Dr. G—— waited, thinking he was at
+his mother’s house; she waited, considering that he had gone to his
+day’s work. And meanwhile, as people remembered afterwards, the small
+vessel bound to Edinburgh sailed out of port. The mother expected
+him back her whole life long; but some years afterwards occurred
+the discoveries of the Hare and Burke horrors, and people seemed to
+gain a dark glimpse at his fate; but I never heard that it was fully
+ascertained, or indeed more than surmised. I ought to add that all
+who knew him spoke emphatically as to his steadiness of purpose, and
+conduct, so as to render it improbable in the highest degree that he
+had run off to sea, or suddenly changed his plan of life in any way.
+
+My last story is one of a disappearance which was accounted for after
+many years. There is a considerable street in Manchester leading from
+the centre of the town to some of the suburbs. This street is called
+at one part Garratt, and afterwards, where it emerges into gentility
+and, comparatively, country, Brook Street. It derives its former name
+from an old black-and-white hall of the time of Richard the Third, or
+thereabouts, to judge from the style of building; they have closed in
+what is left of the old hall now; but a few years since this old house
+was visible from the main road; it stood low on some vacant ground,
+and appeared to be half in ruins. I believe it was occupied by several
+poor families who rented tenements in the tumble-down dwelling. But
+formerly it was Gerard Hall, (what a difference between Gerard and
+Garratt!) and was surrounded by a park with a clear brook running
+through it, with pleasant fish-ponds, (the name of these was preserved
+until very lately, on a street near,) orchards, dovecotes, and similar
+appurtenances to the manor-houses of former days. I am almost sure that
+the family to whom it belonged were Mosleys, probably a branch of the
+tree of the lord of the Manor of Manchester. Any topographical work of
+the last century relating to their district would give the name of the
+last proprietor of the old stock, and it is to him that my story refers.
+
+Many years ago there lived in Manchester two old maiden ladies, of high
+respectability. All their lives had been spent in the town, and they
+were fond of relating the changes which had taken place within their
+recollection, which extended back to seventy or eighty years from the
+present time. They knew much of its traditionary history from their
+father, as well; who, with his father before him, had been respectable
+attorneys in Manchester, during the greater part of the last century:
+they were, also, agents for several of the county families, who, driven
+from their old possessions by the enlargement of the town, found some
+compensation in the increased value of any land which they might
+choose to sell. Consequently the Messrs. S——, father and son, were
+conveyancers in good repute, and acquainted with several secret pieces
+of family history, one of which related to Garratt Hall.
+
+The owner of this estate, some time in the first half of the last
+century, married young; he and his wife had several children, and
+lived together in a quiet state of happiness for many years. At last,
+business of some kind took the husband up to London; a week’s journey
+in those days. He wrote and announced his arrival; I do not think he
+ever wrote again. He seemed to be swallowed up in the abyss of the
+metropolis, for no friend (and the lady had many and powerful friends)
+could ever ascertain for her what had become of him; the prevalent idea
+was that he had been attacked by some of the street-robbers who prowled
+about in those days, that he had resisted, and had been murdered. His
+wife gradually gave up all hopes of seeing him again, and devoted
+herself to the care of her children; and so they went on, tranquilly
+enough, until the heir came of age, when certain deeds were necessary
+before he could legally take possession of the property. These deeds
+Mr. S—— (the family lawyer) stated had been given up by him into the
+missing gentleman’s keeping just before the last mysterious journey
+to London, with which I think they were in some way concerned. It was
+possible that they were still in existence; some one in London might
+have them in possession, and be either conscious or unconscious of
+their importance. At any rate, Mr. S——’s advice to his client was
+that he should put an advertisement in the London papers, worded so
+skilfully that any one who might hold the important documents should
+understand to what it referred, and no one else. This was accordingly
+done; and although repeated at intervals for some time, it met with
+no success. But at last a mysterious answer was sent; to the effect
+that the deeds were in existence, and should be given up; but only
+on certain conditions, and to the heir himself. The young man, in
+consequence, went up to London, and adjourned, according to directions,
+to an old house in Barbican, where he was told by a man, apparently
+awaiting him, that he must submit to be blindfolded, and must follow
+his guidance. He was taken through several long passages before he
+left the house; at the termination of one of these he was put into a
+sedan-chair, and carried about for an hour or more; he always reported
+that there were many turnings, and that he imagined he was set down
+finally not very far from his starting point.
+
+When his eyes were unbandaged, he was in a decent sitting-room, with
+tokens of family occupation lying about. A middle-aged gentleman
+entered, and told him that, until a certain time had elapsed (which
+should be indicated to him in a particular way, but of which the length
+was not then named), he must swear to secrecy as to the means by which
+he obtained possession of the deeds. This oath was taken; and then the
+gentleman, not without some emotion, acknowledged himself to be the
+missing father of the heir. It seems that he had fallen in love with a
+damsel, a friend of the person with whom he lodged. To this young woman
+he had represented himself as unmarried; she listened willingly to
+his wooing, and her father, who was a shopkeeper in the City, was not
+averse to the match, as the Lancashire squire had a goodly presence,
+and many similar qualities, which the shopkeeper thought might be
+acceptable to his customers. The bargain was struck; the descendant
+of a knightly race married the only daughter of the City shopkeeper,
+and became a junior partner in the business. He told his son that he
+had never repented the step he had taken; that his lowly-born wife was
+sweet, docile, and affectionate; that his family by her was large; and
+that he and they were thriving and happy. He inquired after his first
+(or rather, I should say, his true) wife with friendly affection;
+approved of what she had done with regard to his estate, and the
+education of his children; but said that he considered he was dead
+to her, as she was to him. When he really died he promised that a
+particular message, the nature of which he specified, should be sent to
+his son at Garrett; until then they would not hear more of each other;
+for it was of no use attempting to trace him under his incognito,
+even if the oath did not render such an attempt forbidden. I dare say
+the youth had no great desire to trace out the father, who had been
+one in name only. He returned to Lancashire; took possession of the
+property at Manchester; and many years elapsed before he received the
+mysterious intimation of his father’s real death. After that, he named
+the particulars connected with the recovery of the title-deeds to Mr.
+S., and one or two intimate friends. When the family became extinct, or
+removed from Garratt, it became no longer any very closely kept secret,
+and I was told the tale of the disappearance by Miss S., the aged
+daughter of the family agent.
+
+Once more, let me say I am thankful I live in the days of the Detective
+Police; if I am murdered, or commit bigamy, at any rate my friends will
+have the comfort of knowing all about it.
+
+A correspondent has favoured us with the sequel of the disappearance
+of the pupil of Dr. G., who vanished from North Shields, in charge
+of certain potions he was entrusted with, very early one morning, to
+convey to a patient:—“Dr. G.’s son married my sister, and the young man
+who disappeared was a pupil in the house. When he went out with the
+medicine, he was hardly dressed, having merely thrown on some clothes;
+and he went in slippers—which incidents induced the belief that he was
+made away with. After some months his family put on mourning; and the
+G.’s (_very_ timid people) were so sure that he was murdered, that
+they wrote verses to his memory, and became sadly worn by terror. But,
+after a long time (I fancy, but am not sure, about a year and a half),
+came a letter from the young man, who was doing well in America. His
+explanation was, that a vessel was lying at the wharf about to sail in
+the morning, and the youth, who had long meditated evasion, thought it
+a good opportunity, and stepped on board, after leaving the medicine at
+the proper door. I spent some weeks at Dr. G.’s after the occurrence;
+and very doleful we used to be about it. But the next time I went they
+were, naturally, very angry with the inconsiderate young man.”
+
+
+London: Printed by SMITH, ELDER & Co., 15½, Old Bailey, E.C.
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES
+
+1.  Wir pflügen und wir streuen
+    Den Saamen auf das Land;
+    Das Wachsen und Gedeihen
+    Steht in des höchsten Hand.
+    Er sendet Thau und Regen,
+    Und Sonn und Mondesschein;
+    Von Ihm kommt aller Segen,
+    Von unserm Gott allein:
+    Alle gute Gabe kommt her
+    Von Gott dem Herrn,
+    Drum dankt und hofft auf Ihn.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
+
+Contemporary spellings have been retained even when inconsistent. A
+small number of obvious typographical errors have been corrected, and
+missing punctuation has been silently added.
+
+The following additional changes have been made:
+
+ re-inter the inn                re-enter the inn
+
+ borne at Altenahr               born at Altenahr
+
+ hofft auf Ihm                   hofft auf Ihn
+
+ Libbie fell very shy            Libbie felt very shy
+
+ shut the door in                shut the door in
+ Mr. Jenkins’s face              Mrs. Jenkins’s face
+
+ his eyes was open               his eyes were open
+
+ count-out and throwing          counting out and throwing
+ down her money                  down her money
+
+ altered breathings              altered breathing
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 28636 ***
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Woman and other Tales, by 
-Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
-
-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: The Grey Woman and other Tales
-
-Author: Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
-
-Release Date: April 29, 2009 [EBook #28636]
-[Last updated: December 1, 2017]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WOMAN AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
-Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
-
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-
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-
-[Illustration:
-
-THE GREY WOMAN
-AND
-OTHER TALES.
-
-MRS. GASKELL
-
-
-
-SMITH ELDER & Co
-65 CORNHILL
-1865]
-
-
-
-
-THE GREY WOMAN.
-AND OTHER TALES.
-
-
-BY MRS. GASKELL,
-
-AUTHOR OF "MARY BARTON," "NORTH AND SOUTH," "SYLVIA'S
-LOVERS," "COUSIN PHILLIS," "CRANFORD," ETC.
-
-
-ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
-
-
-LONDON:
-SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.
-M.DCCC.LXV.
-
-
-[_The Right of Translation is reserved._]
-
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS.                      PAGE
-
-THE GREY WOMAN                    5
-CURIOUS IF TRUE                  82
-SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM         105
-LIBBIE MARSH'S THREE ERAS       158
-CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE   197
-HAND AND HEART                  213
-BESSY'S TROUBLES AT HOME        240
-DISAPPEARANCES                  267
-
-
-
-
-THE GREY WOMAN.
-
-PORTION I.
-
-
-There is a mill by the Neckar-side, to which many people resort for
-coffee, according to the fashion which is almost national in Germany.
-There is nothing particularly attractive in the situation of this mill;
-it is on the Mannheim (the flat and unromantic) side of Heidelberg.
-The river turns the mill-wheel with a plenteous gushing sound; the
-out-buildings and the dwelling-house of the miller form a well-kept
-dusty quadrangle. Again, further from the river, there is a garden full
-of willows, and arbours, and flower-beds not well kept, but very profuse
-in flowers and luxuriant creepers, knotting and looping the arbours
-together. In each of these arbours is a stationary table of white
-painted wood, and light moveable chairs of the same colour and material.
-
-I went to drink coffee there with some friends in 184--. The stately old
-miller came out to greet us, as some of the party were known to him of
-old. He was of a grand build of a man, and his loud musical voice, with
-its tone friendly and familiar, his rolling laugh of welcome, went well
-with the keen bright eye, the fine cloth of his coat, and the general
-look of substance about the place. Poultry of all kinds abounded in the
-mill-yard, where there were ample means of livelihood for them strewed
-on the ground; but not content with this, the miller took out handfuls
-of corn from the sacks, and threw liberally to the cocks and hens that
-ran almost under his feet in their eagerness. And all the time he was
-doing this, as it were habitually, he was talking to us, and ever and
-anon calling to his daughter and the serving-maids, to bid them hasten
-the coffee we had ordered. He followed us to an arbour, and saw us
-served to his satisfaction with the best of everything we could ask for;
-and then left us to go round to the different arbours and see that each
-party was properly attended to; and, as he went, this great, prosperous,
-happy-looking man whistled softly one of the most plaintive airs I ever
-heard.
-
-"His family have held this mill ever since the old Palatinate days; or
-rather, I should say, have possessed the ground ever since then, for two
-successive mills of theirs have been burnt down by the French. If you
-want to see Scherer in a passion, just talk to him of the possibility of
-a French invasion."
-
-But at this moment, still whistling that mournful air, we saw the miller
-going down the steps that led from the somewhat raised garden into the
-mill-yard; and so I seemed to have lost my chance of putting him in a
-passion.
-
-We had nearly finished our coffee, and our "kucken," and our cinnamon
-cake, when heavy splashes fell on our thick leafy covering; quicker and
-quicker they came, coming through the tender leaves as if they were
-tearing them asunder; all the people in the garden were hurrying under
-shelter, or seeking for their carriages standing outside. Up the steps
-the miller came hastening, with a crimson umbrella, fit to cover every
-one left in the garden, and followed by his daughter, and one or two
-maidens, each bearing an umbrella.
-
-"Come into the house--come in, I say. It is a summer-storm, and will
-flood the place for an hour or two, till the river carries it away.
-Here, here."
-
-And we followed him back into his own house. We went into the kitchen
-first. Such an array of bright copper and tin vessels I never saw; and
-all the wooden things were as thoroughly scoured. The red tile floor was
-spotless when we went in, but in two minutes it was all over slop and
-dirt with the tread of many feet; for the kitchen was filled, and still
-the worthy miller kept bringing in more people under his great crimson
-umbrella. He even called the dogs in, and made them lie down under the
-tables.
-
-His daughter said something to him in German, and he shook his head
-merrily at her. Everybody laughed.
-
-"What did she say?" I asked.
-
-"She told him to bring the ducks in next; but indeed if more people
-come we shall be suffocated. What with the thundery weather, and the
-stove, and all these steaming clothes, I really think we must ask leave
-to pass on. Perhaps we might go in and see Frau Scherer."
-
-My friend asked the daughter of the house for permission to go into an
-inner chamber and see her mother. It was granted, and we went into a
-sort of saloon, overlooking the Neckar; very small, very bright, and
-very close. The floor was slippery with polish; long narrow pieces
-of looking-glass against the walls reflected the perpetual motion of
-the river opposite; a white porcelain stove, with some old-fashioned
-ornaments of brass about it; a sofa, covered with Utrecht velvet, a
-table before it, and a piece of worsted-worked carpet under it; a vase
-of artificial flowers; and, lastly, an alcove with a bed in it, on which
-lay the paralysed wife of the good miller, knitting busily, formed the
-furniture. I spoke as if this was all that was to be seen in the room;
-but, sitting quietly, while my friend kept up a brisk conversation in a
-language which I but half understood, my eye was caught by a picture in
-a dark corner of the room, and I got up to examine it more nearly.
-
-It was that of a young girl of extreme beauty; evidently of middle rank.
-There was a sensitive refinement in her face, as if she almost shrank
-from the gaze which, of necessity, the painter must have fixed upon her.
-It was not over-well painted, but I felt that it must have been a good
-likeness, from this strong impress of peculiar character which I have
-tried to describe. From the dress, I should guess it to have been
-painted in the latter half of the last century. And I afterwards heard
-that I was right.
-
-There was a little pause in the conversation.
-
-"Will you ask Frau Scherer who this is?"
-
-My friend repeated my question, and received a long reply in German.
-Then she turned round and translated it to me.
-
-"It is the likeness of a great-aunt of her husband's." (My friend was
-standing by me, and looking at the picture with sympathetic curiosity.)
-"See! here is the name on the open page of this Bible, 'Anna Scherer,
-1778.' Frau Scherer says there is a tradition in the family that this
-pretty girl, with her complexion of lilies and roses, lost her colour
-so entirely through fright, that she was known by the name of the
-Grey Woman. She speaks as if this Anna Scherer lived in some state
-of life-long terror. But she does not know details; refers me to her
-husband for them. She thinks he has some papers which were written by
-the original of that picture for her daughter, who died in this very
-house not long after our friend there was married. We can ask Herr
-Scherer for the whole story if you like."
-
-"Oh yes, pray do!" said I. And, as our host came in at this moment to
-ask how we were faring, and to tell us that he had sent to Heidelberg
-for carriages to convey us home, seeing no chance of the heavy rain
-abating, my friend, after thanking him, passed on to my request.
-
-"Ah!" said he, his face changing, "the aunt Anna had a sad history.
-It was all owing to one of those hellish Frenchmen; and her daughter
-suffered for it--the cousin Ursula, as we all called her when I was a
-child. To be sure, the good cousin Ursula was his child as well. The
-sins of the fathers are visited on their children. The lady would
-like to know all about it, would she? Well, there are papers--a kind
-of apology the aunt Anna wrote for putting an end to her daughter's
-engagement--or rather facts which she revealed, that prevented cousin
-Ursula from marrying the man she loved; and so she would never have
-any other good fellow, else I have heard say my father would have been
-thankful to have made her his wife." All this time he was rummaging in
-the drawer of an old-fashioned bureau, and now he turned round, with a
-bundle of yellow MSS. in his hand, which he gave to my friend, saying,
-"Take it home, take it home, and if you care to make out our crabbed
-German writing, you may keep it as long as you like, and read it at your
-leisure. Only I must have it back again when you have done with it,
-that's all."
-
-And so we became possessed of the manuscript of the following letter,
-which it was our employment, during many a long evening that ensuing
-winter, to translate, and in some parts to abbreviate. The letter began
-with some reference to the pain which she had already inflicted upon her
-daughter by some unexplained opposition to a project of marriage; but I
-doubt if, without the clue with which the good miller had furnished us,
-we could have made out even this much from the passionate, broken
-sentences that made us fancy that some scene between the mother and
-daughter--and possibly a third person--had occurred just before the
-mother had begun to write.
-
-
-"Thou dost not love thy child, mother! Thou dost not care if her heart
-is broken!" Ah, God! and these words of my heart-beloved Ursula ring in
-my ears as if the sound of them would fill them when I lie a-dying. And
-her poor tear-stained face comes between me and everything else. Child!
-hearts do not break; life is very tough as well as very terrible. But I
-will not decide for thee. I will tell thee all; and thou shalt bear the
-burden of choice. I may be wrong; I have little wit left, and never had
-much, I think; but an instinct serves me in place of judgment, and that
-instinct tells me that thou and thy Henri must never be married. Yet I
-may be in error. I would fain make my child happy. Lay this paper before
-the good priest Schriesheim; if, after reading it, thou hast doubts
-which make thee uncertain. Only I will tell thee all now, on condition
-that no spoken word ever passes between us on the subject. It would kill
-me to be questioned. I should have to see all present again.
-
-My father held, as thou knowest, the mill on the Neckar, where thy
-new-found uncle, Scherer, now lives. Thou rememberest the surprise with
-which we were received there last vintage twelvemonth. How thy uncle
-disbelieved me when I said that I was his sister Anna, whom he had long
-believed to be dead, and how I had to lead thee underneath the picture,
-painted of me long ago, and point out, feature by feature, the likeness
-between it and thee; and how, as I spoke, I recalled first to my own
-mind, and then by speech to his, the details of the time when it was
-painted; the merry words that passed between us then, a happy boy and
-girl; the position of the articles of furniture in the room; our father's
-habits; the cherry-tree, now cut down, that shaded the window of my
-bedroom, through which my brother was wont to squeeze himself, in order
-to spring on to the topmost bough that would bear his weight; and thence
-would pass me back his cap laden with fruit to where I sat on the
-window-sill, too sick with fright for him to care much for eating the
-cherries.
-
-And at length Fritz gave way, and believed me to be his sister Anna,
-even as though I were risen from the dead. And thou rememberest how
-he fetched in his wife, and told her that I was not dead, but was
-come back to the old home once more, changed as I was. And she would
-scarce believe him, and scanned me with a cold, distrustful eye, till
-at length--for I knew her of old as Babette M�ller--I said that I was
-well-to-do, and needed not to seek out friends for what they had to
-give. And then she asked--not me, but her husband--why I had kept silent
-so long, leading all--father, brother, every one that loved me in my own
-dear home--to esteem me dead. And then thine uncle (thou rememberest?)
-said he cared not to know more than I cared to tell; that I was his
-Anna, found again, to be a blessing to him in his old age, as I had been
-in his boyhood. I thanked him in my heart for his trust; for were the
-need for telling all less than it seems to me now I could not speak of
-my past life. But she, who was my sister-in-law still, held back her
-welcome, and, for want of that, I did not go to live in Heidelberg as
-I had planned beforehand, in order to be near my brother Fritz, but
-contented myself with his promise to be a father to my Ursula when I
-should die and leave this weary world.
-
-That Babette M�ller was, as I may say, the cause of all my life's
-suffering. She was a baker's daughter in Heidelberg--a great beauty, as
-people said, and, indeed, as I could see for myself. I, too--thou sawest
-my picture--was reckoned a beauty, and I believe I was so. Babette M�ller
-looked upon me as a rival. She liked to be admired, and had no one much
-to love her. I had several people to love me--thy grandfather, Fritz,
-the old servant K�tchen, Karl, the head apprentice at the mill--and I
-feared admiration and notice, and the being stared at as the "Sch�ne
-M�llerin," whenever I went to make my purchases in Heidelberg.
-
-Those were happy, peaceful days. I had K�tchen to help me in the
-housework, and whatever we did pleased my brave old father, who was
-always gentle and indulgent towards us women, though he was stern enough
-with the apprentices in the mill. Karl, the oldest of these, was his
-favourite; and I can see now that my father wished him to marry me, and
-that Karl himself was desirous to do so. But Karl was rough-spoken, and
-passionate--not with me, but with the others--and I shrank from him
-in a way which, I fear, gave him pain. And then came thy uncle Fritz's
-marriage; and Babette was brought to the mill to be its mistress. Not
-that I cared much for giving up my post, for, in spite of my father's
-great kindness, I always feared that I did not manage well for so large
-a family (with the men, and a girl under K�tchen, we sat down eleven
-each night to supper). But when Babette began to find fault with K�tchen,
-I was unhappy at the blame that fell on faithful servants; and by-and-by
-I began to see that Babette was egging on Karl to make more open love to
-me, and, as she once said, to get done with it, and take me off to a
-home of my own. My father was growing old, and did not perceive all my
-daily discomfort. The more Karl advanced, the more I disliked him. He
-was good in the main, but I had no notion of being married, and could
-not bear any one who talked to me about it.
-
-Things were in this way when I had an invitation to go to Carlsruhe to
-visit a schoolfellow, of whom I had been very fond. Babette was all for
-my going; I don't think I wanted to leave home, and yet I had been very
-fond of Sophie Rupprecht. But I was always shy among strangers. Somehow
-the affair was settled for me, but not until both Fritz and my father
-had made inquiries as to the character and position of the Rupprechts.
-They learned that the father had held some kind of inferior position
-about the Grand-duke's court, and was now dead, leaving a widow, a noble
-lady, and two daughters, the elder of whom was Sophie, my friend. Madame
-Rupprecht was not rich, but more than respectable--genteel. When this
-was ascertained, my father made no opposition to my going; Babette
-forwarded it by all the means in her power, and even my dear Fritz had
-his word to say in its favour. Only K�tchen was against it--K�tchen
-and Karl. The opposition of Karl did more to send me to Carlsruhe than
-anything. For I could have objected to go; but when he took upon himself
-to ask what was the good of going a-gadding, visiting strangers of whom
-no one knew anything, I yielded to circumstances--to the pulling of
-Sophie and the pushing of Babette. I was silently vexed, I remember, at
-Babette's inspection of my clothes; at the way in which she settled that
-this gown was too old-fashioned, or that too common, to go with me on
-my visit to a noble lady; and at the way in which she took upon herself
-to spend the money my father had given me to buy what was requisite for
-the occasion. And yet I blamed myself, for every one else thought her so
-kind for doing all this; and she herself meant kindly, too.
-
-At last I quitted the mill by the Neckar-side. It was a long day's
-journey, and Fritz went with me to Carlsruhe. The Rupprechts lived on
-the third floor of a house a little behind one of the principal streets,
-in a cramped-up court, to which we gained admittance through a doorway
-in the street. I remember how pinched their rooms looked after the large
-space we had at the mill, and yet they had an air of grandeur about them
-which was new to me, and which gave me pleasure, faded as some of it
-was. Madame Rupprecht was too formal a lady for me; I was never at my
-ease with her; but Sophie was all that I had recollected her at school:
-kind, affectionate, and only rather too ready with her expressions
-of admiration and regard. The little sister kept out of our way; and
-that was all we needed, in the first enthusiastic renewal of our early
-friendship. The one great object of Madame Rupprecht's life was to
-retain her position in society; and as her means were much diminished
-since her husband's death, there was not much comfort, though there was
-a great deal of show, in their way of living; just the opposite of what
-it was at my father's house. I believe that my coming was not too much
-desired by Madame Rupprecht, as I brought with me another mouth to be
-fed; but Sophie had spent a year or more in entreating for permission to
-invite me, and her mother, having once consented, was too well bred not
-to give me a stately welcome.
-
-The life in Carlsruhe was very different from what it was at home. The
-hours were later, the coffee was weaker in the morning, the pottage was
-weaker, the boiled beef less relieved by other diet, the dresses finer,
-the evening engagements constant. I did not find these visits pleasant.
-We might not knit, which would have relieved the tedium a little; but we
-sat in a circle, talking together, only interrupted occasionally by a
-gentleman, who, breaking out of the knot of men who stood near the door,
-talking eagerly together, stole across the room on tiptoe, his hat under
-his arm, and, bringing his feet together in the position we called the
-first at the dancing-school, made a low bow to the lady he was going to
-address. The first time I saw these manners I could not help smiling;
-but Madame Rupprecht saw me, and spoke to me next morning rather severely,
-telling me that, of course, in my country breeding I could have seen
-nothing of court manners, or French fashions, but that that was no
-reason for my laughing at them. Of course I tried never to smile again
-in company. This visit to Carlsruhe took place in '89, just when every
-one was full of the events taking place at Paris; and yet at Carlsruhe
-French fashions were more talked of than French politics. Madame
-Rupprecht, especially, thought a great deal of all French people. And
-this again was quite different to us at home. Fritz could hardly bear
-the name of a Frenchman; and it had nearly been an obstacle to my visit
-to Sophie that her mother preferred being called Madame to her proper
-title of Frau.
-
-[Illustration p. 17: Monsieur de la Tourelle.]
-
-One night I was sitting next to Sophie, and longing for the time when we
-might have supper and go home, so as to be able to speak together, a
-thing forbidden by Madame Rupprecht's rules of etiquette, which strictly
-prohibited any but the most necessary conversation passing between
-members of the same family when in society. I was sitting, I say,
-scarcely keeping back my inclination to yawn, when two gentlemen came
-in, one of whom was evidently a stranger to the whole party, from the
-formal manner in which the host led him up, and presented him to the
-hostess. I thought I had never seen any one so handsome or so elegant.
-His hair was powdered, of course, but one could see from his complexion
-that it was fair in its natural state. His features were as delicate as
-a girl's, and set off by two little "mouches," as we called patches in
-those days, one at the left corner of his mouth, the other prolonging,
-as it were, the right eye. His dress was blue and silver. I was so lost
-in admiration of this beautiful young man, that I was as much surprised
-as if the angel Gabriel had spoken to me, when the lady of the house
-brought him forward to present him to me. She called him Monsieur de la
-Tourelle, and he began to speak to me in French; but though I understood
-him perfectly, I dared not trust myself to reply to him in that language.
-Then he tried German, speaking it with a kind of soft lisp that I
-thought charming. But, before the end of the evening, I became a little
-tired of the affected softness and effeminacy of his manners, and the
-exaggerated compliments he paid me, which had the effect of making all
-the company turn round and look at me. Madame Rupprecht was, however,
-pleased with the precise thing that displeased me. She liked either
-Sophie or me to create a sensation; of course she would have preferred
-that it should have been her daughter, but her daughter's friend was
-next best. As we went away, I heard Madame Rupprecht and Monsieur de la
-Tourelle reciprocating civil speeches with might and main, from which I
-found out that the French gentleman was coming to call on us the next
-day. I do not know whether I was more glad or frightened, for I had been
-kept upon stilts of good manners all the evening. But still I was
-flattered when Madame Rupprecht spoke as if she had invited him, because
-he had shown pleasure in my society, and even more gratified by Sophie's
-ungrudging delight at the evident interest I had excited in so fine and
-agreeable a gentleman. Yet, with all this, they had hard work to keep me
-from running out of the salon the next day, when we heard his voice
-inquiring at the gate on the stairs for Madame Rupprecht. They had made
-me put on my Sunday gown, and they themselves were dressed as for a
-reception.
-
-When he was gone away, Madame Rupprecht congratulated me on the conquest
-I had made; for, indeed, he had scarcely spoken to any one else, beyond
-what mere civility required, and had almost invited himself to come in
-the evening to bring some new song, which was all the fashion in Paris,
-he said. Madame Rupprecht had been out all morning, as she told me, to
-glean information about Monsieur de la Tourelle. He was a propri�taire,
-had a small ch�teau on the Vosges mountains; he owned land there, but
-had a large income from some sources quite independent of this property.
-Altogether, he was a good match, as she emphatically observed. She
-never seemed to think that I could refuse him after this account of his
-wealth, nor do I believe she would have allowed Sophie a choice, even
-had he been as old and ugly as he was young and handsome. I do not quite
-know--so many events have come to pass since then, and blurred the
-clearness of my recollections--if I loved him or not. He was very much
-devoted to me; he almost frightened me by the excess of his demonstrations
-of love. And he was very charming to everybody around me, who all spoke
-of him as the most fascinating of men, and of me as the most fortunate
-of girls. And yet I never felt quite at my ease with him. I was always
-relieved when his visits were over, although I missed his presence when
-he did not come. He prolonged his visit to the friend with whom he was
-staying at Carlsruhe, on purpose to woo me. He loaded me with presents,
-which I was unwilling to take, only Madame Rupprecht seemed to consider
-me an affected prude if I refused them. Many of these presents consisted
-of articles of valuable old jewellery, evidently belonging to his family;
-by accepting these I doubled the ties which were formed around me by
-circumstances even more than by my own consent. In those days we did not
-write letters to absent friends as frequently as is done now, and I had
-been unwilling to name him in the few letters that I wrote home. At
-length, however, I learned from Madame Rupprecht that she had written to
-my father to announce the splendid conquest I had made, and to request
-his presence at my betrothal. I started with astonishment. I had not
-realized that affairs had gone so far as this. But when she asked me, in
-a stern, offended manner, what I had meant by my conduct if I did not
-intend to marry Monsieur de la Tourelle--I had received his visits, his
-presents, all his various advances without showing any unwillingness or
-repugnance--(and it was all true; I had shown no repugnance, though I
-did not wish to be married to him,--at least, not so soon)--what could I
-do but hang my head, and silently consent to the rapid enunciation of
-the only course which now remained for me if I would not be esteemed a
-heartless coquette all the rest of my days?
-
-There was some difficulty, which I afterwards learnt that my
-sister-in-law had obviated, about my betrothal taking place from home.
-My father, and Fritz especially, were for having me return to the mill,
-and there be betrothed, and from thence be married. But the Rupprechts
-and Monsieur de la Tourelle were equally urgent on the other side; and
-Babette was unwilling to have the trouble of the commotion at the mill;
-and also, I think, a little disliked the idea of the contrast of my
-grander marriage with her own.
-
-So my father and Fritz came over to the betrothal. They were to stay
-at an inn in Carlsruhe for a fortnight, at the end of which time the
-marriage was to take place. Monsieur de la Tourelle told me he had
-business at home, which would oblige him to be absent during the
-interval between the two events; and I was very glad of it, for I
-did not think that he valued my father and my brother as I could have
-wished him to do. He was very polite to them; put on all the soft, grand
-manner, which he had rather dropped with me; and complimented us all
-round, beginning with my father and Madame Rupprecht, and ending with
-little Alwina. But he a little scoffed at the old-fashioned church
-ceremonies which my father insisted on; and I fancy Fritz must have
-taken some of his compliments as satire, for I saw certain signs of
-manner by which I knew that my future husband, for all his civil words,
-had irritated and annoyed my brother. But all the money arrangements
-were liberal in the extreme, and more than satisfied, almost surprised,
-my father. Even Fritz lifted up his eyebrows and whistled. I alone did
-not care about anything. I was bewitched,--in a dream,--a kind of
-despair. I had got into a net through my own timidity and weakness, and
-I did not see how to get out of it. I clung to my own home-people that
-fortnight as I had never done before. Their voices, their ways were all
-so pleasant and familiar to me, after the constraint in which I had
-been living. I might speak and do as I liked without being corrected
-by Madame Rupprecht, or reproved in a delicate, complimentary way by
-Monsieur de la Tourelle. One day I said to my father that I did not want
-to be married, that I would rather go back to the dear old mill; but he
-seemed to feel this speech of mine as a dereliction of duty as great as
-if I had committed perjury; as if, after the ceremony of betrothal, no
-one had any right over me but my future husband. And yet he asked me
-some solemn questions; but my answers were not such as to do me any
-good.
-
-"Dost thou know any fault or crime in this man that should prevent God's
-blessing from resting on thy marriage with him? Dost thou feel aversion
-or repugnance to him in any way?"
-
-And to all this what could I say? I could only stammer out that I
-did not think I loved him enough; and my poor old father saw in this
-reluctance only the fancy of a silly girl who did not know her own mind,
-but who had now gone too far to recede.
-
-So we were married, in the Court chapel, a privilege which Madame
-Rupprecht had used no end of efforts to obtain for us, and which she
-must have thought was to secure us all possible happiness, both at the
-time and in recollection afterwards.
-
-We were married; and after two days spent in festivity at Carlsruhe,
-among all our new fashionable friends there, I bade good-by for ever
-to my dear old father. I had begged my husband to take me by way of
-Heidelberg to his old castle in the Vosges; but I found an amount of
-determination, under that effeminate appearance and manner, for which I
-was not prepared, and he refused my first request so decidedly that I
-dared not urge it. "Henceforth, Anna," said he, "you will move in a
-different sphere of life; and though it is possible that you may have
-the power of showing favour to your relations from time to time, yet
-much or familiar intercourse will be undesirable, and is what I cannot
-allow." I felt almost afraid, after this formal speech, of asking my
-father and Fritz to come and see me; but, when the agony of bidding
-them farewell overcame all my prudence, I did beg them to pay me a visit
-ere long. But they shook their heads, and spoke of business at home,
-of different kinds of life, of my being a Frenchwoman now. Only my
-father broke out at last with a blessing, and said, "If my child is
-unhappy--which God forbid--let her remember that her father's house is
-ever open to her." I was on the point of crying out, "Oh! take me back
-then now, my father! oh, my father!" when I felt, rather than saw, my
-husband present near me. He looked on with a slightly contemptuous air;
-and, taking my hand in his, he led me weeping away, saying that short
-farewells were always the best when they were inevitable.
-
-It took us two days to reach his ch�teau in the Vosges, for the roads
-were bad and the way difficult to ascertain. Nothing could be more
-devoted than he was all the time of the journey. It seemed as if he
-were trying in every way to make up for the separation which every hour
-made me feel the more complete between my present and my former life.
-I seemed as if I were only now wakening up to a full sense of what
-marriage was, and I dare say I was not a cheerful companion on the
-tedious journey. At length, jealousy of my regret for my father and
-brother got the better of M. de la Tourelle, and he became so much
-displeased with me that I thought my heart would break with the sense of
-desolation. So it was in no cheerful frame of mind that we approached
-Les Rochers, and I thought that perhaps it was because I was so unhappy
-that the place looked so dreary. On one side, the ch�teau looked like a
-raw new building, hastily run up for some immediate purpose, without any
-growth of trees or underwood near it, only the remains of the stone used
-for building, not yet cleared away from the immediate neighbourhood,
-although weeds and lichens had been suffered to grow near and over the
-heaps of rubbish; on the other, were the great rocks from which the
-place took its name, and rising close against them, as if almost a
-natural formation, was the old castle, whose building dated many
-centuries back.
-
-It was not large nor grand, but it was strong and picturesque, and I used
-to wish that we lived in it rather than in the smart, half-furnished
-apartment in the new edifice, which had been hastily got ready for my
-reception. Incongruous as the two parts were, they were joined into a
-whole by means of intricate passages and unexpected doors, the exact
-positions of which I never fully understood. M. de la Tourelle led me to
-a suite of rooms set apart for me, and formally installed me in them, as
-in a domain of which I was sovereign. He apologised for the hasty
-preparation which was all he had been able to make for me, but promised,
-before I asked, or even thought of complaining, that they should be made
-as luxurious as heart could wish before many weeks had elapsed. But
-when, in the gloom of an autumnal evening, I caught my own face and
-figure reflected in all the mirrors, which showed only a mysterious
-background in the dim light of the many candles which failed to
-illuminate the great proportions of the half-furnished salon, I clung to
-M. de la Tourelle, and begged to be taken to the rooms he had occupied
-before his marriage, he seemed angry with me, although he affected to
-laugh, and so decidedly put aside the notion of my having any other
-rooms but these, that I trembled in silence at the fantastic figures and
-shapes which my imagination called up as peopling the background of
-those gloomy mirrors. There was my boudoir, a little less dreary--my
-bedroom, with its grand and tarnished furniture, which I commonly made
-into my sitting-room, locking up the various doors which led into the
-boudoir, the salon, the passages--all but one, through which M. de la
-Tourelle always entered from his own apartments in the older part of
-the castle. But this preference of mine for occupying my bedroom annoyed
-M. de la Tourelle, I am sure, though he did not care to express his
-displeasure. He would always allure me back into the salon, which I
-disliked more and more from its complete separation from the rest of the
-building by the long passage into which all the doors of my apartment
-opened. This passage was closed by heavy doors and porti�res, through
-which I could not hear a sound from the other parts of the house, and,
-of course, the servants could not hear any movement or cry of mine
-unless expressly summoned. To a girl brought up as I had been in a
-household where every individual lived all day in the sight of every
-other member of the family, never wanted either cheerful words or the
-sense of silent companionship, this grand isolation of mine was very
-formidable; and the more so, because M. de la Tourelle, as landed
-proprietor, sportsman, and what not, was generally out of doors the
-greater part of every day, and sometimes for two or three days at a
-time. I had no pride to keep me from associating with the domestics; it
-would have been natural to me in many ways to have sought them out for
-a word of sympathy in those dreary days when I was left so entirely to
-myself, had they been like our kindly German servants. But I disliked
-them, one and all; I could not tell why. Some were civil, but there was
-a familiarity in their civility which repelled me; others were rude, and
-treated me more as if I were an intruder than their master's chosen
-wife; and yet of the two sets I liked these last the best.
-
-The principal male servant belonged to this latter class. I was very
-much afraid of him, he had such an air of suspicious surliness about him
-in all he did for me; and yet M. de la Tourelle spoke of him as most
-valuable and faithful. Indeed, it sometimes struck me that Lefebvre
-ruled his master in some things; and this I could not make out. For,
-while M. de la Tourelle behaved towards me as if I were some precious
-toy or idol, to be cherished, and fostered, and petted, and indulged, I
-soon found out how little I, or, apparently, any one else, could bend
-the terrible will of the man who had on first acquaintance appeared
-to me too effeminate and languid to exert his will in the slightest
-particular. I had learnt to know his face better now; and to see that
-some vehement depth of feeling, the cause of which I could not fathom,
-made his grey eye glitter with pale light, and his lips contract, and
-his delicate cheek whiten on certain occasions. But all had been so open
-and above board at home, that I had no experience to help me to unravel
-any mysteries among those who lived under the same roof. I understood
-that I had made what Madame Rupprecht and her set would have called a
-great marriage, because I lived in a ch�teau with many servants, bound
-ostensibly to obey me as a mistress. I understood that M. de la Tourelle
-was fond enough of me in his way--proud of my beauty, I dare say (for
-he often enough spoke about it to me)--but he was also jealous, and
-suspicious, and uninfluenced by my wishes, unless they tallied with his
-own. I felt at this time as if I could have been fond of him too, if he
-would have let me; but I was timid from my childhood, and before long my
-dread of his displeasure (coming down like thunder into the midst of his
-love, for such slight causes as a hesitation in reply, a wrong word, or
-a sigh for my father), conquered my humorous inclination to love one who
-was so handsome, so accomplished, so indulgent and devoted. But if I
-could not please him when indeed I loved him, you may imagine how often
-I did wrong when I was so much afraid of him as to quietly avoid his
-company for fear of his outbursts of passion. One thing I remember
-noticing, that the more M. de la Tourelle was displeased with me, the
-more Lefebvre seemed to chuckle; and when I was restored to favour,
-sometimes on as sudden an impulse as that which occasioned my disgrace,
-Lefebvre would look askance at me with his cold, malicious eyes, and
-once or twice at such times he spoke most disrespectfully to M. de la
-Tourelle.
-
-I have almost forgotten to say that, in the early days of my life at
-Les Rochers, M. de la Tourelle, in contemptuous indulgent pity at my
-weakness in disliking the dreary grandeur of the salon, wrote up to
-the milliner in Paris from whom my corbeille de mariage had come, to
-desire her to look out for me a maid of middle age, experienced in the
-toilette, and with so much refinement that she might on occasion serve
-as companion to me.
-
-
-PORTION II.
-
-A Norman woman, Amante by name, was sent to Les Rochers by the Paris
-milliner, to become my maid. She was tall and handsome, though upwards
-of forty, and somewhat gaunt. But, on first seeing her, I liked her;
-she was neither rude nor familiar in her manners, and had a pleasant
-look of straightforwardness about her that I had missed in all the
-inhabitants of the ch�teau, and had foolishly set down in my own mind as
-a national want. Amante was directed by M. de la Tourelle to sit in my
-boudoir, and to be always within call. He also gave her many instructions
-as to her duties in matters which, perhaps, strictly belonged to my
-department of management. But I was young and inexperienced, and thankful
-to be spared any responsibility.
-
-I daresay it was true what M. de la Tourelle said--before many weeks had
-elapsed--that, for a great lady, a lady of a castle, I became sadly too
-familiar with my Norman waiting-maid. But you know that by birth we were
-not very far apart in rank: Amante was the daughter of a Norman farmer,
-I of a German miller; and besides that, my life was so lonely! It almost
-seemed as if I could not please my husband. He had written for some one
-capable of being my companion at times, and now he was jealous of my
-free regard for her--angry because I could sometimes laugh at her original
-tunes and amusing proverbs, while when with him I was too much frightened
-to smile.
-
-From time to time families from a distance of some leagues drove through
-the bad roads in their heavy carriages to pay us a visit, and there was
-an occasional talk of our going to Paris when public affairs should be
-a little more settled. These little events and plans were the only
-variations in my life for the first twelve months, if I except the
-alternations in M. de la Tourelle's temper, his unreasonable anger, and
-his passionate fondness.
-
-Perhaps one of the reasons that made me take pleasure and comfort in
-Amante's society was, that whereas I was afraid of everybody (I do not
-think I was half as much afraid of things as of persons), Amante feared
-no one. She would quietly beard Lefebvre, and he respected her all the
-more for it; she had a knack of putting questions to M. de la Tourelle,
-which respectfully informed him that she had detected the weak point,
-but forebore to press him too closely upon it out of deference to his
-position as her master. And with all her shrewdness to others, she
-had quite tender ways with me; all the more so at this time because
-she knew, what I had not yet ventured to tell M. de la Tourelle, that
-by-and-by I might become a mother--that wonderful object of mysterious
-interest to single women, who no longer hope to enjoy such blessedness
-themselves.
-
-It was once more autumn; late in October. But I was reconciled to my
-habitation; the walls of the new part of the building no longer looked
-bare and desolate; the _d�bris_ had been so far cleared away by M. de la
-Tourelle's desire as to make me a little flower-garden, in which I tried
-to cultivate those plants that I remembered as growing at home. Amante
-and I had moved the furniture in the rooms, and adjusted it to our
-liking; my husband had ordered many an article from time to time that he
-thought would give me pleasure, and I was becoming tame to my apparent
-imprisonment in a certain part of the great building, the whole of which
-I had never yet explored. It was October, as I say, once more. The days
-were lovely, though short in duration, and M. de la Tourelle had
-occasion, so he said, to go to that distant estate the superintendence
-of which so frequently took him away from home. He took Lefebvre with
-him, and possibly some more of the lacqueys; he often did. And my
-spirits rose a little at the thought of his absence; and then the new
-sensation that he was the father of my unborn babe came over me, and I
-tried to invest him with this fresh character. I tried to believe that
-it was his passionate love for me that made him so jealous and
-tyrannical, imposing, as he did, restrictions on my very intercourse
-with my dear father, from whom I was so entirely separated, as far as
-personal intercourse was concerned.
-
-I had, it is true, let myself go into a sorrowful review of all the
-troubles which lay hidden beneath the seeming luxury of my life. I knew
-that no one cared for me except my husband and Amante; for it was clear
-enough to see that I, as his wife, and also as a _parvenue_, was not
-popular among the few neighbours who surrounded us; and as for the
-servants, the women were all hard and impudent-looking, treating me
-with a semblance of respect that had more of mockery than reality in
-it; while the men had a lurking kind of fierceness about them, sometimes
-displayed even to M. de la Tourelle, who on his part, it must be confessed,
-was often severe even to cruelty in his management of them. My husband
-loved me, I said to myself, but I said it almost in the form of a
-question. His love was shown fitfully, and more in ways calculated to
-please himself than to please me. I felt that for no wish of mine would
-he deviate one tittle from any predetermined course of action. I had
-learnt the inflexibility of those thin, delicate lips; I knew how anger
-would turn his fair complexion to deadly white, and bring the cruel
-light into his pale blue eyes. The love I bore to any one seemed to be
-a reason for his hating them, and so I went on pitying myself one long
-dreary afternoon during that absence of his of which I have spoken, only
-sometimes remembering to check myself in my murmurings by thinking of
-the new unseen link between us, and then crying afresh to think how
-wicked I was. Oh, how well I remember that long October evening! Amante
-came in from time to time, talking away to cheer me--talking about dress
-and Paris, and I hardly know what, but from time to time looking at me
-keenly with her friendly dark eyes, and with serious interest, too,
-though all her words were about frivolity. At length she heaped the fire
-with wood, drew the heavy silken curtains close; for I had been anxious
-hitherto to keep them open, so that I might see the pale moon mounting
-the skies, as I used to see her--the same moon--rise from behind the
-Kaiser Stuhl at Heidelberg; but the sight made me cry, so Amante shut it
-out. She dictated to me as a nurse does to a child.
-
-"Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her company," she said,
-"while I go and ask Marthon for a cup of coffee." I remember that speech,
-and the way it roused me, for I did not like Amante to think I wanted
-amusing by a kitten. It might be my petulance, but this speech--such as
-she might have made to a child--annoyed me, and I said that I had reason
-for my lowness of spirits--meaning that they were not of so imaginary
-a nature that I could be diverted from them by the gambols of a kitten.
-So, though I did not choose to tell her all, I told her a part; and as
-I spoke, I began to suspect that the good creature knew much of what I
-withheld, and that the little speech about the kitten was more thoughtfully
-kind than it had seemed at first. I said that it was so long since I had
-heard from my father; that he was an old man, and so many things might
-happen--I might never see him again--and I so seldom heard from him or
-my brother. It was a more complete and total separation than I had ever
-anticipated when I married, and something of my home and of my life
-previous to my marriage I told the good Amante; for I had not been
-brought up as a great lady, and the sympathy of any human being was
-precious to me.
-
-Amante listened with interest, and in return told me some of the events
-and sorrows of her own life. Then, remembering her purpose, she set out
-in search of the coffee, which ought to have been brought to me an hour
-before; but, in my husband's absence, my wishes were but seldom attended
-to, and I never dared to give orders.
-
-Presently she returned, bringing the coffee and a great large cake.
-
-"See!" said she, setting it down. "Look at my plunder. Madame must eat.
-Those who eat always laugh. And, besides, I have a little news that will
-please madame." Then she told me that, lying on a table in the great
-kitchen, was a bundle of letters, come by the courier from Strasburg
-that very afternoon: then, fresh from her conversation with me, she had
-hastily untied the string that bound them, but had only just traced out
-one that she thought was from Germany, when a servant-man came in, and,
-with the start he gave her, she dropped the letters, which he picked
-up, swearing at her for having untied and disarranged them. She told
-him that she believed there was a letter there for her mistress; but he
-only swore the more, saying, that if there was it was no business of
-hers, or of his either, for that he had the strictest orders always to
-take all letters that arrived during his master's absence into the
-private sitting-room of the latter--a room into which I had never
-entered, although it opened out of my husband's dressing-room.
-
-I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought me this letter. No,
-indeed, she replied, it was almost as much as her life was worth to live
-among such a set of servants: it was only a month ago that Jacques had
-stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk. Had I never missed Valentin--that
-handsome young lad who carried up the wood into my salon? Poor fellow!
-he lies dead and cold now, and they said in the village he had put an
-end to himself, but those of the household knew better. Oh! I need not
-be afraid; Jacques was gone, no one knew where; but with such people it
-was not safe to upbraid or insist. Monsieur would be at home the next
-day, and it would not be long to wait.
-
-But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day, without the
-letter. It might be to say that my father was ill, dying--he might cry
-for his daughter from his death-bed! In short, there was no end to the
-thoughts and fancies that haunted me. It was of no use for Amante to say
-that, after all, she might be mistaken--that she did not read writing
-well--that she had but a glimpse of the address; I let my coffee cool,
-my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands with impatience to
-get at the letter, and have some news of my dear ones at home. All the
-time, Amante kept her imperturbable good temper, first reasoning, then
-scolding. At last she said, as if wearied out, that if I would consent
-to make a good supper, she would see what could be done as to our going
-to monsieur's room in search of the letter, after the servants were all
-gone to bed. We agreed to go together when all was still, and look over
-the letters; there could be no harm in that; and yet, somehow, we were
-such cowards we dared not do it openly and in the face of the household.
-
-Presently my supper came up--partridges, bread, fruits, and cream. How
-well I remember that supper! We put the untouched cake away in a sort of
-buffet, and poured the cold coffee out of the window, in order that the
-servants might not take offence at the apparent fancifulness of sending
-down for food I could not eat. I was so anxious for all to be in bed,
-that I told the footman who served that he need not wait to take away
-the plates and dishes, but might go to bed. Long after I thought the
-house was quiet, Amante, in her caution, made me wait. It was past
-eleven before we set out, with cat-like steps and veiled light, along
-the passages, to go to my husband's room and steal my own letter, if it
-was indeed there; a fact about which Amante had become very uncertain in
-the progress of our discussion.
-
-To make you understand my story, I must now try to explain to you the
-plan of the ch�teau. It had been at one time a fortified place of some
-strength, perched on the summit of a rock, which projected from the side
-of the mountain. But additions had been made to the old building (which
-must have borne a strong resemblance to the castles overhanging the
-Rhine), and these new buildings were placed so as to command a magnificent
-view, being on the steepest side of the rock, from which the mountain
-fell away, as it were, leaving the great plain of France in full survey.
-The ground-plan was something of the shape of three sides of an oblong;
-my apartments in the modern edifice occupied the narrow end, and had
-this grand prospect. The front of the castle was old, and ran parallel
-to the road far below. In this were contained the offices and public
-rooms of various descriptions, into which I never penetrated. The back
-wing (considering the new building, in which my apartments were, as the
-centre) consisted of many rooms, of a dark and gloomy character, as the
-mountain-side shut out much of the sun, and heavy pine woods came down
-within a few yards of the windows. Yet on this side--on a projecting
-plateau of the rock--my husband had formed the flower-garden of which I
-have spoken; for he was a great cultivator of flowers in his leisure
-moments.
-
-Now my bedroom was the corner room of the new buildings on the part
-next to the mountain. Hence I could have let myself down into the
-flower-garden by my hands on the window-sill on one side, without danger
-of hurting myself; while the windows at right angles with these looked
-sheer down a descent of a hundred feet at least. Going still farther
-along this wing, you came to the old building; in fact, these two
-fragments of the ancient castle had formerly been attached by some such
-connecting apartments as my husband had rebuilt. These rooms belonged to
-M. de la Tourelle. His bedroom opened into mine, his dressing-room lay
-beyond; and that was pretty nearly all I knew, for the servants, as
-well as he himself, had a knack of turning me back, under some pretence,
-if ever they found me walking about alone, as I was inclined to do, when
-first I came, from a sort of curiosity to see the whole of the place of
-which I found myself mistress. M. de la Tourelle never encouraged me to
-go out alone, either in a carriage or for a walk, saying always that the
-roads were unsafe in those disturbed times; indeed, I have sometimes
-fancied since that the flower-garden, to which the only access from the
-castle was through his rooms, was designed in order to give me exercise
-and employment under his own eye.
-
-But to return to that night. I knew, as I have said, that M. de la
-Tourelle's private room opened out of his dressing-room, and this out
-of his bedroom, which again opened into mine, the corner-room. But there
-were other doors into all these rooms, and these doors led into a long
-gallery, lighted by windows, looking into the inner court. I do not
-remember our consulting much about it; we went through my room into
-my husband's apartment through the dressing-room, but the door of
-communication into his study was locked, so there was nothing for it
-but to turn back and go by the gallery to the other door. I recollect
-noticing one or two things in these rooms, then seen by me for the first
-time. I remember the sweet perfume that hung in the air, the scent
-bottles of silver that decked his toilet-table, and the whole apparatus
-for bathing and dressing, more luxurious even than those which he had
-provided for me. But the room itself was less splendid in its proportions
-than mine. In truth, the new buildings ended at the entrance to my
-husband's dressing-room. There were deep window recesses in walls eight
-or nine feet thick, and even the partitions between the chambers were
-three feet deep; but over all these doors or windows there fell thick,
-heavy draperies, so that I should think no one could have heard in one
-room what passed in another. We went back into my room, and out into the
-gallery. We had to shade our candle, from a fear that possessed us, I
-don't know why, lest some of the servants in the opposite wing might
-trace our progress towards the part of the castle unused by any one
-except my husband. Somehow, I had always the feeling that all the
-domestics, except Amante, were spies upon me, and that I was trammelled
-in a web of observation and unspoken limitation extending over all my
-actions.
-
-There was a light in the upper room; we paused, and Amante would have
-again retreated, but I was chafing under the delays. What was the harm
-of my seeking my father's unopened letter to me in my husband's study?
-I, generally the coward, now blamed Amante for her unusual timidity.
-But the truth was, she had far more reason for suspicion as to the
-proceedings of that terrible household than I had ever known of. I urged
-her on, I pressed on myself; we came to the door, locked, but with the
-key in it; we turned it, we entered; the letters lay on the table, their
-white oblongs catching the light in an instant, and revealing themselves
-to my eager eyes, hungering after the words of love from my peaceful,
-distant home. But just as I pressed forward to examine the letters, the
-candle which Amante held, caught in some draught, went out, and we were
-in darkness. Amante proposed that we should carry the letters back to
-my salon, collecting them as well as we could in the dark, and returning
-all but the expected one for me; but I begged her to return to my room,
-where I kept tinder and flint, and to strike a fresh light; and so she
-went, and I remained alone in the room, of which I could only just
-distinguish the size, and the principal articles of furniture: a large
-table, with a deep, overhanging cloth, in the middle, escritoires and
-other heavy articles against the walls; all this I could see as I stood
-there, my hand on the table close by the letters, my face towards the
-window, which, both from the darkness of the wood growing high up the
-mountain-side and the faint light of the declining moon, seemed only
-like an oblong of paler purpler black than the shadowy room. How much I
-remembered from my one instantaneous glance before the candle went out,
-how much I saw as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I do not
-know, but even now, in my dreams, comes up that room of horror, distinct
-in its profound shadow. Amante could hardly have been gone a minute
-before I felt an additional gloom before the window, and heard soft
-movements outside--soft, but resolute, and continued until the end was
-accomplished, and the window raised.
-
-In mortal terror of people forcing an entrance at such an hour, and in
-such a manner as to leave no doubt of their purpose, I would have turned
-to fly when first I heard the noise, only that I feared by any quick
-motion to catch their attention, as I also ran the danger of doing by
-opening the door, which was all but closed, and to whose handlings
-I was unaccustomed. Again, quick as lightning, I bethought me of the
-hiding-place between the locked door to my husband's dressing-room and
-the porti�re which covered it; but I gave that up, I felt as if I could
-not reach it without screaming or fainting. So I sank down softly,
-and crept under the table, hidden, as I hoped, by the great, deep
-table-cover, with its heavy fringe. I had not recovered my swooning
-senses fully, and was trying to reassure myself as to my being in a
-place of comparative safety, for, above all things, I dreaded the
-betrayal of fainting, and struggled hard for such courage as I might
-attain by deadening myself to the danger I was in by inflicting intense
-pain on myself. You have often asked me the reason of that mark on my
-hand; it was where, in my agony, I bit out a piece of flesh with my
-relentless teeth, thankful for the pain, which helped to numb my terror.
-I say, I was but just concealed when I heard the window lifted, and one
-after another stepped over the sill, and stood by me so close that I
-could have touched their feet. Then they laughed and whispered; my brain
-swam so that I could not tell the meaning of their words, but I heard my
-husband's laughter among the rest--low, hissing, scornful--as he kicked
-something heavy that they had dragged in over the floor, and which lay
-near me; so near, that my husband's kick, in touching it, touched me
-too. I don't know why--I can't tell how--but some feeling, and not
-curiosity, prompted me to put out my hand, ever so softly, ever so
-little, and feel in the darkness for what lay spurned beside me. I
-stole my groping palm upon the clenched and chilly hand of a corpse!
-
-Strange to say, this roused me to instant vividness of thought. Till
-this moment I had almost forgotten Amante; now I planned with feverish
-rapidity how I could give her a warning not to return; or rather, I
-should say, I tried to plan, for all my projects were utterly futile, as
-I might have seen from the first. I could only hope she would hear the
-voices of those who were now busy in trying to kindle a light, swearing
-awful oaths at the mislaid articles which would have enabled them to
-strike fire. I heard her step outside coming nearer and nearer; I saw
-from my hiding-place the line of light beneath the door more and more
-distinctly; close to it her footstep paused; the men inside--at the time
-I thought they had been only two, but I found out afterwards there were
-three--paused in their endeavours, and were quite still, as breathless
-as myself, I suppose. Then she slowly pushed the door open with gentle
-motion, to save her flickering candle from being again extinguished. For
-a moment all was still. Then I heard my husband say, as he advanced
-towards her (he wore riding-boots, the shape of which I knew well, as I
-could see them in the light),--
-
-"Amante, may I ask what brings you here into my private room?"
-
-He stood between her and the dead body of a man, from which ghastly heap
-I shrank away as it almost touched me, so close were we all together. I
-could not tell whether she saw it or not; I could give her no warning,
-nor make any dumb utterance of signs to bid her what to say--if, indeed,
-I knew myself what would be best for her to say.
-
-Her voice was quite changed when she spoke; quite hoarse, and very low;
-yet it was steady enough as she said, what was the truth, that she had
-come to look for a letter which she believed had arrived for me from
-Germany. Good, brave Amante! Not a word about me. M. de la Tourelle
-answered with a grim blasphemy and a fearful threat. He would have no
-one prying into his premises; madame should have her letters, if there
-were any, when he chose to give them to her, if, indeed, he thought
-it well to give them to her at all. As for Amante, this was her first
-warning, but it was also her last; and, taking the candle out of her
-hand, he turned her out of the room, his companions discreetly making a
-screen, so as to throw the corpse into deep shadow. I heard the key turn
-in the door after her--if I had ever had any thought of escape it was
-gone now. I only hoped that whatever was to befal me might soon be over,
-for the tension of nerve was growing more than I could bear. The instant
-she could be supposed to be out of hearing, two voices began speaking
-in the most angry terms to my husband, upbraiding him for not having
-detained her, gagged her--nay, one was for killing her, saying he had
-seen her eye fall on the face of the dead man, whom he now kicked in his
-passion. Though the form of their speech was as if they were speaking
-to equals, yet in their tone there was something of fear. I am sure my
-husband was their superior, or captain, or somewhat. He replied to them
-almost as if he were scoffing at them, saying it was such an expenditure
-of labour having to do with fools; that, ten to one, the woman was
-only telling the simple truth, and that she was frightened enough by
-discovering her master in his room to be thankful to escape and return
-to her mistress, to whom he could easily explain on the morrow how he
-happened to return in the dead of night. But his companions fell to
-cursing me, and saying that since M. de la Tourelle had been married he
-was fit for nothing but to dress himself fine and scent himself with
-perfume; that, as for me, they could have got him twenty girls prettier,
-and with far more spirit in them. He quietly answered that I suited him,
-and that was enough. All this time they were doing something--I could
-not see what--to the corpse; sometimes they were too busy rifling the
-dead body, I believe, to talk; again they let it fall with a heavy,
-resistless thud, and took to quarrelling. They taunted my husband with
-angry vehemence, enraged at his scoffing and scornful replies, his
-mocking laughter. Yes, holding up his poor dead victim, the better to
-strip him of whatever he wore that was valuable, I heard my husband
-laugh just as he had done when exchanging repartees in the little salon
-of the Rupprechts at Carlsruhe. I hated and dreaded him from that moment.
-At length, as if to make an end of the subject, he said, with cool
-determination in his voice,--
-
-"Now, my good friends, what is the use of all this talking, when you
-know in your hearts that, if I suspected my wife of knowing more than I
-chose of my affairs, she would not outlive the day? Remember Victorine.
-Because she merely joked about my affairs in an imprudent manner, and
-rejected my advice to keep a prudent tongue--to see what she liked, but
-ask nothing and say nothing--she has gone a long journey--longer than to
-Paris."
-
-"But this one is different to her; we knew all that Madame Victorine
-knew, she was such a chatterbox; but this one may find out a vast deal,
-and never breathe a word about it, she is so sly. Some fine day we may
-have the country raised, and the gendarmes down upon us from Strasburg,
-and all owing to your pretty doll, with her cunning ways of coming over
-you."
-
-I think this roused M. de la Tourelle a little from his contemptuous
-indifference, for he ground an oath through his teeth, and said, "Feel!
-this dagger is sharp, Henri. If my wife breathes a word, and I am such a
-fool as not to have stopped her mouth effectually before she can bring
-down gendarmes upon us, just let that good steel find its way to my
-heart. Let her guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight suspicion
-that I am not a 'grand propri�taire,' much less imagine that I am a
-chief of Chauffeurs, and she follows Victorine on the long journey
-beyond Paris that very day."
-
-"She'll outwit you yet; or I never judged women well. Those still silent
-ones are the devil. She'll be off during some of your absences, having
-picked out some secret that will break us all on the wheel."
-
-"Bah!" said his voice; and then in a minute he added, "Let her go if she
-will. But, where she goes, I will follow; so don't cry before you're
-hurt."
-
-By this time, they had nearly stripped the body; and the conversation
-turned on what they should do with it. I learnt that the dead man was
-the Sieur de Poissy, a neighbouring gentleman, whom I had often heard of
-as hunting with my husband. I had never seen him, but they spoke as if
-he had come upon them while they were robbing some Cologne merchant,
-torturing him after the cruel practice of the Chauffeurs, by roasting
-the feet of their victims in order to compel them to reveal any hidden
-circumstances connected with their wealth, of which the Chauffeurs
-afterwards made use; and this Sieur de Poissy coming down upon them,
-and recognising M. de la Tourelle, they had killed him, and brought him
-thither after nightfall. I heard him whom I called my husband, laugh his
-little light laugh as he spoke of the way in which the dead body had
-been strapped before one of the riders, in such a way that it appeared
-to any passer-by as if, in truth, the murderer were tenderly supporting
-some sick person. He repeated some mocking reply of double meaning, which
-he himself had given to some one who made inquiry. He enjoyed the play
-upon words, softly applauding his own wit. And all the time the poor
-helpless outstretched arms of the dead lay close to his dainty boot!
-Then another stooped (my heart stopped beating), and picked up a letter
-lying on the ground--a letter that had dropped out of M. de Poissy's
-pocket--a letter from his wife, full of tender words of endearment and
-pretty babblings of love. This was read aloud, with coarse ribald
-comments on every sentence, each trying to outdo the previous speaker.
-When they came to some pretty words about a sweet Maurice, their little
-child away with its mother on some visit, they laughed at M. de la
-Tourelle, and told him that he would be hearing such woman's drivelling
-some day. Up to that moment, I think, I had only feared him, but his
-unnatural, half-ferocious reply made me hate even more than I dreaded
-him. But now they grew weary of their savage merriment; the jewels and
-watch had been apprised, the money and papers examined; and apparently
-there was some necessity for the body being interred quietly and before
-daybreak. They had not dared to leave him where he was slain for fear
-lest people should come and recognise him, and raise the hue and cry
-upon them. For they all along spoke as if it was their constant endeavour
-to keep the immediate neighbourhood of Les Rochers in the most orderly
-and tranquil condition, so as never to give cause for visits from the
-gendarmes. They disputed a little as to whether they should make their
-way into the castle larder through the gallery, and satisfy their hunger
-before the hasty interment, or afterwards. I listened with eager feverish
-interest as soon as this meaning of their speeches reached my hot and
-troubled brain, for at the time the words they uttered seemed only to
-stamp themselves with terrible force on my memory, so that I could hardly
-keep from repeating them aloud like a dull, miserable, unconscious echo;
-but my brain was numb to the sense of what they said, unless I myself
-were named, and then, I suppose, some instinct of self-preservation
-stirred within me, and quickened my sense. And how I strained my ears,
-and nerved my hands and limbs, beginning to twitch with convulsive
-movements, which I feared might betray me! I gathered every word they
-spoke, not knowing which proposal to wish for, but feeling that whatever
-was finally decided upon, my only chance of escape was drawing near. I
-once feared lest my husband should go to his bedroom before I had had
-that one chance, in which case he would most likely have perceived my
-absence. He said that his hands were soiled (I shuddered, for it might
-be with life-blood), and he would go and cleanse them; but some bitter
-jest turned his purpose, and he left the room with the other two--left
-it by the gallery door. Left me alone in the dark with the stiffening
-corpse!
-
-Now, now was my time, if ever; and yet I could not move. It was not my
-cramped and stiffened joints that crippled me, it was the sensation
-of that dead man's close presence. I almost fancied--I almost fancy
-still--I heard the arm nearest to me move; lift itself up, as if once
-more imploring, and fall in dead despair. At that fancy--if fancy it
-were--I screamed aloud in mad terror, and the sound of my own strange
-voice broke the spell. I drew myself to the side of the table farthest
-from the corpse, with as much slow caution as if I really could have
-feared the clutch of that poor dead arm, powerless for evermore. I
-softly raised myself up, and stood sick and trembling, holding by the
-table, too dizzy to know what to do next. I nearly fainted, when a
-low voice spoke--when Amante, from the outside of the door, whispered,
-"Madame!" The faithful creature had been on the watch, had heard my
-scream, and having seen the three ruffians troop along the gallery down
-the stairs, and across the court to the offices in the other wing of the
-castle, she had stolen to the door of the room in which I was. The sound
-of her voice gave me strength; I walked straight towards it, as one
-benighted on a dreary moor, suddenly perceiving the small steady light
-which tells of human dwellings, takes heart, and steers straight onward.
-Where I was, where that voice was, I knew not; but go to it I must, or
-die. The door once opened--I know not by which of us--I fell upon her
-neck, grasping her tight, till my hands ached with the tension of their
-hold. Yet she never uttered a word. Only she took me up in her vigorous
-arms, and bore me to my room, and laid me on my bed. I do not know more;
-as soon as I was placed there I lost sense; I came to myself with a
-horrible dread lest my husband was by me, with a belief that he was in
-the room, in hiding, waiting to hear my first words, watching for the
-least sign of the terrible knowledge I possessed to murder me. I dared
-not breathe quicker, I measured and timed each heavy inspiration; I did
-not speak, nor move, nor even open my eyes, for long after I was in my
-full, my miserable senses. I heard some one treading softly about the
-room, as if with a purpose, not as if for curiosity, or merely to
-beguile the time; some one passed in and out of the salon; and I still
-lay quiet, feeling as if death were inevitable, but wishing that the
-agony of death were past. Again faintness stole over me; but just as I
-was sinking into the horrible feeling of nothingness, I heard Amante's
-voice close to me, saying,--
-
-"Drink this, madame, and let us begone. All is ready."
-
-I let her put her arm under my head and raise me, and pour something
-down my throat. All the time she kept talking in a quiet, measured
-voice, unlike her own, so dry and authoritative; she told me that a suit
-of her clothes lay ready for me, that she herself was as much disguised
-as the circumstances permitted her to be, that what provisions I had
-left from my supper were stowed away in her pockets, and so she went
-on, dwelling on little details of the most commonplace description,
-but never alluding for an instant to the fearful cause why flight was
-necessary. I made no inquiry as to how she knew, or what she knew. I
-never asked her either then or afterwards, I could not bear it--we kept
-our dreadful secret close. But I suppose she must have been in the
-dressing-room adjoining, and heard all.
-
-In fact, I dared not speak even to her, as if there were anything beyond
-the most common event in life in our preparing thus to leave the house
-of blood by stealth in the dead of night. She gave me directions--short
-condensed directions, without reasons--just as you do to a child; and
-like a child I obeyed her. She went often to the door and listened; and
-often, too, she went to the window, and looked anxiously out. For me, I
-saw nothing but her, and I dared not let my eyes wander from her for a
-minute; and I heard nothing in the deep midnight silence but her soft
-movements, and the heavy beating of my own heart. At last she took my
-hand, and led me in the dark, through the salon, once more into the
-terrible gallery, where across the black darkness the windows admitted
-pale sheeted ghosts of light upon the floor. Clinging to her I went;
-unquestioning--for she was human sympathy to me after the isolation of
-my unspeakable terror. On we went, turning to the left instead of to
-the right, past my suite of sitting-rooms where the gilding was red
-with blood, into that unknown wing of the castle that fronted the main
-road lying parallel far below. She guided me along the basement passages
-to which we had now descended, until we came to a little open door,
-through which the air blew chill and cold, bringing for the first time
-a sensation of life to me. The door led into a kind of cellar, through
-which we groped our way to an opening like a window, but which, instead
-of being glazed, was only fenced with iron bars, two of which were
-loose, as Amante evidently knew, for she took them out with the ease of
-one who had performed the action often before, and then helped me to
-follow her out into the free, open air.
-
-We stole round the end of the building, and on turning the corner--she
-first--I felt her hold on me tighten for an instant, and the next step
-I, too, heard distant voices, and the blows of a spade upon the heavy
-soil, for the night was very warm and still.
-
-We had not spoken a word; we did not speak now. Touch was safer and as
-expressive. She turned down towards the high road; I followed. I did not
-know the path; we stumbled again and again, and I was much bruised; so
-doubtless was she; but bodily pain did me good. At last, we were on the
-plainer path of the high road.
-
-I had such faith in her that I did not venture to speak, even when she
-paused, as wondering to which hand she should turn. But now, for the
-first time, she spoke:--
-
-"Which way did you come when he brought you here first?"
-
-I pointed, I could not speak.
-
-We turned in the opposite direction; still going along the high road.
-In about an hour, we struck up to the mountain-side, scrambling far up
-before we even dared to rest; far up and away again before day had fully
-dawned. Then we looked about for some place of rest and concealment: and
-now we dared to speak in whispers. Amante told me that she had locked
-the door of communication between his bedroom and mine, and, as in a
-dream, I was aware that she had also locked and brought away the key of
-the door between the latter and the salon.
-
-"He will have been too busy this night to think much about you--he will
-suppose you are asleep--I shall be the first to be missed; but they will
-only just now be discovering our loss."
-
-I remember those last words of hers made me pray to go on; I felt as if
-we were losing precious time in thinking either of rest or concealment;
-but she hardly replied to me, so busy was she in seeking out some
-hiding-place. At length, giving it up in despair, we proceeded onwards a
-little way; the mountain-side sloped downwards rapidly, and in the full
-morning light we saw ourselves in a narrow valley, made by a stream
-which forced its way along it. About a mile lower down there rose the
-pale blue smoke of a village, a mill-wheel was lashing up the water
-close at hand, though out of sight. Keeping under the cover of every
-sheltering tree or bush, we worked our way down past the mill, down to a
-one-arched bridge, which doubtless formed part of the road between the
-village and the mill.
-
-"This will do," said she; and we crept under the space, and climbing a
-little way up the rough stone-work, we seated ourselves on a projecting
-ledge, and crouched in the deep damp shadow. Amante sat a little above
-me, and made me lay my head on her lap. Then she fed me, and took some
-food herself; and opening out her great dark cloak, she covered up
-every light-coloured speck about us; and thus we sat, shivering and
-shuddering, yet feeling a kind of rest through it all, simply from the
-fact that motion was no longer imperative, and that during the daylight
-our only chance of safety was to be still. But the damp shadow in which
-we were sitting was blighting, from the circumstance of the sunlight
-never penetrating there; and I dreaded lest, before night and the time
-for exertion again came on, I should feel illness creeping all over me.
-To add to our discomfort, it had rained the whole day long, and the
-stream, fed by a thousand little mountain brooklets, began to swell into
-a torrent, rushing over the stones with a perpetual and dizzying noise.
-
-Every now and then I was wakened from the painful doze into which I
-continually fell, by a sound of horses' feet over our head: sometimes
-lumbering heavily as if dragging a burden, sometimes rattling and
-galloping, and with the sharper cry of men's voices coming cutting
-through the roar of the waters. At length, day fell. We had to drop into
-the stream, which came above our knees as we waded to the bank. There we
-stood, stiff and shivering. Even Amante's courage seemed to fail.
-
-"We must pass this night in shelter, somehow," said she. For indeed the
-rain was coming down pitilessly. I said nothing. I thought that surely
-the end must be death in some shape; and I only hoped that to death
-might not be added the terror of the cruelty of men. In a minute or so
-she had resolved on her course of action. We went up the stream to the
-mill. The familiar sounds, the scent of the wheat, the flour whitening
-the walls--all reminded me of home, and it seemed to me as if I must
-struggle out of this nightmare and waken, and find myself once more a
-happy girl by the Neckar-side. They were long in unbarring the door at
-which Amante had knocked: at length, an old feeble voice inquired who
-was there, and what was sought? Amante answered shelter from the storm
-for two women; but the old woman replied, with suspicious hesitation,
-that she was sure it was a man who was asking for shelter, and that she
-could not let us in. But at length she satisfied herself, and unbarred
-the heavy door, and admitted us. She was not an unkindly woman; but her
-thoughts all travelled in one circle, and that was, that her master,
-the miller, had told her on no account to let any man into the place
-during his absence, and that she did not know if he would not think two
-women as bad; and yet that as we were not men, no one could say she had
-disobeyed him, for it was a shame to let a dog be out such a night as
-this. Amante, with ready wit, told her to let no one know that we had
-taken shelter there that night, and that then her master could not blame
-her; and while she was thus enjoining secrecy as the wisest course, with
-a view to far other people than the miller, she was hastily helping me
-to take off my wet clothes, and spreading them, as well as the brown
-mantle that had covered us both, before the great stove which warmed the
-room with the effectual heat that the old woman's failing vitality
-required. All this time the poor creature was discussing with herself as
-to whether she had disobeyed orders, in a kind of garrulous way that
-made me fear much for her capability of retaining anything secret if she
-was questioned. By-and-by, she wandered away to an unnecessary revelation
-of her master's whereabouts: gone to help in the search for his landlord,
-the Sieur de Poissy, who lived at the ch�teau just above, and who had not
-returned from his chase the day before; so the intendant imagined he
-might have met with some accident, and had summoned the neighbours to
-beat the forest and the hill-side. She told us much besides, giving us
-to understand that she would fain meet with a place as housekeeper where
-there were more servants and less to do, as her life here was very lonely
-and dull, especially since her master's son had gone away--gone to the
-wars. She then took her supper, which was evidently apportioned out to
-her with a sparing hand, as, even if the idea had come into her head,
-she had not enough to offer us any. Fortunately, warmth was all that
-we required, and that, thanks to Amante's cares, was returning to our
-chilled bodies. After supper, the old woman grew drowsy; but she seemed
-uncomfortable at the idea of going to sleep and leaving us still in the
-house. Indeed, she gave us pretty broad hints as to the propriety of our
-going once more out into the bleak and stormy night; but we begged to be
-allowed to stay under shelter of some kind; and, at last, a bright idea
-came over her, and she bade us mount by a ladder to a kind of loft, which
-went half over the lofty mill-kitchen in which we were sitting. We
-obeyed her--what else could we do?--and found ourselves in a spacious
-floor, without any safeguard or wall, boarding, or railing, to keep us
-from falling over into the kitchen in case we went too near the edge. It
-was, in fact, the store-room or garret for the household. There was
-bedding piled up, boxes and chests, mill sacks, the winter store of
-apples and nuts, bundles of old clothes, broken furniture, and many
-other things. No sooner were we up there, than the old woman dragged
-the ladder, by which we had ascended, away with a chuckle, as if she was
-now secure that we could do no mischief, and sat herself down again once
-more, to doze and await her master's return. We pulled out some bedding,
-and gladly laid ourselves down in our dried clothes and in some warmth,
-hoping to have the sleep we so much needed to refresh us and prepare us
-for the next day. But I could not sleep, and I was aware, from her
-breathing, that Amante was equally wakeful. We could both see through
-the crevices between the boards that formed the flooring into the
-kitchen below, very partially lighted by the common lamp that hung
-against the wall near the stove on the opposite side to that on which we
-were.
-
-
-PORTION III.
-
-Far on in the night there were voices outside reached us in our
-hiding-place; an angry knocking at the door, and we saw through the
-chinks the old woman rouse herself up to go and open it for her master,
-who came in, evidently half drunk. To my sick horror, he was followed
-by Lefebvre, apparently as sober and wily as ever. They were talking
-together as they came in, disputing about something; but the miller
-stopped the conversation to swear at the old woman for having fallen
-asleep, and, with tipsy anger, and even with blows, drove the poor
-old creature out of the kitchen to bed. Then he and Lefebvre went on
-talking--about the Sieur de Poissy's disappearance. It seemed that
-Lefebvre had been out all day, along with other of my husband's men,
-ostensibly assisting in the search; in all probability trying to blind
-the Sieur de Poissy's followers by putting them on a wrong scent, and
-also, I fancied, from one or two of Lefebvre's sly questions, combining
-the hidden purpose of discovering us.
-
-Although the miller was tenant and vassal to the Sieur de Poissy, he
-seemed to me to be much more in league with the people of M. de la
-Tourelle. He was evidently aware, in part, of the life which Lefebvre
-and the others led; although, again, I do not suppose he knew or
-imagined one-half of their crimes; and also, I think, he was seriously
-interested in discovering the fate of his master, little suspecting
-Lefebvre of murder or violence. He kept talking himself, and letting out
-all sorts of thoughts and opinions; watched by the keen eyes of Lefebvre
-gleaming out below his shaggy eyebrows. It was evidently not the cue of
-the latter to let out that his master's wife had escaped from that vile
-and terrible den; but though he never breathed a word relating to us,
-not the less was I certain he was thirsting for our blood, and lying in
-wait for us at every turn of events. Presently he got up and took his
-leave; and the miller bolted him out, and stumbled off to bed. Then we
-fell asleep, and slept sound and long.
-
-The next morning, when I awoke, I saw Amante, half raised, resting on
-one hand, and eagerly gazing, with straining eyes, into the kitchen
-below. I looked too, and both heard and saw the miller and two of his
-men eagerly and loudly talking about the old woman, who had not appeared
-as usual to make the fire in the stove, and prepare her master's
-breakfast, and who now, late on in the morning, had been found dead in
-her bed; whether from the effect of her master's blows the night before,
-or from natural causes, who can tell? The miller's conscience upbraided
-him a little, I should say, for he was eagerly declaring his value for
-his housekeeper, and repeating how often she had spoken of the happy
-life she led with him. The men might have their doubts, but they did
-not wish to offend the miller, and all agreed that the necessary steps
-should be taken for a speedy funeral. And so they went out, leaving
-us in our loft, but so much alone, that, for the first time almost,
-we ventured to speak freely, though still in a hushed voice, pausing
-to listen continually. Amante took a more cheerful view of the whole
-occurrence than I did. She said that, had the old woman lived, we should
-have had to depart that morning, and that this quiet departure would
-have been the best thing we could have had to hope for, as, in all
-probability, the housekeeper would have told her master of us and of
-our resting-place, and this fact would, sooner or later, have been
-brought to the knowledge of those from whom we most desired to keep it
-concealed; but that now we had time to rest, and a shelter to rest in,
-during the first hot pursuit, which we knew to a fatal certainty was
-being carried on. The remnants of our food, and the stored-up fruit,
-would supply us with provision; the only thing to be feared was, that
-something might be required from the loft, and the miller or some one
-else mount up in search of it. But even then, with a little arrangement
-of boxes and chests, one part might be so kept in shadow that we might
-yet escape observation. All this comforted me a little; but, I asked,
-how were we ever to escape? The ladder was taken away, which was
-our only means of descent. But Amante replied that she could make a
-sufficient ladder of the rope lying coiled among other things, to drop
-us down the ten feet or so--with the advantage of its being portable, so
-that we might carry it away, and thus avoid all betrayal of the fact
-that any one had ever been hidden in the loft.
-
-During the two days that intervened before we did escape, Amante made
-good use of her time. She looked into every box and chest during the
-man's absence at his mill; and finding in one box an old suit of man's
-clothes, which had probably belonged to the miller's absent son, she put
-them on to see if they would fit her; and, when she found that they did,
-she cut her own hair to the shortness of a man's, made me clip her black
-eyebrows as close as though they had been shaved, and by cutting up old
-corks into pieces such as would go into her cheeks, she altered both the
-shape of her face and her voice to a degree which I should not have
-believed possible.
-
-All this time I lay like one stunned; my body resting, and renewing its
-strength, but I myself in an almost idiotic state--else surely I could
-not have taken the stupid interest which I remember I did in all Amante's
-energetic preparations for disguise. I absolutely recollect once the
-feeling of a smile coming over my stiff face as some new exercise of her
-cleverness proved a success.
-
-But towards the second day, she required me, too, to exert myself; and
-then all my heavy despair returned. I let her dye my fair hair and
-complexion with the decaying shells of the stored-up walnuts, I let her
-blacken my teeth, and even voluntarily broke a front tooth the better
-to effect my disguise. But through it all I had no hope of evading my
-terrible husband. The third night the funeral was over, the drinking
-ended, the guests gone; the miller put to bed by his men, being too
-drunk to help himself. They stopped a little while in the kitchen,
-talking and laughing about the new housekeeper likely to come; and they,
-too, went off, shutting, but not locking the door. Everything favoured
-us. Amante had tried her ladder on one of the two previous nights, and
-could, by a dexterous throw from beneath, unfasten it from the hook to
-which it was fixed, when it had served its office; she made up a bundle
-of worthless old clothes in order that we might the better preserve our
-characters of a travelling pedlar and his wife; she stuffed a hump on
-her back, she thickened my figure, she left her own clothes deep down
-beneath a heap of others in the chest from which she had taken the man's
-dress which she wore; and with a few francs in her pocket--the sole
-money we had either of us had about us when we escaped--we let ourselves
-down the ladder, unhooked it, and passed into the cold darkness of night
-again.
-
-We had discussed the route which it would be well for us to take while
-we lay perdues in our loft. Amante had told me then that her reason for
-inquiring, when we first left Les Rochers, by which way I had first been
-brought to it, was to avoid the pursuit which she was sure would first
-be made in the direction of Germany; but that now she thought we might
-return to that district of country where my German fashion of speaking
-French would excite least observation. I thought that Amante herself had
-something peculiar in her accent, which I had heard M. de la Tourelle
-sneer at as Norman patois; but I said not a word beyond agreeing to her
-proposal that we should bend our steps towards Germany. Once there, we
-should, I thought, be safe. Alas! I forgot the unruly time that was
-overspreading all Europe, overturning all law, and all the protection
-which law gives.
-
-How we wandered--not daring to ask our way--how we lived, how we struggled
-through many a danger and still more terrors of danger, I shall not tell
-you now. I will only relate two of our adventures before we reached
-Frankfort. The first, although fatal to an innocent lady, was yet, I
-believe, the cause of my safety; the second I shall tell you, that you
-may understand why I did not return to my former home, as I had hoped to
-do when we lay in the miller's loft, and I first became capable of
-groping after an idea of what my future life might be. I cannot tell you
-how much in these doubtings and wanderings I became attached to Amante.
-I have sometimes feared since, lest I cared for her only because she was
-so necessary to my own safety; but, no! it was not so; or not so only,
-or principally. She said once that she was flying for her own life as
-well as for mine; but we dared not speak much on our danger, or on the
-horrors that had gone before. We planned a little what was to be our
-future course; but even for that we did not look forward long; how could
-we, when every day we scarcely knew if we should see the sun go down?
-For Amante knew or conjectured far more than I did of the atrocity of
-the gang to which M. de la Tourelle belonged; and every now and then,
-just as we seemed to be sinking into the calm of security, we fell upon
-traces of a pursuit after us in all directions. Once I remember--we must
-have been nearly three weeks wearily walking through unfrequented ways,
-day after day, not daring to make inquiry as to our whereabouts, nor
-yet to seem purposeless in our wanderings--we came to a kind of lonely
-roadside farrier's and blacksmith's. I was so tired, that Amante
-declared that, come what might, we would stay there all night; and
-accordingly she entered the house, and boldly announced herself as a
-travelling tailor, ready to do any odd jobs of work that might be
-required, for a night's lodging and food for herself and wife. She had
-adopted this plan once or twice before, and with good success; for her
-father had been a tailor in Rouen, and as a girl she had often helped
-him with his work, and knew the tailors' slang and habits, down to the
-particular whistle and cry which in France tells so much to those of a
-trade. At this blacksmith's, as at most other solitary houses far away
-from a town, there was not only a store of men's clothes laid by as
-wanting mending when the housewife could afford time, but there was a
-natural craving after news from a distance, such news as a wandering
-tailor is bound to furnish. The early November afternoon was closing
-into evening, as we sat down, she cross-legged on the great table in the
-blacksmith's kitchen, drawn close to the window, I close behind her,
-sewing at another part of the same garment, and from time to time well
-scolded by my seeming husband. All at once she turned round to speak to
-me. It was only one word, "Courage!" I had seen nothing; I sat out of
-the light; but I turned sick for an instant, and then I braced myself up
-into a strange strength of endurance to go through I knew not what.
-
-The blacksmith's forge was in a shed beside the house, and fronting the
-road. I heard the hammers stop plying their continual rhythmical beat.
-She had seen why they ceased. A rider had come up to the forge and
-dismounted, leading his horse in to be re-shod. The broad red light of
-the forge-fire had revealed the face of the rider to Amante, and she
-apprehended the consequence that really ensued.
-
-The rider, after some words with the blacksmith, was ushered in by him
-into the house-place where we sat.
-
-"Here, good wife, a cup of wine and some galette for this gentleman."
-
-"Anything, anything, madame, that I can eat and drink in my hand while
-my horse is being shod. I am in haste, and must get on to Forbach
-to-night."
-
-The blacksmith's wife lighted her lamp; Amante had asked her for it five
-minutes before. How thankful we were that she had not more speedily
-complied with our request! As it was, we sat in dusk shadow, pretending
-to stitch away, but scarcely able to see. The lamp was placed on the
-stove, near which my husband, for it was he, stood and warmed himself.
-By-and-by he turned round, and looked all over the room, taking us in
-with about the same degree of interest as the inanimate furniture.
-Amante, cross-legged, fronting him, stooped over her work, whistling
-softly all the while. He turned again to the stove, impatiently rubbing
-his hands. He had finished his wine and galette, and wanted to be off.
-
-"I am in haste, my good woman. Ask thy husband to get on more quickly. I
-will pay him double if he makes haste."
-
-The woman went out to do his bidding; and he once more turned round to
-face us. Amante went on to the second part of the tune. He took it up,
-whistled a second for an instant or so, and then the blacksmith's wife
-re-entering, he moved towards her, as if to receive her answer the more
-speedily.
-
-"One moment, monsieur--only one moment. There was a nail out of the
-off-foreshoe which my husband is replacing; it would delay monsieur
-again if that shoe also came off."
-
-"Madame is right," said he, "but my haste is urgent. If madame knew
-my reasons, she would pardon my impatience. Once a happy husband, now
-a deserted and betrayed man, I pursue a wife on whom I lavished all
-my love, but who has abused my confidence, and fled from my house,
-doubtless to some paramour; carrying off with her all the jewels and
-money on which she could lay her hands. It is possible madame may have
-heard or seen something of her; she was accompanied in her flight by
-a base, profligate woman from Paris, whom I, unhappy man, had myself
-engaged for my wife's waiting-maid, little dreaming what corruption I
-was bringing into my house!"
-
-"Is it possible?" said the good woman, throwing up her hands.
-
-Amante went on whistling a little lower, out of respect to the
-conversation.
-
-"However, I am tracing the wicked fugitives; I am on their track" (and
-the handsome, effeminate face looked as ferocious as any demon's). "They
-will not escape me; but every minute is a minute of misery to me, till I
-meet my wife. Madame has sympathy, has she not?"
-
-He drew his face into a hard, unnatural smile, and then both went out to
-the forge, as if once more to hasten the blacksmith over his work.
-
-Amante stopped her whistling for one instant.
-
-"Go on as you are, without change of an eyelid even; in a few minutes he
-will be gone, and it will be over!"
-
-It was a necessary caution, for I was on the point of giving way, and
-throwing myself weakly upon her neck. We went on; she whistling and
-stitching, I making semblance to sew. And it was well we did so; for
-almost directly he came back for his whip, which he had laid down and
-forgotten; and again I felt one of those sharp, quick-scanning glances,
-sent all round the room, and taking in all.
-
-Then we heard him ride away; and then, it had been long too dark to see
-well, I dropped my work, and gave way to my trembling and shuddering.
-The blacksmith's wife returned. She was a good creature. Amante told her
-I was cold and weary, and she insisted on my stopping my work, and going
-to sit near the stove; hastening, at the same time, her preparations for
-supper, which, in honour of us, and of monsieur's liberal payment, was
-to be a little less frugal than ordinary. It was well for me that she
-made me taste a little of the cider-soup she was preparing, or I could
-not have held up, in spite of Amante's warning look, and the remembrance
-of her frequent exhortations to act resolutely up to the characters we
-had assumed, whatever befel. To cover my agitation, Amante stopped her
-whistling, and began to talk; and, by the time the blacksmith came in,
-she and the good woman of the house were in full flow. He began at once
-upon the handsome gentleman, who had paid him so well; all his sympathy
-was with him, and both he and his wife only wished he might overtake his
-wicked wife, and punish her as she deserved. And then the conversation
-took a turn, not uncommon to those whose lives are quiet and monotonous;
-every one seemed to vie with each other in telling about some horror;
-and the savage and mysterious band of robbers called the Chauffeurs,
-who infested all the roads leading to the Rhine, with Schinderhannes at
-their head, furnished many a tale which made the very marrow of my bones
-run cold, and quenched even Amante's power of talking. Her eyes grew
-large and wild, her cheeks blanched, and for once she sought by her
-looks help from me. The new call upon me roused me. I rose and said,
-with their permission my husband and I would seek our bed, for that we
-had travelled far and were early risers. I added that we would get up
-betimes, and finish our piece of work. The blacksmith said we should
-be early birds if we rose before him; and the good wife seconded my
-proposal with kindly bustle. One other such story as those they had been
-relating, and I do believe Amante would have fainted.
-
-As it was, a night's rest set her up; we arose and finished our work
-betimes, and shared the plentiful breakfast of the family. Then we had
-to set forth again; only knowing that to Forbach we must not go, yet
-believing, as was indeed the case, that Forbach lay between us and that
-Germany to which we were directing our course. Two days more we wandered
-on, making a round, I suspect, and returning upon the road to Forbach, a
-league or two nearer to that town than the blacksmith's house. But as we
-never made inquiries I hardly knew where we were, when we came one night
-to a small town, with a good large rambling inn in the very centre of
-the principal street. We had begun to feel as if there were more safety
-in towns than in the loneliness of the country. As we had parted with a
-ring of mine not many days before to a travelling jeweller, who was too
-glad to purchase it far below its real value to make many inquiries as
-to how it came into the possession of a poor working tailor, such as
-Amante seemed to be, we resolved to stay at this inn all night, and
-gather such particulars and information as we could by which to direct
-our onward course.
-
-We took our supper in the darkest corner of the _salle-�-manger_, having
-previously bargained for a small bedroom across the court, and over the
-stables. We needed food sorely; but we hurried on our meal from dread of
-any one entering that public room who might recognize us. Just in the
-middle of our meal, the public diligence drove lumbering up under the
-_porte-coch�re_, and disgorged its passengers. Most of them turned into
-the room where we sat, cowering and fearful, for the door was opposite
-to the porter's lodge, and both opened on to the wide-covered entrance
-from the street. Among the passengers came in a young, fair-haired lady,
-attended by an elderly French maid. The poor young creature tossed her
-head, and shrank away from the common room, full of evil smells and
-promiscuous company, and demanded, in German French, to be taken to
-some private apartment. We heard that she and her maid had come in the
-coup�, and, probably from pride, poor young lady! she had avoided all
-association with her fellow-passengers, thereby exciting their dislike
-and ridicule. All these little pieces of hearsay had a significance to
-us afterwards, though, at the time, the only remark made that bore upon
-the future was Amante's whisper to me that the young lady's hair was
-exactly the colour of mine, which she had cut off and burnt in the stove
-in the miller's kitchen in one of her descents from our hiding-place in
-the loft.
-
-As soon as we could, we struck round in the shadow, leaving the
-boisterous and merry fellow-passengers to their supper. We crossed the
-court, borrowed a lantern from the ostler, and scrambled up the rude
-steps to our chamber above the stable. There was no door into it; the
-entrance was the hole into which the ladder fitted. The window looked
-into the court. We were tired and soon fell asleep. I was wakened by a
-noise in the stable below. One instant of listening, and I wakened
-Amante, placing my hand on her mouth, to prevent any exclamation in her
-half-roused state. We heard my husband speaking about his horse to the
-ostler. It was his voice. I am sure of it. Amante said so too. We durst
-not move to rise and satisfy ourselves. For five minutes or so he went
-on giving directions. Then he left the stable, and, softly stealing
-to our window, we saw him cross the court and re-enter the inn. We
-consulted as to what we should do. We feared to excite remark or
-suspicion by descending and leaving our chamber, or else immediate
-escape was our strongest idea. Then the ostler left the stable, locking
-the door on the outside.
-
-"We must try and drop through the window--if, indeed, it is well to go
-at all," said Amante.
-
-With reflection came wisdom. We should excite suspicion by leaving
-without paying our bill. We were on foot, and might easily be pursued.
-So we sat on our bed's edge, talking and shivering, while from across
-the court the laughter rang merrily, and the company slowly dispersed
-one by one, their lights flitting past the windows as they went upstairs
-and settled each one to his rest.
-
-We crept into our bed, holding each other tight, and listening to every
-sound, as if we thought we were tracked, and might meet our death at any
-moment. In the dead of night, just at the profound stillness preceding
-the turn into another day, we heard a soft, cautious step crossing
-the yard. The key into the stable was turned--some one came into the
-stable--we felt rather than heard him there. A horse started a little,
-and made a restless movement with his feet, then whinnied recognition.
-He who had entered made two or three low sounds to the animal, and then
-led him into the court. Amante sprang to the window with the noiseless
-activity of a cat. She looked out, but dared not speak a word. We heard
-the great door into the street open--a pause for mounting, and the
-horse's footsteps were lost in distance.
-
-Then Amante came back to me. "It was he! he is gone!" said she, and once
-more we lay down, trembling and shaking.
-
-This time we fell sound asleep. We slept long and late. We were wakened
-by many hurrying feet, and many confused voices; all the world seemed
-awake and astir. We rose and dressed ourselves, and coming down we
-looked around among the crowd collected in the court-yard, in order to
-assure ourselves _he_ was not there before we left the shelter of the
-stable.
-
-The instant we were seen, two or three people rushed to us.
-
-"Have you heard?--Do you know?--That poor young lady--oh, come and see!"
-and so we were hurried, almost in spite of ourselves, across the court,
-and up the great open stairs of the main building of the inn, into a
-bed-chamber, where lay the beautiful young German lady, so full of
-graceful pride the night before, now white and still in death. By her
-stood the French maid, crying and gesticulating.
-
-"Oh, madame! if you had but suffered me to stay with you! Oh! the baron,
-what will he say?" and so she went on. Her state had but just been
-discovered; it had been supposed that she was fatigued, and was sleeping
-late, until a few minutes before. The surgeon of the town had been sent
-for, and the landlord of the inn was trying vainly to enforce order
-until he came, and, from time to time, drinking little cups of brandy,
-and offering them to the guests, who were all assembled there, pretty
-much as the servants were doing in the court-yard.
-
-At last the surgeon came. All fell back, and hung on the words that were
-to fall from his lips.
-
-"See!" said the landlord. "This lady came last night by the diligence
-with her maid. Doubtless a great lady, for she must have a private
-sitting-room----"
-
-"She was Madame the Baroness de Roeder," said the French maid.
-
---"And was difficult to please in the matter of supper, and a
-sleeping-room. She went to bed well, though fatigued. Her maid left
-her----"
-
-"I begged to be allowed to sleep in her room, as we were in a strange
-inn, of the character of which we knew nothing; but she would not let
-me, my mistress was such a great lady."
-
---"And slept with my servants," continued the landlord. "This morning we
-thought madame was still slumbering; but when eight, nine, ten, and near
-eleven o'clock came, I bade her maid use my pass-key, and enter her
-room----"
-
-"The door was not locked, only closed. And here she was found--dead is
-she not, monsieur?--with her face down on her pillow, and her beautiful
-hair all scattered wild; she never would let me tie it up, saying it
-made her head ache. Such hair!" said the waiting-maid, lifting up a long
-golden tress, and letting it fall again.
-
-I remembered Amante's words the night before, and crept close up to her.
-
-Meanwhile, the doctor was examining the body underneath the bed-clothes,
-which the landlord, until now, had not allowed to be disarranged. The
-surgeon drew out his hand, all bathed and stained with blood; and
-holding up a short, sharp knife, with a piece of paper fastened round
-it.
-
-"Here has been foul play," he said. "The deceased lady has been
-murdered. This dagger was aimed straight at her heart." Then, putting on
-his spectacles, he read the writing on the bloody paper, dimmed and
-horribly obscured as it was:--
-
-  NUM�RO UN.
-  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
-
-
-"Let us go!" said I to Amante. "Oh, let us leave this horrible place!"
-
-"Wait a little," said she. "Only a few minutes more. It will be better."
-
-Immediately the voices of all proclaimed their suspicions of the
-cavalier who had arrived last the night before. He had, they said, made
-so many inquiries about the young lady, whose supercilious conduct all
-in the _salle-�-manger_ had been discussing on his entrance. They were
-talking about her as we left the room; he must have come in directly
-afterwards, and not until he had learnt all about her, had he spoken of
-the business which necessitated his departure at dawn of day, and made
-his arrangements with both landlord and ostler for the possession of the
-keys of the stable and _porte-coch�re_. In short, there was no doubt as
-to the murderer, even before the arrival of the legal functionary who
-had been sent for by the surgeon; but the word on the paper chilled
-every one with terror. Les Chauffeurs, who were they? No one knew, some
-of the gang might even then be in the room overhearing, and noting down
-fresh objects for vengeance. In Germany, I had heard little of this
-terrible gang, and I had paid no greater heed to the stories related
-once or twice about them in Carlsruhe than one does to tales about
-ogres. But here in their very haunts, I learnt the full amount of the
-terror they inspired. No one would be legally responsible for any
-evidence criminating the murderer. The public prosecutor shrank from the
-duties of his office. What do I say? Neither Amante nor I, knowing far
-more of the actual guilt of the man who had killed that poor sleeping
-young lady, durst breathe a word. We appeared to be wholly ignorant of
-everything: we, who might have told so much. But how could we? we were
-broken down with terrific anxiety and fatigue, with the knowledge that
-we, above all, were doomed victims; and that the blood, heavily dripping
-from the bed-clothes on to the floor, was dripping thus out of the poor
-dead body, because, when living, she had been mistaken for me.
-
-At length Amante went up to the landlord, and asked permission to leave
-his inn, doing all openly and humbly, so as to excite neither ill-will
-nor suspicion. Indeed, suspicion was otherwise directed, and he willingly
-gave us leave to depart. A few days afterwards we were across the Rhine,
-in Germany, making our way towards Frankfort, but still keeping our
-disguises, and Amante still working at her trade.
-
-On the way, we met a young man, a wandering journeyman from Heidelberg.
-I knew him, although I did not choose that he should know me. I asked
-him, as carelessly as I could, how the old miller was now? He told me he
-was dead. This realization of the worst apprehensions caused by his long
-silence shocked me inexpressibly. It seemed as though every prop gave
-way from under me. I had been talking to Amante only that very day of
-the safety and comfort of the home that awaited her in my father's
-house; of the gratitude which the old man would feel towards her; and
-how there, in that peaceful dwelling, far away from the terrible land
-of France, she should find ease and security for all the rest of her
-life. All this I thought I had to promise, and even yet more had I
-looked for, for myself. I looked to the unburdening of my heart and
-conscience by telling all I knew to my best and wisest friend. I looked
-to his love as a sure guidance as well as a comforting stay, and,
-behold, he was gone away from me for ever!
-
-I had left the room hastily on hearing of this sad news from the
-Heidelberger. Presently, Amante followed:
-
-"Poor madame," said she, consoling me to the best of her ability. And
-then she told me by degrees what more she had learned respecting my
-home, about which she knew almost as much as I did, from my frequent
-talks on the subject both at Les Rochers and on the dreary, doleful road
-we had come along. She had continued the conversation after I left, by
-asking about my brother and his wife. Of course, they lived on at the
-mill, but the man said (with what truth I know not, but I believed it
-firmly at the time) that Babette had completely got the upper hand of my
-brother, who only saw through her eyes and heard with her ears. That
-there had been much Heidelberg gossip of late days about her sudden
-intimacy with a grand French gentleman who had appeared at the mill--a
-relation, by marriage--married, in fact, to the miller's sister, who,
-by all accounts, had behaved abominably and ungratefully. But that was
-no reason for Babette's extreme and sudden intimacy with him, going
-about everywhere with the French gentleman; and since he left (as the
-Heidelberger said he knew for a fact) corresponding with him constantly.
-Yet her husband saw no harm in it all, seemingly; though, to be sure, he
-was so out of spirits, what with his father's death and the news of his
-sister's infamy, that he hardly knew how to hold up his head.
-
-"Now," said Amante, "all this proves that M. de la Tourelle has
-suspected that you would go back to the nest in which you were reared,
-and that he has been there, and found that you have not yet returned;
-but probably he still imagines that you will do so, and has accordingly
-engaged your sister-in-law as a kind of informant. Madame has said that
-her sister-in-law bore her no extreme good-will; and the defamatory
-story he has got the start of us in spreading, will not tend to increase
-the favour in which your sister-in-law holds you. No doubt the assassin
-was retracing his steps when we met him near Forbach, and having heard
-of the poor German lady, with her French maid, and her pretty blonde
-complexion, he followed her. If madame will still be guided by me--and,
-my child, I beg of you still to trust me," said Amante, breaking out of
-her respectful formality into the way of talking more natural to those
-who had shared and escaped from common dangers--more natural, too, where
-the speaker was conscious of a power of protection which the other did
-not possess--"we will go on to Frankfort, and lose ourselves, for a
-time, at least, in the numbers of people who throng a great town; and
-you have told me that Frankfort is a great town. We will still be
-husband and wife; we will take a small lodging, and you shall housekeep
-and live in-doors. I, as the rougher and the more alert, will continue
-my father's trade, and seek work at the tailors' shops."
-
-I could think of no better plan, so we followed this out. In a back
-street at Frankfort we found two furnished rooms to let on a sixth
-story. The one we entered had no light from day; a dingy lamp swung
-perpetually from the ceiling, and from that, or from the open door
-leading into the bedroom beyond, came our only light. The bedroom was
-more cheerful, but very small. Such as it was, it almost exceeded our
-possible means. The money from the sale of my ring was almost exhausted,
-and Amante was a stranger in the place, speaking only French, moreover,
-and the good Germans were hating the French people right heartily.
-However, we succeeded better than our hopes, and even laid by a little
-against the time of my confinement. I never stirred abroad, and saw no
-one, and Amante's want of knowledge of German kept her in a state of
-comparative isolation.
-
-At length my child was born--my poor worse than fatherless child. It
-was a girl, as I had prayed for. I had feared lest a boy might have
-something of the tiger nature of its father, but a girl seemed all my
-own. And yet not all my own, for the faithful Amante's delight and glory
-in the babe almost exceeded mine; in outward show it certainly did.
-
-We had not been able to afford any attendance beyond what a neighbouring
-sage-femme could give, and she came frequently, bringing in with her
-a little store of gossip, and wonderful tales culled out of her own
-experience, every time. One day she began to tell me about a great lady
-in whose service her daughter had lived as scullion, or some such
-thing. Such a beautiful lady! with such a handsome husband. But grief
-comes to the palace as well as to the garret, and why or wherefore no
-one knew, but somehow the Baron de Roeder must have incurred the
-vengeance of the terrible Chauffeurs; for not many months ago, as
-madame was going to see her relations in Alsace, she was stabbed dead
-as she lay in bed at some hotel on the road. Had I not seen it in the
-_Gazette_? Had I not heard? Why, she had been told that as far off as
-Lyons there were placards offering a heavy reward on the part of the
-Baron de Roeder for information respecting the murderer of his wife. But
-no one could help him, for all who could bear evidence were in such
-terror of the Chauffeurs; there were hundreds of them she had been told,
-rich and poor, great gentlemen and peasants, all leagued together by
-most frightful oaths to hunt to the death any one who bore witness
-against them; so that even they who survived the tortures to which the
-Chauffeurs subjected many of the people whom they plundered, dared not
-to recognise them again, would not dare, even did they see them at the
-bar of a court of justice; for, if one were condemned, were there not
-hundreds sworn to avenge his death?
-
-I told all this to Amante, and we began to fear that if M. de la
-Tourelle, or Lefebvre, or any of the gang at Les Rochers, had seen these
-placards, they would know that the poor lady stabbed by the former was
-the Baroness de Roeder, and that they would set forth again in search of
-me.
-
-This fresh apprehension told on my health and impeded my recovery. We
-had so little money we could not call in a physician, at least, not one
-in established practice. But Amante found out a young doctor for whom,
-indeed, she had sometimes worked; and offering to pay him in kind, she
-brought him to see me, her sick wife. He was very gentle and thoughtful,
-though, like ourselves, very poor. But he gave much time and consideration
-to the case, saying once to Amante that he saw my constitution had
-experienced some severe shock from which it was probable that my nerves
-would never entirely recover. By-and-by I shall name this doctor, and
-then you will know, better than I can describe, his character.
-
-I grew strong in time--stronger, at least. I was able to work a little
-at home, and to sun myself and my baby at the garret-window in the roof.
-It was all the air I dared to take. I constantly wore the disguise I had
-first set out with; as constantly had I renewed the disfiguring dye
-which changed my hair and complexion. But the perpetual state of terror
-in which I had been during the whole months succeeding my escape from
-Les Rochers made me loathe the idea of ever again walking in the open
-daylight, exposed to the sight and recognition of every passer-by. In
-vain Amante reasoned--in vain the doctor urged. Docile in every other
-thing, in this I was obstinate. I would not stir out. One day Amante
-returned from her work, full of news--some of it good, some such as to
-cause us apprehension. The good news was this; the master for whom she
-worked as journeyman was going to send her with some others to a great
-house at the other side of Frankfort, where there were to be private
-theatricals, and where many new dresses and much alteration of old ones
-would be required. The tailors employed were all to stay at this house
-until the day of representation was over, as it was at some distance
-from the town, and no one could tell when their work would be ended.
-But the pay was to be proportionately good.
-
-The other thing she had to say was this: she had that day met the
-travelling jeweller to whom she and I had sold my ring. It was rather a
-peculiar one, given to me by my husband; we had felt at the time that it
-might be the means of tracing us, but we were penniless and starving,
-and what else could we do? She had seen that this Frenchman had recognised
-her at the same instant that she did him, and she thought at the same
-time that there was a gleam of more than common intelligence on his face
-as he did so. This idea had been confirmed by his following her for some
-way on the other side of the street; but she had evaded him with her
-better knowledge of the town, and the increasing darkness of the night.
-Still it was well that she was going to such a distance from our
-dwelling on the next day; and she had brought me in a stock of provisions,
-begging me to keep within doors, with a strange kind of fearful oblivion
-of the fact that I had never set foot beyond the threshold of the house
-since I had first entered it--scarce ever ventured down the stairs. But,
-although my poor, my dear, very faithful Amante was like one possessed
-that last night, she spoke continually of the dead, which is a bad
-sign for the living. She kissed you--yes! it was you, my daughter, my
-darling, whom I bore beneath my bosom away from the fearful castle of
-your father--I call him so for the first time, I must call him so once
-again before I have done--Amante kissed you, sweet baby, blessed little
-comforter, as if she never could leave off. And then she went away,
-alive.
-
-Two days, three days passed away. That third evening I was sitting
-within my bolted doors--you asleep on your pillow by my side--when a
-step came up the stair, and I knew it must be for me; for ours were the
-topmost rooms. Some one knocked; I held my very breath. But some one
-spoke, and I knew it was the good Doctor Voss. Then I crept to the door,
-and answered.
-
-"Are you alone?" asked I.
-
-"Yes," said he, in a still lower voice. "Let me in." I let him in, and
-he was as alert as I in bolting and barring the door. Then he came and
-whispered to me his doleful tale. He had come from the hospital in the
-opposite quarter of the town, the hospital which he visited; he should
-have been with me sooner, but he had feared lest he should be watched.
-He had come from Amante's death-bed. Her fears of the jeweller were
-too well founded. She had left the house where she was employed that
-morning, to transact some errand connected with her work in the town;
-she must have been followed, and dogged on her way back through solitary
-wood-paths, for some of the wood-rangers belonging to the great house
-had found her lying there, stabbed to death, but not dead; with the
-poniard again plunged through the fatal writing, once more; but this
-time with the word "un" underlined, so as to show that the assassin was
-aware of his previous mistake.
-
-  Num�ro _Un_.
-  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
-
-They had carried her to the house, and given her restoratives till she
-had recovered the feeble use of her speech. But, oh, faithful, dear
-friend and sister! even then she remembered me, and refused to tell
-(what no one else among her fellow workmen knew), where she lived or
-with whom. Life was ebbing away fast, and they had no resource but to
-carry her to the nearest hospital, where, of course, the fact of her
-sex was made known. Fortunately both for her and for me, the doctor in
-attendance was the very Doctor Voss whom we already knew. To him, while
-awaiting her confessor, she told enough to enable him to understand the
-position in which I was left; before the priest had heard half her tale
-Amante was dead.
-
-Doctor Voss told me he had made all sorts of _d�tours_, and waited thus,
-late at night, for fear of being watched and followed. But I do not
-think he was. At any rate, as I afterwards learnt from him, the Baron
-Roeder, on hearing of the similitude of this murder with that of his
-wife in every particular, made such a search after the assassins, that,
-although they were not discovered, they were compelled to take to flight
-for the time.
-
-I can hardly tell you now by what arguments Dr. Voss, at first merely
-my benefactor, sparing me a portion of his small modicum, at length
-persuaded me to become his wife. His wife he called it, I called it; for
-we went through the religious ceremony too much slighted at the time,
-and as we were both Lutherans, and M. de la Tourelle had pretended to be
-of the reformed religion, a divorce from the latter would have been
-easily procurable by German law both ecclesiastical and legal, could we
-have summoned so fearful a man into any court.
-
-The good doctor took me and my child by stealth to his modest dwelling;
-and there I lived in the same deep retirement, never seeing the full
-light of day, although when the dye had once passed away from my face my
-husband did not wish me to renew it. There was no need; my yellow hair
-was grey, my complexion was ashen-coloured, no creature could have
-recognized the fresh-coloured, bright-haired young woman of eighteen
-months before. The few people whom I saw knew me only as Madame Voss; a
-widow much older than himself, whom Dr. Voss had secretly married. They
-called me the Grey Woman.
-
-He made me give you his surname. Till now you have known no other
-father--while he lived you needed no father's love. Once only, only once
-more, did the old terror come upon me. For some reason which I forget,
-I broke through my usual custom, and went to the window of my room for
-some purpose, either to shut or to open it. Looking out into the street
-for an instant, I was fascinated by the sight of M. de la Tourelle, gay,
-young, elegant as ever, walking along on the opposite side of the
-street. The noise I had made with the window caused him to look up; he
-saw me, an old grey woman, and he did not recognize me! Yet it was not
-three years since we had parted, and his eyes were keen and dreadful
-like those of the lynx.
-
-I told M. Voss, on his return home, and he tried to cheer me, but the
-shock of seeing M. de la Tourelle had been too terrible for me. I was
-ill for long months afterwards.
-
-Once again I saw him. Dead. He and Lefebvre were at last caught; hunted
-down by the Baron de Roeder in some of their crimes. Dr. Voss had heard
-of their arrest; their condemnation, their death; but he never said a
-word to me, until one day he bade me show him that I loved him by my
-obedience and my trust. He took me a long carriage journey, where to I
-know not, for we never spoke of that day again; I was led through a
-prison, into a closed court-yard, where, decently draped in the last
-robes of death, concealing the marks of decapitation, lay M. de la
-Tourelle, and two or three others, whom I had known at Les Rochers.
-
-After that conviction Dr. Voss tried to persuade me to return to a more
-natural mode of life, and to go out more. But although I sometimes
-complied with his wish, yet the old terror was ever strong upon me,
-and he, seeing what an effort it was, gave up urging me at last.
-
-You know all the rest. How we both mourned bitterly the loss of that
-dear husband and father--for such I will call him ever--and as such
-you must consider him, my child, after this one revelation is over.
-
-Why has it been made, you ask. For this reason, my child. The lover,
-whom you have only known as M. Lebrun, a French artist, told me but
-yesterday his real name, dropped because the blood-thirsty republicans
-might consider it as too aristocratic. It is Maurice de Poissy.
-
-
-
-
-CURIOUS IF TRUE.
-
-(EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM RICHARD WHITTINGHAM, ESQ.)
-
-
-You were formerly so much amused at my pride in my descent from that
-sister of Calvin's, who married a Whittingham, Dean of Durham, that I
-doubt if you will be able to enter into the regard for my distinguished
-relation that has led me to France, in order to examine registers and
-archives, which, I thought, might enable me to discover collateral
-descendants of the great reformer, with whom I might call cousins. I
-shall not tell you of my troubles and adventures in this research; you
-are not worthy to hear of them; but something so curious befel me one
-evening last August, that if I had not been perfectly certain I was wide
-awake, I might have taken it for a dream.
-
-For the purpose I have named, it was necessary that I should make Tours
-my head-quarters for a time. I had traced descendants of the Calvin
-family out of Normandy into the centre of France; but I found it was
-necessary to have a kind of permission from the bishop of the diocese
-before I could see certain family papers, which had fallen into the
-possession of the Church; and, as I had several English friends at
-Tours, I awaited the answer to my request to Monseigneur de ----, at
-that town. I was ready to accept any invitation; but I received very
-few; and was sometimes a little at a loss what to do with my evenings.
-The _table d'h�te_ was at five o'clock; I did not wish to go to the
-expense of a private sitting-room, disliked the dinnery atmosphere of
-the _salle � manger_, could not play either at pool or billiards, and
-the aspect of my fellow guests was unprepossessing enough to make me
-unwilling to enter into any _t�te-�-t�te_ gamblings with them. So I
-usually rose from table early, and tried to make the most of the
-remaining light of the August evenings in walking briskly off to explore
-the surrounding country; the middle of the day was too hot for this
-purpose, and better employed in lounging on a bench in the Boulevards,
-lazily listening to the distant band, and noticing with equal laziness
-the faces and figures of the women who passed by.
-
-One Thursday evening, the 18th of August it was, I think, I had gone
-further than usual in my walk, and I found that it was later than I
-had imagined when I paused to turn back. I fancied I could make a round;
-I had enough notion of the direction in which I was, to see that by
-turning up a narrow straight lane to my left I should shorten my way
-back to Tours. And so I believe I should have done, could I have found
-an outlet at the right place, but field-paths are almost unknown in
-that part of France, and my lane, stiff and straight as any street, and
-marked into terribly vanishing perspective by the regular row of poplars
-on each side, seemed interminable. Of course night came on, and I was
-in darkness. In England I might have had a chance of seeing a light
-in some cottage only a field or two off, and asking my way from the
-inhabitants; but here I could see no such welcome sight; indeed, I
-believe French peasants go to bed with the summer daylight, so if there
-were any habitations in the neighbourhood I never saw them. At last--I
-believe I must have walked two hours in the darkness,--I saw the dusky
-outline of a wood on one side of the weariful lane, and, impatiently
-careless of all forest laws and penalties for trespassers, I made my
-way to it, thinking that if the worst came to the worst, I could find
-some covert--some shelter where I could lie down and rest, until the
-morning light gave me a chance of finding my way back to Tours. But the
-plantation, on the outskirts of what appeared to me a dense wood, was of
-young trees, too closely planted to be more than slender stems growing
-up to a good height, with scanty foliage on their summits. On I went
-towards the thicker forest, and once there I slackened my pace, and
-began to look about me for a good lair. I was as dainty as Lochiel's
-grandchild, who made his grandsire indignant at the luxury of his pillow
-of snow: this brake was too full of brambles, that felt damp with dew;
-there was no hurry, since I had given up all hope of passing the night
-between four walls; and I went leisurely groping about, and trusting
-that there were no wolves to be poked up out of their summer drowsiness
-by my stick, when all at once I saw a ch�teau before me, not a quarter
-of a mile off, at the end of what seemed to be an ancient avenue (now
-overgrown and irregular), which I happened to be crossing, when I looked
-to my right, and saw the welcome sight. Large, stately, and dark was
-its outline against the dusky night-sky; there were pepper-boxes and
-tourelles and what-not fantastically going up into the dim starlight.
-And more to the purpose still, though I could not see the details of the
-building that I was now facing, it was plain enough that there were
-lights in many windows, as if some great entertainment was going on.
-
-"They are hospitable people, at any rate," thought I. "Perhaps they
-will give me a bed. I don't suppose French propri�taires have traps and
-horses quite as plentiful as English gentlemen; but they are evidently
-having a large party, and some of their guests may be from Tours, and
-will give me a cast back to the Lion d'Or. I am not proud, and I am
-dog-tired. I am not above hanging on behind, if need be."
-
-So, putting a little briskness and spirit into my walk, I went up to
-the door, which was standing open, most hospitably, and showing a large
-lighted hall, all hung round with spoils of the chase, armour, &c, the
-details of which I had not time to notice, for the instant I stood on
-the threshold a huge porter appeared, in a strange, old-fashioned dress,
-a kind of livery which well befitted the general appearance of the house.
-He asked me, in French (so curiously pronounced that I thought I had hit
-upon a new kind of _patois_), my name, and whence I came. I thought he
-would not be much the wiser, still it was but civil to give it before I
-made my request for assistance; so, in reply, I said--
-
-"My name is Whittingham--Richard Whittingham, an English gentleman,
-staying at ----." To my infinite surprise, a light of pleased intelligence
-came over the giant's face; he made me a low bow, and said (still in
-the same curious dialect) that I was welcome, that I was long expected.
-
-"Long expected!" What could the fellow mean? Had I stumbled on a nest
-of relations by John Calvin's side, who had heard of my genealogical
-inquiries, and were gratified and interested by them? But I was too
-much pleased to be under shelter for the night to think it necessary to
-account for my agreeable reception before I enjoyed it. Just as he was
-opening the great heavy _battants_ of the door that led from the hall to
-the interior, he turned round and said,--
-
-"Apparently Monsieur le G�anquilleur is not come with you."
-
-"No! I am all alone; I have lost my way,"--and I was going on with my
-explanation, when he, as if quite indifferent to it, led the way up
-a great stone staircase, as wide as many rooms, and having on each
-landing-place massive iron wickets, in a heavy framework; these the
-porter unlocked with the solemn slowness of age. Indeed, a strange,
-mysterious awe of the centuries that had passed away since this ch�teau
-was built, came over me as I waited for the turning of the ponderous
-keys in the ancient locks. I could almost have fancied that I heard a
-mighty rushing murmur (like the ceaseless sound of a distant sea, ebbing
-and flowing for ever and for ever), coming forth from the great vacant
-galleries that opened out on each side of the broad staircase, and were
-to be dimly perceived in the darkness above us. It was as if the voices
-of generations of men yet echoed and eddied in the silent air. It was
-strange, too, that my friend the porter going before me, ponderously
-infirm, with his feeble old hands striving in vain to keep the tall
-flambeau he held steadily before him,--strange, I say, that he was the
-only domestic I saw in the vast halls and passages, or met with on the
-grand staircase. At length we stood before the gilded doors that led
-into the saloon where the family--or it might be the company, so great
-was the buzz of voices--was assembled. I would have remonstrated when
-I found he was going to introduce me, dusty and travel-smeared, in a
-morning costume that was not even my best, into this grand _salon_, with
-nobody knew how many ladies and gentlemen assembled; but the obstinate
-old man was evidently bent upon taking me straight to his master, and
-paid no heed to my words.
-
-The doors flew open, and I was ushered into a saloon curiously full of
-pale light, which did not culminate on any spot, nor proceed from any
-centre, nor flicker with any motion of the air, but filled every nook
-and corner, making all things deliciously distinct; different from our
-light of gas or candle, as is the difference between a clear southern
-atmosphere and that of our misty England.
-
-At the first moment, my arrival excited no attention, the apartment was
-so full of people, all intent on their own conversation. But my friend
-the porter went up to a handsome lady of middle age, richly attired in
-that antique manner which fashion has brought round again of late years,
-and, waiting first in an attitude of deep respect till her attention
-fell upon him, told her my name and something about me, as far as I
-could guess from the gestures of the one and the sudden glance of the
-eye of the other.
-
-She immediately came towards me with the most friendly actions of
-greeting, even before she had advanced near enough to speak. Then,--and
-was it not strange?--her words and accent were that of the commonest
-peasant of the country. Yet she herself looked high-bred, and would have
-been dignified had she been a shade less restless, had her countenance
-worn a little less lively and inquisitive expression. I had been poking
-a good deal about the old parts of Tours, and had had to understand the
-dialect of the people who dwelt in the March� au Vendredi and similar
-places, or I really should not have understood my handsome hostess, as
-she offered to present me to her husband, a henpecked, gentlemanly man,
-who was more quaintly attired than she in the very extreme of that style
-of dress. I thought to myself that in France, as in England, it is the
-provincials who carry fashion to such an excess as to become ridiculous.
-
-However, he spoke (still in the _patois_) of his pleasure in making my
-acquaintance, and led me to a strange uneasy easy-chair, much of a piece
-with the rest of the furniture, which might have taken its place without
-any anachronism by the side of that in the H�tel Cluny. Then again
-began the clatter of French voices, which my arrival had for an instant
-interrupted, and I had leisure to look about me. Opposite to me sat a
-very sweet-looking lady, who must have been a great beauty in her youth,
-I should think, and would be charming in old age, from the sweetness of
-her countenance. She was, however, extremely fat, and on seeing her feet
-laid up before her on a cushion, I at once perceived that they were so
-swollen as to render her incapable of walking, which probably brought on
-her excessive _embonpoint_. Her hands were plump and small, but rather
-coarse-grained in texture, not quite so clean as they might have been,
-and altogether not so aristocratic-looking as the charming face. Her
-dress was of superb black velvet, ermine-trimmed, with diamonds thrown
-all abroad over it.
-
-Not far from her stood the least little man I had ever seen; of such
-admirable proportions no one could call him a dwarf, because with
-that word we usually associate something of deformity; but yet with an
-elfin look of shrewd, hard, worldly wisdom in his face that marred the
-impression which his delicate regular little features would otherwise
-have conveyed. Indeed, I do not think he was quite of equal rank with
-the rest of the company, for his dress was inappropriate to the occasion
-(and he apparently was an invited, while I was an involuntary guest);
-and one or two of his gestures and actions were more like the tricks of
-an uneducated rustic than anything else. To explain what I mean: his
-boots had evidently seen much service, and had been re-topped, re-heeled,
-re-soled to the extent of cobbler's powers. Why should he have come in
-them if they were not his best--his only pair? And what can be more
-ungenteel than poverty? Then again he had an uneasy trick of putting his
-hand up to his throat, as if he expected to find something the matter
-with it; and he had the awkward habit--which I do not think he could
-have copied from Dr. Johnson, because most probably he had never heard
-of him--of trying always to retrace his steps on the exact boards on
-which he had trodden to arrive at any particular part of the room.
-Besides, to settle the question, I once heard him addressed as Monsieur
-Poucet, without any aristocratic "de" for a prefix; and nearly every one
-else in the room was a marquis, at any rate.
-
-I say, "nearly every one;" for some strange people had the entr�e;
-unless, indeed, they were, like me, benighted. One of the guests I
-should have taken for a servant, but for the extraordinary influence he
-seemed to have over the man I took for his master, and who never did
-anything without, apparently, being urged thereto by this follower. The
-master, magnificently dressed, but ill at ease in his clothes, as if
-they had been made for some one else, was a weak-looking, handsome
-man, continually sauntering about, and I almost guessed an object of
-suspicion to some of the gentlemen present, which, perhaps, drove him on
-the companionship of his follower, who was dressed something in the
-style of an ambassador's chasseur; yet it was not a chasseur's dress
-after all; it was something more thoroughly old-world; boots half way up
-his ridiculously small legs, which clattered as he walked along, as if
-they were too large for his little feet; and a great quantity of grey
-fur, as trimming to coat, court-mantle, boots, cap--everything. You know
-the way in which certain countenances remind you perpetually of some
-animal, be it bird or beast! Well, this chasseur (as I will call him
-for want of a better name) was exceedingly like the great Tom-cat that
-you have seen so often in my chambers, and laughed at almost as often
-for his uncanny gravity of demeanour. Grey whiskers has my Tom--grey
-whiskers had the chasseur: grey hair overshadows the upper lip of my
-Tom--grey mustachios hid that of the chasseur. The pupils of Tom's eyes
-dilate and contract as I had thought cats' pupils only could do, until
-I saw those of the chasseur. To be sure, canny as Tom is, the chasseur
-had the advantage in the more intelligent expression. He seemed to have
-obtained most complete sway over his master or patron, whose looks he
-watched, and whose steps he followed, with a kind of distrustful
-interest that puzzled me greatly.
-
-There were several other groups in the more distant part of the saloon,
-all of the stately old school, all grand and noble, I conjectured from
-their bearing. They seemed perfectly well acquainted with each other,
-as if they were in the habit of meeting. But I was interrupted in my
-observations by the tiny little gentleman on the opposite side of the
-room coming across to take a place beside me. It is no difficult matter
-to a Frenchman to slide into conversation, and so gracefully did my
-pigmy friend keep up the character of the nation, that we were almost
-confidential before ten minutes had elapsed.
-
-Now I was quite aware that the welcome which all had extended to me,
-from the porter up to the vivacious lady and meek lord of the castle,
-was intended for some other person. But it required either a degree
-of moral courage, of which I cannot boast, or the self-reliance and
-conversational powers of a bolder and cleverer man than I, to undeceive
-people who had fallen into so fortunate a mistake for me. Yet the little
-man by my side insinuated himself so much into my confidence, that I had
-half a mind to tell him of my exact situation, and to turn him into a
-friend and an ally.
-
-"Madame is perceptibly growing older," said he, in the midst of my
-perplexity, glancing at our hostess.
-
-"Madame is still a very fine woman," replied I.
-
-"Now, is it not strange," continued he, lowering his voice, "how women
-almost invariably praise the absent, or departed, as if they were angels
-of light, while as for the present, or the living"--here he shrugged up
-his little shoulders, and made an expressive pause. "Would you believe
-it! Madame is always praising her late husband to monsieur's face; till,
-in fact, we guests are quite perplexed how to look: for, you know, the
-late M. de Retz's character was quite notorious,--everybody has heard of
-him." All the world of Touraine, thought I, but I made an assenting
-noise.
-
-At this instant, monsieur our host came up to me, and with a civil look
-of tender interest (such as some people put on when they inquire after
-your mother, about whom they do not care one straw), asked if I had
-heard lately how my cat was? "How my cat was!" What could the man mean?
-My cat! Could he mean the tailless Tom, born in the Isle of Man, and now
-supposed to be keeping guard against the incursions of rats and mice
-into my chambers in London? Tom is, as you know, on pretty good terms
-with some of my friends, using their legs for rubbing-posts without
-scruple, and highly esteemed by them for his gravity of demeanour, and
-wise manner of winking his eyes. But could his fame have reached across
-the Channel? However, an answer must be returned to the inquiry, as
-monsieur's face was bent down to mine with a look of polite anxiety; so
-I, in my turn, assumed an expression of gratitude, and assured him that,
-to the best of my belief, my cat was in remarkably good health.
-
-"And the climate agrees with her?"
-
-"Perfectly," said I, in a maze of wonder at this deep solicitude in a
-tailless cat who had lost one foot and half an ear in some cruel trap.
-My host smiled a sweet smile, and, addressing a few words to my little
-neighbour, passed on.
-
-"How wearisome those aristocrats are!" quoth my neighbour, with a slight
-sneer. "Monsieur's conversation rarely extends to more than two sentences
-to any one. By that time his faculties are exhausted, and he needs the
-refreshment of silence. You and I, monsieur, are, at any rate, indebted
-to our own wits for our rise in the world!"
-
-Here again I was bewildered! As you know, I am rather proud of my
-descent from families which, if not noble themselves, are allied to
-nobility,--and as to my "rise in the world"--if I had risen, it would
-have been rather for balloon-like qualities than for mother-wit, to
-being unencumbered with heavy ballast either in my head or my pockets.
-However, it was my cue to agree: so I smiled again.
-
-"For my part," said he, "if a man does not stick at trifles, if he knows
-how to judiciously add to, or withhold facts, and is not sentimental in
-his parade of humanity, he is sure to do well; sure to affix a _de_ or
-_von_ to his name, and end his days in comfort. There is an example of
-what I am saying"--and he glanced furtively at the weak-looking master
-of the sharp, intelligent servant, whom I have called the chasseur.
-
-"Monsieur le Marquis would never have been anything but a miller's son,
-if it had not been for the talents of his servant. Of course you know
-his antecedents?"
-
-I was going to make some remarks on the changes in the order of the
-peerage since the days of Louis XVI.--going, in fact, to be very
-sensible and historical--when there was a slight commotion among
-the people at the other end of the room. Lacqueys in quaint liveries
-must have come in from behind the tapestry, I suppose (for I never
-saw them enter, though I sate right opposite to the doors), and were
-handing about the slight beverages and slighter viands which are
-considered sufficient refreshments, but which looked rather meagre to
-my hungry appetite. These footmen were standing solemnly opposite
-to a lady,--beautiful, splendid as the dawn, but--sound asleep in a
-magnificent settee. A gentleman who showed so much irritation at her
-ill-timed slumbers, that I think he must have been her husband, was
-trying to awaken her with actions not far removed from shakings. All in
-vain; she was quite unconscious of his annoyance, or the smiles of the
-company, or the automatic solemnity of the waiting footman, or the
-perplexed anxiety of monsieur and madame.
-
-My little friend sat down with a sneer, as if his curiosity was quenched
-in contempt.
-
-"Moralists would make an infinity of wise remarks on that scene," said
-he. "In the first place, note the ridiculous position into which their
-superstitious reverence for rank and title puts all these people. Because
-monsieur is a reigning prince over some minute principality, the exact
-situation of which no one has as yet discovered, no one must venture to
-take their glass of eau sucr� till Madame la Princesse awakens; and,
-judging from past experience, those poor lacqueys may have to stand for
-a century before that happens. Next--always speaking as a moralist, you
-will observe--note how difficult it is to break off bad habits acquired
-in youth!"
-
-Just then the prince succeeded, by what means I did not see, in awaking
-the beautiful sleeper. But at first she did not remember where she was,
-and looking up at her husband with loving eyes, she smiled and said:
-
-"Is it you, my prince?"
-
-But he was too conscious of the suppressed amusement of the spectators
-and his own consequent annoyance, to be reciprocally tender, and turned
-away with some little French expression, best rendered into English by
-"Pooh, pooh, my dear!"
-
-After I had had a glass of delicious wine of some unknown quality, my
-courage was in rather better plight than before, and I told my cynical
-little neighbour--whom I must say I was beginning to dislike--that I had
-lost my way in the wood, and had arrived at the ch�teau quite by
-mistake.
-
-He seemed mightily amused at my story; said that the same thing had
-happened to himself more than once; and told me that I had better luck
-than he had on one of these occasions, when, from his account, he must
-have been in considerable danger of his life. He ended his story by
-making me admire his boots, which he said he still wore, patched though
-they were, and all their excellent quality lost by patching, because
-they were of such a first-rate make for long pedestrian excursions.
-"Though, indeed," he wound up by saying, "the new fashion of railroads
-would seem to supersede the necessity for this description of boots."
-
-When I consulted him as to whether I ought to make myself known to my
-host and hostess as a benighted traveller, instead of the guest whom
-they had taken me for, he exclaimed, "By no means! I hate such squeamish
-morality." And he seemed much offended by my innocent question, as if it
-seemed by implication to condemn something in himself. He was offended
-and silent; and just at this moment I caught the sweet, attractive eyes
-of the lady opposite--that lady whom I named at first as being no longer
-in the bloom of youth, but as being somewhat infirm about the feet, which
-were supported on a raised cushion before her. Her looks seemed to say,
-"Come here, and let us have some conversation together;" and, with a bow
-of silent excuse to my little companion, I went across to the lame old
-lady. She acknowledged my coming with the prettiest gesture of thanks
-possible; and, half apologetically, said, "It is a little dull to be
-unable to move about on such evenings as this; but it is a just punishment
-to me for my early vanities. My poor feet, that were by nature so small,
-are now taking their revenge for my cruelty in forcing them into such
-little slippers.... Besides, monsieur," with a pleasant smile, "I thought
-it was possible you might be weary of the malicious sayings of your
-little neighbour. He has not borne the best character in his youth, and
-such men are sure to be cynical in their old age."
-
-"Who is he?" asked I, with English abruptness.
-
-"His name is Poucet, and his father was, I believe, a wood-cutter, or
-charcoal burner, or something of the sort. They do tell sad stories
-of connivance at murder, ingratitude, and obtaining money on false
-pretences--but you will think me as bad as he if I go on with my
-slanders. Rather let us admire the lovely lady coming up towards us,
-with the roses in her hand--I never see her without roses, they are so
-closely connected with her past history, as you are doubtless aware. Ah,
-beauty!" said my companion to the lady drawing near to us, "it is like
-you to come to me, now that I can no longer go to you." Then turning to
-me, and gracefully drawing me into the conversation, she said, "You must
-know that, although we never met until we were both married, we have
-been almost like sisters ever since. There have been so many points
-of resemblance in our circumstances, and I think I may say in our
-characters. We had each two elder sisters--mine were but half-sisters,
-though--who were not so kind to us as they might have been."
-
-"But have been sorry for it since," put in the other lady.
-
-"Since we have married princes," continued the same lady, with an arch
-smile that had nothing of unkindness in it, "for we both have married
-far above our original stations in life; we are both unpunctual in our
-habits, and, in consequence of this failing of ours, we have both had to
-suffer mortification and pain."
-
-"And both are charming," said a whisper close behind me. "My lord the
-marquis, say it--say, 'And both are charming.'"
-
-"And both are charming," was spoken aloud by another voice. I turned,
-and saw the wily cat-like chasseur, prompting his master to make civil
-speeches.
-
-The ladies bowed with that kind of haughty acknowledgment which shows
-that compliments from such a source are distasteful. But our trio of
-conversation was broken up, and I was sorry for it. The marquis looked
-as if he had been stirred up to make that one speech, and hoped that he
-would not be expected to say more; while behind him stood the chasseur,
-half impertinent and half servile in his ways and attitudes. The ladies,
-who were real ladies, seemed to be sorry for the awkwardness of the
-marquis, and addressed some trifling questions to him, adapting
-themselves to the subjects on which he could have no trouble in answering.
-The chasseur, meanwhile, was talking to himself in a growling tone of
-voice. I had fallen a little into the background at this interruption in
-a conversation which promised to be so pleasant, and I could not help
-hearing his words.
-
-"Really, De Carabas grows more stupid every day. I have a great mind to
-throw off his boots, and leave him to his fate. I was intended for a
-court, and to a court I will go, and make my own fortune as I have made
-his. The emperor will appreciate my talents."
-
-And such are the habits of the French, or such his forgetfulness of good
-manners in his anger, that he spat right and left on the parquetted
-floor.
-
-Just then a very ugly, very pleasant-looking man, came towards the
-two ladies to whom I had lately been speaking, leading up to them a
-delicate, fair woman, dressed all in the softest white, as if she were
-_vou�e au blanc_. I do not think there was a bit of colour about her.
-I thought I heard her making, as she came along, a little noise of
-pleasure, not exactly like the singing of a tea-kettle, nor yet like the
-cooing of a dove, but reminding me of each sound.
-
-"Madame de Mioumiou was anxious to see you," said he, addressing the
-lady with the roses, "so I have brought her across to give you a
-pleasure!" What an honest, good face! but oh! how ugly! And yet I liked
-his ugliness better than most persons' beauty. There was a look of
-pathetic acknowledgment of his ugliness, and a deprecation of your too
-hasty judgment, in his countenance that was positively winning. The
-soft, white lady kept glancing at my neighbour the chasseur, as if they
-had had some former acquaintance, which puzzled me very much, as they
-were of such different rank. However, their nerves were evidently strung
-to the same tune, for at a sound behind the tapestry, which was more
-like the scuttering of rats and mice than anything else, both Madame de
-Mioumiou and the chasseur started with the most eager look of anxiety on
-their countenances, and by their restless movements--madame's panting,
-and the fiery dilation of his eyes--one might see that commonplace
-sounds affected them both in a manner very different to the rest of the
-company. The ugly husband of the lovely lady with the roses now
-addressed himself to me.
-
-"We are much disappointed," he said, "in finding that monsieur is not
-accompanied by his countryman--le grand Jean d'Angleterre; I cannot
-pronounce his name rightly"--and he looked at me to help him out.
-
-"Le grand Jean d'Angleterre!" now who was le grand Jean d'Angleterre?
-John Bull? John Russell? John Bright?
-
-"Jean--Jean"--continued the gentleman, seeing my embarrassment. "Ah,
-these terrible English names--'Jean de G�anquilleur!'"
-
-I was as wise as ever. And yet the name struck me as familiar, but
-slightly disguised. I repeated it to myself. It was mighty like John the
-Giant-killer, only his friends always call that worthy "Jack." I said
-the name aloud.
-
-"Ah, that is it!" said he. "But why has he not accompanied you to our
-little reunion to-night?"
-
-I had been rather puzzled once or twice before, but this serious question
-added considerably to my perplexity. Jack the Giant-killer had once, it
-is true, been rather an intimate friend of mine, as far as (printer's)
-ink and paper can keep up a friendship, but I had not heard his name
-mentioned for years; and for aught I knew he lay enchanted with King
-Arthur's knights, who lie entranced until the blast of the trumpets of
-four mighty kings shall call them to help at England's need. But the
-question had been asked in serious earnest by that gentleman, whom I
-more wished to think well of me than I did any other person in the room.
-So I answered respectfully that it was long since I had heard anything
-of my countryman; but that I was sure it would have given him as much
-pleasure as it was doing myself to have been present at such an agreeable
-gathering of friends. He bowed, and then the lame lady took up the word.
-
-"To-night is the night when, of all the year, this great old forest
-surrounding the castle is said to be haunted by the phantom of a little
-peasant girl who once lived hereabouts; the tradition is that she was
-devoured by a wolf. In former days I have seen her on this night out
-of yonder window at the end of the gallery. Will you, ma belle, take
-monsieur to see the view outside by the moonlight (you may possibly see
-the phantom-child); and leave me to a little _t�te-�-t�te_ with your
-husband?"
-
-With a gentle movement the lady with the roses complied with the other's
-request, and we went to a great window, looking down on the forest, in
-which I had lost my way. The tops of the far-spreading and leafy trees
-lay motionless beneath us in that pale, wan light, which shows objects
-almost as distinct in form, though not in colour, as by day. We looked
-down on the countless avenues, which seemed to converge from all quarters
-to the great old castle; and suddenly across one, quite near to us,
-there passed the figure of a little girl, with the "capuchon" on, that
-takes the place of a peasant girl's bonnet in France. She had a basket
-on one arm, and by her, on the side to which her head was turned, there
-went a wolf. I could almost have said it was licking her hand, as if in
-penitent love, if either penitence or love had ever been a quality of
-wolves,--but though not of living, perhaps it may be of phantom wolves.
-
-"There, we have seen her!" exclaimed my beautiful companion. "Though so
-long dead, her simple story of household goodness and trustful simplicity
-still lingers in the hearts of all who have ever heard of her; and the
-country-people about here say that seeing that phantom-child on this
-anniversary brings good luck for the year. Let us hope that we shall
-share in the traditionary good fortune. Ah! here is Madame de Retz--she
-retains the name of her first husband, you know, as he was of higher
-rank than the present." We were joined by our hostess.
-
-"If monsieur is fond of the beauties of nature and art," said she,
-perceiving that I had been looking at the view from the great window,
-"he will perhaps take pleasure in seeing the picture." Here she sighed,
-with a little affectation of grief. "You know the picture I allude to,"
-addressing my companion, who bowed assent, and smiled a little
-maliciously, as I followed the lead of madame.
-
-I went after her to the other end of the saloon, noting by the way with
-what keen curiosity she caught up what was passing either in word or
-action on each side of her. When we stood opposite to the end wall, I
-perceived a full-length picture of a handsome, peculiar-looking man,
-with--in spite of his good looks--a very fierce and scowling expression.
-My hostess clasped her hands together as her arms hung down in front,
-and sighed once more. Then, half in soliloquy, she said--
-
-"He was the love of my youth; his stern yet manly character first
-touched this heart of mine. When--when shall I cease to deplore his
-loss!"
-
-Not being acquainted with her enough to answer this question (if,
-indeed, it were not sufficiently answered by the fact of her second
-marriage), I felt awkward; and, by way of saying something, I
-remarked,--
-
-"The countenance strikes me as resembling something I have seen
-before--in an engraving from an historical picture, I think; only, it is
-there the principal figure in a group: he is holding a lady by her hair,
-and threatening her with his scimitar, while two cavaliers are rushing
-up the stairs, apparently only just in time to save her life."
-
-"Alas, alas!" said she, "you too accurately describe a miserable passage
-in my life, which has often been represented in a false light. The best
-of husbands"--here she sobbed, and became slightly inarticulate with her
-grief--"will sometimes be displeased. I was young and curious, he was
-justly angry with my disobedience--my brothers were too hasty--the
-consequence is, I became a widow!"
-
-After due respect for her tears, I ventured to suggest some commonplace
-consolation. She turned round sharply:--
-
-"No, monsieur: my only comfort is that I have never forgiven the brothers
-who interfered so cruelly, in such an uncalled-for manner, between my
-dear husband and myself. To quote my friend Monsieur Sganarelle--'Ce
-sont petites choses qui sont de temps en temps necessaires dans l'amiti�;
-et cinq ou six coups d'�p�e entre gens qui s'aiment ne font que
-ragaillardir l'affection.' You observe the colouring is not quite what
-it should be?"
-
-"In this light the beard is of rather a peculiar tint," said I.
-
-"Yes: the painter did not do it justice. It was most lovely, and gave
-him such a distinguished air, quite different from the common herd.
-Stay, I will show you the exact colour, if you will come near this
-flambeau!" And going near the light, she took off a bracelet of hair,
-with a magnificent clasp of pearls. It was peculiar, certainly. I did
-not know what to say. "His precious lovely beard!" said she. "And the
-pearls go so well with the delicate blue!"
-
-Her husband, who had come up to us, and waited till her eye fell upon
-him before venturing to speak, now said, "It is strange Monsieur Ogre is
-not yet arrived!"
-
-"Not at all strange," said she, tartly. "He was always very stupid, and
-constantly falls into mistakes, in which he comes worse off; and it is
-very well he does, for he is a credulous and cowardly fellow. Not at all
-strange! If you will"--turning to her husband, so that I hardly heard
-her words, until I caught--"Then everybody would have their rights, and
-we should have no more trouble. Is it not, monsieur?" addressing me.
-
-"If I were in England, I should imagine madame was speaking of the
-reform bill, or the millennium,--but I am in ignorance."
-
-And just as I spoke, the great folding-doors were thrown open wide, and
-every one started to their feet to greet a little old lady, leaning on a
-thin black wand--and--
-
-"Madame la F�emarraine," was announced by a chorus of sweet shrill
-voices.
-
-And in a moment I was lying in the grass close by a hollow oak-tree,
-with the slanting glory of the dawning day shining full in my face, and
-thousands of little birds and delicate insects piping and warbling out
-their welcome to the ruddy splendour.
-
-
-
-
-SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM.
-
-
-After I left Oxford, I determined to spend some months in travel before
-settling down in life. My father had left me a few thousands, the income
-arising from which would be enough to provide for all the necessary
-requirements of a lawyer's education; such as lodgings in a quiet part
-of London, fees and payment to the distinguished barrister with whom I
-was to read; but there would be small surplus left over for luxuries or
-amusements; and as I was rather in debt on leaving college, since I had
-forestalled my income, and the expenses of my travelling would have to
-be defrayed out of my capital, I determined that they should not exceed
-fifty pounds. As long as that sum would last me I would remain abroad;
-when it was spent my holiday should be over, and I would return and
-settle down somewhere in the neighbourhood of Russell Square, in order
-to be near Mr. ----'s chambers in Lincoln's-inn. I had to wait in London
-for one day while my passport was being made out, and I went to examine
-the streets in which I purposed to live; I had picked them out, from
-studying a map, as desirable; and so they were, if judged entirely by
-my reason; but their aspect was very depressing to one country-bred, and
-just fresh from the beautiful street-architecture of Oxford. The thought
-of living in such a monotonous gray district for years made me all the
-more anxious to prolong my holiday by all the economy which could eke
-out my fifty pounds. I thought I could make it last for one hundred days
-at least. I was a good walker, and had no very luxurious tastes in the
-matter of accommodation or food; I had as fair a knowledge of German and
-French as any untravelled Englishman can have; and I resolved to avoid
-expensive hotels such as my own countrymen frequented.
-
-I have stated this much about myself to explain how I fell in with the
-little story that I am going to record, but with which I had not much
-to do,--my part in it being little more than that of a sympathizing
-spectator. I had been through France into Switzerland, where I had gone
-beyond my strength in the way of walking, and I was on my way home, when
-one evening I came to the village of Heppenheim, on the Berg-Strasse. I
-had strolled about the dirty town of Worms all morning, and dined in a
-filthy hotel; and after that I had crossed the Rhine, and walked through
-Lorsch to Heppenheim. I was unnaturally tired and languid as I dragged
-myself up the rough-paved and irregular village street to the inn
-recommended to me. It was a large building, with a green court before
-it. A cross-looking but scrupulously clean hostess received me, and
-showed me into a large room with a dinner-table in it, which, though it
-might have accommodated thirty or forty guests, only stretched down half
-the length of the eating-room. There were windows at each end of the
-room; two looked to the front of the house, on which the evening shadows
-had already fallen; the opposite two were partly doors, opening into a
-large garden full of trained fruit-trees and beds of vegetables, amongst
-which rose-bushes and other flowers seemed to grow by permission, not by
-original intention. There was a stove at each end of the room, which, I
-suspect, had originally been divided into two. The door by which I had
-entered was exactly in the middle, and opposite to it was another,
-leading to a great bed-chamber, which my hostess showed me as my
-sleeping quarters for the night.
-
-If the place had been much less clean and inviting, I should have
-remained there; I was almost surprised myself at my vis inerti�; once
-seated in the last warm rays of the slanting sun by the garden window,
-I was disinclined to move, or even to speak. My hostess had taken my
-orders as to my evening meal, and had left me. The sun went down, and I
-grew shivery. The vast room looked cold and bare; the darkness brought
-out shadows that perplexed me, because I could not fully make out the
-objects that produced them after dazzling my eyes by gazing out into the
-crimson light.
-
-Some one came in; it was the maiden to prepare for my supper. She began
-to lay the cloth at one end of the large table. There was a smaller one
-close by me. I mustered up my voice, which seemed a little as if it was
-getting beyond my control, and called to her,--
-
-"Will you let me have my supper here on this table?"
-
-She came near; the light fell on her while I was in shadow. She was a
-tall young woman, with a fine strong figure, a pleasant face, expressive
-of goodness and sense, and with a good deal of comeliness about it, too,
-although the fair complexion was bronzed and reddened by weather, so as
-to have lost much of its delicacy, and the features, as I had afterwards
-opportunity enough of observing, were anything but regular. She had white
-teeth, however, and well-opened blue eyes--grave-looking eyes which had
-shed tears for past sorrow--plenty of light-brown hair, rather elaborately
-plaited, and fastened up by two great silver pins. That was all--perhaps
-more than all--I noticed that first night. She began to lay the cloth
-where I had directed. A shiver passed over me: she looked at me, and
-then said,--
-
-"The gentleman is cold: shall I light the stove?"
-
-Something vexed me--I am not usually so impatient: it was the coming-on
-of serious illness--I did not like to be noticed so closely; I believed
-that food would restore me, and I did not want to have my meal delayed,
-as I feared it might be by the lighting of the stove; and most of all I
-was feverishly annoyed by movement. I answered sharply and abruptly,--
-
-"No; bring supper quickly; that is all I want."
-
-Her quiet, sad eyes met mine for a moment; but I saw no change in their
-expression, as if I had vexed her by my rudeness: her countenance did
-not for an instant lose its look of patient sense, and that is pretty
-nearly all I can remember of Thekla that first evening at Heppenheim.
-
-I suppose I ate my supper, or tried to do so, at any rate; and I must
-have gone to bed, for days after I became conscious of lying there,
-weak as a new-born babe, and with a sense of past pain in all my weary
-limbs. As is the case in recovering from fever, one does not care to
-connect facts, much less to reason upon them; so how I came to be lying
-in that strange bed, in that large, half-furnished room; in what house
-that room was; in what town, in what country, I did not take the trouble
-to recal. It was of much more consequence to me then to discover what
-was the well-known herb that gave the scent to the clean, coarse sheets
-in which I lay. Gradually I extended my observations, always confining
-myself to the present. I must have been well cared-for by some one, and
-that lately, too, for the window was shaded, so as to prevent the
-morning sun from coming in upon the bed; there was the crackling of
-fresh wood in the great white china stove, which must have been newly
-replenished within a short time.
-
-By-and-by the door opened slowly. I cannot tell why, but my impulse was
-to shut my eyes as if I were still asleep. But I could see through my
-apparently closed eyelids. In came, walking on tip-toe, with a slow care
-that defeated its object, two men. The first was aged from thirty to
-forty, in the dress of a Black Forest peasant,--old-fashioned coat and
-knee-breeches of strong blue cloth, but of a thoroughly good quality; he
-was followed by an older man, whose dress, of more pretension as to cut
-and colour (it was all black), was, nevertheless, as I had often the
-opportunity of observing afterwards, worn threadbare.
-
-Their first sentences, in whispered German, told me who they were: the
-landlord of the inn where I was lying a helpless log, and the village
-doctor who had been called in. The latter felt my pulse, and nodded his
-head repeatedly in approbation. I had instinctively known that I was
-getting better, and hardly cared for this confirmation; but it seemed
-to give the truest pleasure to the landlord, who shook the hand of the
-doctor, in a pantomime expressive of as much thankfulness as if I had
-been his brother. Some low-spoken remarks were made, and then some
-question was asked, to which, apparently, my host was unable to reply.
-He left the room, and in a minute or two returned, followed by Thekla,
-who was questioned by the doctor, and replied with a quiet clearness,
-showing how carefully the details of my illness had been observed by
-her. Then she left the room, and, as if every minute had served to
-restore to my brain its power of combining facts, I was suddenly prompted
-to open my eyes, and ask in the best German I could muster what day of
-the month it was; not that I clearly remembered the date of my arrival
-at Heppenheim, but I knew it was about the beginning of September.
-
-Again the doctor conveyed his sense of extreme satisfaction in a series
-of rapid pantomimic nods, and then replied in deliberate but tolerable
-English, to my great surprise,--
-
-"It is the 29th of September, my dear sir. You must thank the dear God.
-Your fever has made its course of twenty-one days. Now patience and care
-must be practised. The good host and his household will have the care;
-you must have the patience. If you have relations in England, I will do
-my endeavours to tell them the state of your health."
-
-"I have no near relations," said I, beginning in my weakness to cry, as
-I remembered, as if it had been a dream, the days when I had father,
-mother, sister.
-
-"Chut, chut!" said he; then, turning to the landlord, he told him in
-German to make Thekla bring me one of her good bouillons; after which
-I was to have certain medicines, and to sleep as undisturbedly as
-possible. For days, he went on, I should require constant watching and
-careful feeding; every twenty minutes I was to have something, either
-wine or soup, in small quantities.
-
-A dim notion came into my hazy mind that my previous husbandry of my
-fifty pounds, by taking long walks and scanty diet, would prove in the
-end very bad economy; but I sank into dozing unconsciousness before I
-could quite follow out my idea. I was roused by the touch of a spoon on
-my lips; it was Thekla feeding me. Her sweet, grave face had something
-approaching to a mother's look of tenderness upon it, as she gave me
-spoonful after spoonful with gentle patience and dainty care: and then I
-fell asleep once more. When next I wakened it was night; the stove was
-lighted, and the burning wood made a pleasant crackle, though I could
-only see the outlines and edges of red flame through the crevices of
-the small iron door. The uncurtained window on my left looked into the
-purple, solemn night. Turning a little, I saw Thekla sitting near a table,
-sewing diligently at some great white piece of household work. Every now
-and then she stopped to snuff the candle; sometimes she began to ply her
-needle again immediately; but once or twice she let her busy hands lie
-idly in her lap, and looked into the darkness, and thought deeply for a
-moment or two; these pauses always ended in a kind of sobbing sigh, the
-sound of which seemed to restore her to self-consciousness, and she took
-to her sewing even more diligently than before. Watching her had a sort
-of dreamy interest for me; this diligence of hers was a pleasant contrast
-to my repose; it seemed to enhance the flavour of my rest. I was too
-much of an animal just then to have my sympathy, or even my curiosity,
-strongly excited by her look of sad remembrance, or by her sighs.
-
-After a while she gave a little start, looked at a watch lying by her
-on the table, and came, shading the candle by her hand, softly to my
-bedside. When she saw my open eyes she went to a porringer placed at the
-top of the stove, and fed me with soup. She did not speak while doing
-this. I was half aware that she had done it many times since the doctor's
-visit, although this seemed to be the first time that I was fully awake.
-She passed her arm under the pillow on which my head rested, and raised
-me a very little; her support was as firm as a man's could have been.
-Again back to her work, and I to my slumbers, without a word being
-exchanged.
-
-It was broad daylight when I wakened again; I could see the sunny
-atmosphere of the garden outside stealing in through the nicks at the
-side of the shawl hung up to darken the room--a shawl which I was sure
-had not been there when I had observed the window in the night. How
-gently my nurse must have moved about while doing her thoughtful act!
-
-My breakfast was brought me by the hostess; she who had received me on
-my first arrival at this hospitable inn. She meant to do everything
-kindly, I am sure; but a sick room was not her place; by a thousand
-little mal-adroitnesses she fidgeted me past bearing; her shoes
-creaked, her dress rustled; she asked me questions about myself which
-it irritated me to answer; she congratulated me on being so much better,
-while I was faint for want of the food which she delayed giving me in
-order to talk. My host had more sense in him when he came in, although
-his shoes creaked as well as hers. By this time I was somewhat revived,
-and could talk a little; besides, it seemed churlish to be longer
-without acknowledging so much kindness received.
-
-"I am afraid I have been a great trouble," said I. "I can only say that
-I am truly grateful."
-
-His good broad face reddened, and he moved a little uneasily.
-
-"I don't see how I could have done otherwise than I----than we, did,"
-replied he, in the soft German of the district. "We were all glad enough
-to do what we could; I don't say it was a pleasure, because it is our
-busiest time of year,--but then," said he, laughing a little awkwardly,
-as if he feared his expression might have been misunderstood, "I don't
-suppose it has been a pleasure to you either, sir, to be laid up so far
-from home."
-
-"No, indeed."
-
-"I may as well tell you now, sir, that we had to look over your papers
-and clothes. In the first place, when you were so ill I would fain have
-let your kinsfolk know, if I could have found a clue; and besides, you
-needed linen."
-
-"I am wearing a shirt of yours though," said I, touching my sleeve.
-
-"Yes, sir!" said he again, reddening a little. "I told Thekla to take
-the finest out of the chest; but I am afraid you find it coarser than
-your own."
-
-For all answer I could only lay my weak hand on the great brown paw
-resting on the bed-side. He gave me a sudden squeeze in return that I
-thought would have crushed my bones.
-
-"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, misinterpreting the sudden look of
-pain which I could not repress; "but watching a man come out of the
-shadow of death into life makes one feel very friendly towards him."
-
-"No old or true friend that I have had could have done more for me than
-you, and your wife, and Thekla, and the good doctor."
-
-"I am a widower," said he, turning round the great wedding-ring that
-decked his third finger. "My sister keeps house for me, and takes care
-of the children,--that is to say, she does it with the help of Thekla,
-the house-maiden. But I have other servants," he continued. "I am well
-to do, the good God be thanked! I have land, and cattle, and vineyards.
-It will soon be our vintage-time, and then you must go and see my
-grapes as they come into the village. I have a '_chasse_,' too, in the
-Odenwald; perhaps one day you will be strong enough to go and shoot the
-'_chevreuil_' with me."
-
-His good, true heart was trying to make me feel like a welcome guest.
-Some time afterwards I learnt from the doctor that--my poor fifty pounds
-being nearly all expended--my host and he had been brought to believe in
-my poverty, as the necessary examination of my clothes and papers showed
-so little evidence of wealth. But I myself have but little to do with
-my story; I only name these things, and repeat these conversations, to
-show what a true, kind, honest man my host was. By the way, I may as
-well call him by his name henceforward, Fritz M�ller. The doctor's name,
-Wiedermann.
-
-I was tired enough with this interview with Fritz M�ller; but when Dr.
-Wiedermann came he pronounced me to be much better; and through the
-day much the same course was pursued as on the previous one: being
-fed, lying still, and sleeping, were my passive and active occupations.
-It was a hot, sunshiny day, and I craved for air. Fresh air does not
-enter into the pharmacopoeia of a German doctor; but somehow I obtained
-my wish. During the morning hours the window through which the sun
-streamed--the window looking on to the front court--was opened a little;
-and through it I heard the sounds of active life, which gave me pleasure
-and interest enough. The hen's cackle, the cock's exultant call when he
-had found the treasure of a grain of corn,--the movements of a tethered
-donkey, and the cooing and whirring of the pigeons which lighted on the
-window-sill, gave me just subjects enough for interest. Now and then
-a cart or carriage drove up,--I could hear them ascending the rough
-village street long before they stopped at the "Halbmond," the village
-inn. Then there came a sound of running and haste in the house; and
-Thekla was always called for in sharp, imperative tones. I heard little
-children's footsteps, too, from time to time; and once there must have
-been some childish accident or hurt, for a shrill, plaintive little
-voice kept calling out, "Thekla, Thekla, liebe Thekla." Yet, after the
-first early morning hours, when my hostess attended on my wants, it was
-always Thekla who came to give me my food or my medicine; who redded
-up my room; who arranged the degree of light, shifting the temporary
-curtain with the shifting sun; and always as quietly and deliberately
-as though her attendance upon me were her sole work. Once or twice my
-hostess came into the large eating-room (out of which my room opened),
-and called Thekla away from whatever was her occupation in my room at
-the time, in a sharp, injured, imperative whisper. Once I remember it
-was to say that sheets were wanted for some stranger's bed, and to
-ask where she, the speaker, could have put the keys, in a tone of
-irritation, as though Thekla were responsible for Fr�ulein M�ller's
-own forgetfulness.
-
-Night came on; the sounds of daily life died away into silence; the
-children's voices were no more heard; the poultry were all gone to
-roost; the beasts of burden to their stables; and travellers were
-housed. Then Thekla came in softly and quietly, and took up her
-appointed place, after she had done all in her power for my comfort.
-I felt that I was in no state to be left all those weary hours which
-intervened between sunset and sunrise; but I did feel ashamed that this
-young woman, who had watched by me all the previous night, and for aught
-I knew, for many before, and had worked hard, been run off her legs, as
-English servants would say, all day long, should come and take up her
-care of me again; and it was with a feeling of relief that I saw her
-head bend forwards, and finally rest on her arms, which had fallen on
-the white piece of sewing spread before her on the table. She slept; and
-I slept. When I wakened dawn was stealing into the room, and making pale
-the lamplight. Thekla was standing by the stove, where she had been
-preparing the bouillon I should require on wakening. But she did not
-notice my half-open eyes, although her face was turned towards the bed.
-She was reading a letter slowly, as if its words were familiar to her,
-yet as though she were trying afresh to extract some fuller or some
-different meaning from their construction. She folded it up softly and
-slowly, and replaced it in her pocket with the quiet movement habitual
-to her. Then she looked before her, not at me, but at vacancy filled up
-by memories; and as the enchanter brought up the scenes and people
-which she saw, but I could not, her eyes filled with tears--tears that
-gathered almost imperceptibly to herself as it would seem--for when one
-large drop fell on her hands (held slightly together before her as she
-stood) she started a little, and brushed her eyes with the back of her
-hand, and then came towards the bed to see if I was awake. If I had not
-witnessed her previous emotion, I could never have guessed that she had
-any hidden sorrow or pain from her manner; tranquil, self-restrained as
-usual. The thought of this letter haunted me, especially as more than
-once I, wakeful or watchful during the ensuing nights, either saw it in
-her hands, or suspected that she had been recurring to it from noticing
-the same sorrowful, dreamy look upon her face when she thought herself
-unobserved. Most likely every one has noticed how inconsistently out of
-proportion some ideas become when one is shut up in any place without
-change of scene or thought. I really grew quite irritated about this
-letter. If I did not see it, I suspected it lay _perdu_ in her pocket.
-What was in it? Of course it was a love-letter; but if so, what was
-going wrong in the course of her love? I became like a spoilt child in
-my recovery; every one whom I saw for the time being was thinking only of
-me, so it was perhaps no wonder that I became my sole object of thought;
-and at last the gratification of my curiosity about this letter seemed
-to me a duty that I owed to myself. As long as my fidgety inquisitiveness
-remained ungratified, I felt as if I could not get well. But to do
-myself justice, it was more than inquisitiveness. Thekla had tended me
-with the gentle, thoughtful care of a sister, in the midst of her busy
-life. I could often hear the Fr�ulein's sharp voice outside blaming her
-for something that had gone wrong; but I never heard much from Thekla in
-reply. Her name was called in various tones by different people, more
-frequently than I could count, as if her services were in perpetual
-requisition, yet I was never neglected, or even long uncared-for. The
-doctor was kind and attentive; my host friendly and really generous; his
-sister subdued her acerbity of manner when in my room, but Thekla was
-the one of all to whom I owed my comforts, if not my life. If I could do
-anything to smooth her path (and a little money goes a great way in
-these primitive parts of Germany), how willingly would I give it? So one
-night I began--she was no longer needed to watch by my bedside, but she
-was arranging my room before leaving me for the night--
-
-"Thekla," said I, "you don't belong to Heppenheim, do you?"
-
-She looked at me, and reddened a little.
-
-"No. Why do you ask?"
-
-"You have been so good to me that I cannot help wanting to know more
-about you. I must needs feel interested in one who has been by my side
-through my illness as you have. Where do your friends live? Are your
-parents alive?"
-
-All this time I was driving at the letter.
-
-"I was born at Altenahr. My father is an innkeeper there. He owns the
-'Golden Stag.' My mother is dead, and he has married again, and has many
-children."
-
-"And your stepmother is unkind to you," said I, jumping to a conclusion.
-
-"Who said so?" asked she, with a shade of indignation in her tone. "She
-is a right good woman, and makes my father a good wife."
-
-"Then why are you here living so far from home?"
-
-Now the look came back to her face which I had seen upon it during the
-night hours when I had watched her by stealth; a dimming of the grave
-frankness of her eyes, a light quiver at the corners of her mouth. But
-all she said was, "It was better."
-
-Somehow, I persisted with the wilfulness of an invalid. I am half
-ashamed of it now.
-
-"But why better, Thekla? Was there----" How should I put it? I stopped a
-little, and then rushed blindfold at my object: "Has not that letter
-which you read so often something to do with your being here?"
-
-She fixed me with her serious eyes till I believe I reddened far more
-than she; and I hastened to pour out, incoherently enough, my conviction
-that she had some secret care, and my desire to help her if she was in
-any trouble.
-
-"You cannot help me," said she, a little softened by my explanation,
-though some shade of resentment at having been thus surreptitiously
-watched yet lingered in her manner. "It is an old story; a sorrow gone
-by, past, at least it ought to be, only sometimes I am foolish"--her
-tones were softening now--"and it is punishment enough that you have
-seen my folly."
-
-"If you had a brother here, Thekla, you would let him give you his
-sympathy if he could not give you his help, and you would not blame
-yourself if you had shown him your sorrow, should you? I tell you again,
-let me be as a brother to you."
-
-"In the first place, sir"--this "sir" was to mark the distinction
-between me and the imaginary brother--"I should have been ashamed to
-have shown even a brother my sorrow, which is also my reproach and my
-disgrace." These were strong words; and I suppose my face showed that I
-attributed to them a still stronger meaning than they warranted; but
-_honi soit qui mal y pense_--for she went on dropping her eyes and
-speaking hurriedly.
-
-"My shame and my reproach is this: I have loved a man who has not loved
-me"--she grasped her hands together till the fingers made deep white
-dents in the rosy flesh--"and I can't make out whether he ever did, or
-whether he did once and is changed now; if only he did once love me, I
-could forgive myself."
-
-With hasty, trembling hands she began to rearrange the tisane and
-medicines for the night on the little table at my bed-side. But, having
-got thus far, I was determined to persevere.
-
-"Thekla," said I, "tell me all about it, as you would to your mother, if
-she were alive. There are often misunderstandings which, never set to
-rights, make the misery and desolation of a life-time."
-
-She did not speak at first. Then she pulled out the letter, and said, in
-a quiet, hopeless tone of voice:--
-
-"You can read German writing? Read that, and see if I have any reason
-for misunderstanding."
-
-The letter was signed "Franz Weber," and dated from some small town in
-Switzerland--I forget what--about a month previous to the time when I
-read it. It began with acknowledging the receipt of some money which had
-evidently been requested by the writer, and for which the thanks were
-almost fulsome; and then, by the quietest transition in the world, he
-went on to consult her as to the desirability of his marrying some girl
-in the place from which he wrote, saying that this Anna Somebody was
-only eighteen and very pretty, and her father a well-to-do shopkeeper,
-and adding, with coarse coxcombry, his belief that he was not indifferent
-to the maiden herself. He wound up by saying that, if this marriage did
-take place, he should certainly repay the various sums of money which
-Thekla had lent him at different times.
-
-I was some time in making out all this. Thekla held the candle for me to
-read it; held it patiently and steadily, not speaking a word till I had
-folded up the letter again, and given it back to her. Then our eyes met.
-
-"There is no misunderstanding possible, is there, sir?" asked she, with
-a faint smile.
-
-"No," I replied; "but you are well rid of such a fellow."
-
-She shook her head a little. "It shows his bad side, sir. We have all
-our bad sides. You must not judge him harshly; at least, I cannot. But
-then we were brought up together."
-
-"At Altenahr?"
-
-"Yes; his father kept the other inn, and our parents, instead of being
-rivals, were great friends. Franz is a little younger than I, and was a
-delicate child. I had to take him to school, and I used to be so proud
-of it and of my charge. Then he grew strong, and was the handsomest lad
-in the village. Our fathers used to sit and smoke together, and talk of
-our marriage, and Franz must have heard as much as I. Whenever he was in
-trouble, he would come to me for what advice I could give him; and he
-danced twice as often with me as with any other girl at all the dances,
-and always brought his nosegay to me. Then his father wished him to
-travel, and learn the ways at the great hotels on the Rhine before he
-settled down in Altenahr. You know that is the custom in Germany, sir.
-They go from town to town as journeymen, learning something fresh
-everywhere, they say."
-
-"I knew that was done in trades," I replied.
-
-"Oh, yes; and among inn-keepers, too," she said. "Most of the waiters
-at the great hotels in Frankfort, and Heidelberg, and Mayence, and, I
-daresay, at all the other places, are the sons of innkeepers in small
-towns, who go out into the world to learn new ways, and perhaps to pick
-up a little English and French; otherwise, they say, they should never
-get on. Franz went off from Altenahr on his journeyings four years ago
-next May-day; and before he went, he brought me back a ring from Bonn,
-where he bought his new clothes. I don't wear it now; but I have got it
-upstairs, and it comforts me to see something that shows me it was not
-all my silly fancy. I suppose he fell among bad people, for he soon
-began to play for money,--and then he lost more than he could always
-pay--and sometimes I could help him a little, for we wrote to each other
-from time to time, as we knew each other's addresses; for the little
-ones grew around my father's hearth, and I thought that I, too, would go
-forth into the world and earn my own living, so that----well, I will
-tell the truth--I thought that by going into service, I could lay by
-enough for buying a handsome stock of household linen, and plenty of
-pans and kettles against--against what will never come to pass now."
-
-"Do the German women buy the pots and kettles, as you call them, when
-they are married?" asked I, awkwardly, laying hold of a trivial question
-to conceal the indignant sympathy with her wrongs which I did not like
-to express.
-
-"Oh, yes; the bride furnishes all that is wanted in the kitchen, and all
-the store of house-linen. If my mother had lived, it would have been
-laid by for me, as she could have afforded to buy it, but my stepmother
-will have hard enough work to provide for her own four little girls.
-However," she continued, brightening up, "I can help her, for now I
-shall never marry; and my master here is just and liberal, and pays me
-sixty florins a year, which is high wages." (Sixty florins are about
-five pounds sterling.) "And now, good-night, sir. This cup to the left
-holds the tisane, that to the right the acorn-tea." She shaded the
-candle, and was leaving the room. I raised myself on my elbow, and
-called her back.
-
-"Don't go on thinking about this man," said I. "He was not good enough
-for you. You are much better unmarried."
-
-"Perhaps so," she answered gravely. "But you cannot do him justice; you
-do not know him."
-
-A few minutes after, I heard her soft and cautious return; she had taken
-her shoes off, and came in her stockinged feet up to my bedside, shading
-the light with her hand. When she saw that my eyes were open, she laid
-down two letters on the table, close by my night-lamp.
-
-"Perhaps, some time, sir, you would take the trouble to read these
-letters; you would then see how noble and clever Franz really is. It is
-I who ought to be blamed, not he."
-
-No more was said that night.
-
-Some time the next morning I read the letters. They were filled with
-vague, inflated, sentimental descriptions of his inner life and feelings;
-entirely egotistical, and intermixed with quotations from second-rate
-philosophers and poets. There was, it must be said, nothing in them
-offensive to good principle or good feeling, however much they might be
-opposed to good taste. I was to go into the next room that afternoon for
-the first time of leaving my sick chamber. All morning I lay and
-ruminated. From time to time I thought of Thekla and Franz Weber. She
-was the strong, good, helpful character, he the weak and vain; how
-strange it seemed that she should have cared for one so dissimilar;
-and then I remembered the various happy marriages when to an outsider
-it seemed as if one was so inferior to the other that their union
-would have appeared a subject for despair if it had been looked at
-prospectively. My host came in, in the midst of these meditations,
-bringing a great flowered dressing-gown, lined with flannel, and the
-embroidered smoking-cap which he evidently considered as belonging to
-this Indian-looking robe. They had been his father's, he told me; and
-as he helped me to dress, he went on with his communications on small
-family matters. His inn was flourishing; the numbers increased every
-year of those who came to see the church at Heppenheim: the church which
-was the pride of the place, but which I had never yet seen. It was built
-by the great Kaiser Karl. And there was the Castle of Starkenburg, too,
-which the Abbots of Lorsch had often defended, stalwart churchmen as
-they were, against the temporal power of the emperors. And Melibocus was
-not beyond a walk either. In fact, it was the work of one person to
-superintend the inn alone; but he had his farm and his vineyards beyond,
-which of themselves gave him enough to do. And his sister was oppressed
-with the perpetual calls made upon her patience and her nerves in an
-inn; and would rather go back and live at Worms. And his children wanted
-so much looking after. By the time he had placed himself in a condition
-for requiring my full sympathy, I had finished my slow toilette; and I
-had to interrupt his confidences, and accept the help of his good strong
-arm to lead me into the great eating-room, out of which my chamber opened.
-I had a dreamy recollection of the vast apartment. But how pleasantly it
-was changed! There was the bare half of the room, it is true, looking as
-it had done on that first afternoon, sunless and cheerless, with the
-long, unoccupied table, and the necessary chairs for the possible
-visitors; but round the windows that opened on the garden a part of the
-room was enclosed by the household clothes'-horses hung with great
-pieces of the blue homespun cloth of which the dress of the Black Forest
-peasant is made. This shut-in space was warmed by the lighted stove, as
-well as by the lowering rays of the October sun. There was a little
-round walnut table with some flowers upon it, and a great cushioned
-armchair placed so as to look out upon the garden and the hills beyond.
-I felt sure that this was all Thekla's arrangement; I had rather wondered
-that I had seen so little of her this day. She had come once or twice on
-necessary errands into my room in the morning, but had appeared to be in
-great haste, and had avoided meeting my eye. Even when I had returned
-the letters, which she had entrusted to me with so evident a purpose of
-placing the writer in my good opinion, she had never inquired as to how
-far they had answered her design; she had merely taken them with some
-low word of thanks, and put them hurriedly into her pocket. I suppose
-she shrank from remembering how fully she had given me her confidence
-the night before, now that daylight and actual life pressed close around
-her. Besides, there surely never was anyone in such constant request as
-Thekla. I did not like this estrangement, though it was the natural
-consequence of my improved health, which would daily make me less and
-less require services which seemed so urgently claimed by others. And,
-moreover, after my host left me--I fear I had cut him a little short
-in the recapitulation of his domestic difficulties, but he was too
-thorough and good-hearted a man to bear malice--I wanted to be amused or
-interested. So I rang my little hand-bell, hoping that Thekla would
-answer it, when I could have fallen into conversation with her, without
-specifying any decided want. Instead of Thekla the Fr�ulein came, and
-I had to invent a wish; for I could not act as a baby, and say that I
-wanted my nurse. However, the Fr�ulein was better than no one, so I
-asked her if I could have some grapes, which had been provided for me on
-every day but this, and which were especially grateful to my feverish
-palate. She was a good, kind woman, although, perhaps, her temper was
-not the best in the world; and she expressed the sincerest regret as she
-told me that there were no more in the house. Like an invalid I fretted
-at my wish not being granted, and spoke out.
-
-"But Thekla told me the vintage was not till the fourteenth; and you
-have a vineyard close beyond the garden on the slope of the hill out
-there, have you not?"
-
-"Yes; and grapes for the gathering. But perhaps the gentleman does not
-know our laws. Until the vintage--(the day of beginning the vintage is
-fixed by the Grand Duke, and advertised in the public papers)--until
-the vintage, all owners of vineyards may only go on two appointed days
-in every week to gather their grapes; on those two days (Tuesdays and
-Fridays this year) they must gather enough for the wants of their
-families; and if they do not reckon rightly, and gather short measure,
-why they have to go without. And these two last days the Half-Moon has
-been besieged with visitors, all of whom have asked for grapes. But
-to-morrow the gentleman can have as many as he will; it is the day for
-gathering them."
-
-"What a strange kind of paternal law," I grumbled out. "Why is it so
-ordained? Is it to secure the owners against pilfering from their
-unfenced vineyards?"
-
-"I am sure I cannot tell," she replied. "Country people in these
-villages have strange customs in many ways, as I daresay the English
-gentleman has perceived. If he would come to Worms he would see a
-different kind of life."
-
-"But not a view like this," I replied, caught by a sudden change of
-light--some cloud passing away from the sun, or something. Right outside
-of the windows was, as I have so often said, the garden. Trained
-plum-trees with golden leaves, great bushes of purple, Michaelmas daisy,
-late flowering roses, apple-trees partly stripped of their rosy fruit,
-but still with enough left on their boughs to require the props set to
-support the luxuriant burden; to the left an arbour covered over with
-honeysuckle and other sweet-smelling creepers--all bounded by a low gray
-stone wall which opened out upon the steep vineyard, that stretched up
-the hill beyond, one hill of a series rising higher and higher into the
-purple distance. "Why is there a rope with a bunch of straw tied in it
-stretched across the opening of the garden into the vineyard?" I
-inquired, as my eye suddenly caught upon the object.
-
-"It is the country way of showing that no one must pass along that path.
-To-morrow the gentleman will see it removed; and then he shall have the
-grapes. Now I will go and prepare his coffee." With a curtsey, after
-the fashion of Worms gentility, she withdrew. But an under-servant
-brought me my coffee; and with her I could not exchange a word: she
-spoke in such an execrable patois. I went to bed early, weary, and
-depressed. I must have fallen asleep immediately, for I never heard any
-one come to arrange my bed-side table; yet in the morning I found that
-every usual want or wish of mine had been attended to.
-
-I was wakened by a tap at my door, and a pretty piping child's voice
-asking, in broken German, to come in. On giving the usual permission,
-Thekla entered, carrying a great lovely boy of two years old, or
-thereabouts, who had only his little night-shirt on, and was all flushed
-with sleep. He held tight in his hands a great cluster of muscatel and
-noble grapes. He seemed like a little Bacchus, as she carried him
-towards me with an expression of pretty loving pride upon her face as
-she looked at him. But when he came close to me--the grim, wasted,
-unshorn--he turned quick away, and hid his face in her neck, still
-grasping tight his bunch of grapes. She spoke to him rapidly and softly,
-coaxing him as I could tell full well, although I could not follow her
-words; and in a minute or two the little fellow obeyed her, and turned
-and stretched himself almost to overbalancing out of her arms, and
-half-dropped the fruit on the bed by me. Then he clutched at her again,
-burying his face in her kerchief, and fastening his little fists in her
-luxuriant hair.
-
-[Illustration p. 129: He seemed like a little Bacchus.]
-
-"It is my master's only boy," said she, disentangling his fingers with
-quiet patience, only to have them grasp her braids afresh. "He is my
-little Max, my heart's delight, only he must not pull so hard. Say his
-'to-meet-again,' and kiss his hand lovingly, and we will go." The
-promise of a speedy departure from my dusky room proved irresistible;
-he babbled out his Aufwiedersehen, and kissing his chubby hand, he was
-borne away joyful and chattering fast in his infantile half-language. I
-did not see Thekla again until late afternoon, when she brought me in
-my coffee. She was not like the same creature as the blooming, cheerful
-maiden whom I had seen in the morning; she looked wan and careworn,
-older by several years.
-
-"What is the matter, Thekla?" said I, with true anxiety as to what might
-have befallen my good, faithful nurse.
-
-She looked round before answering. "I have seen him," she said. "He has
-been here, and the Fr�ulein has been so angry! She says she will tell my
-master. Oh, it has been such a day!" The poor young woman, who was
-usually so composed and self-restrained, was on the point of bursting
-into tears; but by a strong effort she checked herself, and tried to
-busy herself with rearranging the white china cup, so as to place it
-more conveniently to my hand.
-
-"Come, Thekla," said I, "tell me all about it. I have heard loud voices
-talking, and I fancied something had put the Fr�ulein out; and Lottchen
-looked flurried when she brought me my dinner. Is Franz here? How has he
-found you out?"
-
-"He is here. Yes, I am sure it is he; but four years makes such a
-difference in a man; his whole look and manner seemed so strange to me;
-but he knew me at once, and called me all the old names which we used to
-call each other when we were children; and he must needs tell me how it
-had come to pass that he had not married that Swiss Anna. He said he had
-never loved her; and that now he was going home to settle, and he hoped
-that I would come too, and----" There she stopped short.
-
-"And marry him, and live at the inn at Altenahr," said I, smiling, to
-reassure her, though I felt rather disappointed about the whole affair.
-
-"No," she replied. "Old Weber, his father, is dead; he died in debt, and
-Franz will have no money. And he was always one that needed money. Some
-are, you know; and while I was thinking, and he was standing near me,
-the Fr�ulein came in; and--and--I don't wonder--for poor Franz is not
-a pleasant-looking man now-a-days--she was very angry, and called me
-a bold, bad girl, and said she could have no such goings on at the
-'Halbmond,' but would tell my master when he came home from the forest."
-
-"But you could have told her that you were old friends." I hesitated,
-before saying the word lovers, but, after a pause, out it came.
-
-"Franz might have said so," she replied, a little stiffly. "I could not;
-but he went off as soon as she bade him. He went to the 'Adler' over the
-way, only saying he would come for my answer to-morrow morning. I think
-it was he that should have told her what we were--neighbours' children
-and early friends--not have left it all to me. Oh," said she, clasping
-her hands tight together, "she will make such a story of it to my
-master."
-
-"Never mind," said I, "tell the master I want to see him, as soon as he
-comes in from the forest, and trust me to set him right before the
-Fr�ulein has the chance to set him wrong."
-
-She looked up at me gratefully, and went away without any more words.
-Presently the fine burly figure of my host stood at the opening to my
-enclosed sitting-room. He was there, three-cornered hat in hand, looking
-tired and heated as a man does after a hard day's work, but as kindly
-and genial as ever, which is not what every man is who is called to
-business after such a day, before he has had the necessary food and
-rest.
-
-I had been reflecting a good deal on Thekla's story; I could not quite
-interpret her manner to-day to my full satisfaction; but yet the love
-which had grown with her growth, must assuredly have been called forth
-by her lover's sudden reappearance; and I was inclined to give him some
-credit for having broken off an engagement to Swiss Anna, which had
-promised so many worldly advantages; and, again, I had considered that
-if he was a little weak and sentimental, it was Thekla, who would marry
-him by her own free will, and perhaps she had sense and quiet resolution
-enough for both. So I gave the heads of the little history I have
-told you to my good friend and host, adding that I should like to
-have a man's opinion of this man; but that if he were not an absolute
-good-for-nothing, and if Thekla still loved him, as I believed, I would
-try and advance them the requisite money towards establishing themselves
-in the hereditary inn at Altenahr.
-
-Such was the romantic ending to Thekla's sorrows, I had been planning
-and brooding over for the last hour. As I narrated my tale, and hinted
-at the possible happy conclusion that might be in store, my host's
-face changed. The ruddy colour faded, and his look became almost
-stern--certainly very grave in expression. It was so unsympathetic, that
-I instinctively cut my words short. When I had done, he paused a little,
-and then said: "You would wish me to learn all I can respecting this
-stranger now at the 'Adler,' and give you the impression I receive of
-the fellow."
-
-"Exactly so," said I; "I want to learn all I can about him for Thekla's
-sake."
-
-"For Thekla's sake I will do it," he gravely repeated.
-
-"And come to me to-night, even if I am gone to bed?"
-
-"Not so," he replied. "You must give me all the time you can in a matter
-like this."
-
-"But he will come for Thekla's answer in the morning."
-
-"Before he comes you shall know all I can learn."
-
-I was resting during the fatigues of dressing the next day, when my host
-tapped at my door. He looked graver and sterner than I had ever seen him
-do before; he sat down almost before I had begged him to do so.
-
-"He is not worthy of her," he said. "He drinks brandy right hard; he
-boasts of his success at play, and"--here he set his teeth hard--"he
-boasts of the women who have loved him. In a village like this, sir,
-there are always those who spend their evenings in the gardens of the
-inns; and this man, after he had drank his fill, made no secrets; it
-needed no spying to find out what he was, else I should not have been
-the one to do it."
-
-"Thekla must be told of this," said I. "She is not the woman to love any
-one whom she cannot respect."
-
-Herr M�ller laughed a low bitter laugh, quite unlike himself. Then he
-replied,--
-
-"As for that matter, sir, you are young; you have had no great experience
-of women. From what my sister tells me there can be little doubt of
-Thekla's feeling towards him. She found them standing together by the
-window; his arm round Thekla's waist, and whispering in her ear--and to
-do the maiden justice she is not the one to suffer such familiarities
-from every one. No"--continued he, still in the same contemptuous
-tone--"you'll find she will make excuses for his faults and vices; or
-else, which is perhaps more likely, she will not believe your story,
-though I who tell it you can vouch for the truth of every word I say."
-He turned short away and left the room. Presently I saw his stalwart
-figure in the hill-side vineyard, before my windows, scaling the steep
-ascent with long regular steps, going to the forest beyond. I was
-otherwise occupied than in watching his progress during the next hour;
-at the end of that time he re-entered my room, looking heated and
-slightly tired, as if he had been walking fast, or labouring hard; but
-with the cloud off his brows, and the kindly light shining once again
-out of his honest eyes.
-
-"I ask your pardon, sir," he began, "for troubling you afresh. I believe
-I was possessed by the devil this morning. I have been thinking it over.
-One has perhaps no right to rule for another person's happiness. To have
-such a"--here the honest fellow choked a little--"such a woman as Thekla
-to love him ought to raise any man. Besides, I am no judge for him or
-for her. I have found out this morning that I love her myself, and so the
-end of it is, that if you, sir, who are so kind as to interest yourself
-in the matter, and if you think it is really her heart's desire to marry
-this man--which ought to be his salvation both for earth and heaven--I
-shall be very glad to go halves with you in any place for setting them
-up in the inn at Altenahr; only allow me to see that whatever money we
-advance is well and legally tied up, so that it is secured to her. And
-be so kind as to take no notice of what I have said about my having
-found out that I have loved her; I named it as a kind of apology for my
-hard words this morning, and as a reason why I was not a fit judge of
-what was best." He had hurried on, so that I could not have stopped his
-eager speaking even had I wished to do so; but I was too much interested
-in the revelation of what was passing in his brave tender heart to
-desire to stop him. Now, however, his rapid words tripped each other up,
-and his speech ended in an unconscious sigh.
-
-"But," I said, "since you were here Thekla has come to me, and we have
-had a long talk. She speaks now as openly to me as she would if I were
-her brother; with sensible frankness, where frankness is wise, with
-modest reticence, where confidence would be unbecoming. She came to
-ask me, if I thought it her duty to marry this fellow, whose very
-appearance, changed for the worse, as she says it is, since she last
-saw him four years ago, seemed to have repelled her."
-
-"She could let him put his arm round her waist yesterday," said Herr
-M�ller, with a return of his morning's surliness.
-
-"And she would marry him now if she could believe it to be her duty.
-For some reason of his own, this Franz Weber has tried to work upon this
-feeling of hers. He says it would be the saving of him."
-
-"As if a man had not strength enough in him--a man who is good for
-aught--to save himself, but needed a woman to pull him through life!"
-
-"Nay," I replied, hardly able to keep from smiling. "You yourself said,
-not five minutes ago, that her marrying him might be his salvation both
-for earth and heaven."
-
-"That was when I thought she loved the fellow," he answered quick.
-"Now----but what did you say to her, sir?"
-
-"I told her, what I believe to be as true as gospel, that as she owned
-she did not love him any longer now his real self had come to displace
-his remembrance, that she would be sinning in marrying him; doing evil
-that possible good might come. I was clear myself on this point, though
-I should have been perplexed how to advise, if her love had still
-continued."
-
-"And what answer did she make?"
-
-"She went over the history of their lives; she was pleading against her
-wishes to satisfy her conscience. She said that all along through their
-childhood she had been his strength; that while under her personal
-influence he had been negatively good; away from her, he had fallen into
-mischief--"
-
-"Not to say vice," put in Herr M�ller.
-
-"And now he came to her penitent, in sorrow, desirous of amendment,
-asking her for the love she seems to have considered as tacitly plighted
-to him in years gone by--"
-
-"And which he has slighted and insulted. I hope you told her of his
-words and conduct last night in the 'Adler' gardens?"
-
-"No. I kept myself to the general principle, which, I am sure, is a
-true one. I repeated it in different forms; for the idea of the duty
-of self-sacrifice had taken strong possession of her fancy. Perhaps,
-if I had failed in setting her notion of her duty in the right aspect,
-I might have had recourse to the statement of facts, which would have
-pained her severely, but would have proved to her how little his words
-of penitence and promises of amendment were to be trusted to."
-
-"And it ended?"
-
-"Ended by her being quite convinced that she would be doing wrong
-instead of right if she married a man whom she had entirely ceased to
-love, and that no real good could come from a course of action based on
-wrong-doing."
-
-"That is right and true," he replied, his face broadening into happiness
-again.
-
-"But she says she must leave your service, and go elsewhere."
-
-"Leave my service she shall; go elsewhere she shall not."
-
-"I cannot tell what you may have the power of inducing her to do; but
-she seems to me very resolute."
-
-"Why?" said he, firing round at me, as if I had made her resolute.
-
-"She says your sister spoke to her before the maids of the household,
-and before some of the townspeople, in a way that she could not stand;
-and that you yourself by your manner to her last night showed how she
-had lost your respect. She added, with her face of pure maidenly truth,
-that he had come into such close contact with her only the instant
-before your sister had entered the room."
-
-"With your leave, sir," said Herr M�ller, turning towards the door, "I
-will go and set all that right at once."
-
-It was easier said than done. When I next saw Thekla, her eyes were
-swollen up with crying, but she was silent, almost defiant towards
-me. A look of resolute determination had settled down upon her face. I
-learnt afterwards that parts of my conversation with Herr M�ller had been
-injudiciously quoted by him in the talk he had had with her. I thought I
-would leave her to herself, and wait till she unburdened herself of the
-feeling of unjust resentment towards me. But it was days before she
-spoke to me with anything like her former frankness. I had heard all
-about it from my host long before.
-
-He had gone to her straight on leaving me; and like a foolish, impetuous
-lover, had spoken out his mind and his wishes to her in the presence of
-his sister, who, it must be remembered, had heard no explanation of the
-conduct which had given her propriety so great a shock the day before.
-Herr M�ller thought to re-instate Thekla in his sister's good opinion by
-giving her in the Fr�ulein's very presence the highest possible mark of
-his own love and esteem. And there in the kitchen, where the Fr�ulein
-was deeply engaged in the hot work of making some delicate preserve
-on the stove, and ordering Thekla about with short, sharp displeasure
-in her tones, the master had come in, and possessing himself of the
-maiden's hand, had, to her infinite surprise--to his sister's infinite
-indignation--made her the offer of his heart, his wealth, his life; had
-begged of her to marry him. I could gather from his account that she had
-been in a state of trembling discomfiture at first; she had not spoken,
-but had twisted her hand out of his, and had covered her face with her
-apron. And then the Fr�ulein had burst forth--"accursed words" he called
-her speech. Thekla uncovered her face to listen; to listen to the end;
-to listen to the passionate recrimination between the brother and the
-sister. And then she went up, close up to the angry Fr�ulein, and had
-said quite quietly, but with a manner of final determination which had
-evidently sunk deep into her suitor's heart, and depressed him into
-hopelessness, that the Fr�ulein had no need to disturb herself; that on
-this very day she had been thinking of marrying another man, and that
-her heart was not like a room to let, into which as one tenant went out
-another might enter. Nevertheless, she felt the master's goodness. He
-had always treated her well from the time when she had entered the house
-as his servant. And she should be sorry to leave him; sorry to leave the
-children; very sorry to leave little Max: yes, she should even be sorry
-to leave the Fr�ulein, who was a good woman, only a little too apt
-to be hard on other women. But she had already been that very day and
-deposited her warning at the police office; the busy time would be soon
-over, and she should be glad to leave their service on All Saints' Day.
-Then (he thought) she had felt inclined to cry, for she suddenly braced
-herself up, and said, yes, she should be very glad; for somehow, though
-they had been kind to her, she had been very unhappy at Heppenheim; and
-she would go back to her home for a time, and see her old father and
-kind stepmother, and her nursling half-sister Ida, and be among her own
-people again.
-
-I could see it was this last part that most of all rankled in Herr
-M�ller's mind. In all probability Franz Weber was making his way back to
-Heppenheim too; and the bad suspicion would keep welling up that some
-lingering feeling for her old lover and disgraced playmate was making
-her so resolute to leave and return to Altenahr.
-
-For some days after this I was the confidant of the whole household,
-excepting Thekla. She, poor creature, looked miserable enough; but the
-hardy, defiant expression was always on her face. Lottchen spoke out
-freely enough; the place would not be worth having if Thekla left it; it
-was she who had the head for everything, the patience for everything;
-who stood between all the under-servants and the Fr�ulein's tempers. As
-for the children, poor motherless children! Lottchen was sure that the
-master did not know what he was doing when he allowed his sister to turn
-Thekla away--and all for what? for having a lover, as every girl had who
-could get one. Why, the little boy Max slept in the room which Lottchen
-shared with Thekla; and she heard him in the night as quickly as if she
-was his mother; when she had been sitting up with me, when I was so ill,
-Lottchen had had to attend to him; and it was weary work after a hard
-day to have to get up and soothe a teething child; she knew she had been
-cross enough sometimes; but Thekla was always good and gentle with him,
-however tired he was. And as Lottchen left the room I could hear her
-repeating that she thought she should leave when Thekla went, for that
-her place would not be worth having.
-
-Even the Fr�ulein had her word of regret--regret mingled with
-self-justification. She thought she had been quite right in speaking to
-Thekla for allowing such familiarities; how was she to know that the man
-was an old friend and playmate? He looked like a right profligate
-good-for-nothing. And to have a servant take up her scolding as an
-unpardonable offence, and persist in quitting her place, just when she
-had learnt all her work, and was so useful in the household--so
-useful that the Fr�ulein could never put up with any fresh, stupid
-house-maiden, but, sooner than take the trouble of teaching the new
-servant where everything was, and how to give out the stores if she was
-busy, she would go back to Worms. For, after all, housekeeping for a
-brother was thankless work; there was no satisfying men; and Heppenheim
-was but a poor ignorant village compared to Worms.
-
-She must have spoken to her brother about her intention of leaving him,
-and returning to her former home; indeed a feeling of coolness had
-evidently grown up between the brother and sister during these latter
-days. When one evening Herr M�ller brought in his pipe, and, as his
-custom had sometimes been, sat down by my stove to smoke, he looked
-gloomy and annoyed. I let him puff away, and take his own time. At
-length he began,--
-
-"I have rid the village of him at last. I could not bear to have him
-here disgracing Thekla with speaking to her whenever she went to the
-vineyard or the fountain. I don't believe she likes him a bit."
-
-"No more do I," I said. He turned on me.
-
-"Then why did she speak to him at all? Why cannot she like an honest man
-who likes her? Why is she so bent on going home to Altenahr?"
-
-"She speaks to him because she has known him from a child, and has a
-faithful pity for one whom she has known so innocent, and who is now so
-lost in all good men's regard. As for not liking an honest man--(though
-I may have my own opinion about that)--liking goes by fancy, as we say
-in English; and Altenahr is her home; her father's house is at Altenahr,
-as you know."
-
-"I wonder if he will go there," quoth Herr M�ller, after two or three
-more puffs. "He was fast at the 'Adler;' he could not pay his score, so
-he kept on staying here, saying that he should receive a letter from a
-friend with money in a day or two; lying in wait, too, for Thekla, who
-is well-known and respected all through Heppenheim: so his being an old
-friend of hers made him have a kind of standing. I went in this morning
-and paid his score, on condition that he left the place this day; and he
-left the village as merrily as a cricket, caring no more for Thekla than
-for the Kaiser who built our church: for he never looked back at the
-'Halbmond,' but went whistling down the road."
-
-"That is a good riddance," said I.
-
-"Yes. But my sister says she must return to Worms. And Lottchen has
-given notice; she says the place will not be worth having when Thekla
-leaves. I wish I could give notice too."
-
-"Try Thekla again."
-
-"Not I," said he, reddening. "It would seem now as if I only wanted her
-for a housekeeper. Besides, she avoids me at every turn, and will not
-even look at me. I am sure she bears me some ill-will about that
-ne'er-do-well."
-
-There was silence between us for some time, which he at length broke.
-
-"The pastor has a good and comely daughter. Her mother is a famous
-housewife. They often have asked me to come to the parsonage and smoke a
-pipe. When the vintage is over, and I am less busy, I think I will go
-there, and look about me."
-
-"When is the vintage?" asked I. "I hope it will take place soon, for I
-am growing so well and strong I fear I must leave you shortly; but I
-should like to see the vintage first."
-
-"Oh, never fear! you must not travel yet awhile; and Government has
-fixed the grape-gathering to begin on the fourteenth."
-
-"What a paternal Government! How does it know when the grapes will be
-ripe? Why cannot every man fix his own time for gathering his own
-grapes?"
-
-"That has never been our way in Germany. There are people employed by
-the Government to examine the vines, and report when the grapes are
-ripe. It is necessary to make laws about it; for, as you must have seen,
-there is nothing but the fear of the law to protect our vineyards and
-fruit-trees; there are no enclosures along the Berg-Strasse, as you tell
-me you have in England; but, as people are only allowed to go into the
-vineyards on stated days, no one, under pretence of gathering his own
-produce, can stray into his neighbour's grounds and help himself,
-without some of the duke's foresters seeing him."
-
-"Well," said I, "to each country its own laws."
-
-I think it was on that very evening that Thekla came in for something.
-She stopped arranging the tablecloth and the flowers, as if she had
-something to say, yet did not know how to begin. At length I found that
-her sore, hot heart, wanted some sympathy; her hand was against every
-one's, and she fancied every one had turned against her. She looked up
-at me, and said, a little abruptly,--
-
-"Does the gentleman know that I go on the fifteenth?"
-
-"So soon?" said I, with surprise. "I thought you were to remain here
-till All Saints' Day."
-
-"So I should have done--so I must have done--if the Fr�ulein had not
-kindly given me leave to accept of a place--a very good place too--of
-housekeeper to a widow lady at Frankfort. It is just the sort of
-situation I have always wished for. I expect I shall be so happy and
-comfortable there."
-
-"Methinks the lady doth profess too much," came into my mind. I saw she
-expected me to doubt the probability of her happiness, and was in a
-defiant mood.
-
-"Of course," said I, "you would hardly have wished to leave Heppenheim
-if you had been happy here; and every new place always promises fair,
-whatever its performance may be. But wherever you go, remember you have
-always a friend in me."
-
-"Yes," she replied, "I think you are to be trusted. Though, from my
-experience, I should say that of very few men."
-
-"You have been unfortunate," I answered; "many men would say the same of
-women."
-
-She thought a moment, and then said, in a changed tone of voice, "The
-Fr�ulein here has been much more friendly and helpful of these late
-days than her brother; yet I have served him faithfully, and have cared
-for his little Max as though he were my own brother. But this morning he
-spoke to me for the first time for many days,--he met me in the passage,
-and, suddenly stopping, he said he was glad I had met with so comfortable
-a place, and that I was at full liberty to go whenever I liked: and then
-he went quickly on, never waiting for my answer."
-
-"And what was wrong in that? It seems to me he was trying to make you
-feel entirely at your ease, to do as you thought best, without regard to
-his own interests."
-
-"Perhaps so. It is silly, I know," she continued, turning full on me her
-grave, innocent eyes; "but one's vanity suffers a little when every one
-is so willing to part with one."
-
-"Thekla! I owe you a great debt--let me speak to you openly. I know
-that your master wanted to marry you, and that you refused him. Do not
-deceive yourself. You are sorry for that refusal now?"
-
-She kept her serious look fixed upon me; but her face and throat
-reddened all over.
-
-"No," said she, at length; "I am not sorry. What can you think I am
-made of; having loved one man ever since I was a little child until a
-fortnight ago, and now just as ready to love another? I know you do not
-rightly consider what you say, or I should take it as an insult."
-
-"You loved an ideal man; he disappointed you, and you clung to your
-remembrance of him. He came, and the reality dispelled all illusions."
-
-"I do not understand philosophy," said she. "I only know that I think
-that Herr M�ller had lost all respect for me from what his sister had
-told him; and I know that I am going away; and I trust I shall be
-happier in Frankfort than I have been here of late days." So saying, she
-left the room.
-
-I was wakened up on the morning of the fourteenth by the merry ringing
-of church bells, and the perpetual firing and popping off of guns and
-pistols. But all this was over by the time I was up and dressed, and
-seated at breakfast in my partitioned room. It was a perfect October
-day; the dew not yet off the blades of grass, glistening on the delicate
-gossamer webs, which stretched from flower to flower in the garden,
-lying in the morning shadow of the house. But beyond the garden, on
-the sunny hill-side, men, women, and children were clambering up the
-vineyards like ants,--busy, irregular in movement, clustering together,
-spreading wide apart,--I could hear the shrill merry voices as I
-sat,--and all along the valley, as far as I could see, it was much the
-same; for every one filled his house for the day of the vintage, that
-great annual festival. Lottchen, who had brought in my breakfast, was
-all in her Sunday best, having risen early to get her work done and go
-abroad to gather grapes. Bright colours seemed to abound; I could see
-dots of scarlet, and crimson, and orange through the fading leaves; it
-was not a day to languish in the house; and I was on the point of going
-out by myself, when Herr M�ller came in to offer me his sturdy arm, and
-help me in walking to the vineyard. We crept through the garden scented
-with late flowers and sunny fruit,--we passed through the gate I had so
-often gazed at from the easy-chair, and were in the busy vineyard; great
-baskets lay on the grass already piled nearly full of purple and yellow
-grapes. The wine made from these was far from pleasant to my taste; for
-the best Rhine wine is made from a smaller grape, growing in closer,
-harder clusters; but the larger and less profitable grape is by far the
-most picturesque in its mode of growth, and far the best to eat into the
-bargain. Wherever we trod, it was on fragrant, crushed vine-leaves;
-every one we saw had his hands and face stained with the purple juice.
-Presently I sat down on a sunny bit of grass, and my host left me to go
-farther afield, to look after the more distant vineyards. I watched his
-progress. After he left me, he took off coat and waistcoat, displaying
-his snowy shirt and gaily-worked braces; and presently he was as busy
-as any one. I looked down on the village; the gray and orange and
-crimson roofs lay glowing in the noonday sun. I could see down into the
-streets; but they were all empty--even the old people came toiling up
-the hill-side to share in the general festivity. Lottchen had brought up
-cold dinners for a regiment of men; every one came and helped himself.
-Thekla was there, leading the little Karoline, and helping the toddling
-steps of Max; but she kept aloof from me; for I knew, or suspected, or
-had probed too much. She alone looked sad and grave, and spoke so
-little, even to her friends, that it was evident to see that she was
-trying to wean herself finally from the place. But I could see that she
-had lost her short, defiant manner. What she did say was kindly and
-gently spoken. The Fr�ulein came out late in the morning, dressed, I
-suppose, in the latest Worms fashion--quite different to anything I had
-ever seen before. She came up to me, and talked very graciously to me
-for some time.
-
-"Here comes the proprietor (squire) and his lady, and their dear
-children. See, the vintagers have tied bunches of the finest grapes on
-to a stick, heavier than the children or even the lady can carry. Look!
-look! how he bows!--one can tell he has been an _attach�_ at Vienna.
-That is the court way of bowing there--holding the hat right down before
-them, and bending the back at right angles. How graceful! And here is
-the doctor! I thought he would spare time to come up here. Well, doctor,
-you will go all the more cheerfully to your next patient for having been
-up into the vineyards. Nonsense, about grapes making other patients for
-you. Ah, here is the pastor and his wife, and the Fr�ulein Anna. Now,
-where is my brother, I wonder? Up in the far vineyard, I make no doubt.
-Mr. Pastor, the view up above is far finer than what it is here, and the
-best grapes grow there; shall I accompany you and madame, and the dear
-Fr�ulein? The gentleman will excuse me."
-
-I was left alone. Presently I thought I would walk a little farther,
-or at any rate change my position. I rounded a corner in the pathway,
-and there I found Thekla, watching by little sleeping Max. He lay on
-her shawl; and over his head she had made an arching canopy of broken
-vine-branches, so that the great leaves threw their cool, flickering
-shadows on his face. He was smeared all over with grape-juice, his
-sturdy fingers grasped a half-eaten bunch even in his sleep. Thekla was
-keeping Lina quiet by teaching her how to weave a garland for her head
-out of field-flowers and autumn-tinted leaves. The maiden sat on the
-ground, with her back to the valley beyond, the child kneeling by her,
-watching the busy fingers with eager intentness. Both looked up as I
-drew near, and we exchanged a few words.
-
-"Where is the master?" I asked. "I promised to await his return; he
-wished to give me his arm down the wooden steps; but I do not see him."
-
-"He is in the higher vineyard," said Thekla, quietly, but not looking
-round in that direction. "He will be some time there, I should think.
-He went with the pastor and his wife; he will have to speak to his
-labourers and his friends. My arm is strong, and I can leave Max in
-Lina's care for five minutes. If you are tired, and want to go back, let
-me help you down the steps; they are steep and slippery."
-
-I had turned to look up the valley. Three or four hundred yards off,
-in the higher vineyard, walked the dignified pastor, and his homely,
-decorous wife. Behind came the Fr�ulein Anna, in her short-sleeved
-Sunday gown, daintily holding a parasol over her luxuriant brown
-hair. Close behind her came Herr M�ller, stopping now to speak to his
-men,--again, to cull out a bunch of grapes to tie on to the Fr�ulein's
-stick; and by my feet sate the proud serving-maid in her country dress,
-waiting for my answer, with serious, up-turned eyes, and sad, composed
-face.
-
-"No, I am much obliged to you, Thekla; and if I did not feel so strong I
-would have thankfully taken your arm. But I only wanted to leave a
-message for the master, just to say that I have gone home."
-
-"Lina will give it to the father when he comes down," said Thekla.
-
-I went slowly down into the garden. The great labour of the day was
-over, and the younger part of the population had returned to the
-village, and were preparing the fireworks and pistol-shootings for the
-evening. Already one or two of those well-known German carts (in the
-shape of a V) were standing near the vineyard gates, the patient oxen
-meekly waiting while basketful after basketful of grapes were being
-emptied into the leaf-lined receptacle.
-
-As I sat down in my easy-chair close to the open window through which I
-had entered, I could see the men and women on the hill-side drawing to a
-centre, and all stand round the pastor, bareheaded, for a minute or so.
-I guessed that some words of holy thanksgiving were being said, and I
-wished that I had stayed to hear them, and mark my especial gratitude
-for having been spared to see that day. Then I heard the distant
-voices, the deep tones of the men, the shriller pipes of women and
-children, join in the German harvest-hymn, which is generally sung on
-such occasions;[1] then silence, while I concluded that a blessing was
-spoken by the pastor, with outstretched arms; and then they once more
-dispersed, some to the village, some to finish their labours for the day
-among the vines. I saw Thekla coming through the garden with Max in her
-arms, and Lina clinging to her woollen skirts. Thekla made for my open
-window; it was rather a shorter passage into the house than round by the
-door. "I may come through, may I not?" she asked, softly. "I fear Max is
-not well; I cannot understand his look, and he wakened up so strange!"
-She paused to let me see the child's face; it was flushed almost to a
-crimson look of heat, and his breathing was laboured and uneasy, his
-eyes half-open and filmy.
-
-"Something is wrong, I am sure," said I. "I don't know anything about
-children, but he is not in the least like himself."
-
-She bent down and kissed the cheek so tenderly that she would not have
-bruised the petal of a rose. "Heart's darling," she murmured. He
-quivered all over at her touch, working his fingers in an unnatural kind
-of way, and ending with a convulsive twitching all over his body. Lina
-began to cry at the grave, anxious look on our faces.
-
-"You had better call the Fr�ulein to look at him," said I. "I feel sure
-he ought to have a doctor; I should say he was going to have a fit."
-
-"The Fr�ulein and the master are gone to the pastor's for coffee, and
-Lottchen is in the higher vineyard, taking the men their bread and beer.
-Could you find the kitchen girl, or old Karl? he will be in the stables,
-I think. I must lose no time." Almost without waiting for my reply, she
-had passed through the room, and in the empty house I could hear her
-firm, careful footsteps going up the stair; Lina's pattering beside her;
-and the one voice wailing, the other speaking low comfort.
-
-I was tired enough, but this good family had treated me too much like
-one of their own for me not to do what I could in such a case as this. I
-made my way out into the street, for the first time since I had come to
-the house on that memorable evening six weeks ago. I bribed the first
-person I met to guide me to the doctor's, and send him straight down to
-the "Halbmond," not staying to listen to the thorough scolding he fell
-to giving me; then on to the parsonage, to tell the master and the
-Fr�ulein of the state of things at home.
-
-I was sorry to be the bearer of bad news into such a festive chamber
-as the pastor's. There they sat, resting after heat and fatigue, each
-in their best gala dress, the table spread with "Dicker-milch,"
-potato-salad, cakes of various shapes and kinds--all the dainty cates
-dear to the German palate. The pastor was talking to Herr M�ller,
-who stood near the pretty young Fr�ulein Anna, in her fresh white
-chemisette, with her round white arms, and her youthful coquettish airs,
-as she prepared to pour out the coffee; our Fr�ulein was talking busily
-to the Frau Mama; the younger boys and girls of the family filling up
-the room. A ghost would have startled the assembled party less than I
-did, and would probably have been more welcome, considering the news I
-brought. As he listened, the master caught up his hat and went forth,
-without apology or farewell. Our Fr�ulein made up for both, and
-questioned me fully; but now she, I could see, was in haste to go,
-although restrained by her manners, and the kind-hearted Frau Pastorin
-soon set her at liberty to follow her inclination. As for me I was
-dead-beat, and only too glad to avail myself of the hospitable couple's
-pressing request that I would stop and share their meal. Other magnates
-of the village came in presently, and relieved me of the strain of
-keeping up a German conversation about nothing at all with entire
-strangers. The pretty Fr�ulein's face had clouded over a little at Herr
-M�ller's sudden departure; but she was soon as bright as could be,
-giving private chase and sudden little scoldings to her brothers, as
-they made raids upon the dainties under her charge. After I was duly
-rested and refreshed, I took my leave; for I, too, had my quieter
-anxieties about the sorrow in the M�ller family.
-
-The only person I could see at the "Halbmond" was Lottchen; every one
-else was busy about the poor little Max, who was passing from one fit
-into another. I told Lottchen to ask the doctor to come in and see me
-before he took his leave for the night, and tired as I was, I kept up
-till after his visit, though it was very late before he came; I could
-see from his face how anxious he was. He would give me no opinion as to
-the child's chances of recovery, from which I guessed that he had not
-much hope. But when I expressed my fear he cut me very short.
-
-"The truth is, you know nothing about it; no more do I, for that matter.
-It is enough to try any man, much less a father, to hear his perpetual
-moans--not that he is conscious of pain, poor little worm; but if she
-stops for a moment in her perpetual carrying him backwards and forwards,
-he plains so piteously it is enough to--enough to make a man bless the
-Lord who never led him into the pit of matrimony. To see the father up
-there, following her as she walks up and down the room, the child's head
-over her shoulder, and M�ller trying to make the heavy eyes recognize
-the old familiar ways of play, and the chirruping sounds which he can
-scarce make for crying----I shall be here to-morrow early, though before
-that either life or death will have come without the old doctor's help."
-
-All night long I dreamt my feverish dream--of the vineyard--the carts,
-which held little coffins instead of baskets of grapes--of the pastor's
-daughter, who would pull the dying child out of Thekla's arms; it was
-a bad, weary night! I slept long into the morning; the broad daylight
-filled my room, and yet no one had been near to waken me! Did that mean
-life or death? I got up and dressed as fast as I could; for I was aching
-all over with the fatigue of the day before. Out into the sitting-room;
-the table was laid for breakfast, but no one was there. I passed into
-the house beyond, up the stairs, blindly seeking for the room where I
-might know whether it was life or death. At the door of a room I found
-Lottchen crying; at the sight of me in that unwonted place she started,
-and began some kind of apology, broken both by tears and smiles, as she
-told me that the doctor said the danger was over--past, and that Max was
-sleeping a gentle peaceful slumber in Thekla's arms--arms that had held
-him all through the livelong night.
-
-"Look at him, sir; only go in softly; it is a pleasure to see the child
-to-day; tread softly, sir."
-
-She opened the chamber-door. I could see Thekla sitting, propped up by
-cushions and stools, holding her heavy burden, and bending over him with
-a look of tenderest love. Not far off stood the Fr�ulein, all disordered
-and tearful, stirring or seasoning some hot soup, while the master stood
-by her impatient. As soon as it was cooled or seasoned enough he took
-the basin and went to Thekla, and said something very low; she lifted up
-her head, and I could see her face; pale, weary with watching, but with
-a soft peaceful look upon it, which it had not worn for weeks. Fritz
-M�ller began to feed her, for her hands were occupied in holding his
-child; I could not help remembering Mrs. Inchbald's pretty description
-of Dorriforth's anxiety in feeding Miss Milner; she compares it, if I
-remember rightly, to that of a tender-hearted boy, caring for his
-darling bird, the loss of which would embitter all the joys of his
-holidays. We closed the door without noise, so as not to waken the
-sleeping child. Lottchen brought me my coffee and bread; she was ready
-either to laugh or to weep on the slightest occasion. I could not tell
-if it was in innocence or mischief. She asked me the following
-question,--
-
-"Do you think Thekla will leave to-day, sir?"
-
-In the afternoon I heard Thekla's step behind my extemporary screen. I
-knew it quite well. She stopped for a moment before emerging into my
-view.
-
-She was trying to look as composed as usual, but, perhaps because her
-steady nerves had been shaken by her night's watching, she could not
-help faint touches of dimples at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes
-were veiled from any inquisitive look by their drooping lids.
-
-"I thought you would like to know that the doctor says Max is quite out
-of danger now. He will only require care."
-
-"Thank you, Thekla; Doctor ---- has been in already this afternoon to
-tell me so, and I am truly glad."
-
-She went to the window, and looked out for a moment. Many people were in
-the vineyards again to-day; although we, in our household anxiety, had
-paid them but little heed. Suddenly she turned round into the room, and
-I saw that her face was crimson with blushes. In another instant Herr
-M�ller entered by the window.
-
-"Has she told you, sir?" said he, possessing himself of her hand, and
-looking all a-glow with happiness. "Hast thou told our good friend?"
-addressing her.
-
-"No. I was going to tell him, but I did not know how to begin."
-
-"Then I will prompt thee. Say after me--'I have been a wilful, foolish
-woman----'"
-
-She wrenched her hand out of his, half-laughing--"I am a foolish woman,
-for I have promised to marry him. But he is a still more foolish man,
-for he wishes to marry me. That is what I say."
-
-"And I have sent Babette to Frankfort with the pastor. He is going
-there, and will explain all to Frau v. Schmidt; and Babette will serve
-her for a time. When Max is well enough to have the change of air the
-doctor prescribes for him, thou shalt take him to Altenahr, and thither
-will I also go; and become known to thy people and thy father. And
-before Christmas the gentleman here shall dance at our wedding."
-
-"I must go home to England, dear friends, before many days are over.
-Perhaps we may travel together as far as Remagen. Another year I will
-come back to Heppenheim and see you."
-
-As I planned it, so it was. We left Heppenheim all together on a lovely
-All-Saints' Day. The day before--the day of All-Souls--I had watched
-Fritz and Thekla lead little Lina up to the Acre of God, the Field of
-Rest, to hang the wreath of immortelles on her mother's grave. Peace be
-with the dead and the living.
-
-
-
-
-LIBBIE MARSH'S THREE ERAS.
-
-ERA I.
-
-VALENTINE'S DAY.
-
-
-Last November but one, there was a flitting in our neighbourhood; hardly
-a flitting, after all, for it was only a single person changing her
-place of abode from one lodging to another; and instead of a cartload of
-drawers and baskets, dressers and beds, with old king clock at the top
-of all, it was only one large wooden chest to be carried after the girl,
-who moved slowly and heavily along the streets, listless and depressed,
-more from the state of her mind than of her body. It was Libbie Marsh,
-who had been obliged to quit her room in Dean Street, because the
-acquaintances whom she had been living with were leaving Manchester. She
-tried to think herself fortunate in having met with lodgings rather more
-out of the town, and with those who were known to be respectable; she
-did indeed try to be contented, but in spite of her reason, the old
-feeling of desolation came over her, as she was now about to be thrown
-again entirely among strangers.
-
-No. 2, ---- Court, Albemarle Street, was reached at last, and the pace,
-slow as it was, slackened as she drew near the spot where she was to be
-left by the man who carried her box, for, trivial as her acquaintance
-with him was, he was not quite a stranger, as every one else was,
-peering out of their open doors, and satisfying themselves it was only
-"Dixon's new lodger."
-
-Dixon's house was the last on the left-hand side of the court. A high
-dead brick wall connected it with its opposite neighbour. All the
-dwellings were of the same monotonous pattern, and one side of the court
-looked at its exact likeness opposite, as if it were seeing itself in a
-looking-glass.
-
-Dixon's house was shut up, and the key left next door; but the woman in
-whose charge it was left knew that Libbie was expected, and came forward
-to say a few explanatory words, to unlock the door, and stir the dull
-grey ashes that were lazily burning in the grate: and then she returned
-to her own house, leaving poor Libbie standing alone with the great big
-chest in the middle of the house-place floor, with no one to say a word
-to (even a common-place remark would have been better than this dull
-silence), that could help her to repel the fast-coming tears.
-
-Dixon and his wife, and their eldest girl, worked in factories, and were
-absent all day from the house: the youngest child, also a little girl,
-was boarded out on the week-days at the neighbour's where the door-key
-was deposited, but although busy making dirt-pies, at the entrance to
-the court, when Libbie came in, she was too young to care much about her
-parents' new lodger. Libbie knew that she was to sleep with the elder
-girl in the front bedroom, but, as you may fancy, it seemed a liberty
-even to go upstairs to take off her things, when no one was at home to
-marshal the way up the ladder-like steps. So she could only take off her
-bonnet, and sit down, and gaze at the now blazing fire, and think
-sadly on the past, and on the lonely creature she was in this wide
-world--father and mother gone, her little brother long since dead--he
-would have been more than nineteen had he been alive, but she only thought of
-him as the darling baby; her only friends (to call friends) living far
-away at their new house; her employers, kind enough people in their way,
-but too rapidly twirling round on this bustling earth to have leisure to
-think of the little work-woman, excepting when they wanted gowns turned,
-carpets mended, or household linen darned; and hardly even the natural
-though hidden hope of a young girl's heart, to cheer her on with the
-bright visions of a home of her own at some future day, where, loving
-and beloved, she might fulfil a woman's dearest duties.
-
-For Libbie was very plain, as she had known so long that the consciousness
-of it had ceased to mortify her. You can hardly live in Manchester
-without having some idea of your personal appearance: the factory lads
-and lasses take good care of that; and if you meet them at the hours
-when they are pouring out of the mills, you are sure to hear a good
-number of truths, some of them combined with such a spirit of impudent
-fun, that you can scarcely keep from laughing, even at the joke against
-yourself. Libbie had often and often been greeted by such questions
-as--"How long is it since you were a beauty?"--"What would you take a
-day to stand in the fields to scare away the birds?" &c., for her to
-linger under any impression as to her looks.
-
-While she was thus musing, and quietly crying, under the pictures her
-fancy had conjured up, the Dixons came dropping in, and surprised her
-with her wet cheeks and quivering lips.
-
-She almost wished to have the stillness again that had so oppressed her
-an hour ago, they talked and laughed so loudly and so much, and bustled
-about so noisily over everything they did. Dixon took hold of one
-iron handle of her box, and helped her to bump it upstairs, while his
-daughter Anne followed to see the unpacking, and what sort of clothes
-"little sewing body had gotten." Mrs. Dixon rattled out her tea-things,
-and put the kettle on, fetched home her youngest child, which added to
-the commotion. Then she called Anne downstairs, and sent her for this
-thing and that: eggs to put to the cream, it was so thin; ham, to give a
-relish to the bread and butter; some new bread, hot, if she could get
-it. Libbie heard all these orders, given at full pitch of Mrs. Dixon's
-voice, and wondered at their extravagance, so different from the habits
-of the place where she had last lodged. But they were fine spinners, in
-the receipt of good wages; and confined all day in an atmosphere ranging
-from seventy-five to eighty degrees. They had lost all natural, healthy
-appetite for simple food, and, having no higher tastes, found their
-greatest enjoyment in their luxurious meals.
-
-When tea was ready, Libbie was called downstairs, with a rough but
-hearty invitation, to share their meal; she sat mutely at the corner of
-the tea-table, while they went on with their own conversation about
-people and things she knew nothing about, till at length she ventured
-to ask for a candle, to go and finish her unpacking before bedtime, as
-she had to go out sewing for several succeeding days. But once in
-the comparative peace of her bedroom, her energy failed her, and she
-contented herself with locking her Noah's ark of a chest, and put out
-her candle, and went to sit by the window, and gaze out at the bright
-heavens; for ever and ever "the blue sky, that bends over all," sheds
-down a feeling of sympathy with the sorrowful at the solemn hours when
-the ceaseless stars are seen to pace its depths.
-
-By-and-by her eye fell down to gazing at the corresponding window to her
-own, on the opposite side of the court. It was lighted, but the blind
-was drawn down: upon the blind she saw, first unconsciously, the constant
-weary motion of a little spectral shadow, a child's hand and arm--no
-more; long, thin fingers hanging down from the wrist, while the arm
-moved up and down, as if keeping time to the heavy pulses of dull pain.
-She could not help hoping that sleep would soon come to still that
-incessant, feeble motion: and now and then it did cease, as if the
-little creature had dropped into a slumber from very weariness; but
-presently the arm jerked up with the fingers clenched, as if with a
-sudden start of agony. When Anne came up to bed, Libbie was still
-sitting, watching the shadow, and she directly asked to whom it
-belonged.
-
-"It will be Margaret Hall's lad. Last summer, when it was so hot, there
-was no biding with the window shut at night, and theirs was open too:
-and many's the time he has waked me with his moans; they say he's been
-better sin' cold weather came."
-
-"Is he always in bed? Whatten ails him?" asked Libbie.
-
-"Summat's amiss wi' his backbone, folks say; he's better and worse,
-like. He's a nice little chap enough, and his mother's not that bad
-either; only my mother and her had words, so now we don't speak."
-
-Libbie went on watching, and when she next spoke, to ask who and what
-his mother was, Anne Dixon was fast asleep.
-
-Time passed away, and as usual unveiled the hidden things. Libbie
-found out that Margaret Hall was a widow, who earned her living as a
-washerwoman; that the little suffering lad was her only child, her
-dearly beloved. That while she scolded, pretty nearly, everybody else,
-"till her name was up" in the neighbourhood for a termagant, to him she
-was evidently most tender and gentle. He lay alone on his little bed,
-near the window, through the day, while she was away toiling for a
-livelihood. But when Libbie had plain sewing to do at her lodgings,
-instead of going out to sew, she used to watch from her bedroom window
-for the time when the shadows opposite, by their mute gestures, told
-that the mother had returned to bend over her child, to smooth his
-pillow, to alter his position, to get him his nightly cup of tea. And
-often in the night Libbie could not help rising gently from bed, to see
-if the little arm was waving up and down, as was his accustomed habit
-when sleepless from pain.
-
-Libbie had a good deal of sewing to do at home that winter, and whenever
-it was not so cold as to benumb her fingers, she took it upstairs, in
-order to watch the little lad in her few odd moments of pause. On his
-better days he could sit up enough to peep out of his window, and she
-found he liked to look at her. Presently she ventured to nod to him
-across the court; and his faint smile, and ready nod back again, showed
-that this gave him pleasure. I think she would have been encouraged by
-this smile to have proceeded to a speaking acquaintance, if it had not
-been for his terrible mother, to whom it seemed to be irritation enough
-to know that Libbie was a lodger at the Dixons' for her to talk at her
-whenever they encountered each other, and to live evidently in wait for
-some good opportunity of abuse.
-
-With her constant interest in him, Libbie soon discovered his great want
-of an object on which to occupy his thoughts, and which might distract
-his attention, when alone through the long day, from the pain he endured.
-He was very fond of flowers. It was November when she had first removed
-to her lodgings, but it had been very mild weather, and a few flowers
-yet lingered in the gardens, which the country people gathered into
-nosegays, and brought on market-days into Manchester. His mother had
-brought him a bunch of Michaelmas daisies the very day Libbie had become
-a neighbour, and she watched their history. He put them first in an old
-teapot, of which the spout was broken off and the lid lost; and he daily
-replenished the teapot from the jug of water his mother left near him to
-quench his feverish thirst. By-and-by, one or two of the constellation
-of lilac stars faded, and then the time he had hitherto spent in
-admiring, almost caressing them, was devoted to cutting off those
-flowers whose decay marred the beauty of the nosegay. It took him half
-the morning, with his feeble, languid motions, and his cumbrous old
-scissors, to trim up his diminished darlings. Then at last he seemed to
-think he had better preserve the few that remained by drying them; so
-they were carefully put between the leaves of the old Bible; and then,
-whenever a better day came, when he had strength enough to lift the
-ponderous book, he used to open the pages to look at his flower friends.
-In winter he could have no more living flowers to tend.
-
-Libbie thought and thought, till at last an idea flashed upon her mind,
-that often made a happy smile steal over her face as she stitched away,
-and that cheered her through the solitary winter--for solitary it
-continued to be, though the Dixons were very good sort of people, never
-pressed her for payment, if she had had but little work to do that week;
-never grudged her a share of their extravagant meals, which were far
-more luxurious than she could have met with anywhere else, for her
-previously agreed payment in case of working at home; and they would
-fain have taught her to drink rum in her tea, assuring her that she
-should have it for nothing and welcome. But they were too touchy, too
-prosperous, too much absorbed in themselves, to take off Libbie's
-feeling of solitariness; not half as much as the little face by day, and
-the shadow by night, of him with whom she had never yet exchanged a
-word.
-
-Her idea was this: her mother came from the east of England, where, as
-perhaps you know, they have the pretty custom of sending presents on St.
-Valentine's day, with the donor's name unknown, and, of course, the
-mystery constitutes half the enjoyment. The fourteenth of February was
-Libbie's birthday too, and many a year, in the happy days of old, had
-her mother delighted to surprise her with some little gift, of which
-she more than half-guessed the giver, although each Valentine's day the
-manner of its arrival was varied. Since then the fourteenth of February
-had been the dreariest of all the year, because the most haunted by
-memory of departed happiness. But now, this year, if she could not have
-the old gladness of heart herself, she would try and brighten the life
-of another. She would save, and she would screw, but she would buy a
-canary and a cage for that poor little laddie opposite, who wore out his
-monotonous life with so few pleasures, and so much pain.
-
-I doubt I may not tell you here of the anxieties and the fears, of the
-hopes and the self-sacrifices--all, perhaps small in the tangible effect
-as the widow's mite, yet not the less marked by the viewless angels who
-go about continually among us--which varied Libbie's life before she
-accomplished her purpose. It is enough to say it was accomplished. The
-very day before the fourteenth she found time to go with her half-guinea
-to a barber's who lived near Albemarle Street, and who was famous for
-his stock of singing-birds. There are enthusiasts about all sorts of
-things, both good and bad, and many of the weavers in Manchester know
-and care more about birds than any one would easily credit. Stubborn,
-silent, reserved men on many things, you have only to touch on the
-subject of birds to light up their faces with brightness. They will tell
-you who won the prizes at the last canary show, where the prize birds
-may be seen, and give you all the details of those funny, but pretty and
-interesting mimicries of great people's cattle shows. Among these
-amateurs, Emanuel Morris the barber was an oracle.
-
-He took Libbie into his little back room, used for private shaving of
-modest men, who did not care to be exhibited in the front shop decked
-out in the full glories of lather; and which was hung round with birds
-in rude wicker cages, with the exception of those who had won prizes,
-and were consequently honoured with gilt-wire prisons. The longer and
-thinner the body of the bird was, the more admiration it received, as
-far as external beauty went; and when, in addition to this, the colour
-was deep and clear, and its notes strong and varied, the more did Emanuel
-dwell upon its perfections. But these were all prize birds; and, on
-inquiry, Libbie heard, with some little sinking at heart, that their
-price ran from one to two guineas.
-
-"I'm not over-particular as to shape and colour," said she, "I should
-like a good singer, that's all!"
-
-She dropped a little in Emanuel's estimation. However, he showed her his
-good singers, but all were above Libbie's means.
-
-"After all, I don't think I care so much about the singing very loud;
-it's but a noise after all, and sometimes noise fidgets folks."
-
-"They must be nesh folks as is put out with the singing o' birds,"
-replied Emanuel, rather affronted.
-
-"It's for one who is poorly," said Libbie, deprecatingly.
-
-"Well," said he, as if considering the matter, "folk that are cranky,
-often take more to them as shows 'em love, than to them as is clever
-and gifted. Happen yo'd rather have this'n," opening a cage-door,
-and calling to a dull-coloured bird, sitting moped up in a corner,
-"Here--Jupiter, Jupiter!"
-
-The bird smoothed its feathers in an instant, and, uttering a little
-note of delight, flew to Emanuel, putting his beak to his lips, as if
-kissing him, and then, perching on his head, it began a gurgling warble
-of pleasure, not by any means so varied or so clear as the song of the
-others, but which pleased Libbie more; for she was always one to find
-out she liked the gooseberries that were accessible, better than the
-grapes that were beyond her reach. The price too was just right, so
-she gladly took possession of the cage, and hid it under her cloak,
-preparatory to carrying it home. Emanuel meanwhile was giving her
-directions as to its food, with all the minuteness of one loving his
-subject.
-
-"Will it soon get to know any one?" asked she.
-
-"Give him two days only, and you and he'll be as thick as him and me are
-now. You've only to open his door, and call him, and he'll follow you
-round the room; but he'll first kiss you, and then perch on your head.
-He only wants larning, which I've no time to give him, to do many
-another accomplishment."
-
-"What's his name? I did not rightly catch it."
-
-"Jupiter,--it's not common; but the town's o'errun with Bobbies and
-Dickies, and as my birds are thought a bit out o' the way, I like to
-have better names for 'em, so I just picked a few out o' my lad's school
-books. It's just as ready, when you're used to it, to say Jupiter as
-Dicky."
-
-"I could bring my tongue round to Peter better; would he answer to
-Peter?" asked Libbie, now on the point of departing.
-
-"Happen he might; but I think he'd come readier to the three syllables."
-
-On Valentine's day, Jupiter's cage was decked round with ivy leaves,
-making quite a pretty wreath on the wicker work; and to one of them was
-pinned a slip of paper, with these words, written in Libbie's best round
-hand:--
-
-"From your faithful Valentine. Please take notice his name is Peter, and
-he'll come if you call him, after a bit."
-
-But little work did Libbie do that afternoon, she was so engaged in
-watching for the messenger who was to bear her present to her little
-valentine, and run away as soon as he had delivered up the canary, and
-explained to whom it was sent.
-
-At last he came; then there was a pause before the woman of the house
-was at liberty to take it upstairs. Then Libbie saw the little face
-flush up into a bright colour, the feeble hands tremble with delighted
-eagerness, the head bent down to try and make out the writing (beyond
-his power, poor lad, to read), the rapturous turning round of the cage
-in order to see the canary in every point of view, head, tail, wings,
-and feet; an intention in which Jupiter, in his uneasiness at being
-again among strangers, did not second, for he hopped round so, as
-continually to present a full front to the boy. It was a source of never
-wearying delight to the little fellow, till daylight closed in; he
-evidently forgot to wonder who had sent it him, in his gladness at
-his possession of such a treasure; and when the shadow of his mother
-darkened on the blind, and the bird had been exhibited, Libbie saw her
-do what, with all her tenderness, seemed rarely to have entered into her
-thoughts--she bent down and kissed her boy, in a mother's sympathy with
-the joy of her child.
-
-The canary was placed for the night between the little bed and window;
-and when Libbie rose once, to take her accustomed peep, she saw the
-little arm put fondly round the cage, as if embracing his new treasure
-even in his sleep. How Jupiter slept this first night is quite another
-thing.
-
-So ended the first day in Libbie's three eras in last year.
-
-
-ERA II.
-
-WHITSUNTIDE.
-
-The brightest, fullest daylight poured down into No. 2, ---- Court,
-Albemarle Street, and the heat, even at the early hour of five, as at
-the noontide on the June days of many years past.
-
-The court seemed alive, and merry with voices and laughter. The bedroom
-windows were open wide, and had been so all night, on account of
-the heat; and every now and then you might see a head and a pair of
-shoulders, simply encased in shirt sleeves, popped out, and you might
-hear the inquiry passed from one to the other,--"Well, Jack, and where
-art thee bound for?"
-
-"Dunham!"
-
-"Why, what an old-fashioned chap thou be'st. Thy grandad afore thee went
-to Dunham: but thou wert always a slow coach. I'm off to Alderley,--me
-and my missis."
-
-"Ay, that's because there's only thee and thy missis. Wait till thou
-hast gotten four childer, like me, and thou'lt be glad enough to take
-'em to Dunham, oud-fashioned way, for fourpence apiece."
-
-"I'd still go to Alderley; I'd not be bothered with my children; they
-should keep house at home."
-
-A pair of hands, the person to whom they belonged invisible, boxed his
-ears on this last speech, in a very spirited, though playful, manner,
-and the neighbours all laughed at the surprised look of the speaker, at
-this assault from an unseen foe. The man who had been holding
-conversation with him cried out,--
-
-"Sarved him right, Mrs. Slater: he knows nought about it yet; but
-when he gets them he'll be as loth to leave the babbies at home on a
-Whitsuntide as any on us. We shall live to see him in Dunham Park yet,
-wi' twins in his arms, and another pair on 'em clutching at daddy's
-coat-tails, let alone your share of youngsters, missis."
-
-At this moment our friend Libbie appeared at her window, and Mrs.
-Slater, who had taken her discomfited husband's place, called out,--
-
-"Elizabeth Marsh, where are Dixons and you bound to?"
-
-"Dixons are not up yet; he said last night he'd take his holiday out in
-lying in bed. I'm going to the old-fashioned place, Dunham."
-
-"Thou art never going by thyself, moping!"
-
-"No. I'm going with Margaret Hall and her lad," replied Libbie, hastily
-withdrawing from the window, in order to avoid hearing any remarks on
-the associates she had chosen for her day of pleasure--the scold of the
-neighbourhood, and her sickly, ailing child!
-
-But Jupiter might have been a dove, and his ivy leaves an olive branch,
-for the peace he had brought, the happiness he had caused, to three
-individuals at least. For of course it could not long be a mystery who
-had sent little Frank Hall his valentine; nor could his mother long
-entertain her hard manner towards one who had given her child a new
-pleasure. She was shy, and she was proud, and for some time she struggled
-against the natural desire of manifesting her gratitude; but one evening,
-when Libbie was returning home, with a bundle of work half as large as
-herself, as she dragged herself along through the heated streets, she
-was overtaken by Margaret Hall, her burden gently pulled from her, and
-her way home shortened, and her weary spirits soothed and cheered, by
-the outpourings of Margaret's heart; for the barrier of reserve once
-broken down, she had much to say, to thank her for days of amusement and
-happy employment for her lad, to speak of his gratitude, to tell of her
-hopes and fears,--the hopes and fears that made up the dates of her
-life. From that time, Libbie lost her awe of the termagant in interest
-for the mother, whose all was ventured in so frail a bark. From this
-time, Libbie was a fast friend with both mother and son, planning
-mitigations for the sorrowful days of the latter as eagerly as poor
-Margaret Hall, and with far more success. His life had flickered up
-under the charm and excitement of the last few months. He even seemed
-strong enough to undertake the journey to Dunham, which Libbie had
-arranged as a Whitsuntide treat, and for which she and his mother had
-been hoarding up for several weeks. The canal boat left Knott-mill at
-six, and it was now past five; so Libbie let herself out very gently,
-and went across to her friends. She knocked at the door of their
-lodging-room, and, without waiting for an answer, entered.
-
-Franky's face was flushed, and he was trembling with excitement,--partly
-with pleasure, but partly with some eager wish not yet granted.
-
-"He wants sore to take Peter with him," said his mother to Libbie, as if
-referring the matter to her. The boy looked imploringly at her.
-
-"He would like it, I know; for one thing, he'd miss me sadly, and
-chirrup for me all day long, he'd be so lonely. I could not be half so
-happy a-thinking on him, left alone here by himself. Then, Libbie, he's
-just like a Christian, so fond of flowers and green leaves, and them
-sort of things. He chirrups to me so when mother brings me a pennyworth
-of wall-flowers to put round his cage. He would talk if he could, you
-know; but I can tell what he means quite as one as if he spoke. Do let
-Peter go, Libbie; I'll carry him in my own arms."
-
-So Jupiter was allowed to be of the party. Now Libbie had overcome the
-great difficulty of conveying Franky to the boat, by offering to "slay"
-for a coach, and the shouts and exclamations of the neighbours told
-them that their conveyance awaited them at the bottom of the court. His
-mother carried Franky, light in weight, though heavy in helplessness,
-and he would hold the cage, believing that he was thus redeeming his
-pledge, that Peter should be a trouble to no one. Libbie proceeded to
-arrange the bundle containing their dinner, as a support in the corner
-of the coach. The neighbours came out with many blunt speeches, and more
-kindly wishes, and one or two of them would have relieved Margaret of
-her burden, if she would have allowed it. The presence of that little
-crippled fellow seemed to obliterate all the angry feelings which had
-existed between his mother and her neighbours, and which had formed the
-politics of that little court for many a day.
-
-And now they were fairly off! Franky bit his lips in attempted endurance
-of the pain the motion caused him; he winced and shrank, until they
-were fairly on a Macadamized thoroughfare, when he closed his eyes, and
-seemed desirous of a few minutes' rest. Libbie felt very shy, and very
-much afraid of being seen by her employers, "set up in a coach!" and
-so she hid herself in a corner, and made herself as small as possible;
-while Mrs. Hall had exactly the opposite feeling, and was delighted to
-stand up, stretching out of the window, and nodding to pretty nearly
-every one they met or passed on the foot-paths; and they were not a few,
-for the streets were quite gay, even at that early hour, with parties
-going to this or that railway station, or to the boats which crowded the
-canals on this bright holiday week; and almost every one they met seemed
-to enter into Mrs. Hall's exhilaration of feeling, and had a smile or
-nod in return. At last she plumped down by Libbie, and exclaimed, "I
-never was in a coach but once afore, and that was when I was a-going to
-be married. It's like heaven; and all done over with such beautiful
-gimp, too!" continued she, admiring the lining of the vehicle. Jupiter
-did not enjoy it so much.
-
-As if the holiday time, the lovely weather, and the "sweet hour of
-prime" had a genial influence, as no doubt they have, everybody's heart
-seemed softened towards poor Franky. The driver lifted him out with the
-tenderness of strength, and bore him carefully down to the boat; the
-people then made way, and gave him the best seat in their power,--or
-rather I should call it a couch, for they saw he was weary, and insisted
-on his lying down,--an attitude he would have been ashamed to assume
-without the protection of his mother and Libbie, who now appeared,
-bearing their baskets and carrying Peter.
-
-Away the boat went, to make room for others, for every conveyance,
-both by land and water, is in requisition in Whitsun-week, to give
-the hard-worked crowds the opportunity of enjoying the charms of the
-country. Even every standing-place in the canal packets was occupied,
-and as they glided along, the banks were lined with people, who seemed
-to find it object enough to watch the boats go by, packed close and full
-with happy beings brimming with anticipations of a day's pleasure. The
-country through which they passed is as uninteresting as can well be
-imagined; but still it is the country: and the screams of delight from
-the children, and the low laughs of pleasure from the parents, at every
-blossoming tree that trailed its wreath against some cottage wall, or
-at the tufts of late primroses which lingered in the cool depths of
-grass along the canal banks, the thorough relish of everything, as
-if dreading to let the least circumstance of this happy day pass over
-without its due appreciation, made the time seem all too short, although
-it took two hours to arrive at a place only eight miles from Manchester.
-Even Franky, with all his impatience to see Dunham woods (which I think
-he confused with London, believing both to be paved with gold), enjoyed
-the easy motion of the boat so much, floating along, while pictures
-moved before him, that he regretted when the time came for landing among
-the soft, green meadows, that came sloping down to the dancing water's
-brim. His fellow-passengers carried him to the park, and refused all
-payment, although his mother had laid by sixpence on purpose, as a
-recompense for this service.
-
-"Oh, Libbie, how beautiful! Oh, mother, mother! is the whole world out
-of Manchester as beautiful as this? I did not know trees were like this!
-Such green homes for birds! Look, Peter! would not you like to be there,
-up among those boughs? But I can't let you go, you know, because you're
-my little bird brother, and I should be quite lost without you."
-
-They spread a shawl upon the fine mossy turf, at the root of a
-beech-tree, which made a sort of natural couch, and there they laid him,
-and bade him rest, in spite of the delight which made him believe
-himself capable of any exertion. Where he lay,--always holding Jupiter's
-cage, and often talking to him as to a playfellow,--he was on the verge
-of a green area, shut in by magnificent trees, in all the glory of their
-early foliage, before the summer heats had deepened their verdure into
-one rich, monotonous tint. And hither came party after party; old men
-and maidens, young men and children,--whole families trooped along after
-the guiding fathers, who bore the youngest in their arms, or astride
-upon their backs, while they turned round occasionally to the wives,
-with whom they shared some fond local remembrance. For years has Dunham
-Park been the favourite resort of the Manchester work-people; for more
-years than I can tell; probably ever since "the Duke," by his canals,
-opened out the system of cheap travelling. Its scenery, too, which
-presents such a complete contrast to the whirl and turmoil of Manchester;
-so thoroughly woodland, with its ancestral trees (here and there
-lightning blanched); its "verdurous walls;" its grassy walks, leading
-far away into some glade, where you start at the rabbit rustling among
-the last year's fern, and where the wood-pigeon's call seems the only
-fitting and accordant sound. Depend upon it, this complete sylvan
-repose, this accessible quiet, this lapping the soul in green images of
-the country, forms the most complete contrast to a town's-person, and
-consequently has over such the greatest power to charm.
-
-Presently Libbie found out she was very hungry. Now they were but
-provided with dinner, which was, of course, to be eaten as near twelve
-o'clock as might be; and Margaret Hall, in her prudence, asked a
-working-man near to tell her what o'clock it was.
-
-"Nay," said he, "I'll ne'er look at clock or watch to-day. I'll not
-spoil my pleasure by finding out how fast it's going away. If thou'rt
-hungry, eat. I make my own dinner hour, and I have eaten mine an hour
-ago."
-
-So they had their veal pies, and then found out it was only about
-half-past ten o'clock; by so many pleasurable events had that morning
-been marked. But such was their buoyancy of spirits, that they only
-enjoyed their mistake, and joined in the general laugh against the man
-who had eaten his dinner somewhere about nine. He laughed most heartily
-of all, till, suddenly stopping, he said,--
-
-"I must not go on at this rate; laughing gives one such an appetite."
-
-"Oh! if that's all," said a merry-looking man, lying at full length, and
-brushing the fresh scent out of the grass, while two or three little
-children tumbled over him, and crept about him, as kittens or puppies
-frolic with their parents, "if that's all, we'll have a subscription of
-eatables for them improvident folk as have eaten their dinner for their
-breakfast. Here's a sausage pasty and a handful of nuts for my share.
-Bring round a hat, Bob, and see what the company will give."
-
-Bob carried out the joke, much to little Franky's amusement; and no one
-was so churlish as to refuse, although the contributions varied from a
-peppermint drop up to a veal pie and a sausage pasty.
-
-"It's a thriving trade," said Bob, as he emptied his hatful of
-provisions on the grass by Libbie's side. "Besides, it's tiptop, too, to
-live on the public. Hark! what is that?"
-
-The laughter and the chat were suddenly hushed, and mothers told their
-little ones to listen,--as, far away in the distance, now sinking and
-falling, now swelling and clear, came a ringing peal of children's
-voices, blended together in one of those psalm tunes which we are all
-of us familiar with, and which bring to mind the old, old days, when we,
-as wondering children, were first led to worship "Our Father," by those
-beloved ones who have since gone to the more perfect worship. Holy was
-that distant choral praise, even to the most thoughtless; and when it,
-in fact, was ended, in the instant's pause, during which the ear awaits
-the repetition of the air, they caught the noontide hum and buzz of the
-myriads of insects who danced away their lives in the glorious day; they
-heard the swaying of the mighty woods in the soft but resistless breeze,
-and then again once more burst forth the merry jests and the shouts of
-childhood; and again the elder ones resumed their happy talk, as they
-lay or sat "under the greenwood tree." Fresh parties came dropping in;
-some laden with wild flowers--almost with branches of hawthorn, indeed;
-while one or two had made prizes of the earliest dog-roses, and had cast
-away campion, stitchwort, ragged robin, all to keep the lady of the
-hedges from being obscured or hidden by the community.
-
-One after another drew near to Franky, and looked on with interest as he
-lay sorting the flowers given to him. Happy parents stood by, with their
-household bands around them, in health and comeliness, and felt the
-sad prophecy of those shrivelled limbs, those wasted fingers, those
-lamp-like eyes, with their bright, dark lustre. His mother was too
-eagerly watching his happiness to read the meaning of those grave looks,
-but Libbie saw them and understood them; and a chill shudder went
-through her, even on that day, as she thought on the future.
-
-"Ay! I thought we should give you a start!"
-
-A start they did give, with their terrible slap on Libbie's back, as she
-sat idly grouping flowers, and following out her sorrowful thoughts. It
-was the Dixons. Instead of keeping their holiday by lying in bed, they
-and their children had roused themselves, and had come by the omnibus to
-the nearest point. For an instant the meeting was an awkward one, on
-account of the feud between Margaret Hall and Mrs. Dixon, but there was
-no long resisting of kindly mother Nature's soothings, at that holiday
-time, and in that lonely tranquil spot; or if they could have been
-unheeded, the sight of Franky would have awed every angry feeling
-into rest, so changed was he since the Dixons had last seen him; and
-since he had been the Puck or Robin Goodfellow of the neighbourhood,
-whose marbles were always rolling under other people's feet, and whose
-top-strings were always hanging in nooses to catch the unwary. Yes, he,
-the feeble, mild, almost girlish-looking lad, had once been a merry,
-happy rogue, and as such often cuffed by Mrs. Dixon, the very Mrs. Dixon
-who now stood gazing with the tears in her eyes. Could she, in sight of
-him, the changed, the fading, keep up a quarrel with his mother?
-
-"How long hast thou been here?" asked Dixon.
-
-"Welly on for all day," answered Libbie.
-
-"Hast never been to see the deer, or the king and queen oaks? Lord, how
-stupid."
-
-His wife pinched his arm, to remind him of Franky's helpless condition,
-which of course tethered the otherwise willing feet. But Dixon had a
-remedy. He called Bob, and one or two others, and each taking a corner
-of the strong plaid shawl, they slung Franky as in a hammock, and thus
-carried him merrily along, down the wood paths, over the smooth, grassy
-turf, while the glimmering shine and shadow fell on his upturned face.
-The women walked behind, talking, loitering along, always in sight of
-the hammock; now picking up some green treasure from the ground, now
-catching at the low hanging branches of the horse-chestnut. The soul
-grew much on this day, and in these woods, and all unconsciously, as
-souls do grow. They followed Franky's hammock-bearers up a grassy knoll,
-on the top of which stood a group of pine trees, whose stems looked like
-dark red gold in the sunbeams. They had taken Franky there to show him
-Manchester, far away in the blue plain, against which the woodland
-foreground cut with a soft clear line. Far, far away in the distance on
-that flat plain, you might see the motionless cloud of smoke hanging
-over a great town, and that was Manchester,--ugly, smoky Manchester,
-dear, busy, earnest, noble-working Manchester; where their children had
-been born, and where, perhaps, some lay buried; where their homes were,
-and where God had cast their lives, and told them to work out their
-destiny.
-
-"Hurrah! for oud smoke-jack!" cried Bob, putting Franky softly down on
-the grass, before he whirled his hat round, preparatory to a shout.
-"Hurrah! hurrah!" from all the men. "There's the rim of my hat lying
-like a quoit yonder," observed Bob quietly, as he replaced his brimless
-hat on his head with the gravity of a judge.
-
-"Here's the Sunday-school children a-coming to sit on this shady side,
-and have their buns and milk. Hark! they're singing the infant-school
-grace."
-
-They sat close at hand, so that Franky could hear the words they sang,
-in rings of children, making, in their gay summer prints, newly donned
-for that week, garlands of little faces, all happy and bright upon that
-green hill-side. One little "Dot" of a girl came shily behind Franky,
-whom she had long been watching, and threw her half-bun at his side, and
-then ran away and hid herself, in very shame at the boldness of her own
-sweet impulse. She kept peeping from her screen at Franky all the time;
-and he meanwhile was almost too much pleased and happy to eat; the world
-was so beautiful, and men, women, and children all so tender and kind;
-so softened, in fact, by the beauty of this earth, so unconsciously
-touched by the spirit of love, which was the Creator of this lovely
-earth. But the day drew to an end; the heat declined; the birds once
-more began their warblings; the fresh scents again hung about plant,
-and tree, and grass, betokening the fragrant presence of the reviving
-dew, and--the boat time was near. As they trod the meadow-path once
-more, they were joined by many a party they had encountered during
-the day, all abounding in happiness, all full of the day's adventures.
-Long-cherished quarrels had been forgotten, new friendships formed.
-Fresh tastes and higher delights had been imparted that day. We have all
-of us our look, now and then, called up by some noble or loving thought
-(our highest on earth), which will be our likeness in heaven. I can
-catch the glance on many a face, the glancing light of the cloud of
-glory from heaven, "which is our home." That look was present on many a
-hard-worked, wrinkled countenance, as they turned backwards to catch a
-longing, lingering look at Dunham woods, fast deepening into blackness
-of night, but whose memory was to haunt, in greenness and freshness,
-many a loom, and workshop, and factory, with images of peace and beauty.
-
-That night, as Libbie lay awake, revolving the incidents of the day, she
-caught Franky's voice through the open windows. Instead of the frequent
-moan of pain, he was trying to recall the burden of one of the
-children's hymns,--
-
-  Here we suffer grief and pain,
-  Here we meet to part again;
-    In Heaven we part no more.
-          Oh! that will be joyful, &c.
-
-She recalled his question, the whispered question, to her, in the
-happiest part of the day. He asked Libbie, "Is Dunham like heaven? the
-people here are as kind as angels, and I don't want heaven to be more
-beautiful than this place. If you and mother would but die with me, I
-should like to die, and live always there!" She had checked him, for
-she feared he was impious; but now the young child's craving for some
-definite idea of the land to which his inner wisdom told him he was
-hastening, had nothing in it wrong, or even sorrowful, for--
-
-  In Heaven we part no more.
-
-
-ERA III.
-
-MICHAELMAS.
-
-The church clocks had struck three; the crowds of gentlemen returning to
-business, after their early dinners, had disappeared within offices and
-warehouses; the streets were clear and quiet, and ladies were venturing
-to sally forth for their afternoon shoppings and their afternoon calls.
-
-Slowly, slowly, along the streets, elbowed by life at every turn, a
-little funeral wound its quiet way. Four men bore along a child's
-coffin; two women with bowed heads followed meekly.
-
-I need not tell you whose coffin it was, or who were those two
-mourners. All was now over with little Frank Hall: his romps, his games,
-his sickening, his suffering, his death. All was now over, but the
-Resurrection and the Life.
-
-His mother walked as in a stupor. Could it be that he was dead! If he
-had been less of an object of her thoughts, less of a motive for her
-labours, she could sooner have realized it. As it was, she followed
-his poor, cast-off, worn-out body as if she were borne along by some
-oppressive dream. If he were really dead, how could she be still alive?
-
-Libbie's mind was far less stunned, and consequently far more active,
-than Margaret Hall's. Visions, as in a phantasmagoria, came rapidly
-passing before her--recollections of the time (which seemed now so
-long ago) when the shadow of the feebly-waving arm first caught her
-attention; of the bright, strangely isolated day at Dunham Park, where
-the world had seemed so full of enjoyment, and beauty, and life; of
-the long-continued heat, through which poor Franky had panted away his
-strength in the little close room, where there was no escaping the hot
-rays of the afternoon sun; of the long nights when his mother and she
-had watched by his side, as he moaned continually, whether awake or
-asleep; of the fevered moaning slumber of exhaustion; of the pitiful
-little self-upbraidings for his own impatience of suffering, only
-impatient in his own eyes--most true and holy patience in the sight
-of others; and then the fading away of life, the loss of power, the
-increased unconsciousness, the lovely look of angelic peace, which
-followed the dark shadow on the countenance, where was he--what was he
-now?
-
-And so they laid him in his grave, and heard the solemn funeral words;
-but far off in the distance, as if not addressed to them.
-
-Margaret Hall bent over the grave to catch one last glance--she had
-not spoken, nor sobbed, nor done aught but shiver now and then, since
-the morning; but now her weight bore more heavily on Libbie's arm,
-and without sigh or sound she fell an unconscious heap on the piled-up
-gravel. They helped Libbie to bring her round; but long after her
-half-opened eyes and altered breathing showed that her senses were
-restored, she lay, speechless and motionless, without attempting to rise
-from her strange bed, as if the earth contained nothing worth even that
-trifling exertion.
-
-At last Libbie and she left that holy, consecrated spot, and bent
-their steps back to the only place more consecrated still; where he had
-rendered up his spirit; and where memories of him haunted each common,
-rude piece of furniture that their eyes fell upon. As the woman of the
-house opened the door, she pulled Libbie on one side, and said--
-
-"Anne Dixon has been across to see you; she wants to have a word with
-you."
-
-"I cannot go now," replied Libbie, as she pushed hastily along, in order
-to enter the room (_his_ room), at the same time with the childless
-mother: for, as she had anticipated, the sight of that empty spot, the
-glance at the uncurtained open window, letting in the fresh air, and the
-broad, rejoicing light of day, where all had so long been darkened and
-subdued, unlocked the waters of the fountain, and long and shrill were
-the cries for her boy that the poor woman uttered.
-
-"Oh! dear Mrs. Hall," said Libbie, herself drenched in tears, "do not
-take on so badly; I'm sure it would grieve _him_ sore if he were alive,
-and you know he is--Bible tells us so; and may be he's here watching how
-we go on without him, and hoping we don't fret over much."
-
-Mrs. Hall's sobs grew worse and more hysterical.
-
-"Oh! listen," said Libbie, once more struggling against her own increasing
-agitation. "Listen! there's Peter chirping as he always does when he's
-put about, frightened like; and you know he that's gone could never
-abide to hear the canary chirp in that shrill way."
-
-Margaret Hall did check herself, and curb her expressions of agony,
-in order not to frighten the little creature he had loved; and as her
-outward grief subsided, Libbie took up the large old Bible, which fell
-open at the never-failing comfort of the fourteenth chapter of St.
-John's Gospel.
-
-How often these large family Bibles do open at that chapter! as if,
-unused in more joyous and prosperous times, the soul went home to its
-words of loving sympathy when weary and sorrowful, just as the little
-child seeks the tender comfort of its mother in all its griefs and
-cares.
-
-And Margaret put back her wet, ruffled, grey hair from her heated,
-tear-stained, woeful face, and listened with such earnest eyes, trying
-to form some idea of the "Father's house," where her boy had gone to
-dwell.
-
-They were interrupted by a low tap at the door. Libbie went. "Anne Dixon
-has watched you home, and wants to have a word with you," said the woman
-of the house, in a whisper. Libbie went back and closed the book, with a
-word of explanation to Margaret Hall, and then ran downstairs, to learn
-the reason of Anne's anxiety to see her.
-
-"Oh, Libbie!" she burst out with, and then, checking herself with the
-remembrance of Libbie's last solemn duty, "how's Margaret Hall? But,
-of course, poor thing, she'll fret a bit at first; she'll be some time
-coming round, mother says, seeing it's as well that poor lad is taken;
-for he'd always ha' been a cripple, and a trouble to her--he was a fine
-lad once, too."
-
-She had come full of another and a different subject; but the sight of
-Libbie's sad, weeping face, and the quiet, subdued tone of her manner,
-made her feel it awkward to begin on any other theme than the one which
-filled up her companion's mind. To her last speech Libbie answered
-sorrowfully--
-
-"No doubt, Anne, it's ordered for the best; but oh! don't call him,
-don't think he could ever ha' been, a trouble to his mother, though he
-were a cripple. She loved him all the more for each thing she had to do
-for him--I am sure I did." Libbie cried a little behind her apron. Anne
-Dixon felt still more awkward in introducing the discordant subject.
-
-"Well! 'flesh is grass,' Bible says," and having fulfilled the etiquette
-of quoting a text if possible, if not of making a moral observation on
-the fleeting nature of earthly things, she thought she was at liberty to
-pass on to her real errand.
-
-"You must not go on moping yourself, Libbie Marsh. What I wanted special
-for to see you this afternoon, was to tell you, you must come to my
-wedding to-morrow. Nanny Dawson has fallen sick, and there's none as I
-should like to have bridesmaid in her place as well as you."
-
-"To-morrow! Oh, I cannot!--indeed I cannot!"
-
-"Why not?"
-
-Libbie did not answer, and Anne Dixon grew impatient.
-
-"Surely, in the name o' goodness, you're never going to baulk yourself
-of a day's pleasure for the sake of yon little cripple that's dead and
-gone!"
-
-"No,--it's not baulking myself of--don't be angry, Anne Dixon, with him,
-please; but I don't think it would be a pleasure to me,--I don't feel as
-if I could enjoy it; thank you all the same. But I did love that little
-lad very dearly--I did," sobbing a little, "and I can't forget him and
-make merry so soon."
-
-"Well--I never!" exclaimed Anne, almost angrily.
-
-"Indeed, Anne, I feel your kindness, and you and Bob have my best
-wishes,--that's what you have; but even if I went, I should be thinking
-all day of him, and of his poor, poor mother, and they say it's bad to
-think very much on them that's dead, at a wedding."
-
-"Nonsense," said Anne, "I'll take the risk of the ill-luck. After all,
-what is marrying? Just a spree, Bob says. He often says he does not
-think I shall make him a good wife, for I know nought about house
-matters, wi' working in a factory; but he says he'd rather be uneasy wi'
-me than easy wi' anybody else. There's love for you! And I tell him I'd
-rather have him tipsy than any one else sober."
-
-"Oh! Anne Dixon, hush! you don't know yet what it is to have a drunken
-husband. I have seen something of it: father used to get fuddled, and,
-in the long run, it killed mother, let alone--oh! Anne, God above only
-knows what the wife of a drunken man has to bear. Don't tell," said she,
-lowering her voice, "but father killed our little baby in one of his
-bouts; mother never looked up again, nor father either, for that matter,
-only his was in a different way. Mother will have gotten to little
-Jemmie now, and they'll be so happy together,--and perhaps Franky too.
-Oh!" said she, recovering herself from her train of thought, "never say
-aught lightly of the wife's lot whose husband is given to drink!"
-
-"Dear, what a preachment. I tell you what, Libbie, you're as born an
-old maid as ever I saw. You'll never be married to either drunken or
-sober."
-
-Libbie's face went rather red, but without losing its meek expression.
-
-"I know that as well as you can tell me; and more reason, therefore, as
-God has seen fit to keep me out of woman's natural work, I should try
-and find work for myself. I mean," seeing Anne Dixon's puzzled look,
-"that as I know I'm never likely to have a home of my own, or a husband
-that would look to me to make all straight, or children to watch over or
-care for, all which I take to be woman's natural work, I must not lose
-time in fretting and fidgetting after marriage, but just look about me
-for somewhat else to do. I can see many a one misses it in this. They
-will hanker after what is ne'er likely to be theirs, instead of facing
-it out, and settling down to be old maids; and, as old maids, just
-looking round for the odd jobs God leaves in the world for such as old
-maids to do. There's plenty of such work, and there's the blessing of
-God on them as does it." Libbie was almost out of breath at this
-outpouring of what had long been her inner thoughts.
-
-"That's all very true, I make no doubt, for them as is to be old maids;
-but as I'm not, please God to-morrow comes, you might have spared your
-breath to cool your porridge. What I want to know is, whether you'll be
-bridesmaid to-morrow or not. Come, now do; it will do you good, after
-all your working, and watching, and slaving yourself for that poor
-Franky Hall."
-
-"It was one of my odd jobs," said Libbie, smiling, though her eyes were
-brimming over with tears; "but, dear Anne," said she, recovering
-itself, "I could not do it to-morrow, indeed I could not."
-
-"And I can't wait," said Anne Dixon, almost sulkily, "Bob and I put it
-off from to-day, because of the funeral, and Bob had set his heart on
-its being on Michaelmas-day; and mother says the goose won't keep beyond
-to-morrow. Do come: father finds eatables, and Bob finds drink, and we
-shall be so jolly! and after we've been to church, we're to walk round
-the town in pairs, white satin ribbon in our bonnets, and refreshments
-at any public-house we like, Bob says. And after dinner there's to be a
-dance. Don't be a fool; you can do no good by staying. Margaret Hall
-will have to go out washing, I'll be bound."
-
-"Yes, she must go to Mrs. Wilkinson's, and, for that matter, I must go
-working too. Mrs. Williams has been after me to make her girl's winter
-things ready; only I could not leave Franky, he clung so to me."
-
-"Then you won't be bridesmaid! is that your last word?"
-
-"It is; you must not be angry with me, Anne Dixon," said Libbie,
-deprecatingly.
-
-But Anne was gone without a reply.
-
-With a heavy heart Libbie mounted the little staircase, for she felt
-how ungracious her refusal of Anne's kindness must appear, to one who
-understood so little the feelings which rendered her acceptance of it a
-moral impossibility.
-
-On opening the door she saw Margaret Hall, with the Bible open on the
-table before her. For she had puzzled out the place where Libbie was
-reading, and, with her finger under the line, was spelling out the words
-of consolation, piecing the syllables together aloud, with the earnest
-anxiety of comprehension with which a child first learns to read. So
-Libbie took the stool by her side, before she was aware that any one had
-entered the room.
-
-"What did she want you for?" asked Margaret. "But I can guess; she
-wanted you to be at th' wedding that is to come off this week, they say.
-Ay, they'll marry, and laugh, and dance, all as one as if my boy was
-alive," said she, bitterly. "Well, he was neither kith nor kin of yours,
-so I maun try and be thankful for what you've done for him, and not
-wonder at your forgetting him afore he's well settled in his grave."
-
-"I never can forget him, and I'm not going to the wedding," said Libbie,
-quietly, for she understood the mother's jealousy of her dead child's
-claims.
-
-"I must go work at Mrs. Williams' to-morrow," she said, in explanation,
-for she was unwilling to boast of her tender, fond regret, which had
-been her principal motive for declining Anne's invitation.
-
-"And I mun go washing, just as if nothing had happened," sighed forth
-Mrs. Hall, "and I mun come home at night, and find his place empty, and
-all still where I used to be sure of hearing his voice ere ever I got
-up the stair: no one will ever call me mother again." She fell crying
-pitifully, and Libbie could not speak for her own emotion for some time.
-But during this silence she put the keystone in the arch of thoughts she
-had been building up for many days; and when Margaret was again calm in
-her sorrow, Libbie said, "Mrs. Hall, I should like--would you like me to
-come for to live here altogether?"
-
-Margaret Hall looked up with a sudden light in her countenance, which
-encouraged Libbie to go on.
-
-"I could sleep with you, and pay half, you know; and we should be together
-in the evenings; and her as was home first would watch for the other,
-and" (dropping her voice) "we could talk of him at nights, you know."
-
-She was going on, but Mrs. Hall interrupted her.
-
-"Oh, Libbie Marsh! and can you really think of coming to live wi' me. I
-should like it above--but no! it must not be; you've no notion on what a
-creature I am, at times; more like a mad one when I'm in a rage, and I
-cannot keep it down. I seem to get out of bed wrong side in the morning,
-and I must have my passion out with the first person I meet. Why, Libbie,"
-said she, with a doleful look of agony on her face, "I even used to fly
-out on him, poor sick lad as he was, and you may judge how little you
-can keep it down frae that. No, you must not come. I must live alone
-now," sinking her voice into the low tones of despair.
-
-But Libbie's resolution was brave and strong. "I'm not afraid," said
-she, smiling. "I know you better than you know yourself, Mrs. Hall. I've
-seen you try of late to keep it down, when you've been boiling over, and
-I think you'll go on a-doing so. And at any rate, when you've had your
-fit out, you're very kind, and I can forget if you've been a bit put
-out. But I'll try not to put you out. Do let me come: I think _he_ would
-like us to keep together. I'll do my very best to make you comfortable."
-
-"It's me! it's me as will be making your life miserable with my temper;
-or else, God knows, how my heart clings to you. You and me is folk
-alone in the world, for we both loved one who is dead, and who had none
-else to love him. If you will live with me, Libbie, I'll try as I never
-did afore to be gentle and quiet-tempered. Oh! will you try me, Libbie
-Marsh?" So out of the little grave there sprang a hope and a resolution,
-which made life an object to each of the two.
-
-
-When Elizabeth Marsh returned home the next evening from her day's
-labours, Anne (Dixon no longer) crossed over, all in her bridal finery,
-to endeavour to induce her to join the dance going on in her father's
-house.
-
-"Dear Anne, this is good of you, a-thinking of me to-night," said
-Libbie, kissing her, "and though I cannot come,--I've promised Mrs. Hall
-to be with her,--I shall think on you, and I trust you'll be happy. I
-have got a little needle-case I have looked out for you; stay, here it
-is,--I wish it were more--only----"
-
-"Only, I know what. You've been a-spending all your money in nice
-things for poor Franky. Thou'rt a real good un, Libbie, and I'll keep
-your needle-book to my dying day, that I will." Seeing Anne in such a
-friendly mood, emboldened Libbie to tell her of her change of place; of
-her intention of lodging henceforward with Margaret Hall.
-
-"Thou never will! Why father and mother are as fond of thee as can be;
-they'll lower thy rent if that's what it is--and thou knowst they never
-grudge thee bit or drop. And Margaret Hall, of all folk, to lodge wi'!
-She's such a Tartar! Sooner than not have a quarrel, she'd fight right
-hand against left. Thou'lt have no peace of thy life. What on earth can
-make you think of such a thing, Libbie Marsh?"
-
-"She'll be so lonely without me," pleaded Libbie. "I'm sure I could make
-her happier, even if she did scold me a bit now and then, than she'd be
-a living alone, and I'm not afraid of her; and I mean to do my best not
-to vex her: and it will ease her heart, maybe, to talk to me at times
-about Franky. I shall often see your father and mother, and I shall
-always thank them for their kindness to me. But they have you and little
-Mary, and poor Mrs. Hall has no one."
-
-Anne could only repeat, "Well, I never!" and hurry off to tell the news
-at home.
-
-But Libbie was right. Margaret Hall is a different woman to the scold
-of the neighbourhood she once was; touched and softened by the two
-purifying angels, Sorrow and Love. And it is beautiful to see her
-affection, her reverence, for Libbie Marsh. Her dead mother could hardly
-have cared for her more tenderly than does the hard-hearted washerwoman,
-not long ago so fierce and unwomanly. Libbie, herself, has such peace
-shining on her countenance, as almost makes it beautiful, as she tenders
-the services of a daughter to Franky's mother, no longer the desolate
-lonely orphan, a stranger on the earth.
-
-
-Do you ever read the moral, concluding sentence of a story? I never do,
-but I once (in the year 1811, I think) heard of a deaf old lady, living
-by herself, who did; and as she may have left some descendants with
-the same amiable peculiarity, I will put in, for their benefit, what I
-believe to be the secret of Libbie's peace of mind, the real reason why
-she no longer feels oppressed at her own loneliness in the world,--
-
-
-She has a purpose in life; and that purpose is a holy one.
-
-
-
-
-CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE.
-
-
-In the town of ---- (no matter where) there circulated two local
-newspapers (no matter when). Now the _Flying Post_ was long established
-and respectable--alias bigoted and Tory; the _Examiner_ was spirited
-and intelligent--alias new-fangled and democratic. Every week these
-newspapers contained articles abusing each other; as cross and peppery
-as articles could be, and evidently the production of irritated minds,
-although they seemed to have one stereotyped commencement,--"Though
-the article appearing in last week's _Post_ (or _Examiner_) is below
-contempt, yet we have been induced," &c., &c., and every Saturday the
-Radical shopkeepers shook hands together, and agreed that the _Post_ was
-done for, by the slashing, clever _Examiner_; while the more dignified
-Tories began by regretting that Johnson should think that low paper,
-only read by a few of the vulgar, worth wasting his wit upon; however
-the _Examiner_ was at its last gasp.
-
-It was not though. It lived and flourished; at least it paid its way, as
-one of the heroes of my story could tell. He was chief compositor, or
-whatever title may be given to the head-man of the mechanical part of a
-newspaper. He hardly confined himself to that department. Once or twice,
-unknown to the editor, when the manuscript had fallen short, he had
-filled up the vacant space by compositions of his own; announcements of
-a forthcoming crop of green peas in December; a grey thrush having been
-seen, or a white hare, or such interesting phenomena; invented for the
-occasion, I must confess; but what of that? His wife always knew when to
-expect a little specimen of her husband's literary talent by a peculiar
-cough, which served as prelude; and, judging from this encouraging sign,
-and the high-pitched and emphatic voice in which he read them, she was
-inclined to think, that an "Ode to an early Rose-bud," in the corner
-devoted to original poetry, and a letter in the correspondence department,
-signed "Pro Bono Publico," were her husband's writing, and to hold up
-her head accordingly.
-
-I never could find out what it was that occasioned the Hodgsons to lodge
-in the same house as the Jenkinses. Jenkins held the same office in
-the Tory paper as Hodgson did in the _Examiner_, and, as I said before,
-I leave you to give it a name. But Jenkins had a proper sense of his
-position, and a proper reverence for all in authority, from the king
-down to the editor and sub-editor. He would as soon have thought of
-borrowing the king's crown for a nightcap, or the king's sceptre for a
-walking-stick, as he would have thought of filling up any spare corner
-with any production of his own; and I think it would have even added
-to his contempt of Hodgson (if that were possible), had he known of
-the "productions of his brain," as the latter fondly alluded to the
-paragraphs he inserted, when speaking to his wife.
-
-Jenkins had his wife too. Wives were wanting to finish the completeness
-of the quarrel, which existed one memorable Christmas week, some dozen
-years ago, between the two neighbours, the two compositors. And with
-wives, it was a very pretty, a very complete quarrel. To make the
-opposing parties still more equal, still more well-matched, if the
-Hodgsons had a baby ("such a baby!--a poor, puny little thing"), Mrs.
-Jenkins had a cat ("such a cat! a great, nasty, miowling tom-cat, that
-was always stealing the milk put by for little Angel's supper"). And
-now, having matched Greek with Greek, I must proceed to the tug of war.
-It was the day before Christmas; such a cold east wind! such an inky
-sky! such a blue-black look in people's faces, as they were driven out
-more than usual, to complete their purchases for the next day's
-festival.
-
-Before leaving home that morning, Jenkins had given some money to his
-wife to buy the next day's dinner.
-
-"My dear, I wish for turkey and sausages. It may be a weakness, but I
-own I am partial to sausages. My deceased mother was. Such tastes are
-hereditary. As to the sweets--whether plum-pudding or mince-pies--I
-leave such considerations to you; I only beg you not to mind expense.
-Christmas comes but once a year."
-
-And again he had called out from the bottom of the first flight of
-stairs, just close to the Hodgsons' door ("such ostentatiousness," as
-Mrs. Hodgson observed), "You will not forget the sausages, my dear?"
-
-"I should have liked to have had something above common, Mary," said
-Hodgson, as they too made their plans for the next day, "but I think
-roast beef must do for us. You see, love, we've a family."
-
-"Only one, Jem! I don't want more than roast beef, though, I'm sure.
-Before I went to service, mother and me would have thought roast beef
-a very fine dinner."
-
-"Well, let's settle it then, roast beef and a plum-pudding; and now,
-good-by. Mind and take care of little Tom. I thought he was a bit hoarse
-this morning."
-
-And off he went to his work.
-
-Now, it was a good while since Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Hodgson had spoken
-to each other, although they were quite as much in possession of the
-knowledge of events and opinions as though they did. Mary knew that Mrs.
-Jenkins despised her for not having a real lace cap, which Mrs. Jenkins
-had; and for having been a servant, which Mrs. Jenkins had not; and the
-little occasional pinchings which the Hodgsons were obliged to resort
-to, to make both ends meet, would have been very patiently endured by
-Mary, if she had not winced under Mrs. Jenkins's knowledge of such
-economy. But she had her revenge. She had a child, and Mrs. Jenkins had
-none. To have had a child, even such a puny baby as little Tom, Mrs.
-Jenkins would have worn commonest caps, and cleaned grates, and drudged
-her fingers to the bone. The great unspoken disappointment of her life
-soured her temper, and turned her thoughts inward, and made her morbid
-and selfish.
-
-"Hang that cat! he's been stealing again! he's gnawed the cold mutton in
-his nasty mouth till it's not fit to set before a Christian; and I've
-nothing else for Jem's dinner. But I'll give it him now I've caught him,
-that I will!"
-
-So saying, Mary Hodgson caught up her husband's Sunday cane, and despite
-pussy's cries and scratches, she gave him such a beating as she hoped
-might cure him of his thievish propensities; when lo! and behold, Mrs.
-Jenkins stood at the door with a face of bitter wrath.
-
-"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, ma'am, to abuse a poor dumb animal,
-ma'am, as knows no better than to take food when he sees it, ma'am? He
-only follows the nature which God has given, ma'am; and it's a pity your
-nature, ma'am, which I've heard, is of the stingy saving species, does
-not make you shut your cupboard-door a little closer. There is such a
-thing as law for brute animals. I'll ask Mr. Jenkins, but I don't think
-them Radicals has done away with that law yet, for all their Reform
-Bill, ma'am. My poor precious love of a Tommy, is he hurt? and is his
-leg broke for taking a mouthful of scraps, as most people would give
-away to a beggar,--if he'd take 'em?" wound up Mrs. Jenkins, casting a
-contemptuous look on the remnant of a scrag end of mutton.
-
-Mary felt very angry and very guilty. For she really pitied the poor
-limping animal as he crept up to his mistress, and there lay down to
-bemoan himself; she wished she had not beaten him so hard, for it
-certainly was her own careless way of never shutting the cupboard-door
-that had tempted him to his fault. But the sneer at her little bit of
-mutton turned her penitence to fresh wrath, and she shut the door in
-Mrs. Jenkins's face, as she stood caressing her cat in the lobby, with
-such a bang, that it wakened little Tom, and he began to cry.
-
-Everything was to go wrong with Mary to-day. Now baby was awake, who was
-to take her husband's dinner to the office? She took the child in her
-arms, and tried to hush him off to sleep again, and as she sung she
-cried, she could hardly tell why,--a sort of reaction from her violent
-angry feelings. She wished she had never beaten the poor cat; she wondered
-if his leg was really broken. What would her mother say if she knew how
-cross and cruel her little Mary was getting? If she should live to beat
-her child in one of her angry fits?
-
-It was of no use lullabying while she sobbed so; it must be given up,
-and she must just carry her baby in her arms, and take him with her to
-the office, for it was long past dinner-time. So she pared the mutton
-carefully, although by so doing she reduced the meat to an infinitesimal
-quantity, and taking the baked potatoes out of the oven, she popped them
-piping hot into her basket with the et-c�teras of plate, butter, salt,
-and knife and fork.
-
-It was, indeed, a bitter wind. She bent against it as she ran, and the
-flakes of snow were sharp and cutting as ice. Baby cried all the way,
-though she cuddled him up in her shawl. Then her husband had made his
-appetite up for a potato pie, and (literary man as he was) his body got
-so much the better of his mind, that he looked rather black at the cold
-mutton. Mary had no appetite for her own dinner when she arrived at
-home again. So, after she had tried to feed baby, and he had fretfully
-refused to take his bread and milk, she laid him down as usual on his
-quilt, surrounded by playthings, while she sided away, and chopped
-suet for the next day's pudding. Early in the afternoon a parcel came,
-done up first in brown paper, then in such a white, grass-bleached,
-sweet-smelling towel, and a note from her dear, dear mother; in which
-quaint writing she endeavoured to tell her daughter that she was not
-forgotten at Christmas time; but that learning that Farmer Burton was
-killing his pig, she had made interest for some of his famous pork, out
-of which she had manufactured some sausages, and flavoured them just as
-Mary used to like when she lived at home.
-
-"Dear, dear mother!" said Mary to herself. "There never was any one like
-her for remembering other folk. What rare sausages she used to make!
-Home things have a smack with 'em, no bought things can ever have. Set
-them up with their sausages! I've a notion if Mrs. Jenkins had ever
-tasted mother's she'd have no fancy for them town-made things Fanny took
-in just now."
-
-And so she went on thinking about home, till the smiles and the dimples
-came out again at the remembrance of that pretty cottage, which would
-look green even now in the depth of winter, with its pyracanthus, and
-its holly-bushes, and the great Portugal laurel that was her mother's
-pride. And the back path through the orchard to Farmer Burton's; how
-well she remembered it. The bushels of unripe apples she had picked up
-there, and distributed among his pigs, till he had scolded her for
-giving them so much green trash.
-
-She was interrupted--her baby (I call him a baby, because his father and
-mother did, and because he was so little of his age, but I rather think
-he was eighteen months old,) had fallen asleep some time before among
-his playthings; an uneasy, restless sleep; but of which Mary had been
-thankful, as his morning's nap had been too short, and as she was so
-busy. But now he began to make such a strange crowing noise, just like
-a chair drawn heavily and gratingly along a kitchen-floor! His eyes was
-open, but expressive of nothing but pain.
-
-"Mother's darling!" said Mary, in terror, lifting him up. "Baby, try not
-to make that noise. Hush, hush, darling; what hurts him?" But the noise
-came worse and worse.
-
-"Fanny! Fanny!" Mary called in mortal fright, for her baby was almost
-black with his gasping breath, and she had no one to ask for aid
-or sympathy but her landlady's daughter, a little girl of twelve or
-thirteen, who attended to the house in her mother's absence, as daily
-cook in gentlemen's families. Fanny was more especially considered the
-attendant of the upstairs lodgers (who paid for the use of the kitchin,
-"for Jenkins could not abide the smell of meat cooking"), but just now
-she was fortunately sitting at her afternoon's work of darning
-stockings, and hearing Mrs. Hodgson's cry of terror, she ran to her
-sitting-room, and understood the case at a glance.
-
-"He's got the croup! Oh, Mrs. Hodgson, he'll die as sure as fate. Little
-brother had it, and he died in no time. The doctor said he could do
-nothing for him--it had gone too far. He said if we'd put him in a warm
-bath at first, it might have saved him; but, bless you! he was never
-half so bad as your baby." Unconsciously there mingled in her statement
-some of a child's love of producing an effect; but the increasing
-danger was clear enough.
-
-"Oh, my baby! my baby! Oh, love, love! don't look so ill; I cannot
-bear it. And my fire so low! There, I was thinking of home, and picking
-currants, and never minding the fire. Oh, Fanny! what is the fire like
-in the kitchen? Speak."
-
-"Mother told me to screw it up, and throw some slack on as soon as Mrs.
-Jenkins had done with it, and so I did. It's very low and black. But,
-oh, Mrs. Hodgson! let me run for the doctor--I cannot abear to hear him,
-it's so like little brother."
-
-Through her streaming tears Mary motioned her to go; and trembling,
-sinking, sick at heart, she laid her boy in his cradle, and ran to fill
-her kettle.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins, having cooked her husband's snug little dinner, to which
-he came home; having told him her story of pussy's beating, at which he
-was justly and dignifiedly indignant, saying it was all of a piece with
-that abusive _Examiner_; having received the sausages, and turkey, and
-mince pies, which her husband had ordered; and cleaned up the room, and
-prepared everything for tea, and coaxed and duly bemoaned her cat (who
-had pretty nearly forgotten his beating, but very much enjoyed the
-petting), having done all these and many other things, Mrs. Jenkins sate
-down to get up the real lace cap. Every thread was pulled out
-separately, and carefully stretched: when, what was that? Outside, in
-the street, a chorus of piping children's voices sang the old carol she
-had heard a hundred times in the days of her youth:--
-
-  "As Joseph was a walking he heard an angel sing,
-  'This night shall be born our heavenly King.
-  He neither shall be born in housen nor in hall,
-  Nor in the place of Paradise, but in an ox's stall.
-  He neither shall be clothed in purple nor in pall,
-  But all in fair linen, as were babies all:
-  He neither shall be rocked in silver nor in gold,
-  But in a wooden cradle that rocks on the mould,'" &c.
-
-She got up and went to the window. There, below, stood the group of grey
-black little figures, relieved against the snow, which now enveloped
-everything. "For old sake's sake," as she phrased it, she counted out a
-halfpenny apiece for the singers, out of the copper bag, and threw them
-down below.
-
-The room had become chilly while she had been counting out and throwing
-down her money, so she stirred her already glowing fire, and sat down
-right before it--but not to stretch her lace; like Mary Hodgson, she
-began to think over long-past days, on softening remembrances of the
-dead and gone, on words long forgotten, on holy stories heard at her
-mother's knee.
-
-"I cannot think what's come over me to-night," said she, half aloud,
-recovering herself by the sound of her own voice from her train of
-thought--"My head goes wandering on them old times. I'm sure more texts
-have come into my head with thinking on my mother within this last half
-hour, than I've thought on for years and years. I hope I'm not going to
-die. Folks say, thinking too much on the dead betokens we're going to
-join 'em; I should be loth to go just yet--such a fine turkey as we've
-got for dinner to-morrow, too!"
-
-Knock, knock, knock, at the door, as fast as knuckles could go. And
-then, as if the comer could not wait, the door was opened, and Mary
-Hodgson stood there as white as death.
-
-"Mrs. Jenkins!--oh, your kettle is boiling, thank God! Let me have the
-water for my baby, for the love of God! He's got croup, and is dying!"
-
-Mrs. Jenkins turned on her chair with a wooden inflexible look on her
-face, that (between ourselves) her husband knew and dreaded for all his
-pompous dignity.
-
-"I'm sorry I can't oblige you, ma'am; my kettle is wanted for my
-husband's tea. Don't be afeared, Tommy, Mrs. Hodgson won't venture to
-intrude herself where she's not desired. You'd better send for the
-doctor, ma'am, instead of wasting your time in wringing your hands,
-ma'am--my kettle is engaged."
-
-Mary clasped her hands together with passionate force, but spoke no word
-of entreaty to that wooden face--that sharp, determined voice; but, as
-she turned away, she prayed for strength to bear the coming trial, and
-strength to forgive Mrs. Jenkins.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins watched her go away meekly, as one who has no hope, and
-then she turned upon herself as sharply as she ever did on any one else.
-
-"What a brute I am, Lord forgive me! What's my husband's tea to a baby's
-life? In croup, too, where time is everything. You crabbed old vixen,
-you!--any one may know you never had a child!"
-
-She was down stairs (kettle in hand) before she had finished her
-self-upbraiding; and when in Mrs. Hodgson's room, she rejected all
-thanks (Mary had not the voice for many words), saying, stiffly, "I do
-it for the poor babby's sake, ma'am, hoping he may live to have mercy
-to poor dumb beasts, if he does forget to lock his cupboards."
-
-But she did everything, and more than Mary, with her young inexperience,
-could have thought of. She prepared the warm bath, and tried it with her
-husband's own thermometer (Mr. Jenkins was as punctual as clockwork in
-noting down the temperature of every day). She let his mother place her
-baby in the tub, still preserving the same rigid, affronted aspect, and
-then she went upstairs without a word. Mary longed to ask her to stay,
-but dared not; though, when she left the room, the tears chased each
-other down her cheeks faster than ever. Poor young mother! how she
-counted the minutes till the doctor should come. But, before he came,
-down again stalked Mrs. Jenkins, with something in her hand.
-
-"I've seen many of these croup-fits, which, I take it, you've not, ma'am.
-Mustard plaisters is very sovereign, put on the throat; I've been up and
-made one, ma'am, and, by your leave, I'll put it on the poor little
-fellow."
-
-Mary could not speak, but she signed her grateful assent.
-
-It began to smart while they still kept silence; and he looked up to his
-mother as if seeking courage from her looks to bear the stinging pain;
-but she was softly crying, to see him suffer, and her want of courage
-reacted upon him, and he began to sob aloud. Instantly Mrs. Jenkins's
-apron was up, hiding her face: "Peep-bo, baby," said she, as merrily
-as she could. His little face brightened, and his mother having once
-got the cue, the two women kept the little fellow amused, until his
-plaister had taken effect.
-
-"He's better,--oh, Mrs. Jenkins, look at his eyes! how different! And he
-breathes quite softly----"
-
-As Mary spoke thus, the doctor entered. He examined his patient. Baby
-was really better.
-
-"It has been a sharp attack, but the remedies you have applied have been
-worth all the Pharmacopoeia an hour later.--I shall send a powder," &c.
-&c.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins stayed to hear this opinion; and (her heart wonderfully
-more easy) was going to leave the room, when Mary seized her hand and
-kissed it; she could not speak her gratitude.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins looked affronted and awkward, and as if she must go
-upstairs and wash her hand directly.
-
-But, in spite of these sour looks, she came softly down an hour or so
-afterwards to see how baby was.
-
-The little gentleman slept well after the fright he had given his
-friends; and on Christmas morning, when Mary awoke and looked at the
-sweet little pale face lying on her arm, she could hardly realize the
-danger he had been in.
-
-When she came down (later than usual), she found the household in a
-commotion. What do you think had happened? Why, pussy had been a traitor
-to his best friend, and eaten up some of Mr. Jenkins's own especial
-sausages; and gnawed and tumbled the rest so, that they were not fit to
-be eaten! There were no bounds to that cat's appetite! he would have
-eaten his own father if he had been tender enough. And now Mrs. Jenkins
-stormed and cried--"Hang the cat!"
-
-Christmas Day, too! and all the shops shut! "What was turkey without
-sausages?" gruffly asked Mr. Jenkins.
-
-"Oh, Jem!" whispered Mary, "hearken what a piece of work he's making
-about sausages,--I should like to take Mrs. Jenkins up some of mother's;
-they're twice as good as bought sausages."
-
-"I see no objection, my dear. Sausages do not involve intimacies, else
-his politics are what I can no ways respect."
-
-"But, oh, Jem, if you had seen her last night about baby! I'm sure
-she may scold me for ever, and I'll not answer. I'd even make her cat
-welcome to the sausages." The tears gathered to Mary's eyes as she
-kissed her boy.
-
-"Better take 'em upstairs, my dear, and give them to the cat's
-mistress." And Jem chuckled at his saying.
-
-Mary put them on a plate, but still she loitered.
-
-"What must I say, Jem? I never know."
-
-"Say--I hope you'll accept of these sausages, as my mother--no, that's
-not grammar;--say what comes uppermost, Mary, it will be sure to be
-right."
-
-So Mary carried them upstairs and knocked at the door; and when told to
-"come in," she looked very red, but went up to Mrs. Jenkins, saying,
-"Please take these. Mother made them." And was away before an answer
-could be given.
-
-Just as Hodgson was ready to go to church, Mrs. Jenkins came downstairs,
-and called Fanny. In a minute, the latter entered the Hodgsons' room,
-and delivered Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins's compliments, and they would be
-particular glad if Mr. and Mrs. Hodgson would eat their dinner with
-them.
-
-"And carry baby upstairs in a shawl, be sure," added Mrs. Jenkins's
-voice in the passage, close to the door, whither she had followed her
-messenger. There was no discussing the matter, with the certainty of
-every word being overheard.
-
-Mary looked anxiously at her husband. She remembered his saying he did
-not approve of Mr. Jenkins's politics.
-
-"Do you think it would do for baby?" asked he.
-
-"Oh, yes," answered she, eagerly; "I would wrap him up so warm."
-
-"And I've got our room up to sixty-five already, for all it's so
-frosty," added the voice outside.
-
-Now, how do you think they settled the matter? The very best way in the
-world. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins came down into the Hodgsons' room, and dined
-there. Turkey at the top, roast beef at the bottom, sausages at one side,
-potatoes at the other. Second course, plum-pudding at the top, and mince
-pies at the bottom.
-
-And after dinner, Mrs. Jenkins would have baby on her knee; and he
-seemed quite to take to her; she declared he was admiring the real lace
-on her cap, but Mary thought (though she did not say so) that he was
-pleased by her kind looks and coaxing words. Then he was wrapped up and
-carried carefully upstairs to tea, in Mrs. Jenkins's room. And after
-tea, Mrs. Jenkins, and Mary, and her husband, found out each other's
-mutual liking for music, and sat singing old glees and catches, till I
-don't know what o'clock, without one word of politics or newspapers.
-
-Before they parted, Mary had coaxed pussy on to her knee; for Mrs.
-Jenkins would not part with baby, who was sleeping on her lap.
-
-"When you're busy, bring him to me. Do, now, it will be a real favour. I
-know you must have a deal to do, with another coming; let him come up to
-me. I'll take the greatest of cares of him; pretty darling, how sweet he
-looks when he's asleep!"
-
-When the couples were once more alone, the husbands unburdened their
-minds to their wives.
-
-Mr. Jenkins said to his--"Do you know, Burgess tried to make me believe
-Hodgson was such a fool as to put paragraphs into the _Examiner_ now and
-then; but I see he knows his place, and has got too much sense to do any
-such thing."
-
-Hodgson said--"Mary, love, I almost fancy from Jenkins's way of speaking
-(so much civiler than I expected), he guesses I wrote that 'Pro Bono'
-and the 'Rose-bud,'--at any rate, I've no objection to your naming it,
-if the subject should come uppermost; I should like him to know I'm a
-literary man."
-
-Well! I've ended my tale; I hope you don't think it too long; but, before
-I go, just let me say one thing.
-
-If any of you have any quarrels, or misunderstandings, or coolnesses, or
-cold shoulders, or shynesses, or tiffs, or miffs, or huffs, with any one
-else, just make friends before Christmas,--you will be so much merrier
-if you do.
-
-I ask it of you for the sake of that old angelic song, heard so many
-years ago by the shepherds, keeping watch by night, on Bethlehem
-Heights.
-
-
-
-
-HAND AND HEART.
-
-
-"Mother, I should so like to have a great deal of money," said little
-Tom Fletcher one evening, as he sat on a low stool by his mother's knee.
-His mother was knitting busily by the firelight, and they had both been
-silent for some time.
-
-"What would you do with a great deal of money if you had it?"
-
-"Oh! I don't know--I would do a great many things. But should not you
-like to have a great deal of money, mother?" persisted he.
-
-"Perhaps I should," answered Mrs. Fletcher. "I am like you sometimes,
-dear, and think that I should be very glad of a little more money. But
-then I don't think I am like you in one thing, for I have always some
-little plan in my mind, for which I should want the money. I never wish
-for it just for its own sake."
-
-"Why, mother! there are so many things we could do if we had but
-money;--real good, wise things I mean."
-
-"And if we have real good, wise things in our head to do, which cannot
-be done without money, I can quite enter into the wish for money. But
-you know, my little boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise
-thing."
-
-"No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise things just then, but
-only how much I should like money to do what I liked," answered little
-Tom ingenuously, looking up in his mother's face. She smiled down upon
-him, and stroked his head. He knew she was pleased with him for having
-told her openly what was passing in his mind. Presently he began again.
-
-"Mother, if you wanted to do something very good and wise, and if you
-could not do it without money, what should you do?"
-
-"There are two ways of obtaining money for such wants; one is by earning;
-and the other is by saving. Now both are good, because both imply
-self-denial. Do you understand me, Tom? If you have to earn money, you
-must steadily go on doing what you do not like perhaps; such as working
-when you would like to be playing, or in bed, or sitting talking with me
-over the fire. You deny yourself these little pleasures; and that is
-a good habit in itself, to say nothing of the industry and energy you
-have to exert in working. If you save money, you can easily see how you
-exercise self-denial. You do without something you wish for in order to
-possess the money it would have cost. Inasmuch as self-denial, energy,
-and industry are all good things, you do well either to earn or to save.
-But you see the purpose for which you want the money must be taken into
-consideration. You say, for 'something wise and good.' Either earning or
-saving becomes holy in this case. I must then think which will be most
-consistent with my other duties, before I decide whether I will earn or
-save money."
-
-"I don't quite know what you mean, mother."
-
-"I will try and explain myself. You know I have to keep a little shop,
-and to try and get employment in knitting stockings, and to clean my
-house, and to mend our clothes, and many other things. Now, do you think
-I should be doing my duty if I left you in the evenings, when you come
-home from school, to go out as a waiter at ladies' parties? I could earn
-a good deal of money by it, and I could spend it well among those who
-are poorer than I am (such as lame Harry), but then I should be leaving
-you alone in the little time that we have to be together; I do not think
-I should be doing right even for our 'good and wise purpose' to earn
-money, if it took me away from you at nights: do you, Tom?"
-
-"No, indeed; you never mean to do it, do you, mother?"
-
-"No," said she, smiling; "at any rate not till you are older. You see at
-present then, I cannot _earn_ money, if I want a little more than usual
-to help a sick neighbour. I must then try and _save_ money. Nearly every
-one can do that."
-
-"Can _we_, mother? We are so careful of everything. Ned Dixon calls us
-stingy: what could _we save_?"
-
-"Oh, many and many a little thing. We use many things which are
-luxuries; which we do not want, but only use them for pleasure. Tea and
-sugar--butter--our Sunday's dinner of bacon or meat--the grey ribbon I
-bought for my bonnet, because you thought it prettier than the black,
-which was cheaper; all these are luxuries. We use very little tea or
-sugar, it is true; but we might do without any."
-
-"You did do without any, mother, for a long, long time, you know, to
-help widow Black; it was only for your bad head-aches."
-
-"Well! but you see we can save money; a penny, a halfpenny a day, or
-even a penny a week, would in time make a little store ready to be
-applied to the 'good and wise' purpose, when the time comes. But do you
-know, my little boy, I think we may be considering money too much as the
-only thing required if we want to do a kindness."
-
-"If it is not the only thing, it is the chief thing, at any rate."
-
-"No, love, it is not the chief thing. I should think very poorly of that
-beggar who liked sixpence given with a curse (as I have sometimes heard
-it), better than the kind and gentle words some people use in refusing
-to give. The curse sinks deep into the heart; or if it does not, it
-is a proof that the poor creature has been made hard before by harsh
-treatment. And mere money can do little to cheer a sore heart. It is
-kindness only that can do this. Now we have all of us kindness in our
-power. The little child of two years old, who can only just totter
-about, can show kindness?"
-
-"Can I, mother?"
-
-"To be sure, dear; and you often do, only perhaps not quite so often as
-you might do. Neither do I. But instead of wishing for money (of which I
-don't think either you or I are ever likely to have much), suppose you
-try to-morrow how you can make people happier, by thinking of little
-loving actions of help. Let us try and take for our text, 'Silver and
-gold I have none, but such as I have give I unto thee.'"
-
-"Ay, mother, we will."
-
-Must I tell you about little Tom's "to-morrow."
-
-I do not know if little Tom dreamed of what his mother and he had been
-talking about, but I do know that the first thing he thought about, when
-he awoke in the morning, was his mother's saying that he might try how
-many kind actions he could do that day without money; and he was so
-impatient to begin, that he jumped up and dressed himself, although
-it was more than an hour before his usual time of getting up. All the
-time he kept wondering what a little boy like him, only eight years old,
-could do for other people; till at last he grew so puzzled with inventing
-occasions for showing kindness, that he very wisely determined to think
-no more about it, but learn his lessons very perfectly; that was the
-first thing he had to do; and then he would try, without too much planning
-beforehand, to keep himself ready to lend a helping hand, or to give
-a kind word, when the right time came. So he screwed himself into a
-corner, out of the way of his mother's sweeping and dusting, and tucked
-his feet up on the rail of the chair, turned his face to the wall, and
-in about half an hour's time, he could turn round with a light heart,
-feeling he had learnt his lesson well, and might employ his time as he
-liked till breakfast was ready. He looked round the room; his mother
-had arranged all neatly, and was now gone to the bedroom; but the
-coal-scuttle and the can for water were empty, and Tom ran away to fill
-them; and as he came back with the latter from the pump, he saw Ann
-Jones (the scold of the neighbourhood) hanging out her clothes on a line
-stretched across from side to side of the little court, and speaking
-very angrily and loudly to her little girl, who was getting into some
-mischief in the house-place, as her mother perceived through the open
-door.
-
-"There never were such plagues as my children are, to be sure," said Ann
-Jones, as she went into her house, looking very red and passionate.
-Directly after, Tom heard the sound of a slap, and then a little child's
-cry of pain.
-
-"I wonder," thought he, "if I durst go and offer to nurse and play with
-little Hester. Ann Jones is fearful cross, and just as likely to take me
-wrong as right; but she won't box me for mother's sake; mother nursed
-Jemmy many a day through the fever, so she won't slap me, I think. Any
-rate, I'll try." But it was with a beating heart he said to the
-fierce-looking Mrs. Jones, "Please, may I go and play with Hester. May
-be I could keep her quiet while you're busy hanging out clothes."
-
-"What! and let you go slopping about, I suppose, just when I'd made
-all ready for my master's breakfast. Thank you, but my own children's
-mischief is as much as I reckon on; I'll have none of strange lads in my
-house."
-
-"I did not mean to do mischief or slop," said Tom, a little sadly at
-being misunderstood in his good intentions. "I only wanted to help."
-
-"If you want to help, lift me up those clothes' pegs, and save me
-stooping; my back's broken with it."
-
-Tom would much rather have gone to play with and amuse little Hester;
-but it was true enough that giving Mrs. Jones the clothes' pegs as she
-wanted them would help her as much; and perhaps keep her from being so
-cross with her children if they did anything to hinder her. Besides,
-little Hester's cry had died away, and she was evidently occupied in
-some new pursuit (Tom could only hope that it was not in mischief this
-time); so he began to give Ann the pegs as she wanted them, and she,
-soothed by his kind help, opened her heart a little to him.
-
-"I wonder how it is your mother has trained you up to be so handy, Tom;
-you're as good as a girl--better than many a girl. I don't think Hester
-in three years' time will be as thoughtful as you. There!" (as a fresh
-scream reached them from the little ones inside the house), "they are at
-some mischief again; but I'll teach 'em," said she, getting down from
-her stool in a fresh access of passion.
-
-"Let me go," said Tom, in a begging voice, for he dreaded the cruel
-sound of another slap. "I'll lift the basket of pegs on to a stool, so
-that you need not stoop; and I'll keep the little ones safe out of
-mischief till you're done. Do let me go, missus."
-
-With some grumblings at losing his help, she let him go into the
-house-place. He found Hester, a little girl of five, and two younger ones.
-They had been fighting for a knife, and in the struggle, the second,
-Johnnie, had cut his finger--not very badly, but he was frightened at
-the sight of the blood; and Hester, who might have helped, and who was
-really sorry, stood sullenly aloof, dreading the scolding her mother
-always gave her if either of the little ones hurt themselves while under
-her care.
-
-"Hester," said Tom, "will you get me some cold water, please? it will
-stop the bleeding better than anything. I daresay you can find me a
-basin to hold it."
-
-Hester trotted off, pleased at Tom's confidence in her power. When the
-bleeding was partly stopped, he asked her to find him a bit of rag, and
-she scrambled under the dresser for a little piece she had hidden there
-the day before. Meanwhile, Johnny ceased crying, he was so interested in
-all the preparation for dressing his little wound, and so much pleased
-to find himself an object of so much attention and consequence. The
-baby, too, sat on the floor, gravely wondering at the commotion; and
-thus busily occupied, they were quiet and out of mischief till Ann Jones
-came in, and, having hung out her clothes, and finished that morning's
-piece of work, she was ready to attend to her children in her rough,
-hasty kind of way.
-
-[Illustration p. 220: The Cut Finger.]
-
-"Well! I'm sure, Tom, you've tied it up as neatly as I could have done.
-I wish I'd always such an one as you to see after the children; but you
-must run off now, lad, your mother was calling you as I came in, and I
-said I'd send you--good-by, and thank you."
-
-As Tom was going away, the baby, sitting in square gravity on the floor,
-but somehow conscious of Tom's gentle helpful ways, put up her mouth to
-be kissed; and he stooped down in answer to the little gesture, feeling
-very happy, and very full of love and kindliness.
-
-After breakfast, his mother told him it was school time, and he must set
-off, as she did not like him to run in out of breath and flurried, just
-when the schoolmaster was going to begin; but she wished him to come in
-decently and in order, with quiet decorum, and thoughtfulness as to what
-he was going to do. So Tom got his cap and his bag, and went off with
-a light heart, which I suppose made his footsteps light, for he found
-himself above half way to school while it wanted yet a quarter to the
-time. So he slackened his pace, and looked about him a little more than
-he had been doing. There was a little girl on the other side of the
-street carrying a great big basket, and lugging along a little child
-just able to walk; but who, I suppose, was tired, for he was crying
-pitifully, and sitting down every two or three steps. Tom ran across the
-street, for, as perhaps you have found out, he was very fond of babies,
-and could not bear to hear them cry.
-
-"Little girl, what is he crying about? Does he want to be carried? I'll
-take him up, and carry him as far as I go alongside of you."
-
-So saying, Tom was going to suit the action to the word; but the baby
-did not choose that any one should carry him but his sister, and refused
-Tom's kindness. Still he could carry the heavy basket of potatoes for
-the little girl, which he did as far as their road lay together, when
-she thanked him, and bade him good-by, and said she could manage very
-well now, her home was so near. So Tom went into school very happy and
-peaceful; and had a good character to take home to his mother for that
-morning's lesson.
-
-It happened that this very day was the weekly half-holiday, so that Tom
-had many hours unoccupied that afternoon. Of course, his first
-employment after dinner was to learn his lessons for the next day; and
-then, when he had put his books away, he began to wonder what he should
-do next.
-
-He stood lounging against the door wishing all manner of idle wishes;
-a habit he was apt to fall into. He wished he were the little boy
-who lived opposite, who had three brothers ready to play with him on
-half-holidays; he wished he were Sam Harrison, whose father had taken
-him one day a trip by the railroad; he wished he were the little boy who
-always went with the omnibuses,--it must be so pleasant to go riding
-about on the step, and to see so many people; he wished he were a
-sailor, to sail away to the countries where grapes grew wild, and
-monkeys and parrots were to be had for the catching. Just as he was
-wishing himself the little Prince of Wales, to drive about in a
-goat-carriage, and wondering if he should not feel very shy with the
-three great ostrich-feathers always niddle-noddling on his head, for
-people to know him by, his mother came from washing up the dishes, and
-saw him deep in the reveries little boys and girls are apt to fall into
-when they are the only children in a house.
-
-"My dear Tom," said she, "why don't you go out, and make the most of
-this fine afternoon?"
-
-"Oh, mother," answered he (suddenly recalled to the fact that he was
-little Tom Fletcher, instead of the Prince of Wales, and consequently
-feeling a little bit flat), "it is so dull going out by myself. I have
-no one to play with. Can't you go with me, mother--just this once, into
-the fields?"
-
-Poor Mrs. Fletcher heartily wished she could gratify this very natural
-desire of her little boy; but she had the shop to mind, and many a
-little thing besides to do; it was impossible. But however much she
-might regret a thing, she was too faithful to repine. So, after a
-moment's thought, she said, cheerfully, "Go into the fields for a walk,
-and see how many wild flowers you can bring me home, and I'll get down
-father's jug for you to put them in when you come back."
-
-"But, mother, there are so few pretty flowers near a town," said Tom, a
-little unwillingly, for it was a coming down from being Prince of Wales,
-and he was not yet quite reconciled to it.
-
-"Oh dear! there are a great many if you'll only look for them. I dare
-say you'll make me up as many as twenty different kinds."
-
-"Will you reckon daisies, mother?"
-
-"To be sure; they are just as pretty as any."
-
-"Oh, if you'll reckon such as them, I dare say I can bring you more than
-twenty."
-
-So off he ran; his mother watching him till he was out of sight, and
-then she returned to her work. In about two hours he came back, his pale
-cheeks looking quite rosy, and his eyes quite bright. His country walk,
-taken with cheerful spirits, had done him all the good his mother
-desired, and had restored his usually even, happy temper.
-
-"Look, mother! here are three-and-twenty different kinds; you said I
-might count all, so I have even counted this thing like a nettle with
-lilac flowers, and this little common blue thing."
-
-"Robin-run-in-the-hedge is its name," said his mother. "It's very pretty
-if you look at it close. One, two, three"--she counted them all over,
-and there really were three-and-twenty. She went to reach down the best
-jug.
-
-"Mother," said little Tom, "do you like them very much?"
-
-"Yes, very much," said she, not understanding his meaning. He was
-silent, and gave a little sigh. "Why, my dear?"
-
-"Oh, only--it does not signify if you like them very much; but I thought
-how nice it would be to take them to lame Harry, who can never walk so
-far as the fields, and can hardly know what summer is like, I think."
-
-"Oh, that will be very nice; I am glad you thought of it."
-
-Lame Harry was sitting by himself, very patiently, in a neighbouring
-cellar. He was supported by his daughter's earnings; but as she worked
-in a factory, he was much alone.
-
-If the bunch of flowers had looked pretty in the fields, they looked
-ten times as pretty in the cellar to which they were now carried. Lame
-Harry's eyes brightened up with pleasure at the sight; and he began to
-talk of the times long ago, when he was a little boy in the country, and
-had a corner of his father's garden to call his own, and grow lad's-love
-and wall-flower in. Little Tom put them in water for him, and put the
-jug on the table by him; on which his daughter had placed the old Bible,
-worn with much reading, although treated with careful reverence. It was
-lying open, with Harry's horn spectacles put in to mark the place.
-
-"I reckon my spectacles are getting worn out; they are not so clear as
-they used to be; they are dim-like before my eyes, and it hurts me to
-read long together," said Harry. "It's a sad miss to me. I never thought
-the time long when I could read; but now I keep wearying for the day to
-be over, though the nights, when I cannot sleep for my legs paining me,
-are almost as bad. However, it's the Lord's will."
-
-"Would you like me--I cannot read very well aloud, but I'd do my best,
-if you'd like me to read a bit to you. I'll just run home and get my
-tea, and be back directly." And off Tom ran.
-
-He found it very pleasant reading aloud to lame Harry, for the old man
-had so much to say that was worth listening to, and was so glad of a
-listener, that I think there was as much talking as reading done that
-evening. But the Bible served as a text-book to their conversation;
-for in a long life old Harry had seen and heard so much, which he
-had connected with events, or promises, or precepts contained in the
-Scriptures, that it was quite curious to find how everything was brought
-in and dove-tailed, as an illustration of what they were reading.
-
-When Tom got up to go away, lame Harry gave him many thanks, and told
-him he would not sleep the worse for having made an old man's evening
-so pleasant. Tom came home in high self-satisfaction. "Mother," said
-he, "it's all very true what you said about the good that may be done
-without money: I've done many pieces of good to-day without a farthing.
-First," said he, taking hold of his little finger, "I helped Ann Jones
-with hanging out her clothes when she was"--
-
-His mother had been listening while she turned over the pages of the New
-Testament which lay by her, and now having found what she wanted, she
-put her arm gently round his waist, and drew him fondly towards her. He
-saw her finger put under one passage, and read,--
-
-"Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth."
-
-He was silent in a moment.
-
-Then his mother spoke in her soft low voice:--"Dearest Tom, though I
-don't want us to talk about it, as if you had been doing more than just
-what you ought, I am glad you have seen the truth of what I said; how
-far more may be done by the loving heart than by mere money-giving; and
-every one may have the loving heart."
-
-I have told you of one day of little Tom's life, when he was eight years
-old, and lived with his mother. I must now pass over a year, and tell
-you of a very different kind of life he had then to lead. His mother had
-never been very strong, and had had a good deal of anxiety; at last she
-was taken ill, and soon felt that there was no hope for her recovery.
-For a long time the thought of leaving her little boy was a great distress
-to her, and a great trial to her faith. But God strengthened her, and
-sent his peace into her soul, and before her death she was content to
-leave her precious child in his hands, who is a Father to the
-fatherless, and defendeth the cause of the widow.
-
-When she felt that she had not many more days to live, she sent for her
-husband's brother, who lived in a town not many miles off; and gave her
-little Tom in charge to him to bring up.
-
-"There are a few pounds in the savings-bank--I don't know how many
-exactly--and the furniture and bit of stock in the shop; perhaps they
-would be enough to bring him up to be a joiner, like his father before
-him."
-
-She spoke feebly, and with many pauses. Her brother-in-law, though a
-rough kind of man, wished to do all he could to make her feel easy in
-her last moments, and touched with the reference to his dead brother,
-promised all she required.
-
-"I'll take him back with me after"--the funeral, he was going to say,
-but he stopped. She smiled gently, fully understanding his meaning.
-
-"We shall, may be, not be so tender with him as you've been; but I'll
-see he comes to no harm. It will be a good thing for him to rough it a
-bit with other children,--he's too nesh for a boy; but I'll pay them if
-they aren't kind to him in the long run, never fear."
-
-Though this speech was not exactly what she liked, there was quite
-enough of good feeling in it to make her thankful for such a protector
-and friend for her boy. And so, thankful for the joys she had had, and
-thankful for the sorrows which had taught her meekness, thankful for
-life, and thankful for death, she died.
-
-Her brother-in-law arranged all as she had wished. After the quiet
-simple funeral was over, he took Tom by the hand, and set off on the
-six-mile walk to his home. Tom had cried till he could cry no more, but
-sobs came quivering up from his heart every now and then, as he passed
-some well-remembered cottage, or thorn-bush, or tree on the road. His
-uncle was very sorry for him, but did not know what to say, or how to
-comfort him.
-
-"Now mind, lad, thou com'st to me if thy cousins are o'er hard upon
-thee. Let me hear if they misuse thee, and I'll give it them."
-
-Tom shrunk from the idea that this gave him of the cousins, whose
-companionship he had, until then, been looking forward to as a pleasure.
-He was not reassured when, after threading several streets and by-ways,
-they came into a court of dingy-looking houses, and his uncle opened the
-door of one, from which the noise of loud, if not angry voices was
-heard.
-
-A tall large woman was whirling one child out of her way with a rough
-movement of her arm; while she was scolding a boy a little older than
-Tom, who stood listening sullenly to her angry words.
-
-"I'll tell father of thee, I will," said she; and turning to uncle John,
-she began to pour out her complaints against Jack, without taking any
-notice of little Tom, who clung to his uncle's hand as to a protector in
-the scene of violence into which he had entered.
-
-"Well, well, wife!--I'll leather Jack the next time I catch him letting
-the water out of the pipe; but now get this lad and me some tea, for
-we're weary and tired."
-
-His aunt seemed to wish Jack might be leathered now, and to be angry
-with her husband for not revenging her injuries; for an injury it was
-that the boy had done her in letting the water all run off, and that on
-the very eve of the washing day. The mother grumbled as she left off
-mopping the wet floor, and went to the fire to stir it up ready for the
-kettle, without a word of greeting to her little nephew, or of welcome
-to her husband. On the contrary, she complained of the trouble of getting
-tea ready afresh, just when she had put slack on the fire, and had no
-water in the house to fill the kettle with. Her husband grew angry, and
-Tom was frightened to hear his uncle speaking sharply.
-
-"If I can't have a cup of tea in my own house without all this ado, I'll
-go to the Spread Eagle, and take Tom with me. They've a bright fire
-there at all times, choose how they manage it; and no scolding wives.
-Come, Tom, let's be off."
-
-Jack had been trying to scrape acquaintance with his cousin by winks and
-grimaces behind his mother's back, and now made a sign of drinking out
-of an imaginary glass. But Tom clung to his uncle, and softly pulled him
-down again on his chair, from which he had risen to go to the
-public-house.
-
-"If you please, ma'am," said he, sadly frightened of his aunt, "I think
-I could find the pump, if you'd let me try."
-
-She muttered something like an acquiescence; so Tom took up the kettle,
-and, tired as he was, went out to the pump. Jack, who had done nothing
-but mischief all day, stood amazed, but at last settled that his cousin
-was a "softy."
-
-When Tom came back, he tried to blow the fire with the broken bellows,
-and at last the water boiled, and the tea was made. "Thou'rt a rare lad,
-Tom," said his uncle. "I wonder when our Jack will be of as much use."
-
-This comparison did not please either Jack or his mother, who liked to
-keep to herself the privilege of directing their father's dissatisfaction
-with his children. Tom felt their want of kindliness towards him; and
-now that he had nothing to do but rest and eat, he began to feel very
-sad, and his eyes kept filling with tears, which he brushed away with
-the back of his hand, not wishing to have them seen. But his uncle
-noticed him.
-
-"Thou had'st better have had a glass at the Spread Eagle," said he,
-compassionately.
-
-"No; I only am rather tired. May I go to bed?" said he, longing for a
-good cry unobserved under the bed-clothes.
-
-"Where's he to sleep?" asked the husband of the wife.
-
-"Nay," said she, still offended on Jack's account, "that's thy look-out.
-He's thy flesh and blood, not mine."
-
-"Come, wife," said uncle John, "he's an orphan, poor chap. An orphan is
-kin to every one."
-
-She was softened directly, for she had much kindness in her, although
-this evening she had been so much put out.
-
-"There's no place for him but with Jack and Dick. We've the baby, and
-the other three are packed close enough."
-
-She took Tom up to the little back room, and stopped to talk with him
-for a minute or two, for her husband's words had smitten her heart, and
-she was sorry for the ungracious reception she had given Tom at first.
-
-"Jack and Dick are never in bed till we come, and it's work enough to
-catch them then on fine evenings," said she, as she took the candle
-away.
-
-Tom tried to speak to God as his mother had taught him, out of the
-fulness of his little heart, which was heavy enough that night. He tried
-to think how she would have wished him to speak and to do, and when he
-felt puzzled with the remembrance of the scene of disorder and anger
-which he had seen, he earnestly prayed God would make and keep clear his
-path before him. And then he fell asleep.
-
-He had had a long dream of other and happier days, and had thought he
-was once more taking a Sunday evening walk with his mother, when he was
-roughly wakened up by his cousins.
-
-"I say, lad, you're lying right across the bed. You must get up, and let
-Dick and me come in, and then creep into the space that's left."
-
-Tom got up dizzy and half awake. His cousins got into bed, and then
-squabbled about the largest share. It ended in a kicking match, during
-which Tom stood shivering by the bedside.
-
-"I'm sure we're pinched enough as it is," said Dick at last. "And why
-they've put Tom in with us I can't think. But I'll not stand it. Tom
-shan't sleep with us. He may lie on the floor, if he likes. I'll not
-hinder him."
-
-He expected an opposition from Tom, and was rather surprised when he
-heard the little fellow quietly lie down, and cover himself as well as
-he could with his clothes. After some more quarrelling, Jack and Dick
-fell asleep. But in the middle of the night Dick awoke, and heard by
-Tom's breathing that he was still awake, and was crying gently.
-
-"What! molly-coddle, crying for a softer bed?" asked Dick.
-
-"Oh, no--I don't care for that--if--oh! if mother were but alive,"
-little Tom sobbed aloud.
-
-"I say," said Dick, after a pause. "There's room at my back, if you'll
-creep in. There! don't be afraid--why, how cold you are, lad."
-
-Dick was sorry for his cousin's loss, but could not speak about it.
-However, his kind tone sank into Tom's heart, and he fell asleep once
-more.
-
-The three boys all got up at the same time in the morning, but were
-not inclined to talk. Jack and Dick put on their clothes as fast as
-possible, and ran downstairs; but this was quite a different way of
-going on to what Tom had been accustomed. He looked about for some kind
-of basin or mug to wash in; there was none--not even a jug of water in
-the room. He slipped on a few necessary clothes, and went downstairs,
-found a pitcher, and went off to the pump. His cousins, who were playing
-in the court, laughed at him, and would not tell him where the soap was
-kept: he had to look some minutes before he could find it. Then he went
-back to the bedroom; but on entering it from the fresh air, the smell
-was so oppressive that he could not endure it. Three people had been
-breathing the air all night, and had used up every particle many times
-over and over again; and each time that it had been sent out from the
-lungs, it was less fit than before to be breathed again. They had not
-felt how poisonous it was while they stayed in it; they had only felt
-tired and unrefreshed, with a dull headache; but now that Tom came back
-again into it, he could not mistake its oppressive nature. He went to
-the window to try and open it. It was what people call a "Yorkshire
-light," where you know one-half has to be pushed on one side. It was
-very stiff, for it had not been opened for a long time. Tom pushed
-against it with all his might; at length it gave way with a jerk; and
-the shake sent out a cracked pane, which fell on the floor in a hundred
-little bits. Tom was sadly frightened when he saw what he had done. He
-would have been sorry to have done mischief at any time, but he had seen
-enough of his aunt the evening before to find out that she was sharp,
-and hasty, and cross; and it was hard to have to begin the first day in
-his new home by getting into a scrape. He sat down on the bedside, and
-began to cry. But the morning air blowing in upon him, refreshed him,
-and made him feel stronger. He grew braver as he washed himself in the
-pure, cold water. "She can't be cross with me longer than a day; by
-to-night it will be all over; I can bear it for a day."
-
-Dick came running upstairs for something he had forgotten.
-
-"My word, Tom! but you'll catch it!" exclaimed he, when he saw the
-broken window. He was half pleased at the event, and half sorry for Tom.
-"Mother did so beat Jack last week for throwing a stone right through
-the window downstairs. He kept out of the way till night, but she was on
-the look-out for him, and as soon as she saw him, she caught hold of him
-and gave it him. Eh! Tom, I would not be you for a deal!"
-
-Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt's anger; Dick became
-more and more sorry for him.
-
-"I'll tell thee what; we'll go down and say it was a lad in yon
-back-yard throwing stones, and that one went smack through the window.
-I've got one in my pocket that will just do to show."
-
-"No," said Tom, suddenly stopping crying. "I dare not do that."
-
-"Daren't! Why you'll have to dare much more if you go down and face
-mother without some such story."
-
-"No! I shan't. I shan't have to dare God's anger. Mother taught me to
-fear that; she said I need never be really afraid of aught else. Just be
-quiet, Dick, while I say my prayers."
-
-Dick watched his little cousin kneel down by the bed, and bury his face
-in the clothes; he did not say any set prayer (which Dick was accustomed
-to think was the only way of praying), but Tom seemed, by the low murmuring
-which Dick heard, to be talking to a dear friend; and though at first he
-sobbed and cried, as he asked for help and strength, yet when he got up,
-his face looked calm and bright, and he spoke quietly as he said to
-Dick, "Now I'm ready to go and tell aunt."
-
-"Aunt" meanwhile had missed her pitcher and her soap, and was in no
-good-tempered mood when Tom came to make his confession. She had been
-hindered in her morning's work by his taking her things away; and now he
-was come to tell her of the pane being broken and that it must be
-mended, and money must go all for a child's nonsense.
-
-She gave him (as he had been led to expect) one or two very sharp blows.
-Jack and Dick looked on with curiosity, to see how he would take it;
-Jack, at any rate, expecting a hearty crying from "softy" (Jack himself
-had cried loudly at his last beating), but Tom never shed a tear, though
-his face did go very red, and his mouth did grow set with the pain. But
-what struck the boys more even than his being "hard" in bearing such
-blows, was his quietness afterwards. He did not grumble loudly, as Jack
-would have done, nor did he turn sullen, as was Dick's custom; but the
-minute afterwards he was ready to run an errand for his aunt; nor did he
-make any mention of the hard blows, when his uncle came in to breakfast,
-as his aunt had rather expected he would. She was glad he did not, for
-she knew her husband would have been displeased to know how early she
-had begun to beat his orphan nephew. So she almost felt grateful to Tom
-for his silence, and certainly began to be sorry she had struck him so
-hard.
-
-Poor Tom! he did not know that his cousins were beginning to respect
-him, nor that his aunt was learning to like him; and he felt very lonely
-and desolate that first morning. He had nothing to do. Jack went to work
-at the factory; and Dick went grumbling to school. Tom wondered if he
-was to go to school again, but he did not like to ask. He sat on a
-little stool, as much out of his terrible aunt's way as he could. She
-had her youngest child, a little girl of about a year and a half old,
-crawling about on the floor. Tom longed to play with her; but he was not
-sure how far his aunt would like it. But he kept smiling at her, and
-doing every little thing he could to attract her attention and make her
-come to him. At last she was coaxed to come upon his knee. His aunt saw
-it, and though she did not speak, she did not look displeased. He did
-everything he could think of to amuse little Annie; and her mother was
-very glad to have her attended to. When Annie grew sleepy, she still
-kept fast hold of one of Tom's fingers in her little, round, soft hand,
-and he began to know the happy feeling of loving somebody again. Only
-the night before, when his cousins had made him get out of bed, he had
-wondered if he should live to be an old man, and never have anybody to
-love all that long time; but now his heart felt quite warm to the little
-thing that lay on his lap.
-
-"She'll tire you, Tom," said her mother, "you'd better let me put her
-down in the cot."
-
-"Oh, no!" said he, "please don't! I like so much to have her here." He
-never moved, though she lay very heavy on his arm, for fear of wakening
-her.
-
-When she did rouse up, his aunt said, "Thank you, Tom. I've got my work
-done rarely with you for a nurse. Now take a run in the yard, and play
-yourself a bit."
-
-His aunt was learning something, and Tom was teaching, though they would
-both have been very much surprised to hear it. Whenever, in a family,
-every one is selfish, and (as it is called) "stands up for his own
-rights," there are no feelings of gratitude; the gracefulness of "thanks"
-is never called for; nor can there be any occasion for thoughtfulness
-for others when those others are sure to get the start in thinking for
-themselves, and taking care of number one. Tom's aunt had never had to
-remind Jack or Dick to go out to play. They were ready enough to see
-after their own pleasures.
-
-Well! dinner-time came, and all the family gathered to the meal. It
-seemed to be a scramble who should be helped first, and cry out for the
-best pieces. Tom looked very red. His aunt in her new-born liking for
-him, helped him early to what she thought he would like. But he did not
-begin to eat. It had been his mother's custom to teach her little son
-to say a simple "grace" with her before they began their dinner. He
-expected his uncle to follow the same observance; and waited. Then he
-felt very hot and shy; but, thinking that it was right to say it, he
-put away his shyness, and very quietly, but very solemnly said the old
-accustomed sentence of thanksgiving. Jack burst out laughing when he had
-done; for which Jack's father gave him a sharp rap and a sharp word,
-which made him silent through the rest of the dinner. But, excepting
-Jack, who was angry, I think all the family were the happier for having
-listened reverently (if with some surprise) to Tom's thanksgiving. They
-were not an ill-disposed set of people, but wanted thoughtfulness in
-their every-day life; that sort of thoughtfulness which gives order to a
-home, and makes a wise and holy spirit of love the groundwork of order.
-
-From that first day Tom never went back in the regard he began then to
-win. He was useful to his aunt, and patiently bore her hasty ways, until
-for very shame she left off being hasty with one who was always so meek
-and mild. His uncle sometimes said he was more like a girl than a boy,
-as was to be looked for from being brought up for so many years by a
-woman; but that was the greatest fault he ever had to find with him; and
-in spite of it, he really respected him for the very qualities which are
-most truly "manly;" for the courage with which he dared to do what was
-right, and the quiet firmness with which he bore many kinds of pain. As
-for little Annie, her friendship and favour and love were the delight of
-Tom's heart. He did not know how much the others were growing to like
-him, but Annie showed it in every way, and he loved her in return most
-dearly. Dick soon found out how useful Tom could be to him in his
-lessons; for though older than his cousin, Master Dick was a regular
-dunce, and had never even wished to learn till Tom came; and long before
-Jack could be brought to acknowledge it, Dick maintained that "Tom had a
-great deal of pluck in him, though it was not of Jack's kind."
-
-Now I shall jump another year, and tell you a very little about the
-household twelve months after Tom had entered it. I said above that his
-aunt had learned to speak less crossly to one who was always gentle
-after her scoldings. By-and-by her ways to all became less hasty and
-passionate, for she grew ashamed of speaking to any one in an angry way
-before Tom; he always looked so sad and sorry to hear her. She has also
-spoken to him sometimes about his mother; at first because she thought
-he would like it; but latterly because she became really interested to
-hear of her ways; and Tom being an only child, and his mother's friend
-and companion, has been able to tell her of many household arts of
-comfort, which coming quite unconscious of any purpose, from the lips of
-a child, have taught her many things which she would have been too proud
-to learn from an older person. Her husband is softened by the additional
-cleanliness and peace of his home. He does not now occasionally take
-refuge in a public-house, to get out of the way of noisy children, an
-unswept hearth, and a scolding wife. Once when Tom was ill for a day or
-two, his uncle missed the accustomed grace, and began to say it himself.
-He is now the person to say "Silence, boys;" and then to ask the blessing
-on the meal. It makes them gather round the table, instead of sitting
-down here and there in the comfortless, unsociable way they used to do.
-Tom and Dick go to school together now, and Dick is getting on famously,
-and will soon be able to help his next brother over his lessons, as Tom
-has helped him.
-
-Even Jack has been heard to acknowledge that Tom has "pluck" in him; and
-as "pluck" in Jack's mind is a short way of summing up all the virtues,
-he has lately become very fond of his cousin. Tom does not think about
-happiness, but is happy; and I think we may hope that he, and the
-household among whom he is adopted, will go "from strength to strength."
-
-Now do you not see how much happier this family are from the one
-circumstance of a little child's coming among them? Could money have
-made one-tenth part of this real and increasing happiness? I think you
-will all say no. And yet Tom was no powerful person; he was not clever;
-he was very friendless at first; but he was loving and good; and on
-those two qualities, which any of us may have if we try, the blessing of
-God lies in rich abundance.
-
-
-
-
-BESSY'S TROUBLES AT HOME.
-
-
-"Well, mother, I've got you a Southport ticket," said Bessy Lee, as she
-burst into a room where a pale, sick woman lay dressed on the outside of
-a bed. "Aren't you glad?" asked she, as her mother moved uneasily, but
-did not speak.
-
-"Yes, dear, I'm very thankful to you; but your sudden coming in has made
-my heart flutter so, I'm ready to choke."
-
-Poor Bessy's eyes filled with tears: but, it must be owned, they were
-tears half of anger. She had taken such pains, ever since the doctor
-said that Southport was the only thing for her mother, to get her an
-order from some subscriber to the charity; and she had rushed to her, in
-the full glow of success, and now her mother seemed more put out by the
-noise she had made on coming in, than glad to receive the news she had
-brought.
-
-Mrs. Lee took her hand and tried to speak, but, as she said, she was
-almost choked with the palpitation at her heart.
-
-"You think it very silly in me, dear, to be so easily startled; but it
-is not altogether silliness; it is I am so weak that every little noise
-gives me quite a fright. I shall be better, love, please God, when I
-come back from Southport. I am so glad you've got the order, for you've
-taken a deal of pains about it." Mrs. Lee sighed.
-
-"Don't you want to go?" asked Bessy, rather sadly. "You always seem so
-sorrowful and anxious when we talk about it."
-
-"It's partly my being ailing that makes me anxious, I know," said Mrs.
-Lee. "But it seems as if so many things might happen while I was away."
-
-Bessy felt a little impatient. Young people in strong health can hardly
-understand the fears that beset invalids. Bessy was a kind-hearted girl,
-but rather headstrong, and just now a little disappointed. She forgot
-that her mother had had to struggle hard with many cares ever since she
-had been left a widow, and that her illness now had made her nervous.
-
-"What nonsense, mother! What can happen? I can take care of the house
-and the little ones, and Tom and Jem can take care of themselves. What
-is to happen?"
-
-"Jenny may fall into the fire," murmured Mrs. Lee, who found little
-comfort in being talked to in this way. "Or your father's watch may be
-stolen while you are in, talking with the neighbours, or----"
-
-"Now come, mother, you know I've had the charge of Jenny ever since
-father died, and you began to go out washing--and I'll lock father's
-watch up in the box in our room."
-
-"Then Tom and Jem won't know at what time to go to the factory. Besides,
-Bessy," said she, raising herself up, "they're are but young lads, and
-there's a deal of temptation to take them away from their homes, if
-their homes are not comfortable and pleasant to them. It's that, more
-than anything, I've been fretting about all the time I've been
-ill,--that I've lost the power of making this house the cleanest and
-brightest place they know. But it's no use fretting," said she, falling
-back weakly upon the bed and sighing. "I must leave it in God's hands.
-He raiseth up and He bringeth low."
-
-Bessy stood silent for a minute or two. Then she said, "Well, mother, I
-will try to make home comfortable for the lads, if you'll but keep your
-mind easy, and go off to Southport quiet and cheerful."
-
-"I'll try," said Mrs. Lee, taking hold of Bessy's hand, and looking up
-thankfully in her face.
-
-The next Wednesday she set off, leaving home with a heavy heart, which,
-however, she struggled against, and tried to make more faithful. But she
-wished her three weeks at Southport were over.
-
-Tom and Jem were both older than Bessy, and she was fifteen. Then came
-Bill and Mary and little Jenny. They were all good children, and all had
-faults. Tom and Jem helped to support the family by their earnings at
-the factory, and gave up their wages very cheerfully for this purpose,
-to their mother, who, however, insisted on a little being put by every
-week in the savings' bank. It was one of her griefs now that, when the
-doctor ordered her some expensive delicacy in the way of diet during her
-illness (a thing which she persisted in thinking she could have done
-without), her boys had gone and taken their money out in order to
-procure it for her. The article in question did not cost one quarter
-of the amount of their savings, but they had put off returning the
-remainder into the bank, saying the doctor's bill had yet to be paid,
-and that it seemed so silly to be always taking money in and out. But
-meanwhile Mrs. Lee feared lest it should be spent, and begged them to
-restore it to the savings' bank. This had not been done when she left
-for Southport. Bill and Mary went to school. Little Jenny was the
-darling of all, and toddled about at home, having been her sister
-Bessy's especial charge when all went on well, and the mother used to
-go out to wash.
-
-Mrs. Lee, however, had always made a point of giving all her children
-who were at home a comfortable breakfast at seven, before she set out
-to her day's work; and she prepared the boys' dinner ready for Bessy
-to warm for them. At night, too, she was anxious to be at home as soon
-after her boys as she could; and many of her employers respected her
-wish, and, finding her hard-working and conscientious, took care to set
-her at liberty early in the evening.
-
-Bessy felt very proud and womanly when she returned home from seeing
-her mother off by the railway. She looked round the house with a new
-feeling of proprietorship, and then went to claim little Jenny from the
-neighbour's where she had been left while Bessy had gone to the station.
-They asked her to stay and have a bit of chat; but she replied that she
-could not, for that it was near dinner-time, and she refused the
-invitation that was then given her to go in some evening. She was full
-of good plans and resolutions.
-
-That afternoon she took Jenny and went to her teacher's to borrow a
-book, which she meant to ask one of her brothers to read to her in the
-evenings while she worked. She knew that it was a book which Jem would
-like, for though she had never read it, one of her school-fellows had
-told her it was all about the sea, and desert islands, and cocoanut-trees,
-just the things that Jem liked to hear about. How happy they would all
-be this evening.
-
-She hurried Jenny off to bed before her brothers came home; Jenny did
-not like to go so early, and had to be bribed and coaxed to give up the
-pleasure of sitting on brother Tom's knee; and when she was in bed, she
-could not go to sleep, and kept up a little whimper of distress. Bessy
-kept calling out to her, now in gentle, now in sharp tones, as she made
-the hearth clean and bright against her brothers' return, as she settled
-Bill and Mary to their next day's lessons, and got her work ready for a
-happy evening.
-
-Presently the elder boys came in.
-
-"Where's Jenny?" asked Tom, the first thing.
-
-"I've put her to bed," said Bessy. "I've borrowed a book for you to read
-to me while I darn the stockings; and it was time for Jenny to go."
-
-"Mother never puts her to bed so soon," said Tom, dissatisfied.
-
-"But she'd be so in the way of any quietness over our reading," said
-Bessy.
-
-"I don't want to read," said Tom; "I want Jenny to sit on my knee, as
-she always does, while I eat my supper."
-
-"Tom, Tom, dear Tom!" called out little Jenny, who had heard his voice,
-and, perhaps, a little of the conversation.
-
-Tom made but two steps upstairs, and re-appeared with Jenny in his arms,
-in her night-clothes. The little girl looked at Bessy half triumphant
-and half afraid. Bessy did not speak, but she was evidently very much
-displeased. Tom began to eat his porridge with Jenny on his knee. Bessy
-sat in sullen silence; she was vexed with Tom, vexed with Jenny, and
-vexed with Jem, to gratify whose taste for reading travels she had
-especially borrowed this book, which he seemed to care so little about.
-She brooded over her fancied wrongs, ready to fall upon the first person
-who might give the slightest occasion for anger. It happened to be poor
-little Jenny, who, by some awkward movement, knocked over the jug of
-milk, and made a great splash on Bessy's clean white floor.
-
-"Never mind!" said Tom, as Jenny began to cry. "I like my porridge as
-well without milk as with it."
-
-"Oh, never mind!" said Bessy, her colour rising, and her breath growing
-shorter. "Never mind dirtying anything, Jenny; it's only giving trouble
-to Bessy! But I'll make you mind," continued she, as she caught a glance
-of intelligence peep from Jem's eyes to Tom; and she slapped Jenny's
-head. The moment she had done it she was sorry for it; she could have
-beaten herself now with the greatest pleasure for having given way to
-passion; for she loved little Jenny dearly, and she saw that she really
-had hurt her. But Jem, with his loud, deep, "For shame, Bessy!" and Tom,
-with his excess of sympathy with his little sister's wrongs, checked
-back any expression which Bessy might have uttered of sorrow and regret.
-She sat there ten times more unhappy than she had been before the
-accident, hardening her heart to the reproaches of her conscience, yet
-feeling most keenly that she had been acting wrongly. No one seemed to
-notice her; this was the evening she had planned and arranged for so
-busily; and the others, who never thought about it at all, were all
-quiet and happy, at least in outward appearance, while she was so
-wretched. By-and-by, she felt the touch of a little soft hand stealing
-into her own. She looked to see who it was; it was Mary, who till now
-had been busy learning her lessons, but uncomfortably conscious of the
-discordant spirit prevailing in the room; and who had at last ventured
-up to Bessy, as the one who looked the most unhappy, to express, in her
-own little gentle way, her sympathy in sorrow. Mary was not a quick
-child; she was plain and awkward in her ways, and did not seem to have
-many words in which to tell her feelings, but she was very tender and
-loving, and submitted meekly and humbly to the little slights and
-rebuffs she often met with for her stupidity.
-
-"Dear Bessy! good night!" said she, kissing her sister; and, at the soft
-kiss, Bessy's eyes filled with tears, and her heart began to melt.
-
-"Jenny," continued Mary, going to the little spoilt, wilful girl, "will
-you come to bed with me, and I'll tell you stories about school, and
-sing you my songs as I undress? Come, little one!" said she, holding out
-her arms. Jenny was tempted by this speech, and went off to bed in a
-more reasonable frame of mind than any one had dared to hope.
-
-And now all seemed clear and open for the reading, but each was too
-proud to propose it. Jem, indeed, seemed to have forgotten the book
-altogether, he was so busy whittling away at a piece of wood. At last
-Tom, by a strong effort, said, "Bessy, mayn't we have the book now?"
-
-"No!" said Jem, "don't begin reading, for I must go out and try and make
-Ned Bates give me a piece of ash-wood--deal is just good for nothing."
-
-"Oh!" said Bessy, "I don't want any one to read this book who does not
-like it. But I know mother would be better pleased if you were stopping
-at home quiet, rather than rambling to Ned Bates's at this time of
-night."
-
-"I know what mother would like as well as you, and I'm not going to be
-preached to by a girl," said Jem, taking up his cap and going out. Tom
-yawned and went up to bed. Bessy sat brooding over the evening.
-
-"So much as I thought and I planned! I'm sure I tried to do what was
-right, and make the boys happy at home. And yet nothing has happened
-as I wanted it to do. Every one has been so cross and contrary. Tom
-would take Jenny up when she ought to have been in bed. Jem did not
-care a straw for this book that I borrowed on purpose for him, but sat
-laughing. I saw, though he did not think I did, when all was going
-provoking and vexatious. Mary--no! Mary was a help and a comfort, as she
-always is, I think, though she is so stupid over her book. Mary always
-contrives to get people right, and to have her own way somehow; and yet
-I'm sure she does not take half the trouble I do to please people."
-
-Jem came back soon, disappointed because Ned Bates was out, and could
-not give him any ash-wood. Bessy said it served him right for going at
-that time of night, and the brother and sister spoke angrily to each
-other all the way upstairs, and parted without even saying good-night.
-Jenny was asleep when Bessy entered the bedroom which she shared with
-her sisters and her mother; but she saw Mary's wakeful eyes looking at
-her as she came in.
-
-"Oh, Mary," said she, "I wish mother was back. The lads would mind her,
-and now I see they'll just go and get into mischief to spite and plague
-me."
-
-"I don't think it's for that," said Mary, softly. "Jem did want that
-ash-wood, I know, for he told me in the morning he didn't think that
-deal would do. He wants to make a wedge to keep the window from rattling
-so on windy nights; you know how that fidgets mother."
-
-The next day, little Mary, on her way to school, went round by Ned
-Bates's to beg a piece of wood for her brother Jem; she brought it home
-to him at dinner-time, and asked him to be so good as to have everything
-ready for a quiet whittling at night, while Tom or Bessy read aloud. She
-told Jenny she would make haste with her lessons, so as to be ready to
-come to bed early, and talk to her about school (a grand, wonderful
-place, in Jenny's eyes), and thus Mary quietly and gently prepared for a
-happy evening, by attending to the kind of happiness for which every one
-wished.
-
-While Mary had thus been busy preparing for a happy evening, Bessy had
-been spending part of the afternoon at a Mrs. Foster's, a neighbour of
-her mother's, and a very tidy, industrious old widow. Mrs. Foster earned
-part of her livelihood by working for the shops where knitted work of
-all kinds is to be sold; and Bessy's attention was caught, almost as
-soon as she went in, by a very gay piece of wool-knitting, in a new
-stitch, that was to be used as a warm covering for the feet. After
-admiring its pretty looks, Bessy thought how useful it might be to her
-mother; and when Mrs. Foster heard this, she offered to teach Bessy how
-to do it. But where were the wools to come from? Those which Mrs. Foster
-used were provided her by the shop; and she was a very poor woman--too
-poor to make presents, though rich enough (as we all are) to give help
-of many other kinds, and willing too to do what she could (which some of
-us are not).
-
-The two sat perplexed. "How much did you say it would cost?" said Bessy
-at last; as if the article was likely to have become cheaper, since she
-asked the question before.
-
-"Well! it's sure to be more than two shillings if it's German wool. You
-might get it for eighteenpence if you could be content with English."
-
-"But I've not got eighteenpence," said Bessy, gloomily.
-
-"I could lend it you," said Mrs. Foster, "if I was sure of having it
-back before Monday. But it's part of my rent-money. Could you make sure,
-do you think?"
-
-"Oh, yes!" said Bessy, eagerly. "At least I'd try. But perhaps I had
-better not take it, for after all I don't know where I could get it.
-What Tom and Jem earn is little enough for the house, now that mother's
-washing is cut off."
-
-"They are good, dutiful lads, to give it to their mother," said Mrs.
-Foster, sighing: for she thought of her own boys, that had left her in
-her old age to toil on, with faded eyesight and weakened strength.
-
-"Oh! but mother makes them each keep a shilling out of it for
-themselves," said Bessy, in a complaining tone, for she wanted money,
-and was inclined to envy any one who possessed it.
-
-"That's right enough," said Mrs. Foster. "They that earn it should have
-some of the power over it."
-
-"But about this wool; this eighteenpence! I wish I was a boy and could
-earn money. I wish mother would have let me go to work in the factory."
-
-"Come now, Bessy, I can have none of that nonsense. Thy mother knows
-what's best for thee; and I'm not going to hear thee complain of what
-she has thought right. But may be, I can help you to a way of gaining
-eighteenpence. Mrs. Scott at the worsted shop told me that she should
-want some one to clean on Saturday; now you're a good strong girl, and
-can do a woman's work if you've a mind. Shall I say you will go? and
-then I don't mind if I lend you my eighteenpence. You'll pay me before I
-want my rent on Monday."
-
-"Oh! thank you, dear Mrs. Foster," said Bessy. "I can scour as well as
-any woman, mother often says so; and I'll do my best on Saturday; they
-shan't blame you for having spoken up for me."
-
-"No, Bessy, they won't, I'm sure, if you do your best. You're a good
-sharp girl for your years."
-
-Bessy lingered for some time, hoping that Mrs. Foster would remember her
-offer of lending her the money; but finding that she had quite forgotten
-it, she ventured to remind the kind old woman. That it was nothing but
-forgetfulness, was evident from the haste with which Mrs. Foster bustled
-up to her tea-pot and took from it the money required.
-
-"You're as welcome to it as can be, Bessy, as long as I'm sure of its
-being repaid by Monday. But you're in a mighty hurry about this coverlet,"
-continued she, as she saw Bessy put on her bonnet and prepare to go out.
-"Stay, you must take patterns, and go to the right shop in St. Mary's
-Gate. Why, your mother won't be back this three weeks, child."
-
-"No. But I can't abide waiting, and I want to set to it before it is
-dark; and you'll teach me the stitch, won't you, when I come back with
-the wools? I won't be half an hour away."
-
-But Mary and Bill had to "abide waiting" that afternoon; for though the
-neighbour at whose house the key was left could let them into the house,
-there was no supper ready for them on their return from school; even
-Jenny was away spending the afternoon with a playfellow; the fire was
-nearly out, the milk had been left at a neighbour's; altogether home was
-very comfortless to the poor tired children, and Bill grumbled terribly;
-Mary's head ached, and the very tones of her brother's voice, as he
-complained, gave her pain; and for a minute she felt inclined to sit
-down and cry. But then she thought of many little sayings which she had
-heard from her teacher--such as "Never complain of what you can cure,"
-"Bear and forbear," and several other short sentences of a similar
-description. So she began to make up the fire, and asked Bill to fetch
-some chips; and when he gave her the gruff answer, that he did not see
-any use in making a fire when there was nothing to cook by it, she went
-herself and brought the wood without a word of complaint.
-
-Presently Bill said, "Here! you lend me those bellows; you're not
-blowing it in the right way; girls never do!" He found out that Mary was
-wise in making a bright fire ready; for before the blowing was ended,
-the neighbour with whom the milk had been left brought it in, and little
-handy Mary prepared the porridge as well as the mother herself could
-have done. They had just ended when Bessy came in almost breathless; for
-she had suddenly remembered, in the middle of her knitting-lesson, that
-Bill and Mary must be at home from school.
-
-"Oh!" she said, "that's right. I have so hurried myself! I was afraid
-the fire would be out. Where's Jenny? You were to have called for her,
-you know, as you came from school. Dear! how stupid you are, Mary. I am
-sure I told you over and over again. Now don't cry, silly child. The
-best thing you can do is to run off back again for her."
-
-"But my lessons, Bessy. They are so bad to learn. It's tables day
-to-morrow," pleaded Mary.
-
-"Nonsense; tables are as easy as can be. I can say up to sixteen times
-sixteen in no time."
-
-"But you know, Bessy, I'm very stupid, and my head aches so to-night!"
-
-"Well! the air will do it good. Really, Mary, I would go myself, only
-I'm so busy; and you know Bill is too careless, mother says, to fetch
-Jenny through the streets; and besides they would quarrel, and you can
-always manage Jenny."
-
-Mary sighed, and went away to bring her sister home. Bessy sat down to
-her knitting. Presently Bill came up to her with some question about his
-lesson. She told him the answer without looking at the book; it was all
-wrong, and made nonsense; but Bill did not care to understand what he
-learnt, and went on saying, "Twelve inches make one shilling," as
-contentedly as if it were right.
-
-Mary brought Jenny home quite safely. Indeed, Mary always did succeed in
-everything, except learning her lessons well; and sometimes, if the
-teacher could have known how many tasks fell upon the willing, gentle
-girl at home, she would not have thought that poor Mary was slow or a
-dunce; and such thoughts would come into the teacher's mind sometimes,
-although she fully appreciated Mary's sweetness and humility of
-disposition.
-
-To-night she tried hard at her tables, and all to no use. Her head
-ached so, she could not remember them, do what she would. She longed to
-go to her mother, whose cool hands around her forehead always seemed to
-do her so much good, and whose soft, loving words were such a help
-to her when she had to bear pain. She had arranged so many plans for
-to-night, and now all were deranged by Bessy's new fancy for knitting.
-But Mary did not see this in the plain, clear light in which I have put
-it before you. She only was sorry that she could not make haste with her
-lessons, as she had promised Jenny, who was now upbraiding her with the
-non-fulfilment of her words. Jenny was still up when Tom and Jem came
-in. They spoke sharply to Bessy for not having their porridge ready; and
-while she was defending herself, Mary, even at the risk of imperfect
-lessons, began to prepare the supper for her brothers. She did it all
-so quietly, that, almost before they were aware, it was ready for them;
-and Bessy, suddenly ashamed of herself, and touched by Mary's quiet
-helpfulness, bent down and kissed her, as once more she settled to the
-never-ending difficulty of her lesson.
-
-Mary threw her arms round Bessy's neck, and began to cry, for this little
-mark of affection went to her heart; she had been so longing for a word
-or a sign of love in her suffering.
-
-"Come, Molly," said Jem, "don't cry like a baby;" but he spoke very
-kindly. "What's the matter? the old headache come back? Never mind. Go
-to bed, and it will be better in the morning."
-
-"But I can't go to bed. I don't know my lesson!" Mary looked happier,
-though the tears were in her eyes.
-
-"I know mine," said Bill, triumphantly.
-
-"Come here," said Jem. "There! I've time enough to whittle away at this
-before mother comes back. Now let's see this difficult lesson."
-
-Jem's help soon enabled Mary to conquer her lesson; but, meanwhile, Jenny
-and Bill had taken to quarrelling in spite of Bessy's scolding,
-administered in small sharp doses, as she looked up from her
-all-absorbing knitting.
-
-"Well," said Tom, "with this riot on one side, and this dull lesson on
-the other, and Bessy as cross as can be in the midst, I can understand
-what makes a man go out to spend his evenings from home."
-
-Bessy looked up, suddenly wakened up to a sense of the danger which her
-mother had dreaded.
-
-Bessy thought it was very fortunate that it fell on a Saturday, of
-all days in the week, that Mrs. Scott wanted her; for Mary would be at
-home, who could attend to the household wants of everybody; and so she
-satisfied her conscience at leaving the post of duty that her mother had
-assigned to her, and that she had promised to fulfil. She was so eager
-about her own plans that she did not consider this; she did not consider
-at all, or else I think she would have seen many things to which she
-seemed to be blind now. When were Mary's lessons for Monday to be
-learnt? Bessy knew as well as we do, that lesson-learning was hard work
-to Mary. If Mary worked as hard as she could after morning school she
-could hardly get the house cleaned up bright and comfortable before
-her brothers came home from the factory, which "loosed" early on the
-Saturday afternoon; and if pails of water, chairs heaped up one on
-the other, and tables put topsy-turvy on the dresser, were the most
-prominent objects in the house-place, there would be no temptation for
-the lads to stay at home; besides which, Mary, tired and weary (however
-gentle she might be), would not be able to give the life to the evening
-that Bessy, a clever, spirited girl, near their own age, could easily
-do, if she chose to be interested and sympathising in what they had to
-tell. But Bessy did not think of all this. What she did think about was
-the pleasant surprise she should give her mother by the warm and pretty
-covering for her feet, which she hoped to present her with on her return
-home. And if she had done the duties she was pledged to on her mother's
-departure first, if they had been compatible with her plan of being a
-whole day absent from home, in order to earn the money for the wools,
-the project of the surprise would have been innocent and praiseworthy.
-
-Bessy prepared everything for dinner before she left home that Saturday
-morning. She made a potato-pie all ready for putting in the oven; she
-was very particular in telling Mary what was to be cleaned, and how it
-was all to be cleaned; and then she kissed the children, and ran off to
-Mrs. Scott's. Mary was rather afraid of the responsibility thrust upon
-her; but still she was pleased that Bessy could trust her to do so much.
-She took Jenny to the ever-useful neighbour, as she and Bill went to
-school; but she was rather frightened when Mrs. Jones began to grumble
-about these frequent visits of the child.
-
-"I was ready enough to take care of the wench when thy mother was ill;
-there was reason for that. And the child is a nice child enough, when
-she is not cross; but still there are some folks, it seems, who, if you
-give them an inch, will take an ell. Where's Bessy, that she can't mind
-her own sister?"
-
-"Gone out charing," said Mary, clasping the little hand in hers tighter,
-for she was afraid of Mrs. Jones's anger.
-
-"I could go out charing every day in the week if I'd the face to trouble
-other folks with my children," said Mrs. Jones, in a surly tone.
-
-"Shall I take her back, ma'am?" said Mary, timidly, though she knew this
-would involve her staying away from school, and being blamed by the dear
-teacher. But Mrs. Jones growled worse than she bit, this time at least.
-
-"No," said she, "you may leave her with me. I suppose she's had her
-breakfast?"
-
-"Yes; and I'll fetch her away as soon as ever I can after twelve."
-
-If Mary had been one to consider the hardships of her little lot, she
-might have felt this morning's occurrence as one;--that she, who dreaded
-giving trouble to anybody, and was painfully averse from asking any
-little favour for herself, should be the very one on whom it fell to
-presume upon another person's kindness. But Mary never did think of any
-hardships; they seemed the natural events of life, and as if it was
-fitting and proper that she, who managed things badly, and was such a
-dunce, should be blamed. Still she was rather flurried by Mrs. Jones's
-scolding; and almost wished that she had taken Jenny home again. Her
-lessons were not well said, owing to the distraction of her mind.
-
-When she went for Jenny she found that Mrs. Jones, repenting of her
-sharp words, had given the little girl bread and treacle, and made her
-very comfortable; so much so that Jenny was not all at once ready to
-leave her little playmates, and when once she had set out on the road,
-she was in no humour to make haste. Mary thought of the potato-pie and
-her brothers, and could almost have cried, as Jenny, heedless of her
-sister's entreaties, would linger at the picture-shops.
-
-"I shall be obliged to go and leave you, Jenny! I must get dinner
-ready."
-
-"I don't care," said Jenny. "I don't want any dinner, and I can come
-home quite well by myself."
-
-Mary half longed to give her a fright, it was so provoking. But she
-thought of her mother, who was so anxious always about Jenny, and she
-did not do it. She kept patiently trying to attract her onwards, and
-at last they were at home. Mary stirred up the fire, which was to all
-appearance quite black; it blazed up, but the oven was cold. She put the
-pie in, and blew the fire; but the paste was quite white and soft when
-her brothers came home, eager and hungry.
-
-"Oh! Mary, what a manager you are!" said Tom. "Any one else would have
-remembered and put the pie in in time."
-
-Mary's eyes filled full of tears; but she did not try to justify
-herself. She went on blowing, till Jem took the bellows, and kindly
-told her to take off her bonnet, and lay the cloth. Jem was always kind.
-He gave Tom the best baked side of the pie, and quietly took the side
-himself where the paste was little better than dough, and the potatoes
-quite hard; and when he caught Mary's little anxious face watching him,
-as he had to leave part of his dinner untasted, he said, "Mary, I should
-like this pie warmed up for supper; there is nothing so good as
-potato-pie made hot the second time."
-
-Tom went off saying, "Mary, I would not have you for a wife on any
-account. Why, my dinner would never be ready, and your sad face would
-take away my appetite if it were."
-
-But Jem kissed her and said, "Never mind, Mary! you and I will live
-together, old maid and old bachelor."
-
-So she could set to with spirit to her cleaning, thinking there never
-was such a good brother as Jem; and as she dwelt upon his perfections,
-she thought who it was who had given her such a good, kind brother, and
-felt her heart full of gratitude to Him. She scoured and cleaned in
-right-down earnest. Jenny helped her for some time, delighted to be
-allowed to touch and lift things. But then she grew tired; and Bill was
-out of doors; so Mary had to do all by herself, and grew very nervous
-and frightened, lest all should not be finished and tidy against Tom
-came home. And the more frightened she grew, the worse she got on. Her
-hands trembled, and things slipped out of them; and she shook so, she
-could not lift heavy pieces of furniture quickly and sharply; and in
-the middle the clock struck the hour for her brothers' return, when all
-ought to have been tidy and ready for tea. She gave it up in despair,
-and began to cry.
-
-"Oh, Bessy, Bessy! why did you go away? I have tried hard, and I cannot
-do it," said she aloud, as if Bessy could hear.
-
-"Dear Mary, don't cry," said Jenny, suddenly coming away from her play.
-"I'll help you. I am very strong. I can do anything. I can lift that pan
-off the fire."
-
-The pan was full of boiling water, ready for Mary. Jenny took hold of
-the handle, and dragged it along the bar over the fire. Mary sprung
-forwards in terror to stop the little girl. She never knew how it was,
-but the next moment her arm and side were full of burning pain, which
-turned her sick and dizzy, and Jenny was crying passionately beside her.
-
-"Oh, Mary! Mary! Mary! my hand is so scalded. What shall I do? I cannot
-bear it. It's all about my feet on the ground." She kept shaking her
-hand to cool it by the action of the air. Mary thought that she herself
-was dying, so acute and terrible was the pain; she could hardly keep
-from screaming out aloud; but she felt that if she once began she could
-not stop herself, so she sat still, moaning, and the tears running down
-her face like rain. "Go, Jenny," said she, "and tell some one to come."
-
-"I can't, I can't, my hand hurts so," said Jenny. But she flew wildly
-out of the house the next minute, crying out, "Mary is dead. Come, come,
-come!" For Mary could bear it no longer; but had fainted away, and looked,
-indeed, like one that was dead. Neighbours flocked in; and one ran for
-a doctor. In five minutes Tom and Jem came home. What a home it seems!
-People they hardly knew standing in the house-place, which looked as if
-it had never been cleaned--all was so wet, and in such disorder, and
-dirty with the trampling of many feet; Jenny still crying passionately,
-but half comforted at being at present the only authority as to how the
-affair happened; and faint moans from the room upstairs, where some women
-were cutting the clothes off poor Mary, preparatory for the doctor's
-inspection. Jem said directly, "Some one go straight to Mrs. Scott's,
-and fetch our Bessy. Her place is here, with Mary."
-
-And then he civilly, but quietly, dismissed all the unnecessary and
-useless people, feeling sure that in case of any kind of illness, quiet
-was the best thing. Then he went upstairs.
-
-Mary's face was scarlet now with violent pain; but she smiled a little
-through her tears at seeing Jem. As for him, he cried outright.
-
-"I don't think it was anybody's fault, Jem," said she, softly. "It was
-very heavy to lift."
-
-"Are you in great pain, dear?" asked Jem, in a whisper.
-
-"I think I'm killed, Jem. I do think I am. And I did so want to see
-mother again."
-
-"Nonsense!" said the woman who had been helping Mary. For, as she said
-afterwards, whether Mary died or lived, crying was a bad thing for her;
-and she saw the girl was ready to cry when she thought of her mother,
-though she had borne up bravely all the time the clothes were cut off.
-
-Bessy's face, which had been red with hard running, faded to a dead
-white when she saw Mary; she looked so shocked and ill that Jem had not
-the heart to blame her, although the minute before she came in, he had
-been feeling very angry with her. Bessy stood quite still at the foot of
-Mary's bed, never speaking a word, while the doctor examined her side
-and felt her pulse; only great round tears gathered in her eyes, and
-rolled down her cheeks, as she saw Mary quiver with pain. Jem followed
-the doctor downstairs. Then Bessy went and knelt beside Mary, and wiped
-away the tears that were trickling down the little face.
-
-"Is it very bad, Mary?" asked Bessy.
-
-"Oh yes! yes! if I speak, I shall scream."
-
-Then Bessy covered her head in the bed-clothes and cried outright.
-
-"I was not cross, was I? I did not mean to be--but I hardly know what I
-am saying," moaned out little Mary. "Please forgive me, Bessy, if I was
-cross."
-
-"God forgive me!" said Bessy, very low. They were the first words she
-had spoken since she came home. But there could be no more talking
-between the sisters, for now the woman returned who had at first been
-assisting Mary. Presently Jem came to the door, and beckoned. Bessy rose
-up, and went with, him below. Jem looked very grave, yet not so sad as
-he had done before the doctor came. "He says she must go into the
-infirmary. He will see about getting her in."
-
-"Oh, Jem! I did so want to nurse her myself!" said Bessy, imploringly.
-"It was all my own fault," (she choked with crying); "and I thought I
-might do that for her, to make up."
-
-"My dear Bessy,"--before he had seen Bessy, he had thought he could
-never call her "dear" again, but now he began--"My dear Bessy, we both
-want Mary to get better, don't we? I am sure we do. And we want to take
-the best way of making her so, whatever that is; well, then, I think we
-must not be considering what we should like best just for ourselves, but
-what people, who know as well as doctors do, say is the right way. I
-can't remember all that he said; but I'm clear that he told me, all
-wounds on the skin required more and better air to heal in than Mary
-could have here: and there the doctor will see her twice a day, if need
-be."
-
-Bessy shook her head, but could not speak at first. At last she said,
-"Jem, I did so want to do something for her. No one could nurse her as I
-should."
-
-Jem was silent. At last he took Bessy's hand, for he wanted to say
-something to her that he was afraid might vex her, and yet that he
-thought he ought to say.
-
-"Bessy!" said he, "when mother went away, you planned to do all things
-right at home, and to make us all happy. I know you did. Now may I tell
-you how I think you went wrong? Don't be angry, Bessy."
-
-"I think I shall never have spirit enough in me to be angry again," said
-Bessy, humbly and sadly.
-
-"So much the better, dear. But don't over-fret about Mary. The doctor
-has good hopes of her, if he can get her into the infirmary. Now, I'm
-going on to tell you how I think you got wrong after mother left. You
-see, Bessy, you wanted to make us all happy your way--as you liked; just
-as you are wanting now to nurse Mary in your way, and as you like. Now,
-as far as I can make out, those folks who make home the happiest, are
-people who try and find out how others think they could be happy, and
-then, if it's not wrong, help them on with their wishes as far as they
-can. You know, you wanted us all to listen to your book; and very kind
-it was in you to think of it; only, you see, one wanted to whittle, and
-another wanted to do this or that, and then you were vexed with us all.
-I don't say but what I should have been if I had been in your place, and
-planned such a deal for others; only lookers-on always see a deal; and I
-saw that if you'd done what poor little Mary did next day, we should all
-have been far happier. She thought how she could forward us in our
-plans, instead of trying to force a plan of her own on us. She got me my
-right sort of wood for whittling, and arranged all nicely to get the
-little ones off to bed, so as to get the house quiet, if you wanted some
-reading, as she thought you did. And that's the way, I notice, some
-folks have of making a happy home. Others may mean just as well, but
-they don't hit the thing."
-
-"I dare say it's true," said Bessy. "But sometimes you all hang about as
-if you did not know what to do. And I thought reading travels would just
-please you all."
-
-Jem was touched by Bessy's humble way of speaking, so different from her
-usual cheerful, self-confident manner. He answered, "I know you did,
-dear. And many a time we should have been glad enough of it, when we had
-nothing to do, as you say."
-
-"I had promised mother to try and make you all happy, and this is the
-end of it!" said Bessy, beginning to cry afresh.
-
-"But, Bessy! I think you were not thinking of your promise, when you
-fixed to go out and char."
-
-"I thought of earning money."
-
-"Earning money would not make us happy. We have enough, with care and
-management. If you were to have made us happy, you should have been at
-home, with a bright face, ready to welcome us; don't you think so, dear
-Bessy?"
-
-"I did not want the money for home. I wanted to make mother a present of
-such a pretty thing!"
-
-"Poor mother! I am afraid we must send for her home now. And she has
-only been three days at Southport!"
-
-"Oh!" said Bessy, startled by this notion of Jem's; "don't, don't send
-for mother. The doctor did say so much about her going to Southport
-being the only thing for her, and I did so try to get her an order! It
-will kill her, Jem! indeed it will; you don't know how weak and
-frightened she is,--oh, Jem, Jem!"
-
-Jem felt the truth of what his sister was saying. At last, he resolved
-to leave the matter for the doctor to decide, as he had attended his
-mother, and now knew exactly how much danger there was about Mary. He
-proposed to Bessy that they should go and relieve the kind neighbour who
-had charge of Mary.
-
-"But you won't send for mother," pleaded Bessy; "if it's the best thing
-for Mary, I'll wash up her things to-night, all ready for her to go
-into the infirmary. I won't think of myself, Jem."
-
-"Well! I must speak to the doctor," said Jem. "I must not try and fix
-any way just because we wish it, but because it is right."
-
-All night long, Bessy washed and ironed, and yet was always ready to
-attend to Mary when Jem called her. She took Jenny's scalded hand in
-charge as well, and bathed it with the lotion the doctor sent; and all
-was done so meekly and patiently that even Tom was struck with it, and
-admired the change. The doctor came very early. He had prepared
-everything for Mary's admission into the infirmary. And Jem consulted
-him about sending for his mother home. Bessy sat trembling, awaiting his
-answer.
-
-"I am very unwilling to sanction any concealment. And yet, as you say,
-your mother is in a very delicate state. It might do her serious harm
-if she had any shock. Well! suppose for this once, I take it on myself.
-If Mary goes on as I hope, why--well! well! we'll see. Mind that your
-mother is told all when she comes home. And if our poor Mary grows
-worse--but I'm not afraid of that, with infirmary care and nursing--but
-if she does, I'll write to your mother myself, and arrange with a kind
-friend I have at Southport all about sending her home. And now," said
-he, turning suddenly to Bessy, "tell me what you were doing from home
-when this happened. Did not your mother leave you in charge of all at
-home?"
-
-"Yes, sir!" said Bessy, trembling. "But, sir, I thought I could earn
-money to make mother a present!"
-
-"Thought! fiddle-de-dee. I'll tell you what; never you neglect the work
-clearly laid out for you by either God or man, to go making work for
-yourself, according to your own fancies. God knows what you are most fit
-for. Do that. And then wait; if you don't see your next duty clearly.
-You will not long be idle in this world, if you are ready for a summons.
-Now let me see that you send Mary all clean and tidy to the infirmary."
-
-Jem was holding Bessy's hand. "She has washed everything and made it fit
-for a queen. Our Bessy worked all night long, and was content to let me
-be with Mary (where she wished sore to be), because I could lift her
-better, being the stronger."
-
-"That's right. Even when you want to be of service to others, don't
-think how to please yourself."
-
-I have not much more to tell you about Bessy. This sad accident of
-Mary's did her a great deal of good, although it cost her so much sorrow
-at first. It taught her several lessons, which it is good for every
-woman to learn, whether she is called upon, as daughter, sister, wife,
-or mother, to contribute to the happiness of a home. And Mary herself
-was hardly more thoughtful and careful to make others happy in their own
-way, provided that way was innocent, than was Bessy hereafter. It was a
-struggle between her and Mary which could be the least selfish, and do
-the duties nearest to them with the most faithfulness and zeal. The
-mother stayed at Southport her full time, and came home well and strong.
-Then Bessy put her arms round her mother's neck, and told her all--and
-far more severely against herself than either the doctor or Jem did,
-when they related the same story afterwards.
-
-
-
-
-DISAPPEARANCES.
-
-
-I am not in the habit of seeing the _Household Words_ regularly; but a
-friend, who lately sent me some of the back numbers, recommended me to
-read "all the papers relating to the Detective and Protective Police,"
-which I accordingly did--not as the generality of readers have done, as
-they appeared week by week, or with pauses between, but consecutively,
-as a popular history of the Metropolitan Police; and, as I suppose it
-may also be considered, a history of the police force in every large
-town in England. When I had ended these papers, I did not feel disposed
-to read any others at that time, but preferred falling into a train of
-reverie and recollection.
-
-First of all I remembered, with a smile, the unexpected manner in which
-a relation of mine was discovered by an acquaintance, who had mislaid or
-forgotten Mr. B.'s address. Now my dear cousin, Mr. B., charming as he
-is in many points, has the little peculiarity of liking to change his
-lodgings once every three months on an average, which occasions some
-bewilderment to his country friends, who have no sooner learnt the 19,
-Belle Vue Road, Hampstead, than they have to take pains to forget that
-address, and to remember the 27�, Upper Brown Street, Camberwell;
-and so on, till I would rather learn a page of _Walker's Pronouncing
-Dictionary_, than try to remember the variety of directions which I have
-had to put on my letters to Mr. B. during the last three years. Last
-summer it pleased him to remove to a beautiful village not ten miles out
-of London, where there is a railway station. Thither his friend sought
-him. (I do not now speak of the following scent there had been through
-three or four different lodgings, where Mr. B. had been residing, before
-his country friend ascertained that he was now lodging at R----.) He
-spent the morning in making inquiries as to Mr. B.'s whereabouts in
-the village; but many gentlemen were lodging there for the summer, and
-neither butcher nor baker could inform him where Mr. B. was staying; his
-letters were unknown at the post-office, which was accounted for by the
-circumstance of their always being directed to his office in town. At
-last the country friend sauntered back to the railway-office, and while
-he waited for the train he made inquiry, as a last resource, of the
-book-keeper at the station. "No, sir, I cannot tell you where Mr. B.
-lodges--so many gentlemen go by the trains; but I have no doubt but
-that the person standing by that pillar can inform you." The individual
-to whom he directed the inquirer's attention had the appearance of a
-tradesman--respectable enough, yet with no pretensions to "gentility,"
-and had, apparently, no more urgent employment than lazily watching the
-passengers who came dropping in to the station. However, when he was
-spoken to, he answered civilly and promptly. "Mr. B.? tall gentleman,
-with light hair? Yes, sir, I know Mr. B. He lodges at No. 8, Morton
-Villas--has done these three weeks or more; but you'll not find him
-there, sir, now. He went to town by the eleven o'clock train, and does
-not usually return until the half-past four train."
-
-The country friend had no time to lose in returning to the village, to
-ascertain the truth of this statement. He thanked his informant, and
-said he would call on Mr. B. at his office in town; but before he left
-R----station, he asked the book-keeper who the person was to whom he had
-referred him for information as to his friend's place of residence. "One
-of the Detective Police, sir," was the answer. I need hardly say that
-Mr. B., not without a little surprise, confirmed the accuracy of the
-policeman's report in every particular.
-
-When I heard this anecdote of my cousin and his friend, I thought that
-there could be no more romances written on the same kind of plot as
-Caleb Williams; the principal interest of which, to the superficial
-reader, consists in the alternation of hope and fear, that the hero may,
-or may not, escape his pursuer. It is long since I have read the story,
-and I forget the name of the offended and injured gentleman, whose
-privacy Caleb has invaded; but I know that his pursuit of Caleb--his
-detection of the various hiding-places of the latter--his following up
-of slight clues--all, in fact, depended upon his own energy, sagacity,
-and perseverance. The interest was caused by the struggle of man against
-man; and the uncertainty as to which would ultimately be successful in
-his object; the unrelenting pursuer, or the ingenious Caleb, who seeks
-by every device to conceal himself. Now, in 1851, the offended master
-would set the Detective Police to work; there would be no doubt as to
-their success; the only question would be as to the time that would
-elapse before the hiding-place could be detected, and that could not be
-a question long. It is no longer a struggle between man and man, but
-between a vast organized machinery, and a weak, solitary individual; we
-have no hopes, no fears--only certainty. But if the materials of pursuit
-and evasion, as long as the chase is confined to England, are taken away
-from the store-house of the romancer, at any rate we can no more be
-haunted by the idea of the possibility of mysterious disappearances; and
-any one who has associated much with those who were alive at the end of
-the last century, can testify that there was some reason for such fears.
-
-When I was a child, I was sometimes permitted to accompany a relation
-to drink tea with a very clever old lady, of one hundred and twenty--or,
-so I thought then; I now think she, perhaps, was only about seventy.
-She was lively, and intelligent, and had seen and known much that was
-worth narrating. She was a cousin of the Sneyds, the family whence Mr.
-Edgeworth took two of his wives; had known Major Andr�; had mixed in the
-Old Whig Society that the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire and "Buff and
-Blue Mrs. Crewe" gathered round them; her father had been one of the
-early patrons of the lovely Miss Linley. I name these facts to show that
-she was too intelligent and cultivated by association, as well as by
-natural powers, to lend an over-easy credence to the marvellous; and
-yet I have heard her relate stories of disappearances which haunted
-my imagination longer than any tale of wonder. One of her stories was
-this:--Her father's estate lay in Shropshire, and his park-gates opened
-right on to a scattered village of which he was landlord. The houses
-formed a straggling irregular street--here a garden, next a gable-end of
-a farm, there a row of cottages, and so on. Now, at the end house or
-cottage lived a very respectable man and his wife. They were well known
-in the village, and were esteemed for the patient attention which they
-paid to the husband's father, a paralytic old man. In winter, his chair
-was near the fire; in summer, they carried him out into the open space
-in front of the house to bask in the sunshine, and to receive what
-placid amusement he could from watching the little passings to and fro
-of the villagers. He could not move from his bed to his chair without
-help. One hot and sultry June day, all the village turned out to the
-hay-fields. Only the very old and the very young remained.
-
-The old father of whom I have spoken was carried out to bask in the
-sunshine that afternoon as usual, and his son and daughter-in-law went
-to the hay-making. But when they came home in the early evening, their
-paralysed father had disappeared--was gone! and from that day forwards,
-nothing more was ever heard of him. The old lady, who told this story,
-said with the quietness that always marked the simplicity of her
-narration, that every inquiry which her father could make was made, and
-that it could never be accounted for. No one had observed any stranger
-in the village; no small household robbery, to which the old man might
-have been supposed an obstacle, had been committed in his son's dwelling
-that afternoon. The son and daughter-in-law (noted too for their
-attention to the helpless father) had been a-field among all the
-neighbours the whole of the time. In short, it never was accounted for;
-and left a painful impression on many minds.
-
-I will answer for it, the Detective Police would have ascertained every
-fact relating to it in a week.
-
-This story from its mystery was painful, but had no consequences to make
-it tragical. The next which I shall tell (and although traditionary,
-these anecdotes of disappearances which I relate in this paper are
-correctly repeated, and were believed by my informants to be strictly
-true), had consequences, and melancholy ones too. The scene of it is in
-a little country-town, surrounded by the estates of several gentlemen of
-large property. About a hundred years ago there lived in this small town
-an attorney, with his mother and sister. He was agent for one of the
-squires near, and received rents for him on stated days, which of course
-were well known. He went at these times to a small public-house, perhaps
-five miles from ----, where the tenants met him, paid their rents, and
-were entertained at dinner afterwards. One night he did not return from
-this festivity. He never returned. The gentleman whose agent he was,
-employed the Dogberrys of the time to find him, and the missing cash;
-the mother, whose support and comfort he was, sought him with all the
-perseverance of faithful love. But he never returned; and by-and-by the
-rumour spread that he must have gone abroad with the money; his mother
-heard the whispers all around her, and could not disprove it; and so her
-heart broke, and she died. Years after, I think as many as fifty, the
-well-to-do butcher and grazier of ---- died; but, before his death, he
-confessed that he had waylaid Mr. ---- on the heath close to the town,
-almost within call of his own house, intending only to rob him, but
-meeting with more resistance than he anticipated, had been provoked to
-stab him; and had buried him that very night deep under the loose sand
-of the heath. There his skeleton was found; but too late for his poor
-mother to know that his fame was cleared. His sister, too, was dead,
-unmarried, for no one liked the possibilities which might arise from
-being connected with the family. None cared if he was guilty or innocent
-now.
-
-If our Detective Police had only been in existence!
-
-This last is hardly a story of unaccounted-for disappearance. It is only
-unaccounted for in one generation. But disappearances never to be
-accounted for on any supposition are not uncommon, among the traditions
-of the last century. I have heard (and I think I have read it in one of
-the earlier numbers of _Chambers's Journal_), of a marriage which took
-place in Lincolnshire about the year 1750. It was not then _de rigueur_
-that the happy couple should set out on a wedding journey; but instead,
-they and their friends had a merry jovial dinner at the house of either
-bride or groom; and in this instance the whole party adjourned to the
-bridegroom's residence, and dispersed, some to ramble in the garden,
-some to rest in the house until the dinner-hour. The bridegroom, it is
-to be supposed, was with his bride, when he was suddenly summoned away
-by a domestic, who said that a stranger wished to speak to him; and
-henceforward he was never seen more. The same tradition hangs about
-an old deserted Welsh Hall standing in a wood near Festiniog; there,
-too, the bridegroom was sent for to give audience to a stranger on his
-wedding-day, and disappeared from the face of the earth from that time;
-but there, they tell in addition, that the bride lived long,--that she
-passed her three-score years and ten, but that daily during all those
-years, while there was light of sun or moon to lighten the earth, she
-sat watching,--watching at one particular window which commanded a view
-of the approach to the house. Her whole faculties, her whole mental
-powers, became absorbed in that weary watching; long before she died,
-she was childish, and only conscious of one wish--to sit in that long
-high window, and watch the road, along which he might come. She was as
-faithful as Evangeline, if pensive and inglorious.
-
-That these two similar stories of disappearance on a wedding-day
-"obtained," as the French say, shows us that anything which adds to
-our facility of communication, and organization of means, adds to our
-security of life. Only let a bridegroom try to disappear from an untamed
-_Katherine_ of a bride, and he will soon be brought home, like a
-recreant coward, overtaken by the electric telegraph, and clutched back
-to his fate by a detective policeman.
-
-Two more stories of disappearance, and I have done. I will give you the
-last in date first, because it is the most melancholy; and we will wind
-up cheerfully (after a fashion). Some time between 1820 and 1830, there
-lived in North Shields a respectable old woman, and her son, who was
-trying to struggle into sufficient knowledge of medicine, to go out as
-ship-surgeon in a Baltic vessel, and perhaps in this manner to earn
-money enough to spend a session in Edinburgh. He was furthered in all
-his plans by the late benevolent Dr. G----, of that town. I believe the
-usual premium was not required in his case; the young man did many
-useful errands and offices which a finer young gentleman would have
-considered beneath him; and he resided with his mother in one of the
-alleys (or "chares,") which lead down from the main street of North
-Shields to the river. Dr. G----had been with a patient all night, and
-left her very early on a winter's morning to return home to bed; but
-first he stepped down to his apprentice's home, and bade him get up, and
-follow him to his own house, where some medicine was to be mixed, and
-then taken to the lady. Accordingly the poor lad came, prepared the
-dose, and set off with it some time between five and six on a winter's
-morning. He was never seen again. Dr. G---- waited, thinking he was at
-his mother's house; she waited, considering that he had gone to his
-day's work. And meanwhile, as people remembered afterwards, the small
-vessel bound to Edinburgh sailed out of port. The mother expected
-him back her whole life long; but some years afterwards occurred the
-discoveries of the Hare and Burke horrors, and people seemed to gain
-a dark glimpse at his fate; but I never heard that it was fully
-ascertained, or indeed more than surmised. I ought to add that all
-who knew him spoke emphatically as to his steadiness of purpose, and
-conduct, so as to render it improbable in the highest degree that he
-had run off to sea, or suddenly changed his plan of life in any way.
-
-My last story is one of a disappearance which was accounted for after
-many years. There is a considerable street in Manchester leading from
-the centre of the town to some of the suburbs. This street is called at
-one part Garratt, and afterwards, where it emerges into gentility and,
-comparatively, country, Brook Street. It derives its former name from an
-old black-and-white hall of the time of Richard the Third, or thereabouts,
-to judge from the style of building; they have closed in what is left
-of the old hall now; but a few years since this old house was visible
-from the main road; it stood low on some vacant ground, and appeared to
-be half in ruins. I believe it was occupied by several poor families who
-rented tenements in the tumble-down dwelling. But formerly it was Gerard
-Hall, (what a difference between Gerard and Garratt!) and was surrounded
-by a park with a clear brook running through it, with pleasant fish-ponds,
-(the name of these was preserved until very lately, on a street near,)
-orchards, dovecotes, and similar appurtenances to the manor-houses of
-former days. I am almost sure that the family to whom it belonged were
-Mosleys, probably a branch of the tree of the lord of the Manor of
-Manchester. Any topographical work of the last century relating to their
-district would give the name of the last proprietor of the old stock,
-and it is to him that my story refers.
-
-Many years ago there lived in Manchester two old maiden ladies, of high
-respectability. All their lives had been spent in the town, and they
-were fond of relating the changes which had taken place within their
-recollection, which extended back to seventy or eighty years from the
-present time. They knew much of its traditionary history from their
-father, as well; who, with his father before him, had been respectable
-attorneys in Manchester, during the greater part of the last century:
-they were, also, agents for several of the county families, who, driven
-from their old possessions by the enlargement of the town, found
-some compensation in the increased value of any land which they might
-choose to sell. Consequently the Messrs. S----, father and son, were
-conveyancers in good repute, and acquainted with several secret pieces
-of family history, one of which related to Garratt Hall.
-
-The owner of this estate, some time in the first half of the last
-century, married young; he and his wife had several children, and lived
-together in a quiet state of happiness for many years. At last, business
-of some kind took the husband up to London; a week's journey in those
-days. He wrote and announced his arrival; I do not think he ever wrote
-again. He seemed to be swallowed up in the abyss of the metropolis,
-for no friend (and the lady had many and powerful friends) could ever
-ascertain for her what had become of him; the prevalent idea was that
-he had been attacked by some of the street-robbers who prowled about
-in those days, that he had resisted, and had been murdered. His wife
-gradually gave up all hopes of seeing him again, and devoted herself
-to the care of her children; and so they went on, tranquilly enough,
-until the heir came of age, when certain deeds were necessary before he
-could legally take possession of the property. These deeds Mr. S----
-(the family lawyer) stated had been given up by him into the missing
-gentleman's keeping just before the last mysterious journey to London,
-with which I think they were in some way concerned. It was possible that
-they were still in existence; some one in London might have them in
-possession, and be either conscious or unconscious of their importance.
-At any rate, Mr. S----'s advice to his client was that he should put an
-advertisement in the London papers, worded so skilfully that any one
-who might hold the important documents should understand to what it
-referred, and no one else. This was accordingly done; and although
-repeated at intervals for some time, it met with no success. But at
-last a mysterious answer was sent; to the effect that the deeds were in
-existence, and should be given up; but only on certain conditions, and
-to the heir himself. The young man, in consequence, went up to London,
-and adjourned, according to directions, to an old house in Barbican,
-where he was told by a man, apparently awaiting him, that he must submit
-to be blindfolded, and must follow his guidance. He was taken through
-several long passages before he left the house; at the termination of
-one of these he was put into a sedan-chair, and carried about for an
-hour or more; he always reported that there were many turnings, and that
-he imagined he was set down finally not very far from his starting
-point.
-
-When his eyes were unbandaged, he was in a decent sitting-room, with
-tokens of family occupation lying about. A middle-aged gentleman
-entered, and told him that, until a certain time had elapsed (which
-should be indicated to him in a particular way, but of which the length
-was not then named), he must swear to secrecy as to the means by which
-he obtained possession of the deeds. This oath was taken; and then the
-gentleman, not without some emotion, acknowledged himself to be the
-missing father of the heir. It seems that he had fallen in love with a
-damsel, a friend of the person with whom he lodged. To this young woman
-he had represented himself as unmarried; she listened willingly to his
-wooing, and her father, who was a shopkeeper in the City, was not averse
-to the match, as the Lancashire squire had a goodly presence, and many
-similar qualities, which the shopkeeper thought might be acceptable to
-his customers. The bargain was struck; the descendant of a knightly race
-married the only daughter of the City shopkeeper, and became a junior
-partner in the business. He told his son that he had never repented
-the step he had taken; that his lowly-born wife was sweet, docile, and
-affectionate; that his family by her was large; and that he and they
-were thriving and happy. He inquired after his first (or rather, I
-should say, his true) wife with friendly affection; approved of what she
-had done with regard to his estate, and the education of his children;
-but said that he considered he was dead to her, as she was to him. When
-he really died he promised that a particular message, the nature of
-which he specified, should be sent to his son at Garrett; until then
-they would not hear more of each other; for it was of no use attempting
-to trace him under his incognito, even if the oath did not render such
-an attempt forbidden. I dare say the youth had no great desire to trace
-out the father, who had been one in name only. He returned to Lancashire;
-took possession of the property at Manchester; and many years elapsed
-before he received the mysterious intimation of his father's real death.
-After that, he named the particulars connected with the recovery of the
-title-deeds to Mr. S., and one or two intimate friends. When the family
-became extinct, or removed from Garratt, it became no longer any very
-closely kept secret, and I was told the tale of the disappearance by
-Miss S., the aged daughter of the family agent.
-
-Once more, let me say I am thankful I live in the days of the Detective
-Police; if I am murdered, or commit bigamy, at any rate my friends will
-have the comfort of knowing all about it.
-
-A correspondent has favoured us with the sequel of the disappearance
-of the pupil of Dr. G., who vanished from North Shields, in charge
-of certain potions he was entrusted with, very early one morning, to
-convey to a patient:--"Dr. G.'s son married my sister, and the young
-man who disappeared was a pupil in the house. When he went out with the
-medicine, he was hardly dressed, having merely thrown on some clothes;
-and he went in slippers--which incidents induced the belief that he was
-made away with. After some months his family put on mourning; and the
-G.'s (_very_ timid people) were so sure that he was murdered, that
-they wrote verses to his memory, and became sadly worn by terror. But,
-after a long time (I fancy, but am not sure, about a year and a half),
-came a letter from the young man, who was doing well in America. His
-explanation was, that a vessel was lying at the wharf about to sail in
-the morning, and the youth, who had long meditated evasion, thought it a
-good opportunity, and stepped on board, after leaving the medicine at
-the proper door. I spent some weeks at Dr. G.'s after the occurrence;
-and very doleful we used to be about it. But the next time I went they
-were, naturally, very angry with the inconsiderate young man."
-
-
-London: Printed by SMITH, ELDER & Co., 15�, Old Bailey, E.C.
-
-
-
-
-FOOTNOTES
-
-1.  Wir pfl�gen und wir streuen
-    Den Saamen auf das Land;
-    Das Wachsen und Gedeihen
-    Steht in des h�chsten Hand.
-    Er sendet Thau und Regen,
-    Und Sonn und Mondesschein;
-    Von Ihm kommt aller Segen,
-    Von unserm Gott allein:
-    Alle gute Gabe kommt her
-    Von Gott dem Herrn,
-    Drum dankt und hofft auf Ihn.
-
-
-
-
-TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
-
-Contemporary spellings have been retained even when inconsistent. A
-small number of obvious typographical errors have been corrected, and
-missing punctuation has been silently added.
-
-The following additional changes have been made:
-
- re-inter the inn                re-enter the inn
-
- borne at Altenahr               born at Altenahr
-
- hofft auf Ihm                   hofft auf Ihn
-
- Libbie fell very shy            Libbie felt very shy
-
- shut the door in                shut the door in
- Mr. Jenkins's face              Mrs. Jenkins's face
-
- his eyes was open               his eyes were open
-
- count-out and throwing          counting out and throwing
- down her money                  down her money
-
- altered breathings              altered breathing
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Woman and other Tales, by 
-Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
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+<html lang="en">
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-<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
-<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Grey Woman and other tales, by Mrs Gaskell.</title>
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-   body  {background:#fdfdfd;
-          color:black;
-          font-size: large;
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+<meta charset="utf-8">
+<title>The Grey Woman and other tales | Project Gutenberg</title>
+<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
+<style>
+   body  {margin-top:100px;
+          margin-left:10%;
+          margin-right:10%;
           text-align:justify; }
    h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 {text-align: center; }
    hr.narrow { width: 40%;
@@ -26,6 +23,7 @@
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@@ -66,156 +69,97 @@
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 </head>
 
 <body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 28636 ***</div>
 
+<figure class="illowp67 mt5" id="gwimg1">
+  <img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
 
-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Woman and other Tales, by 
-Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
-
-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: The Grey Woman and other Tales
-
-Author: Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
-
-Release Date: April 29, 2009 [EBook #28636]
-[Last updated: December 1, 2017]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WOMAN AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
-Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
-
-
-
-
-
+<figure class="illowp67 mt5" id="gwimg2">
+  <img src="images/gwimg2.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>Monsieur de la Tourelle.</figcaption>
+</figure>
 
-</pre>
-
-<hr class="full" />
-
-<p><a name="gwimg1" id="gwimg1">&nbsp;</a></p>
-<div class="center">
-<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="TITLE_PAGE">
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      <a href="images/gwimg1.jpg">
-      <img src="images/gwimg1.jpg"
-      alt="TITLE PAGE
-(THE GREY WOMAN AND OTHER TALES, by MRS GASKELL)." /></a>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      Click to <a href="images/gwimg1.jpg">ENLARGE</a>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="chap">
+<div class="center bold">
 <h1>THE GREY WOMAN</h1>
 
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-<h4>AND OTHER TALES.</h4>
+<div>AND OTHER TALES.</div>
 
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
-<h4><span class="smallcaps">By</span>&nbsp; MRS. GASKELL</h4>
+<div><span class="smallcaps">By</span>&nbsp; MRS. GASKELL,</div>
 
-<h6>AUTHOR OF "MARY BARTON," "NORTH AND SOUTH," "SYLVIA'S<br />
-LOVERS," "COUSIN PHILLIS," "CRANFORD," ETC.</h6>
+<div style="font-size: x-small; margin-top: 1em;">AUTHOR OF “MARY BARTON,” “NORTH AND SOUTH,” “SYLVIA’S<br >
+LOVERS,” “COUSIN PHILLIS,” “CRANFORD,” ETC.</div>
 
-
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-<h5>ILLUSTRATED EDITION.</h5>
+<div style="font-size: small; margin-top: 5em;">ILLUSTRATED EDITION.</div>
 
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<h4>LONDON:<br />
-SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.</h4>
-<h6>M.DCCC.LXV.</h6>
+<div>LONDON:<br >
+SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.</div>
+<div style="font-size: x-small; margin-top: 2em;">M.DCCC.LXV.</div>
 
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<div class="center">
- <p class="noindent">
-  <span class="small">
+<div class="center"><span class="small">
 	 [<i>The Right of Translation is reserved.</i>]
-	</span>
- </p>
+	</span></div>
 </div>
 
-<hr class="narrow" />
-
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-
-<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
-<div class="center">
-<table style= "margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="CONTENTS">
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td><a href="#gw" ><span class="smallcaps">The Grey Woman.</span></a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td> <td><a href="#cit"><span class="smallcaps">Curious if True.</span></a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td> <td><a href="#swh"><span class="smallcaps">Six Weeks at Heppenheim</span>.<br /></a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td> <td><a href="#lm"><span class="smallcaps">Libbie Marsh's Three Eras</span>.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td> <td><a href="#cs"><span class="smallcaps">Christmas Storms and Sunshine</span>.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td> <td><a href="#hh"><span class="smallcaps">Hand and Heart</span>.<br /></a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td> <td><a href="#bth"><span class="smallcaps">Bessy's Troubles at Home</span>.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">&nbsp;&nbsp;</td> <td><a href="#dis"><span class="smallcaps">Disappearances</span>.</a></td></tr>
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+<table style="padding: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">
+<tr><td><a href="#gw" ><span class="smallcaps">The Grey Woman.</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#cit"><span class="smallcaps">Curious if True.</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#swh"><span class="smallcaps">Six Weeks at Heppenheim</span>.<br ></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#lm"><span class="smallcaps">Libbie Marsh’s Three Eras</span>.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#cs"><span class="smallcaps">Christmas Storms and Sunshine</span>.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#hh"><span class="smallcaps">Hand and Heart</span>.<br ></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#bth"><span class="smallcaps">Bessy’s Troubles at Home</span>.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#dis"><span class="smallcaps">Disappearances</span>.</a></td></tr>
 </table>
-</div>
-
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<hr class="narrow" />
+<hr class="chap">
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
 
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3>
-
-<div class="center">
-<table style= "margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" summary="Illustrations">
-<tr><td align="center" valign="top"><a href="#gwimg1">Title Page</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="center" valign="top"><a href="#gwimg2">Monsieur de la Tourelle</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="center" valign="top"><a href="#gwimg3">He seemed like a little Bacchus</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="center" valign="top"><a href="#gwimg4">The Cut Finger</a></td></tr>
+<table style="padding: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">
+<tr><td><a href="#gwimg1">Title Page</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#gwimg2">Monsieur de la Tourelle</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#gwimg3">He seemed like a little Bacchus</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#gwimg4">The Cut Finger</a></td></tr>
 </table>
-</div>
 
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-<h3><a name="gw" id="gw"></a>THE GREY WOMAN.</h3>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">PORTION I.</p>
-</div>
+<hr class="chap">
+<h2 id="gw">THE GREY WOMAN.</h2>
+<h3>PORTION I.</h3>
 
 <p>There is a mill by the Neckar-side, to which many
 people resort for coffee, according to the fashion which
@@ -234,7 +178,7 @@ painted wood, and light moveable chairs of the same
 colour and material.</p>
 
 <p>I went to drink coffee there with some friends in
-184&mdash;. The stately old miller came out to greet us, as
+184—. The stately old miller came out to greet us, as
 some of the party were known to him of old. He was
 of a grand build of a man, and his loud musical voice,
 with its tone friendly and familiar, his rolling laugh of
@@ -257,12 +201,12 @@ was properly attended to; and, as he went, this great,
 prosperous, happy-looking man whistled softly one of
 the most plaintive airs I ever heard.</p>
 
-<p>"His family have held this mill ever since the old
+<p>“His family have held this mill ever since the old
 Palatinate days; or rather, I should say, have possessed
 the ground ever since then, for two successive mills of
 theirs have been burnt down by the French. If you
 want to see Scherer in a passion, just talk to him of the
-possibility of a French invasion."</p>
+possibility of a French invasion.”</p>
 
 <p>But at this moment, still whistling that mournful air,
 we saw the miller going down the steps that led from
@@ -270,7 +214,7 @@ the somewhat raised garden into the mill-yard; and so
 I seemed to have lost my chance of putting him in a
 passion.</p>
 
-<p>We had nearly finished our coffee, and our "kucken,"
+<p>We had nearly finished our coffee, and our “kucken,”
 and our cinnamon cake, when heavy splashes fell on our
 thick leafy covering; quicker and quicker they came,
 coming through the tender leaves as if they were tearing
@@ -281,9 +225,9 @@ a crimson umbrella, fit to cover every one left in the
 garden, and followed by his daughter, and one or two
 maidens, each bearing an umbrella.</p>
 
-<p>"Come into the house&mdash;come in, I say. It is a
+<p>“Come into the house—come in, I say. It is a
 summer-storm, and will flood the place for an hour or
-two, till the river carries it away. Here, here."</p>
+two, till the river carries it away. Here, here.”</p>
 
 <p>And we followed him back into his own house. We
 went into the kitchen first. Such an array of bright
@@ -299,13 +243,13 @@ lie down under the tables.</p>
 <p>His daughter said something to him in German, and
 he shook his head merrily at her. Everybody laughed.</p>
 
-<p>"What did she say?" I asked.</p>
+<p>“What did she say?” I asked.</p>
 
-<p>"She told him to bring the ducks in next; but
+<p>“She told him to bring the ducks in next; but
 indeed if more people come we shall be suffocated.
 What with the thundery weather, and the stove, and all
 these steaming clothes, I really think we must ask leave to
-pass on. Perhaps we might go in and see Frau Scherer."</p>
+pass on. Perhaps we might go in and see Frau Scherer.”</p>
 
 <p>My friend asked the daughter of the house for permission
 to go into an inner chamber and see her mother.
@@ -339,17 +283,17 @@ I afterwards heard that I was right.</p>
 
 <p>There was a little pause in the conversation.</p>
 
-<p>"Will you ask Frau Scherer who this is?"</p>
+<p>“Will you ask Frau Scherer who this is?”</p>
 
 <p>My friend repeated my question, and received a long
 reply in German. Then she turned round and translated
 it to me.</p>
 
-<p>"It is the likeness of a great-aunt of her husband's."
+<p>“It is the likeness of a great-aunt of her husband’s.”
 (My friend was standing by me, and looking at the
-picture with sympathetic curiosity.) "See! here is the
-name on the open page of this Bible, 'Anna Scherer,
-1778.' Frau Scherer says there is a tradition in the
+picture with sympathetic curiosity.) “See! here is the
+name on the open page of this Bible, ‘Anna Scherer,
+1778.’ Frau Scherer says there is a tradition in the
 family that this pretty girl, with her complexion of lilies
 and roses, lost her colour so entirely through fright,
 that she was known by the name of the Grey Woman.
@@ -359,37 +303,37 @@ refers me to her husband for them. She thinks he has
 some papers which were written by the original of that
 picture for her daughter, who died in this very house
 not long after our friend there was married. We can
-ask Herr Scherer for the whole story if you like."</p>
+ask Herr Scherer for the whole story if you like.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh yes, pray do!" said I. And, as our host came
+<p>“Oh yes, pray do!” said I. And, as our host came
 in at this moment to ask how we were faring, and to tell
 us that he had sent to Heidelberg for carriages to
 convey us home, seeing no chance of the heavy rain
 abating, my friend, after thanking him, passed on to my
 request.</p>
 
-<p>"Ah!" said he, his face changing, "the aunt Anna
+<p>“Ah!” said he, his face changing, “the aunt Anna
 had a sad history. It was all owing to one of those
-hellish Frenchmen; and her daughter suffered for it&mdash;the
+hellish Frenchmen; and her daughter suffered for it—the
 cousin Ursula, as we all called her when I was a
 child. To be sure, the good cousin Ursula was his child
 as well. The sins of the fathers are visited on their
 children. The lady would like to know all about it,
-would she? Well, there are papers&mdash;a kind of apology
-the aunt Anna wrote for putting an end to her daughter's
-engagement&mdash;or rather facts which she revealed, that
+would she? Well, there are papers—a kind of apology
+the aunt Anna wrote for putting an end to her daughter’s
+engagement—or rather facts which she revealed, that
 prevented cousin Ursula from marrying the man she
 loved; and so she would never have any other good
 fellow, else I have heard say my father would have been
-thankful to have made her his wife." All this time he
+thankful to have made her his wife.” All this time he
 was rummaging in the drawer of an old-fashioned bureau,
 and now he turned round, with a bundle of yellow MSS.
-in his hand, which he gave to my friend, saying, "Take
+in his hand, which he gave to my friend, saying, “Take
 it home, take it home, and if you care to make out our
 crabbed German writing, you may keep it as long as
 you like, and read it at your leisure. Only I must
-have it back again when you have done with it, that's
-all."</p>
+have it back again when you have done with it, that’s
+all.”</p>
 
 <p>And so we became possessed of the manuscript of the
 following letter, which it was our employment, during
@@ -401,14 +345,14 @@ to a project of marriage; but I doubt if, without
 the clue with which the good miller had furnished us,
 we could have made out even this much from the passionate,
 broken sentences that made us fancy that some
-scene between the mother and daughter&mdash;and possibly a
-third person&mdash;had occurred just before the mother had
+scene between the mother and daughter—and possibly a
+third person—had occurred just before the mother had
 begun to write.</p>
 
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<p>"Thou dost not love thy child, mother! Thou dost
-not care if her heart is broken!" Ah, God! and these
+<p>“Thou dost not love thy child, mother! Thou dost
+not care if her heart is broken!” Ah, God! and these
 words of my heart-beloved Ursula ring in my ears as if
 the sound of them would fill them when I lie a-dying.
 And her poor tear-stained face comes between me and
@@ -440,7 +384,7 @@ first to my own mind, and then by speech to his, the
 details of the time when it was painted; the merry
 words that passed between us then, a happy boy and
 girl; the position of the articles of furniture in the
-room; our father's habits; the cherry-tree, now cut
+room; our father’s habits; the cherry-tree, now cut
 down, that shaded the window of my bedroom, through
 which my brother was wont to squeeze himself, in order
 to spring on to the topmost bough that would bear his
@@ -454,12 +398,12 @@ dead. And thou rememberest how he fetched in his
 wife, and told her that I was not dead, but was come
 back to the old home once more, changed as I was.
 And she would scarce believe him, and scanned me with
-a cold, distrustful eye, till at length&mdash;for I knew her of
-old as Babette M&uuml;ller&mdash;I said that I was well-to-do,
+a cold, distrustful eye, till at length—for I knew her of
+old as Babette Müller—I said that I was well-to-do,
 and needed not to seek out friends for what they had to
-give. And then she asked&mdash;not me, but her husband&mdash;why
-I had kept silent so long, leading all&mdash;father,
-brother, every one that loved me in my own dear home&mdash;to
+give. And then she asked—not me, but her husband—why
+I had kept silent so long, leading all—father,
+brother, every one that loved me in my own dear home—to
 esteem me dead. And then thine uncle (thou rememberest?)
 said he cared not to know more than I
 cared to tell; that I was his Anna, found again, to be a
@@ -474,20 +418,20 @@ Fritz, but contented myself with his promise to be a
 father to my Ursula when I should die and leave this
 weary world.</p>
 
-<p>That Babette M&uuml;ller was, as I may say, the cause of
-all my life's suffering. She was a baker's daughter in
-Heidelberg&mdash;a great beauty, as people said, and, indeed,
-as I could see for myself. I, too&mdash;thou sawest my
-picture&mdash;was reckoned a beauty, and I believe I was so.
-Babette M&uuml;ller looked upon me as a rival. She liked to
+<p>That Babette Müller was, as I may say, the cause of
+all my life’s suffering. She was a baker’s daughter in
+Heidelberg—a great beauty, as people said, and, indeed,
+as I could see for myself. I, too—thou sawest my
+picture—was reckoned a beauty, and I believe I was so.
+Babette Müller looked upon me as a rival. She liked to
 be admired, and had no one much to love her. I had
-several people to love me&mdash;thy grandfather, Fritz, the
-old servant K&auml;tchen, Karl, the head apprentice at the
-mill&mdash;and I feared admiration and notice, and the being
-stared at as the "Sch&ouml;ne M&uuml;llerin," whenever I went
+several people to love me—thy grandfather, Fritz, the
+old servant Kätchen, Karl, the head apprentice at the
+mill—and I feared admiration and notice, and the being
+stared at as the “Schöne Müllerin,” whenever I went
 to make my purchases in Heidelberg.</p>
 
-<p>Those were happy, peaceful days. I had K&auml;tchen to
+<p>Those were happy, peaceful days. I had Kätchen to
 help me in the housework, and whatever we did pleased
 my brave old father, who was always gentle and indulgent
 towards us women, though he was stern enough
@@ -495,16 +439,16 @@ with the apprentices in the mill. Karl, the oldest of
 these, was his favourite; and I can see now that my
 father wished him to marry me, and that Karl himself
 was desirous to do so. But Karl was rough-spoken,
-and passionate&mdash;not with me, but with the others&mdash;and
+and passionate—not with me, but with the others—and
 I shrank from him in a way which, I fear, gave him
-pain. And then came thy uncle Fritz's marriage; and
+pain. And then came thy uncle Fritz’s marriage; and
 Babette was brought to the mill to be its mistress.
 Not that I cared much for giving up my post, for, in
-spite of my father's great kindness, I always feared that
+spite of my father’s great kindness, I always feared that
 I did not manage well for so large a family (with the
-men, and a girl under K&auml;tchen, we sat down eleven each
+men, and a girl under Kätchen, we sat down eleven each
 night to supper). But when Babette began to find fault
-with K&auml;tchen, I was unhappy at the blame that fell on
+with Kätchen, I was unhappy at the blame that fell on
 faithful servants; and by-and-by I began to see that
 Babette was egging on Karl to make more open love to
 me, and, as she once said, to get done with it, and take
@@ -517,29 +461,29 @@ about it.</p>
 
 <p>Things were in this way when I had an invitation to
 go to Carlsruhe to visit a schoolfellow, of whom I had
-been very fond. Babette was all for my going; I don't
+been very fond. Babette was all for my going; I don’t
 think I wanted to leave home, and yet I had been very
 fond of Sophie Rupprecht. But I was always shy among
 strangers. Somehow the affair was settled for me, but
 not until both Fritz and my father had made inquiries
 as to the character and position of the Rupprechts.
 They learned that the father had held some kind of
-inferior position about the Grand-duke's court, and was
+inferior position about the Grand-duke’s court, and was
 now dead, leaving a widow, a noble lady, and two
 daughters, the elder of whom was Sophie, my friend.
-Madame Rupprecht was not rich, but more than respectable&mdash;genteel.
+Madame Rupprecht was not rich, but more than respectable—genteel.
 When this was ascertained, my
 father made no opposition to my going; Babette forwarded
 it by all the means in her power, and even my
 dear Fritz had his word to say in its favour. Only
-K&auml;tchen was against it&mdash;K&auml;tchen and Karl. The opposition
+Kätchen was against it—Kätchen and Karl. The opposition
 of Karl did more to send me to Carlsruhe than
 anything. For I could have objected to go; but when
 he took upon himself to ask what was the good of going
 a-gadding, visiting strangers of whom no one knew anything,
-I yielded to circumstances&mdash;to the pulling of
+I yielded to circumstances—to the pulling of
 Sophie and the pushing of Babette. I was silently
-vexed, I remember, at Babette's inspection of my
+vexed, I remember, at Babette’s inspection of my
 clothes; at the way in which she settled that this gown
 was too old-fashioned, or that too common, to go with
 me on my visit to a noble lady; and at the way in which
@@ -550,7 +494,7 @@ her so kind for doing all this; and she herself meant
 kindly, too.</p>
 
 <p>At last I quitted the mill by the Neckar-side. It was
-a long day's journey, and Fritz went with me to Carlsruhe.
+a long day’s journey, and Fritz went with me to Carlsruhe.
 The Rupprechts lived on the third floor of a
 house a little behind one of the principal streets, in
 a cramped-up court, to which we gained admittance
@@ -566,11 +510,11 @@ with her expressions of admiration and regard. The
 little sister kept out of our way; and that was all
 we needed, in the first enthusiastic renewal of our
 early friendship. The one great object of Madame
-Rupprecht's life was to retain her position in society;
-and as her means were much diminished since her husband's
+Rupprecht’s life was to retain her position in society;
+and as her means were much diminished since her husband’s
 death, there was not much comfort, though there
 was a great deal of show, in their way of living; just
-the opposite of what it was at my father's house. I
+the opposite of what it was at my father’s house. I
 believe that my coming was not too much desired by
 Madame Rupprecht, as I brought with me another
 mouth to be fed; but Sophie had spent a year or more
@@ -599,7 +543,7 @@ breeding I could have seen nothing of court manners,
 or French fashions, but that that was no reason for my
 laughing at them. Of course I tried never to smile
 again in company. This visit to Carlsruhe took place
-in '89, just when every one was full of the events taking
+in ’89, just when every one was full of the events taking
 place at Paris; and yet at Carlsruhe French fashions
 were more talked of than French politics. Madame
 Rupprecht, especially, thought a great deal of all French
@@ -609,29 +553,10 @@ and it had nearly been an obstacle to my visit to
 Sophie that her mother preferred being called Madame
 to her proper title of Frau.</p>
 
-<p><a name="gwimg2" id="gwimg2">&nbsp;</a></p>
-<div class="center">
-<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="Monsieur de la Tourelle.">
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      <a href="images/gwimg2.jpg">
-      <img src="images/gwimg2.jpg"
-      alt="Monsieur de la Tourelle" /></a>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      <span class="caption">Monsieur de la Tourelle<br />
-      Click to <a href="images/gwimg2.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-
 <p>One night I was sitting next to Sophie, and longing
 for the time when we might have supper and go home,
 so as to be able to speak together, a thing forbidden by
-Madame Rupprecht's rules of etiquette, which strictly
+Madame Rupprecht’s rules of etiquette, which strictly
 prohibited any but the most necessary conversation
 passing between members of the same family when in
 society. I was sitting, I say, scarcely keeping back my
@@ -642,8 +567,8 @@ and presented him to the hostess. I thought I had
 never seen any one so handsome or so elegant. His
 hair was powdered, of course, but one could see from
 his complexion that it was fair in its natural state. His
-features were as delicate as a girl's, and set off by two
-little "mouches," as we called patches in those days,
+features were as delicate as a girl’s, and set off by two
+little “mouches,” as we called patches in those days,
 one at the left corner of his mouth, the other prolonging,
 as it were, the right eye. His dress was blue and
 silver. I was so lost in admiration of this beautiful
@@ -662,7 +587,7 @@ all the company turn round and look at me. Madame
 Rupprecht was, however, pleased with the precise thing
 that displeased me. She liked either Sophie or me to
 create a sensation; of course she would have preferred
-that it should have been her daughter, but her daughter's
+that it should have been her daughter, but her daughter’s
 friend was next best. As we went away, I heard Madame
 Rupprecht and Monsieur de la Tourelle reciprocating
 civil speeches with might and main, from which I found
@@ -672,7 +597,7 @@ or frightened, for I had been kept upon stilts of good
 manners all the evening. But still I was flattered
 when Madame Rupprecht spoke as if she had invited
 him, because he had shown pleasure in my society, and
-even more gratified by Sophie's ungrudging delight at
+even more gratified by Sophie’s ungrudging delight at
 the evident interest I had excited in so fine and agreeable
 a gentleman. Yet, with all this, they had hard work to
 keep me from running out of the salon the next day,
@@ -689,7 +614,7 @@ to come in the evening to bring some new song, which
 was all the fashion in Paris, he said. Madame Rupprecht
 had been out all morning, as she told me, to
 glean information about Monsieur de la Tourelle. He
-was a propri&eacute;taire, had a small ch&acirc;teau on the Vosges
+was a propriétaire, had a small château on the Vosges
 mountains; he owned land there, but had a large income
 from some sources quite independent of this property.
 Altogether, he was a good match, as she emphatically
@@ -697,9 +622,9 @@ observed. She never seemed to think that I could
 refuse him after this account of his wealth, nor do I
 believe she would have allowed Sophie a choice, even
 had he been as old and ugly as he was young and handsome.
-I do not quite know&mdash;so many events have come
+I do not quite know—so many events have come
 to pass since then, and blurred the clearness of my
-recollections&mdash;if I loved him or not. He was very
+recollections—if I loved him or not. He was very
 much devoted to me; he almost frightened me by the
 excess of his demonstrations of love. And he was very
 charming to everybody around me, who all spoke of him
@@ -726,11 +651,11 @@ betrothal. I started with astonishment. I had not
 realized that affairs had gone so far as this. But when
 she asked me, in a stern, offended manner, what I had
 meant by my conduct if I did not intend to marry
-Monsieur de la Tourelle&mdash;I had received his visits, his
+Monsieur de la Tourelle—I had received his visits, his
 presents, all his various advances without showing any
-unwillingness or repugnance&mdash;(and it was all true; I
+unwillingness or repugnance—(and it was all true; I
 had shown no repugnance, though I did not wish to be
-married to him,&mdash;at least, not so soon)&mdash;what could I
+married to him,—at least, not so soon)—what could I
 do but hang my head, and silently consent to the rapid
 enunciation of the only course which now remained for
 me if I would not be esteemed a heartless coquette all
@@ -768,7 +693,7 @@ my brother. But all the money arrangements were
 liberal in the extreme, and more than satisfied, almost
 surprised, my father. Even Fritz lifted up his eyebrows
 and whistled. I alone did not care about anything. I
-was bewitched,&mdash;in a dream,&mdash;a kind of despair. I had
+was bewitched,—in a dream,—a kind of despair. I had
 got into a net through my own timidity and weakness,
 and I did not see how to get out of it. I clung to my
 own home-people that fortnight as I had never done
@@ -786,10 +711,10 @@ any right over me but my future husband. And yet he
 asked me some solemn questions; but my answers were
 not such as to do me any good.</p>
 
-<p>"Dost thou know any fault or crime in this man that
-should prevent God's blessing from resting on thy marriage
+<p>“Dost thou know any fault or crime in this man that
+should prevent God’s blessing from resting on thy marriage
 with him? Dost thou feel aversion or repugnance
-to him in any way?"</p>
+to him in any way?”</p>
 
 <p>And to all this what could I say? I could only
 stammer out that I did not think I loved him enough;
@@ -811,29 +736,29 @@ of Heidelberg to his old castle in the Vosges; but I
 found an amount of determination, under that effeminate
 appearance and manner, for which I was not prepared,
 and he refused my first request so decidedly that I dared
-not urge it. "Henceforth, Anna," said he, "you
+not urge it. “Henceforth, Anna,” said he, “you
 will move in a different sphere of life; and though it
 is possible that you may have the power of showing
 favour to your relations from time to time, yet much or
 familiar intercourse will be undesirable, and is what I
-cannot allow." I felt almost afraid, after this formal
+cannot allow.” I felt almost afraid, after this formal
 speech, of asking my father and Fritz to come and see
 me; but, when the agony of bidding them farewell overcame
 all my prudence, I did beg them to pay me a visit
 ere long. But they shook their heads, and spoke of
 business at home, of different kinds of life, of my being
 a Frenchwoman now. Only my father broke out at last
-with a blessing, and said, "If my child is unhappy&mdash;which
-God forbid&mdash;let her remember that her father's
-house is ever open to her." I was on the point of
-crying out, "Oh! take me back then now, my father!
-oh, my father!" when I felt, rather than saw, my husband
+with a blessing, and said, “If my child is unhappy—which
+God forbid—let her remember that her father’s
+house is ever open to her.” I was on the point of
+crying out, “Oh! take me back then now, my father!
+oh, my father!” when I felt, rather than saw, my husband
 present near me. He looked on with a slightly contemptuous
 air; and, taking my hand in his, he led me
 weeping away, saying that short farewells were always
 the best when they were inevitable.</p>
 
-<p>It took us two days to reach his ch&acirc;teau in the Vosges,
+<p>It took us two days to reach his château in the Vosges,
 for the roads were bad and the way difficult to ascertain.
 Nothing could be more devoted than he was all the time
 of the journey. It seemed as if he were trying in every
@@ -849,7 +774,7 @@ heart would break with the sense of desolation. So it
 was in no cheerful frame of mind that we approached
 Les Rochers, and I thought that perhaps it was because
 I was so unhappy that the place looked so dreary. On
-one side, the ch&acirc;teau looked like a raw new building,
+one side, the château looked like a raw new building,
 hastily run up for some immediate purpose, without any
 growth of trees or underwood near it, only the remains
 of the stone used for building, not yet cleared away
@@ -887,10 +812,10 @@ of my having any other rooms but these, that I trembled
 in silence at the fantastic figures and shapes which my
 imagination called up as peopling the background of those
 gloomy mirrors. There was my boudoir, a little less
-dreary&mdash;my bedroom, with its grand and tarnished
+dreary—my bedroom, with its grand and tarnished
 furniture, which I commonly made into my sitting-room,
 locking up the various doors which led into the boudoir,
-the salon, the passages&mdash;all but one, through which
+the salon, the passages—all but one, through which
 M. de la Tourelle always entered from his own apartments
 in the older part of the castle. But this
 preference of mine for occupying my bedroom annoyed
@@ -900,7 +825,7 @@ back into the salon, which I disliked more and more
 from its complete separation from the rest of the building
 by the long passage into which all the doors of my
 apartment opened. This passage was closed by heavy
-doors and porti&egrave;res, through which I could not hear a
+doors and portières, through which I could not hear a
 sound from the other parts of the house, and, of course,
 the servants could not hear any movement or cry of
 mine unless expressly summoned. To a girl brought
@@ -920,7 +845,7 @@ like our kindly German servants. But I disliked them,
 one and all; I could not tell why. Some were civil,
 but there was a familiarity in their civility which repelled
 me; others were rude, and treated me more as if I were
-an intruder than their master's chosen wife; and yet of
+an intruder than their master’s chosen wife; and yet of
 the two sets I liked these last the best.</p>
 
 <p>The principal male servant belonged to this latter
@@ -946,10 +871,10 @@ experience to help me to unravel any mysteries among
 those who lived under the same roof. I understood that
 I had made what Madame Rupprecht and her set would
 have called a great marriage, because I lived in a
-ch&acirc;teau with many servants, bound ostensibly to obey
+château with many servants, bound ostensibly to obey
 me as a mistress. I understood that M. de la Tourelle
-was fond enough of me in his way&mdash;proud of my beauty,
-I dare say (for he often enough spoke about it to me)&mdash;but
+was fond enough of me in his way—proud of my beauty,
+I dare say (for he often enough spoke about it to me)—but
 he was also jealous, and suspicious, and uninfluenced
 by my wishes, unless they tallied with his own.
 I felt at this time as if I could have been fond of him
@@ -981,11 +906,8 @@ had come, to desire her to look out for me a maid of
 middle age, experienced in the toilette, and with so
 much refinement that she might on occasion serve as
 companion to me.</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">PORTION II.</p>
-</div>
+<h3>PORTION II.</h3>
 
 <p>A Norman woman, Amante by name, was sent to Les
 Rochers by the Paris milliner, to become my maid. She
@@ -993,7 +915,7 @@ was tall and handsome, though upwards of forty, and
 somewhat gaunt. But, on first seeing her, I liked her;
 she was neither rude nor familiar in her manners, and
 had a pleasant look of straightforwardness about her
-that I had missed in all the inhabitants of the ch&acirc;teau,
+that I had missed in all the inhabitants of the château,
 and had foolishly set down in my own mind as a national
 want. Amante was directed by M. de la Tourelle to sit
 in my boudoir, and to be always within call. He also
@@ -1002,8 +924,8 @@ which, perhaps, strictly belonged to my department of
 management. But I was young and inexperienced, and
 thankful to be spared any responsibility.</p>
 
-<p>I daresay it was true what M. de la Tourelle said&mdash;before
-many weeks had elapsed&mdash;that, for a great lady,
+<p>I daresay it was true what M. de la Tourelle said—before
+many weeks had elapsed—that, for a great lady,
 a lady of a castle, I became sadly too familiar with my
 Norman waiting-maid. But you know that by birth
 we were not very far apart in rank: Amante was the
@@ -1011,7 +933,7 @@ daughter of a Norman farmer, I of a German miller; and
 besides that, my life was so lonely! It almost seemed
 as if I could not please my husband. He had written
 for some one capable of being my companion at times,
-and now he was jealous of my free regard for her&mdash;angry
+and now he was jealous of my free regard for her—angry
 because I could sometimes laugh at her original
 tunes and amusing proverbs, while when with him I was
 too much frightened to smile.</p>
@@ -1022,11 +944,11 @@ carriages to pay us a visit, and there was an occasional
 talk of our going to Paris when public affairs should be
 a little more settled. These little events and plans
 were the only variations in my life for the first twelve
-months, if I except the alternations in M. de la Tourelle's
+months, if I except the alternations in M. de la Tourelle’s
 temper, his unreasonable anger, and his passionate fondness.</p>
 
 <p>Perhaps one of the reasons that made me take pleasure
-and comfort in Amante's society was, that whereas
+and comfort in Amante’s society was, that whereas
 I was afraid of everybody (I do not think I was half as
 much afraid of things as of persons), Amante feared no
 one. She would quietly beard Lefebvre, and he respected
@@ -1038,15 +960,15 @@ to his position as her master. And with all her shrewdness
 to others, she had quite tender ways with me; all
 the more so at this time because she knew, what I had
 not yet ventured to tell M. de la Tourelle, that by-and-by
-I might become a mother&mdash;that wonderful object of
+I might become a mother—that wonderful object of
 mysterious interest to single women, who no longer hope
 to enjoy such blessedness themselves.</p>
 
 <p>It was once more autumn; late in October. But I
 was reconciled to my habitation; the walls of the new
 part of the building no longer looked bare and desolate;
-the <i>d&eacute;bris</i> had been so far cleared away by M. de la
-Tourelle's desire as to make me a little flower-garden,
+the <i>débris</i> had been so far cleared away by M. de la
+Tourelle’s desire as to make me a little flower-garden,
 in which I tried to cultivate those plants that I remembered
 as growing at home. Amante and I had moved
 the furniture in the rooms, and adjusted it to our liking;
@@ -1100,26 +1022,26 @@ by thinking of the new unseen link between us, and
 then crying afresh to think how wicked I was. Oh,
 how well I remember that long October evening!
 Amante came in from time to time, talking away to
-cheer me&mdash;talking about dress and Paris, and I hardly
+cheer me—talking about dress and Paris, and I hardly
 know what, but from time to time looking at me keenly
 with her friendly dark eyes, and with serious interest,
 too, though all her words were about frivolity. At length
 she heaped the fire with wood, drew the heavy silken
 curtains close; for I had been anxious hitherto to keep
 them open, so that I might see the pale moon mounting
-the skies, as I used to see her&mdash;the same moon&mdash;rise
+the skies, as I used to see her—the same moon—rise
 from behind the Kaiser Stuhl at Heidelberg; but the
 sight made me cry, so Amante shut it out. She dictated
 to me as a nurse does to a child.</p>
 
-<p>"Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her
-company," she said, "while I go and ask Marthon for
-a cup of coffee." I remember that speech, and the way
+<p>“Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her
+company,” she said, “while I go and ask Marthon for
+a cup of coffee.” I remember that speech, and the way
 it roused me, for I did not like Amante to think I
 wanted amusing by a kitten. It might be my petulance,
-but this speech&mdash;such as she might have made to
-a child&mdash;annoyed me, and I said that I had reason for
-my lowness of spirits&mdash;meaning that they were not of so
+but this speech—such as she might have made to
+a child—annoyed me, and I said that I had reason for
+my lowness of spirits—meaning that they were not of so
 imaginary a nature that I could be diverted from them
 by the gambols of a kitten. So, though I did not
 choose to tell her all, I told her a part; and as I spoke,
@@ -1128,7 +1050,7 @@ of what I withheld, and that the little speech about the
 kitten was more thoughtfully kind than it had seemed
 at first. I said that it was so long since I had heard
 from my father; that he was an old man, and so many
-things might happen&mdash;I might never see him again&mdash;and
+things might happen—I might never see him again—and
 I so seldom heard from him or my brother. It was
 a more complete and total separation than I had ever
 anticipated when I married, and something of my home
@@ -1141,17 +1063,17 @@ to me.</p>
 some of the events and sorrows of her own life. Then,
 remembering her purpose, she set out in search of the
 coffee, which ought to have been brought to me an hour
-before; but, in my husband's absence, my wishes were
+before; but, in my husband’s absence, my wishes were
 but seldom attended to, and I never dared to give
 orders.</p>
 
 <p>Presently she returned, bringing the coffee and a
 great large cake.</p>
 
-<p>"See!" said she, setting it down. "Look at my
+<p>“See!” said she, setting it down. “Look at my
 plunder. Madame must eat. Those who eat always
 laugh. And, besides, I have a little news that will
-please madame." Then she told me that, lying on a
+please madame.” Then she told me that, lying on a
 table in the great kitchen, was a bundle of letters, come
 by the courier from Strasburg that very afternoon: then,
 fresh from her conversation with me, she had hastily
@@ -1164,17 +1086,17 @@ She told him that she believed there was a letter there
 for her mistress; but he only swore the more, saying,
 that if there was it was no business of hers, or of his
 either, for that he had the strictest orders always to
-take all letters that arrived during his master's absence
-into the private sitting-room of the latter&mdash;a room into
+take all letters that arrived during his master’s absence
+into the private sitting-room of the latter—a room into
 which I had never entered, although it opened out of my
-husband's dressing-room.</p>
+husband’s dressing-room.</p>
 
 <p>I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought
 me this letter. No, indeed, she replied, it was almost
 as much as her life was worth to live among such a set
 of servants: it was only a month ago that Jacques had
 stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk. Had I never
-missed Valentin&mdash;that handsome young lad who carried
+missed Valentin—that handsome young lad who carried
 up the wood into my salon? Poor fellow! he lies dead
 and cold now, and they said in the village he had put
 an end to himself, but those of the household knew
@@ -1185,11 +1107,11 @@ the next day, and it would not be long to wait.</p>
 
 <p>But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day,
 without the letter. It might be to say that my
-father was ill, dying&mdash;he might cry for his daughter
+father was ill, dying—he might cry for his daughter
 from his death-bed! In short, there was no end to the
 thoughts and fancies that haunted me. It was of no
-use for Amante to say that, after all, she might be mistaken&mdash;that
-she did not read writing well&mdash;that she
+use for Amante to say that, after all, she might be mistaken—that
+she did not read writing well—that she
 had but a glimpse of the address; I let my coffee cool,
 my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands
 with impatience to get at the letter, and have some
@@ -1197,14 +1119,14 @@ news of my dear ones at home. All the time, Amante
 kept her imperturbable good temper, first reasoning,
 then scolding. At last she said, as if wearied out, that
 if I would consent to make a good supper, she would
-see what could be done as to our going to monsieur's
+see what could be done as to our going to monsieur’s
 room in search of the letter, after the servants were all
 gone to bed. We agreed to go together when all was
 still, and look over the letters; there could be no harm
 in that; and yet, somehow, we were such cowards we
 dared not do it openly and in the face of the household.</p>
 
-<p>Presently my supper came up&mdash;partridges, bread,
+<p>Presently my supper came up—partridges, bread,
 fruits, and cream. How well I remember that supper!
 We put the untouched cake away in a sort of buffet,
 and poured the cold coffee out of the window, in order
@@ -1216,13 +1138,13 @@ away the plates and dishes, but might go to bed. Long
 after I thought the house was quiet, Amante, in her
 caution, made me wait. It was past eleven before we
 set out, with cat-like steps and veiled light, along the
-passages, to go to my husband's room and steal my
+passages, to go to my husband’s room and steal my
 own letter, if it was indeed there; a fact about which
 Amante had become very uncertain in the progress of
 our discussion.</p>
 
 <p>To make you understand my story, I must now try
-to explain to you the plan of the ch&acirc;teau. It had been
+to explain to you the plan of the château. It had been
 at one time a fortified place of some strength, perched
 on the summit of a rock, which projected from the side
 of the mountain. But additions had been made to the
@@ -1243,8 +1165,8 @@ in which my apartments were, as the centre) consisted
 of many rooms, of a dark and gloomy character, as the
 mountain-side shut out much of the sun, and heavy
 pine woods came down within a few yards of the
-windows. Yet on this side&mdash;on a projecting plateau
-of the rock&mdash;my husband had formed the flower-garden
+windows. Yet on this side—on a projecting plateau
+of the rock—my husband had formed the flower-garden
 of which I have spoken; for he was a great cultivator of
 flowers in his leisure moments.</p>
 
@@ -1275,13 +1197,13 @@ designed in order to give me exercise and employment
 under his own eye.</p>
 
 <p>But to return to that night. I knew, as I have said,
-that M. de la Tourelle's private room opened out of his
+that M. de la Tourelle’s private room opened out of his
 dressing-room, and this out of his bedroom, which again
 opened into mine, the corner-room. But there were
 other doors into all these rooms, and these doors led
 into a long gallery, lighted by windows, looking into the
 inner court. I do not remember our consulting much
-about it; we went through my room into my husband's
+about it; we went through my room into my husband’s
 apartment through the dressing-room, but the door of
 communication into his study was locked, so there was
 nothing for it but to turn back and go by the gallery to
@@ -1293,7 +1215,7 @@ the whole apparatus for bathing and dressing, more
 luxurious even than those which he had provided for
 me. But the room itself was less splendid in its proportions
 than mine. In truth, the new buildings ended
-at the entrance to my husband's dressing-room. There
+at the entrance to my husband’s dressing-room. There
 were deep window recesses in walls eight or nine feet
 thick, and even the partitions between the chambers
 were three feet deep; but over all these doors or windows
@@ -1301,7 +1223,7 @@ there fell thick, heavy draperies, so that I should think
 no one could have heard in one room what passed in
 another. We went back into my room, and out into
 the gallery. We had to shade our candle, from a fear
-that possessed us, I don't know why, lest some of the
+that possessed us, I don’t know why, lest some of the
 servants in the opposite wing might trace our progress
 towards the part of the castle unused by any one except
 my husband. Somehow, I had always the feeling that
@@ -1312,7 +1234,7 @@ unspoken limitation extending over all my actions.</p>
 <p>There was a light in the upper room; we paused, and
 Amante would have again retreated, but I was chafing
 under the delays. What was the harm of my seeking
-my father's unopened letter to me in my husband's
+my father’s unopened letter to me in my husband’s
 study? I, generally the coward, now blamed Amante
 for her unusual timidity. But the truth was, she had
 far more reason for suspicion as to the proceedings of
@@ -1347,7 +1269,7 @@ darkness, I do not know, but even now, in my dreams,
 comes up that room of horror, distinct in its profound
 shadow. Amante could hardly have been gone a minute
 before I felt an additional gloom before the window, and
-heard soft movements outside&mdash;soft, but resolute, and
+heard soft movements outside—soft, but resolute, and
 continued until the end was accomplished, and the window
 raised.</p>
 
@@ -1359,8 +1281,8 @@ to catch their attention, as I also ran the danger of
 doing by opening the door, which was all but closed,
 and to whose handlings I was unaccustomed. Again,
 quick as lightning, I bethought me of the hiding-place
-between the locked door to my husband's dressing-room
-and the porti&egrave;re which covered it; but I gave that up,
+between the locked door to my husband’s dressing-room
+and the portière which covered it; but I gave that up,
 I felt as if I could not reach it without screaming or
 fainting. So I sank down softly, and crept under the
 table, hidden, as I hoped, by the great, deep table-cover,
@@ -1379,12 +1301,12 @@ the window lifted, and one after another stepped over
 the sill, and stood by me so close that I could have
 touched their feet. Then they laughed and whispered;
 my brain swam so that I could not tell the meaning of
-their words, but I heard my husband's laughter among
-the rest&mdash;low, hissing, scornful&mdash;as he kicked something
+their words, but I heard my husband’s laughter among
+the rest—low, hissing, scornful—as he kicked something
 heavy that they had dragged in over the floor, and which
-lay near me; so near, that my husband's kick, in touching
-it, touched me too. I don't know why&mdash;I can't tell
-how&mdash;but some feeling, and not curiosity, prompted me
+lay near me; so near, that my husband’s kick, in touching
+it, touched me too. I don’t know why—I can’t tell
+how—but some feeling, and not curiosity, prompted me
 to put out my hand, ever so softly, ever so little, and
 feel in the darkness for what lay spurned beside me.
 I stole my groping palm upon the clenched and chilly
@@ -1402,26 +1324,26 @@ awful oaths at the mislaid articles which would have
 enabled them to strike fire. I heard her step outside
 coming nearer and nearer; I saw from my hiding-place
 the line of light beneath the door more and more distinctly;
-close to it her footstep paused; the men inside&mdash;at
+close to it her footstep paused; the men inside—at
 the time I thought they had been only two, but I
-found out afterwards there were three&mdash;paused in their
+found out afterwards there were three—paused in their
 endeavours, and were quite still, as breathless as myself,
 I suppose. Then she slowly pushed the door open with
 gentle motion, to save her flickering candle from being
 again extinguished. For a moment all was still. Then
 I heard my husband say, as he advanced towards her
 (he wore riding-boots, the shape of which I knew well,
-as I could see them in the light),&mdash;</p>
+as I could see them in the light),—</p>
 
-<p>"Amante, may I ask what brings you here into my
-private room?"</p>
+<p>“Amante, may I ask what brings you here into my
+private room?”</p>
 
 <p>He stood between her and the dead body of a man,
 from which ghastly heap I shrank away as it almost
 touched me, so close were we all together. I could not
 tell whether she saw it or not; I could give her no
 warning, nor make any dumb utterance of signs to bid
-her what to say&mdash;if, indeed, I knew myself what would
+her what to say—if, indeed, I knew myself what would
 be best for her to say.</p>
 
 <p>Her voice was quite changed when she spoke; quite
@@ -1438,14 +1360,14 @@ Amante, this was her first warning, but it was also her
 last; and, taking the candle out of her hand, he turned
 her out of the room, his companions discreetly making a
 screen, so as to throw the corpse into deep shadow. I
-heard the key turn in the door after her&mdash;if I had ever
+heard the key turn in the door after her—if I had ever
 had any thought of escape it was gone now. I only
 hoped that whatever was to befal me might soon be
 over, for the tension of nerve was growing more than I
 could bear. The instant she could be supposed to be
 out of hearing, two voices began speaking in the most
 angry terms to my husband, upbraiding him for not
-having detained her, gagged her&mdash;nay, one was for
+having detained her, gagged her—nay, one was for
 killing her, saying he had seen her eye fall on the face
 of the dead man, whom he now kicked in his passion.
 Though the form of their speech was as if they were
@@ -1465,8 +1387,8 @@ for nothing but to dress himself fine and scent himself
 with perfume; that, as for me, they could have got
 him twenty girls prettier, and with far more spirit in
 them. He quietly answered that I suited him, and that
-was enough. All this time they were doing something&mdash;I
-could not see what&mdash;to the corpse; sometimes
+was enough. All this time they were doing something—I
+could not see what—to the corpse; sometimes
 they were too busy rifling the dead body, I believe, to
 talk; again they let it fall with a heavy, resistless thud,
 and took to quarrelling. They taunted my husband
@@ -1478,47 +1400,47 @@ laugh just as he had done when exchanging repartees in
 the little salon of the Rupprechts at Carlsruhe. I
 hated and dreaded him from that moment. At length,
 as if to make an end of the subject, he said, with cool
-determination in his voice,&mdash;</p>
+determination in his voice,—</p>
 
-<p>"Now, my good friends, what is the use of all this
+<p>“Now, my good friends, what is the use of all this
 talking, when you know in your hearts that, if I suspected
 my wife of knowing more than I chose of my
 affairs, she would not outlive the day? Remember
 Victorine. Because she merely joked about my affairs
 in an imprudent manner, and rejected my advice to
-keep a prudent tongue&mdash;to see what she liked, but
-ask nothing and say nothing&mdash;she has gone a long
-journey&mdash;longer than to Paris."</p>
+keep a prudent tongue—to see what she liked, but
+ask nothing and say nothing—she has gone a long
+journey—longer than to Paris.”</p>
 
-<p>"But this one is different to her; we knew all that
+<p>“But this one is different to her; we knew all that
 Madame Victorine knew, she was such a chatterbox;
 but this one may find out a vast deal, and never breathe
 a word about it, she is so sly. Some fine day we
 may have the country raised, and the gendarmes down
 upon us from Strasburg, and all owing to your pretty
-doll, with her cunning ways of coming over you."</p>
+doll, with her cunning ways of coming over you.”</p>
 
 <p>I think this roused M. de la Tourelle a little from
 his contemptuous indifference, for he ground an oath
-through his teeth, and said, "Feel! this dagger is
+through his teeth, and said, “Feel! this dagger is
 sharp, Henri. If my wife breathes a word, and I am
 such a fool as not to have stopped her mouth effectually
 before she can bring down gendarmes upon us, just let
 that good steel find its way to my heart. Let her
 guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight suspicion
-that I am not a 'grand propri&eacute;taire,' much less
+that I am not a ‘grand propriétaire,’ much less
 imagine that I am a chief of Chauffeurs, and she
 follows Victorine on the long journey beyond Paris
-that very day."</p>
+that very day.”</p>
 
-<p>"She'll outwit you yet; or I never judged women
-well. Those still silent ones are the devil. She'll be off
+<p>“She’ll outwit you yet; or I never judged women
+well. Those still silent ones are the devil. She’ll be off
 during some of your absences, having picked out some
-secret that will break us all on the wheel."</p>
+secret that will break us all on the wheel.”</p>
 
-<p>"Bah!" said his voice; and then in a minute he
-added, "Let her go if she will. But, where she goes,
-I will follow; so don't cry before you're hurt."</p>
+<p>“Bah!” said his voice; and then in a minute he
+added, “Let her go if she will. But, where she goes,
+I will follow; so don’t cry before you’re hurt.”</p>
 
 <p>By this time, they had nearly stripped the body; and
 the conversation turned on what they should do with it.
@@ -1545,8 +1467,8 @@ play upon words, softly applauding his own wit. And
 all the time the poor helpless outstretched arms of the
 dead lay close to his dainty boot! Then another
 stooped (my heart stopped beating), and picked up a
-letter lying on the ground&mdash;a letter that had dropped
-out of M. de Poissy's pocket&mdash;a letter from his wife, full
+letter lying on the ground—a letter that had dropped
+out of M. de Poissy’s pocket—a letter from his wife, full
 of tender words of endearment and pretty babblings of
 love. This was read aloud, with coarse ribald comments
 on every sentence, each trying to outdo the
@@ -1554,7 +1476,7 @@ previous speaker. When they came to some pretty
 words about a sweet Maurice, their little child away
 with its mother on some visit, they laughed at M. de la
 Tourelle, and told him that he would be hearing such
-woman's drivelling some day. Up to that moment, I
+woman’s drivelling some day. Up to that moment, I
 think, I had only feared him, but his unnatural, half-ferocious
 reply made me hate even more than I dreaded
 him. But now they grew weary of their savage merriment;
@@ -1592,17 +1514,17 @@ which case he would most likely have perceived my
 absence. He said that his hands were soiled (I
 shuddered, for it might be with life-blood), and he
 would go and cleanse them; but some bitter jest turned
-his purpose, and he left the room with the other two&mdash;left
+his purpose, and he left the room with the other two—left
 it by the gallery door. Left me alone in the dark
 with the stiffening corpse!</p>
 
 <p>Now, now was my time, if ever; and yet I could not
 move. It was not my cramped and stiffened joints that
-crippled me, it was the sensation of that dead man's
-close presence. I almost fancied&mdash;I almost fancy still&mdash;I
+crippled me, it was the sensation of that dead man’s
+close presence. I almost fancied—I almost fancy still—I
 heard the arm nearest to me move; lift itself up, as if
 once more imploring, and fall in dead despair. At that
-fancy&mdash;if fancy it were&mdash;I screamed aloud in mad terror,
+fancy—if fancy it were—I screamed aloud in mad terror,
 and the sound of my own strange voice broke the spell.
 I drew myself to the side of the table farthest from the
 corpse, with as much slow caution as if I really could
@@ -1610,8 +1532,8 @@ have feared the clutch of that poor dead arm, powerless
 for evermore. I softly raised myself up, and stood sick
 and trembling, holding by the table, too dizzy to know
 what to do next. I nearly fainted, when a low voice
-spoke&mdash;when Amante, from the outside of the door,
-whispered, "Madame!" The faithful creature had
+spoke—when Amante, from the outside of the door,
+whispered, “Madame!” The faithful creature had
 been on the watch, had heard my scream, and having
 seen the three ruffians troop along the gallery down the
 stairs, and across the court to the offices in the other
@@ -1622,7 +1544,7 @@ on a dreary moor, suddenly perceiving the small steady
 light which tells of human dwellings, takes heart, and
 steers straight onward. Where I was, where that voice
 was, I knew not; but go to it I must, or die. The
-door once opened&mdash;I know not by which of us&mdash;I fell
+door once opened—I know not by which of us—I fell
 upon her neck, grasping her tight, till my hands ached
 with the tension of their hold. Yet she never uttered a
 word. Only she took me up in her vigorous arms, and
@@ -1642,11 +1564,11 @@ one passed in and out of the salon; and I still lay
 quiet, feeling as if death were inevitable, but wishing
 that the agony of death were past. Again faintness
 stole over me; but just as I was sinking into the horrible
-feeling of nothingness, I heard Amante's voice close to
-me, saying,&mdash;</p>
+feeling of nothingness, I heard Amante’s voice close to
+me, saying,—</p>
 
-<p>"Drink this, madame, and let us begone. All is
-ready."</p>
+<p>“Drink this, madame, and let us begone. All is
+ready.”</p>
 
 <p>I let her put her arm under my head and raise me,
 and pour something down my throat. All the time she
@@ -1660,15 +1582,15 @@ little details of the most commonplace description, but
 never alluding for an instant to the fearful cause why
 flight was necessary. I made no inquiry as to how she
 knew, or what she knew. I never asked her either then
-or afterwards, I could not bear it&mdash;we kept our dreadful
+or afterwards, I could not bear it—we kept our dreadful
 secret close. But I suppose she must have been in the
 dressing-room adjoining, and heard all.</p>
 
 <p>In fact, I dared not speak even to her, as if there
 were anything beyond the most common event in life in
 our preparing thus to leave the house of blood by stealth
-in the dead of night. She gave me directions&mdash;short
-condensed directions, without reasons&mdash;just as you do to
+in the dead of night. She gave me directions—short
+condensed directions, without reasons—just as you do to
 a child; and like a child I obeyed her. She went often
 to the door and listened; and often, too, she went to
 the window, and looked anxiously out. For me, I saw
@@ -1679,7 +1601,7 @@ beating of my own heart. At last she took my hand,
 and led me in the dark, through the salon, once more
 into the terrible gallery, where across the black darkness
 the windows admitted pale sheeted ghosts of light upon
-the floor. Clinging to her I went; unquestioning&mdash;for
+the floor. Clinging to her I went; unquestioning—for
 she was human sympathy to me after the isolation of
 my unspeakable terror. On we went, turning to the
 left instead of to the right, past my suite of sitting-rooms
@@ -1699,7 +1621,7 @@ and then helped me to follow her out into the free,
 open air.</p>
 
 <p>We stole round the end of the building, and on turning
-the corner&mdash;she first&mdash;I felt her hold on me tighten
+the corner—she first—I felt her hold on me tighten
 for an instant, and the next step I, too, heard distant
 voices, and the blows of a spade upon the heavy soil,
 for the night was very warm and still.</p>
@@ -1715,10 +1637,10 @@ road.</p>
 <p>I had such faith in her that I did not venture to
 speak, even when she paused, as wondering to which
 hand she should turn. But now, for the first time,
-she spoke:&mdash;</p>
+she spoke:—</p>
 
-<p>"Which way did you come when he brought you here
-first?"</p>
+<p>“Which way did you come when he brought you here
+first?”</p>
 
 <p>I pointed, I could not speak.</p>
 
@@ -1734,10 +1656,10 @@ in a dream, I was aware that she had also locked and
 brought away the key of the door between the latter and
 the salon.</p>
 
-<p>"He will have been too busy this night to think much
-about you&mdash;he will suppose you are asleep&mdash;I shall be
+<p>“He will have been too busy this night to think much
+about you—he will suppose you are asleep—I shall be
 the first to be missed; but they will only just now be
-discovering our loss."</p>
+discovering our loss.”</p>
 
 <p>I remember those last words of hers made me pray
 to go on; I felt as if we were losing precious time in
@@ -1755,7 +1677,7 @@ sheltering tree or bush, we worked our way down past
 the mill, down to a one-arched bridge, which doubtless
 formed part of the road between the village and the mill.</p>
 
-<p>"This will do," said she; and we crept under the
+<p>“This will do,” said she; and we crept under the
 space, and climbing a little way up the rough stone-work,
 we seated ourselves on a projecting ledge, and
 crouched in the deep damp shadow. Amante sat a
@@ -1777,23 +1699,23 @@ brooklets, began to swell into a torrent, rushing
 over the stones with a perpetual and dizzying noise.</p>
 
 <p>Every now and then I was wakened from the painful
-doze into which I continually fell, by a sound of horses'
+doze into which I continually fell, by a sound of horses’
 feet over our head: sometimes lumbering heavily as if
 dragging a burden, sometimes rattling and galloping,
-and with the sharper cry of men's voices coming cutting
+and with the sharper cry of men’s voices coming cutting
 through the roar of the waters. At length, day fell.
 We had to drop into the stream, which came above our
 knees as we waded to the bank. There we stood, stiff
-and shivering. Even Amante's courage seemed to fail.</p>
+and shivering. Even Amante’s courage seemed to fail.</p>
 
-<p>"We must pass this night in shelter, somehow," said
+<p>“We must pass this night in shelter, somehow,” said
 she. For indeed the rain was coming down pitilessly.
 I said nothing. I thought that surely the end must be
 death in some shape; and I only hoped that to death
 might not be added the terror of the cruelty of men. In
 a minute or so she had resolved on her course of action.
 We went up the stream to the mill. The familiar sounds,
-the scent of the wheat, the flour whitening the walls&mdash;all
+the scent of the wheat, the flour whitening the walls—all
 reminded me of home, and it seemed to me as if I
 must struggle out of this nightmare and waken, and find
 myself once more a happy girl by the Neckar-side.
@@ -1821,28 +1743,28 @@ she was hastily helping me to take off my wet clothes,
 and spreading them, as well as the brown mantle that
 had covered us both, before the great stove which
 warmed the room with the effectual heat that the old
-woman's failing vitality required. All this time the
+woman’s failing vitality required. All this time the
 poor creature was discussing with herself as to whether
 she had disobeyed orders, in a kind of garrulous way
 that made me fear much for her capability of retaining
 anything secret if she was questioned. By-and-by, she
 wandered away to an unnecessary revelation of her
-master's whereabouts: gone to help in the search for
+master’s whereabouts: gone to help in the search for
 his landlord, the Sieur de Poissy, who lived at the
-ch&acirc;teau just above, and who had not returned from
+château just above, and who had not returned from
 his chase the day before; so the intendant imagined
 he might have met with some accident, and had
 summoned the neighbours to beat the forest and the hill-side.
 She told us much besides, giving us to understand that
 she would fain meet with a place as housekeeper where
 there were more servants and less to do, as her life here
-was very lonely and dull, especially since her master's
-son had gone away&mdash;gone to the wars. She then took
+was very lonely and dull, especially since her master’s
+son had gone away—gone to the wars. She then took
 her supper, which was evidently apportioned out to her
 with a sparing hand, as, even if the idea had come into
 her head, she had not enough to offer us any. Fortunately,
 warmth was all that we required, and that,
-thanks to Amante's cares, was returning to our chilled
+thanks to Amante’s cares, was returning to our chilled
 bodies. After supper, the old woman grew drowsy; but
 she seemed uncomfortable at the idea of going to sleep
 and leaving us still in the house. Indeed, she gave us
@@ -1852,7 +1774,7 @@ begged to be allowed to stay under shelter of some
 kind; and, at last, a bright idea came over her, and
 she bade us mount by a ladder to a kind of loft, which
 went half over the lofty mill-kitchen in which we were
-sitting. We obeyed her&mdash;what else could we do?&mdash;and
+sitting. We obeyed her—what else could we do?—and
 found ourselves in a spacious floor, without any safeguard
 or wall, boarding, or railing, to keep us from falling
 over into the kitchen in case we went too near the edge.
@@ -1864,7 +1786,7 @@ No sooner were we up there, than the old woman dragged
 the ladder, by which we had ascended, away with a
 chuckle, as if she was now secure that we could do no
 mischief, and sat herself down again once more, to doze
-and await her master's return. We pulled out some
+and await her master’s return. We pulled out some
 bedding, and gladly laid ourselves down in our dried
 clothes and in some warmth, hoping to have the sleep
 we so much needed to refresh us and prepare us for the
@@ -1875,11 +1797,8 @@ that formed the flooring into the kitchen below, very
 partially lighted by the common lamp that hung against
 the wall near the stove on the opposite side to that on
 which we were.</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">PORTION III.</p>
-</div>
+<h3>PORTION III.</h3>
 
 <p>Far on in the night there were voices outside reached
 us in our hiding-place; an angry knocking at the door,
@@ -1892,13 +1811,13 @@ about something; but the miller stopped the
 conversation to swear at the old woman for having fallen
 asleep, and, with tipsy anger, and even with blows,
 drove the poor old creature out of the kitchen to bed.
-Then he and Lefebvre went on talking&mdash;about the Sieur
-de Poissy's disappearance. It seemed that Lefebvre
-had been out all day, along with other of my husband's
+Then he and Lefebvre went on talking—about the Sieur
+de Poissy’s disappearance. It seemed that Lefebvre
+had been out all day, along with other of my husband’s
 men, ostensibly assisting in the search; in all probability
-trying to blind the Sieur de Poissy's followers by
+trying to blind the Sieur de Poissy’s followers by
 putting them on a wrong scent, and also, I fancied, from
-one or two of Lefebvre's sly questions, combining the
+one or two of Lefebvre’s sly questions, combining the
 hidden purpose of discovering us.</p>
 
 <p>Although the miller was tenant and vassal to the
@@ -1913,7 +1832,7 @@ or violence. He kept talking himself, and letting out
 all sorts of thoughts and opinions; watched by the
 keen eyes of Lefebvre gleaming out below his shaggy
 eyebrows. It was evidently not the cue of the latter
-to let out that his master's wife had escaped from that
+to let out that his master’s wife had escaped from that
 vile and terrible den; but though he never breathed
 a word relating to us, not the less was I certain he
 was thirsting for our blood, and lying in wait for us
@@ -1928,11 +1847,11 @@ straining eyes, into the kitchen below. I looked too,
 and both heard and saw the miller and two of his men
 eagerly and loudly talking about the old woman, who
 had not appeared as usual to make the fire in the stove,
-and prepare her master's breakfast, and who now, late
+and prepare her master’s breakfast, and who now, late
 on in the morning, had been found dead in her bed;
-whether from the effect of her master's blows the night
+whether from the effect of her master’s blows the night
 before, or from natural causes, who can tell? The
-miller's conscience upbraided him a little, I should say,
+miller’s conscience upbraided him a little, I should say,
 for he was eagerly declaring his value for his housekeeper,
 and repeating how often she had spoken of the
 happy life she led with him. The men might have
@@ -1965,19 +1884,19 @@ we ever to escape? The ladder was taken away, which
 was our only means of descent. But Amante replied
 that she could make a sufficient ladder of the rope
 lying coiled among other things, to drop us down the
-ten feet or so&mdash;with the advantage of its being portable,
+ten feet or so—with the advantage of its being portable,
 so that we might carry it away, and thus avoid all
 betrayal of the fact that any one had ever been hidden
 in the loft.</p>
 
 <p>During the two days that intervened before we did
 escape, Amante made good use of her time. She looked
-into every box and chest during the man's absence at
-his mill; and finding in one box an old suit of man's
-clothes, which had probably belonged to the miller's
+into every box and chest during the man’s absence at
+his mill; and finding in one box an old suit of man’s
+clothes, which had probably belonged to the miller’s
 absent son, she put them on to see if they would fit
 her; and, when she found that they did, she cut her
-own hair to the shortness of a man's, made me clip
+own hair to the shortness of a man’s, made me clip
 her black eyebrows as close as though they had been
 shaved, and by cutting up old corks into pieces such as
 would go into her cheeks, she altered both the shape of
@@ -1986,8 +1905,8 @@ have believed possible.</p>
 
 <p>All this time I lay like one stunned; my body resting,
 and renewing its strength, but I myself in an almost
-idiotic state&mdash;else surely I could not have taken the
-stupid interest which I remember I did in all Amante's
+idiotic state—else surely I could not have taken the
+stupid interest which I remember I did in all Amante’s
 energetic preparations for disguise. I absolutely recollect
 once the feeling of a smile coming over my stiff
 face as some new exercise of her cleverness proved a
@@ -2015,9 +1934,9 @@ the better preserve our characters of a travelling pedlar
 and his wife; she stuffed a hump on her back, she
 thickened my figure, she left her own clothes deep down
 beneath a heap of others in the chest from which she
-had taken the man's dress which she wore; and with
-a few francs in her pocket&mdash;the sole money we had
-either of us had about us when we escaped&mdash;we let
+had taken the man’s dress which she wore; and with
+a few francs in her pocket—the sole money we had
+either of us had about us when we escaped—we let
 ourselves down the ladder, unhooked it, and passed into
 the cold darkness of night again.</p>
 
@@ -2039,7 +1958,7 @@ Alas! I forgot the unruly time that was overspreading
 all Europe, overturning all law, and all the protection
 which law gives.</p>
 
-<p>How we wandered&mdash;not daring to ask our way&mdash;how
+<p>How we wandered—not daring to ask our way—how
 we lived, how we struggled through many a danger and
 still more terrors of danger, I shall not tell you now.
 I will only relate two of our adventures before we reached
@@ -2047,7 +1966,7 @@ Frankfort. The first, although fatal to an innocent lady,
 was yet, I believe, the cause of my safety; the second
 I shall tell you, that you may understand why I did not
 return to my former home, as I had hoped to do when
-we lay in the miller's loft, and I first became capable of
+we lay in the miller’s loft, and I first became capable of
 groping after an idea of what my future life might be.
 I cannot tell you how much in these doubtings and wanderings
 I became attached to Amante. I have sometimes
@@ -2065,40 +1984,40 @@ the atrocity of the gang to which M. de la Tourelle
 belonged; and every now and then, just as we seemed
 to be sinking into the calm of security, we fell upon
 traces of a pursuit after us in all directions. Once I
-remember&mdash;we must have been nearly three weeks
+remember—we must have been nearly three weeks
 wearily walking through unfrequented ways, day after
 day, not daring to make inquiry as to our whereabouts,
-nor yet to seem purposeless in our wanderings&mdash;we
-came to a kind of lonely roadside farrier's and blacksmith's.
+nor yet to seem purposeless in our wanderings—we
+came to a kind of lonely roadside farrier’s and blacksmith’s.
 I was so tired, that Amante declared that,
 come what might, we would stay there all night; and
 accordingly she entered the house, and boldly announced
 herself as a travelling tailor, ready to do any odd jobs
-of work that might be required, for a night's lodging
+of work that might be required, for a night’s lodging
 and food for herself and wife. She had adopted this
 plan once or twice before, and with good success; for
 her father had been a tailor in Rouen, and as a girl she
 had often helped him with his work, and knew the
-tailors' slang and habits, down to the particular whistle
+tailors’ slang and habits, down to the particular whistle
 and cry which in France tells so much to those of a
-trade. At this blacksmith's, as at most other solitary
+trade. At this blacksmith’s, as at most other solitary
 houses far away from a town, there was not only a store
-of men's clothes laid by as wanting mending when the
+of men’s clothes laid by as wanting mending when the
 housewife could afford time, but there was a natural
 craving after news from a distance, such news as a
 wandering tailor is bound to furnish. The early November
 afternoon was closing into evening, as we sat down,
-she cross-legged on the great table in the blacksmith's
+she cross-legged on the great table in the blacksmith’s
 kitchen, drawn close to the window, I close behind her,
 sewing at another part of the same garment, and from
 time to time well scolded by my seeming husband. All
 at once she turned round to speak to me. It was only
-one word, "Courage!" I had seen nothing; I sat out
+one word, “Courage!” I had seen nothing; I sat out
 of the light; but I turned sick for an instant, and then
 I braced myself up into a strange strength of endurance
 to go through I knew not what.</p>
 
-<p>The blacksmith's forge was in a shed beside the
+<p>The blacksmith’s forge was in a shed beside the
 house, and fronting the road. I heard the hammers
 stop plying their continual rhythmical beat. She had
 seen why they ceased. A rider had come up to the
@@ -2110,14 +2029,14 @@ the consequence that really ensued.</p>
 <p>The rider, after some words with the blacksmith, was
 ushered in by him into the house-place where we sat.</p>
 
-<p>"Here, good wife, a cup of wine and some galette for
-this gentleman."</p>
+<p>“Here, good wife, a cup of wine and some galette for
+this gentleman.”</p>
 
-<p>"Anything, anything, madame, that I can eat and
+<p>“Anything, anything, madame, that I can eat and
 drink in my hand while my horse is being shod. I am
-in haste, and must get on to Forbach to-night."</p>
+in haste, and must get on to Forbach to-night.”</p>
 
-<p>The blacksmith's wife lighted her lamp; Amante had
+<p>The blacksmith’s wife lighted her lamp; Amante had
 asked her for it five minutes before. How thankful we
 were that she had not more speedily complied with our
 request! As it was, we sat in dusk shadow, pretending
@@ -2132,23 +2051,23 @@ turned again to the stove, impatiently rubbing his
 hands. He had finished his wine and galette, and
 wanted to be off.</p>
 
-<p>"I am in haste, my good woman. Ask thy husband
+<p>“I am in haste, my good woman. Ask thy husband
 to get on more quickly. I will pay him double if he
-makes haste."</p>
+makes haste.”</p>
 
 <p>The woman went out to do his bidding; and he once
 more turned round to face us. Amante went on to the
 second part of the tune. He took it up, whistled a
-second for an instant or so, and then the blacksmith's
+second for an instant or so, and then the blacksmith’s
 wife re-entering, he moved towards her, as if to receive
 her answer the more speedily.</p>
 
-<p>"One moment, monsieur&mdash;only one moment. There
+<p>“One moment, monsieur—only one moment. There
 was a nail out of the off-foreshoe which my husband is
 replacing; it would delay monsieur again if that shoe
-also came off."</p>
+also came off.”</p>
 
-<p>"Madame is right," said he, "but my haste is
+<p>“Madame is right,” said he, “but my haste is
 urgent. If madame knew my reasons, she would pardon
 my impatience. Once a happy husband, now a deserted
 and betrayed man, I pursue a wife on whom I lavished
@@ -2158,22 +2077,22 @@ off with her all the jewels and money on which she could
 lay her hands. It is possible madame may have heard
 or seen something of her; she was accompanied in her
 flight by a base, profligate woman from Paris, whom I,
-unhappy man, had myself engaged for my wife's waiting-maid,
+unhappy man, had myself engaged for my wife’s waiting-maid,
 little dreaming what corruption I was bringing
-into my house!"</p>
+into my house!”</p>
 
-<p>"Is it possible?" said the good woman, throwing up
+<p>“Is it possible?” said the good woman, throwing up
 her hands.</p>
 
 <p>Amante went on whistling a little lower, out of respect
 to the conversation.</p>
 
-<p>"However, I am tracing the wicked fugitives; I am
-on their track" (and the handsome, effeminate face
-looked as ferocious as any demon's). "They will not
+<p>“However, I am tracing the wicked fugitives; I am
+on their track” (and the handsome, effeminate face
+looked as ferocious as any demon’s). “They will not
 escape me; but every minute is a minute of misery
 to me, till I meet my wife. Madame has sympathy, has
-she not?"</p>
+she not?”</p>
 
 <p>He drew his face into a hard, unnatural smile, and
 then both went out to the forge, as if once more to
@@ -2181,8 +2100,8 @@ hasten the blacksmith over his work.</p>
 
 <p>Amante stopped her whistling for one instant.</p>
 
-<p>"Go on as you are, without change of an eyelid even;
-in a few minutes he will be gone, and it will be over!"</p>
+<p>“Go on as you are, without change of an eyelid even;
+in a few minutes he will be gone, and it will be over!”</p>
 
 <p>It was a necessary caution, for I was on the point of
 giving way, and throwing myself weakly upon her neck.
@@ -2195,16 +2114,16 @@ and taking in all.</p>
 
 <p>Then we heard him ride away; and then, it had been
 long too dark to see well, I dropped my work, and gave
-way to my trembling and shuddering. The blacksmith's
+way to my trembling and shuddering. The blacksmith’s
 wife returned. She was a good creature. Amante told
 her I was cold and weary, and she insisted on my stopping
 my work, and going to sit near the stove; hastening,
 at the same time, her preparations for supper, which,
-in honour of us, and of monsieur's liberal payment, was
+in honour of us, and of monsieur’s liberal payment, was
 to be a little less frugal than ordinary. It was well for
 me that she made me taste a little of the cider-soup she
 was preparing, or I could not have held up, in spite of
-Amante's warning look, and the remembrance of her
+Amante’s warning look, and the remembrance of her
 frequent exhortations to act resolutely up to the characters
 we had assumed, whatever befel. To cover my
 agitation, Amante stopped her whistling, and began to
@@ -2221,7 +2140,7 @@ and the savage and mysterious band of robbers called
 the Chauffeurs, who infested all the roads leading to the
 Rhine, with Schinderhannes at their head, furnished
 many a tale which made the very marrow of my
-bones run cold, and quenched even Amante's power
+bones run cold, and quenched even Amante’s power
 of talking. Her eyes grew large and wild, her cheeks
 blanched, and for once she sought by her looks help
 from me. The new call upon me roused me. I rose
@@ -2234,7 +2153,7 @@ good wife seconded my proposal with kindly bustle.
 One other such story as those they had been relating,
 and I do believe Amante would have fainted.</p>
 
-<p>As it was, a night's rest set her up; we arose and
+<p>As it was, a night’s rest set her up; we arose and
 finished our work betimes, and shared the plentiful
 breakfast of the family. Then we had to set forth
 again; only knowing that to Forbach we must not go,
@@ -2243,7 +2162,7 @@ between us and that Germany to which we were directing
 our course. Two days more we wandered on,
 making a round, I suspect, and returning upon the road
 to Forbach, a league or two nearer to that town than
-the blacksmith's house. But as we never made inquiries
+the blacksmith’s house. But as we never made inquiries
 I hardly knew where we were, when we came one night
 to a small town, with a good large rambling inn in the
 very centre of the principal street. We had begun to
@@ -2258,16 +2177,16 @@ inn all night, and gather such particulars and information
 as we could by which to direct our onward
 course.</p>
 
-<p>We took our supper in the darkest corner of the <i>salle-&agrave;-manger</i>,
+<p>We took our supper in the darkest corner of the <i>salle-à-manger</i>,
 having previously bargained for a small bedroom
 across the court, and over the stables. We needed
 food sorely; but we hurried on our meal from dread of
 any one entering that public room who might recognize
 us. Just in the middle of our meal, the public diligence
-drove lumbering up under the <i>porte-coch&egrave;re</i>, and disgorged
+drove lumbering up under the <i>porte-cochère</i>, and disgorged
 its passengers. Most of them turned into the
 room where we sat, cowering and fearful, for the door
-was opposite to the porter's lodge, and both opened on
+was opposite to the porter’s lodge, and both opened on
 to the wide-covered entrance from the street. Among
 the passengers came in a young, fair-haired lady,
 attended by an elderly French maid. The poor young
@@ -2275,15 +2194,15 @@ creature tossed her head, and shrank away from the
 common room, full of evil smells and promiscuous
 company, and demanded, in German French, to be taken to
 some private apartment. We heard that she and her
-maid had come in the coup&eacute;, and, probably from pride,
+maid had come in the coupé, and, probably from pride,
 poor young lady! she had avoided all association with
 her fellow-passengers, thereby exciting their dislike and
 ridicule. All these little pieces of hearsay had a significance
 to us afterwards, though, at the time, the only
-remark made that bore upon the future was Amante's
-whisper to me that the young lady's hair was exactly
+remark made that bore upon the future was Amante’s
+whisper to me that the young lady’s hair was exactly
 the colour of mine, which she had cut off and burnt in
-the stove in the miller's kitchen in one of her descents
+the stove in the miller’s kitchen in one of her descents
 from our hiding-place in the loft.</p>
 
 <p>As soon as we could, we struck round in the shadow,
@@ -2309,13 +2228,13 @@ chamber, or else immediate escape was our strongest
 idea. Then the ostler left the stable, locking the door
 on the outside.</p>
 
-<p>"We must try and drop through the window&mdash;if,
-indeed, it is well to go at all," said Amante.</p>
+<p>“We must try and drop through the window—if,
+indeed, it is well to go at all,” said Amante.</p>
 
 <p>With reflection came wisdom. We should excite
 suspicion by leaving without paying our bill. We
 were on foot, and might easily be pursued. So we
-sat on our bed's edge, talking and shivering, while
+sat on our bed’s edge, talking and shivering, while
 from across the court the laughter rang merrily, and
 the company slowly dispersed one by one, their lights
 flitting past the windows as they went upstairs and
@@ -2327,7 +2246,7 @@ tracked, and might meet our death at any moment.
 In the dead of night, just at the profound stillness preceding
 the turn into another day, we heard a soft,
 cautious step crossing the yard. The key into the
-stable was turned&mdash;some one came into the stable&mdash;we
+stable was turned—some one came into the stable—we
 felt rather than heard him there. A horse started
 a little, and made a restless movement with his feet,
 then whinnied recognition. He who had entered made
@@ -2335,11 +2254,11 @@ two or three low sounds to the animal, and then led
 him into the court. Amante sprang to the window
 with the noiseless activity of a cat. She looked out,
 but dared not speak a word. We heard the great door
-into the street open&mdash;a pause for mounting, and the
-horse's footsteps were lost in distance.</p>
+into the street open—a pause for mounting, and the
+horse’s footsteps were lost in distance.</p>
 
-<p>Then Amante came back to me. "It was he! he is
-gone!" said she, and once more we lay down, trembling
+<p>Then Amante came back to me. “It was he! he is
+gone!” said she, and once more we lay down, trembling
 and shaking.</p>
 
 <p>This time we fell sound asleep. We slept long and
@@ -2353,8 +2272,8 @@ there before we left the shelter of the stable.</p>
 <p>The instant we were seen, two or three people rushed
 to us.</p>
 
-<p>"Have you heard?&mdash;Do you know?&mdash;That poor
-young lady&mdash;oh, come and see!" and so we were
+<p>“Have you heard?—Do you know?—That poor
+young lady—oh, come and see!” and so we were
 hurried, almost in spite of ourselves, across the court,
 and up the great open stairs of the main building of
 the inn, into a bed-chamber, where lay the beautiful
@@ -2362,8 +2281,8 @@ young German lady, so full of graceful pride the night
 before, now white and still in death. By her stood the
 French maid, crying and gesticulating.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, madame! if you had but suffered me to stay
-with you! Oh! the baron, what will he say?" and so
+<p>“Oh, madame! if you had but suffered me to stay
+with you! Oh! the baron, what will he say?” and so
 she went on. Her state had but just been discovered;
 it had been supposed that she was fatigued, and was
 sleeping late, until a few minutes before. The surgeon
@@ -2377,37 +2296,37 @@ court-yard.</p>
 <p>At last the surgeon came. All fell back, and hung
 on the words that were to fall from his lips.</p>
 
-<p>"See!" said the landlord. "This lady came last
+<p>“See!” said the landlord. “This lady came last
 night by the diligence with her maid. Doubtless a great
-lady, for she must have a private sitting-room<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+lady, for she must have a private sitting-room<span class="norewrap">——</span>”</p>
 
-<p>"She was Madame the Baroness de R&oelig;der," said
+<p>“She was Madame the Baroness de Rœder,” said
 the French maid.</p>
 
-<p>&mdash;"And was difficult to please in the matter of supper,
+<p>—“And was difficult to please in the matter of supper,
 and a sleeping-room. She went to bed well, though
-fatigued. Her maid left her<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+fatigued. Her maid left her<span class="norewrap">——</span>”</p>
 
-<p>"I begged to be allowed to sleep in her room, as we
+<p>“I begged to be allowed to sleep in her room, as we
 were in a strange inn, of the character of which we knew
 nothing; but she would not let me, my mistress was
-such a great lady."</p>
+such a great lady.”</p>
 
-<p>&mdash;"And slept with my servants," continued the landlord.
-"This morning we thought madame was still
+<p>—“And slept with my servants,” continued the landlord.
+“This morning we thought madame was still
 slumbering; but when eight, nine, ten, and near eleven
-o'clock came, I bade her maid use my pass-key, and
-enter her room<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+o’clock came, I bade her maid use my pass-key, and
+enter her room<span class="norewrap">——</span>”</p>
 
-<p>"The door was not locked, only closed. And here
-she was found&mdash;dead is she not, monsieur?&mdash;with her
+<p>“The door was not locked, only closed. And here
+she was found—dead is she not, monsieur?—with her
 face down on her pillow, and her beautiful hair all
 scattered wild; she never would let me tie it up, saying
-it made her head ache. Such hair!" said the waiting-maid,
+it made her head ache. Such hair!” said the waiting-maid,
 lifting up a long golden tress, and letting it fall
 again.</p>
 
-<p>I remembered Amante's words the night before, and
+<p>I remembered Amante’s words the night before, and
 crept close up to her.</p>
 
 <p>Meanwhile, the doctor was examining the body underneath
@@ -2417,37 +2336,32 @@ his hand, all bathed and stained with blood; and holding
 up a short, sharp knife, with a piece of paper fastened
 round it.</p>
 
-<p>"Here has been foul play," he said. "The deceased
+<p>“Here has been foul play,” he said. “The deceased
 lady has been murdered. This dagger was aimed straight
-at her heart." Then, putting on his spectacles, he read
+at her heart.” Then, putting on his spectacles, he read
 the writing on the bloody paper, dimmed and horribly
-obscured as it was:&mdash;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<div class="center">
- <p class="noindent">
-  <span class="smallcaps">Num&eacute;ro Un.</span><br />
-  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
- </p>
-</div>
+obscured as it was:—</p>
 
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>"Let us go!" said I to Amante. "Oh, let us leave
-this horrible place!"</p>
+<div class="center" style="font-size: small;"><span class="smallcaps">Numéro Un.</span><br >
+  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.</div>
+
+<p>“Let us go!” said I to Amante. “Oh, let us leave
+this horrible place!”</p>
 
-<p>"Wait a little," said she. "Only a few minutes
-more. It will be better."</p>
+<p>“Wait a little,” said she. “Only a few minutes
+more. It will be better.”</p>
 
 <p>Immediately the voices of all proclaimed their suspicions
 of the cavalier who had arrived last the night
 before. He had, they said, made so many inquiries
 about the young lady, whose supercilious conduct all in
-the <i>salle-&agrave;-manger</i> had been discussing on his entrance.
+the <i>salle-à-manger</i> had been discussing on his entrance.
 They were talking about her as we left the room; he
 must have come in directly afterwards, and not until he
 had learnt all about her, had he spoken of the business
 which necessitated his departure at dawn of day, and
 made his arrangements with both landlord and ostler for
-the possession of the keys of the stable and <i>porte-coch&egrave;re</i>.
+the possession of the keys of the stable and <i>porte-cochère</i>.
 In short, there was no doubt as to the murderer, even
 before the arrival of the legal functionary who had been
 sent for by the surgeon; but the word on the paper
@@ -2492,7 +2406,7 @@ apprehensions caused by his long silence shocked me
 inexpressibly. It seemed as though every prop gave
 way from under me. I had been talking to Amante
 only that very day of the safety and comfort of the home
-that awaited her in my father's house; of the gratitude
+that awaited her in my father’s house; of the gratitude
 which the old man would feel towards her; and how
 there, in that peaceful dwelling, far away from the
 terrible land of France, she should find ease and security
@@ -2507,7 +2421,7 @@ from me for ever!</p>
 <p>I had left the room hastily on hearing of this sad
 news from the Heidelberger. Presently, Amante followed:</p>
 
-<p>"Poor madame," said she, consoling me to the best
+<p>“Poor madame,” said she, consoling me to the best
 of her ability. And then she told me by degrees what
 more she had learned respecting my home, about which
 she knew almost as much as I did, from my frequent
@@ -2521,20 +2435,20 @@ got the upper hand of my brother, who only saw
 through her eyes and heard with her ears. That there
 had been much Heidelberg gossip of late days about her
 sudden intimacy with a grand French gentleman who
-had appeared at the mill&mdash;a relation, by marriage&mdash;married,
-in fact, to the miller's sister, who, by all
+had appeared at the mill—a relation, by marriage—married,
+in fact, to the miller’s sister, who, by all
 accounts, had behaved abominably and ungratefully.
-But that was no reason for Babette's extreme and
+But that was no reason for Babette’s extreme and
 sudden intimacy with him, going about everywhere with
 the French gentleman; and since he left (as the Heidelberger
 said he knew for a fact) corresponding with
 him constantly. Yet her husband saw no harm in it
 all, seemingly; though, to be sure, he was so out of
-spirits, what with his father's death and the news of his
-sister's infamy, that he hardly knew how to hold up his
+spirits, what with his father’s death and the news of his
+sister’s infamy, that he hardly knew how to hold up his
 head.</p>
 
-<p>"Now," said Amante, "all this proves that M. de la
+<p>“Now,” said Amante, “all this proves that M. de la
 Tourelle has suspected that you would go back to the
 nest in which you were reared, and that he has been
 there, and found that you have not yet returned; but
@@ -2548,20 +2462,20 @@ you. No doubt the assassin was retracing his steps
 when we met him near Forbach, and having heard of
 the poor German lady, with her French maid, and her
 pretty blonde complexion, he followed her. If madame
-will still be guided by me&mdash;and, my child, I beg of you
-still to trust me," said Amante, breaking out of her
+will still be guided by me—and, my child, I beg of you
+still to trust me,” said Amante, breaking out of her
 respectful formality into the way of talking more natural
 to those who had shared and escaped from common
-dangers&mdash;more natural, too, where the speaker was conscious
+dangers—more natural, too, where the speaker was conscious
 of a power of protection which the other did not
-possess&mdash;"we will go on to Frankfort, and lose ourselves,
+possess—“we will go on to Frankfort, and lose ourselves,
 for a time, at least, in the numbers of people who throng
 a great town; and you have told me that Frankfort is a
 great town. We will still be husband and wife; we will
 take a small lodging, and you shall housekeep and live
 in-doors. I, as the rougher and the more alert, will
-continue my father's trade, and seek work at the tailors'
-shops."</p>
+continue my father’s trade, and seek work at the tailors’
+shops.”</p>
 
 <p>I could think of no better plan, so we followed this
 out. In a back street at Frankfort we found two
@@ -2578,14 +2492,14 @@ good Germans were hating the French people right
 heartily. However, we succeeded better than our hopes,
 and even laid by a little against the time of my confinement.
 I never stirred abroad, and saw no one, and
-Amante's want of knowledge of German kept her in a
+Amante’s want of knowledge of German kept her in a
 state of comparative isolation.</p>
 
-<p>At length my child was born&mdash;my poor worse than
+<p>At length my child was born—my poor worse than
 fatherless child. It was a girl, as I had prayed for.
 I had feared lest a boy might have something of the
 tiger nature of its father, but a girl seemed all my
-own. And yet not all my own, for the faithful Amante's
+own. And yet not all my own, for the faithful Amante’s
 delight and glory in the babe almost exceeded mine; in
 outward show it certainly did.</p>
 
@@ -2599,14 +2513,14 @@ had lived as scullion, or some such thing. Such a
 beautiful lady! with such a handsome husband. But
 grief comes to the palace as well as to the garret, and
 why or wherefore no one knew, but somehow the Baron
-de R&oelig;der must have incurred the vengeance of the
+de Rœder must have incurred the vengeance of the
 terrible Chauffeurs; for not many months ago, as
 madame was going to see her relations in Alsace, she
 was stabbed dead as she lay in bed at some hotel on the
 road. Had I not seen it in the <i>Gazette</i>? Had I not
 heard? Why, she had been told that as far off as
 Lyons there were placards offering a heavy reward on
-the part of the Baron de R&oelig;der for information respecting
+the part of the Baron de Rœder for information respecting
 the murderer of his wife. But no one could help
 him, for all who could bear evidence were in such terror
 of the Chauffeurs; there were hundreds of them she
@@ -2624,7 +2538,7 @@ were there not hundreds sworn to avenge his death?</p>
 if M. de la Tourelle, or Lefebvre, or any of the gang at
 Les Rochers, had seen these placards, they would know
 that the poor lady stabbed by the former was the
-Baroness de R&oelig;der, and that they would set forth again
+Baroness de Rœder, and that they would set forth again
 in search of me.</p>
 
 <p>This fresh apprehension told on my health and impeded
@@ -2642,7 +2556,7 @@ never entirely recover. By-and-by I shall name this
 doctor, and then you will know, better than I can
 describe, his character.</p>
 
-<p>I grew strong in time&mdash;stronger, at least. I was able
+<p>I grew strong in time—stronger, at least. I was able
 to work a little at home, and to sun myself and my baby
 at the garret-window in the roof. It was all the air I
 dared to take. I constantly wore the disguise I had
@@ -2653,10 +2567,10 @@ during the whole months succeeding my escape from
 Les Rochers made me loathe the idea of ever again
 walking in the open daylight, exposed to the sight and
 recognition of every passer-by. In vain Amante
-reasoned&mdash;in vain the doctor urged. Docile in every
+reasoned—in vain the doctor urged. Docile in every
 other thing, in this I was obstinate. I would not stir
 out. One day Amante returned from her work, full of
-news&mdash;some of it good, some such as to cause us
+news—some of it good, some such as to cause us
 apprehension. The good news was this; the master
 for whom she worked as journeyman was going to send
 her with some others to a great house at the other side
@@ -2687,36 +2601,36 @@ day; and she had brought me in a stock of provisions,
 begging me to keep within doors, with a strange kind of
 fearful oblivion of the fact that I had never set foot
 beyond the threshold of the house since I had first
-entered it&mdash;scarce ever ventured down the stairs. But,
+entered it—scarce ever ventured down the stairs. But,
 although my poor, my dear, very faithful Amante was
 like one possessed that last night, she spoke continually
 of the dead, which is a bad sign for the living. She
-kissed you&mdash;yes! it was you, my daughter, my darling,
+kissed you—yes! it was you, my daughter, my darling,
 whom I bore beneath my bosom away from the fearful
-castle of your father&mdash;I call him so for the first time, I
-must call him so once again before I have done&mdash;Amante
+castle of your father—I call him so for the first time, I
+must call him so once again before I have done—Amante
 kissed you, sweet baby, blessed little comforter, as if she
 never could leave off. And then she went away, alive.</p>
 
 <p>Two days, three days passed away. That third evening
-I was sitting within my bolted doors&mdash;you asleep on
-your pillow by my side&mdash;when a step came up the stair,
+I was sitting within my bolted doors—you asleep on
+your pillow by my side—when a step came up the stair,
 and I knew it must be for me; for ours were the topmost
 rooms. Some one knocked; I held my very
 breath. But some one spoke, and I knew it was the
 good Doctor Voss. Then I crept to the door, and
 answered.</p>
 
-<p>"Are you alone?" asked I.</p>
+<p>“Are you alone?” asked I.</p>
 
-<p>"Yes," said he, in a still lower voice. "Let me in."
+<p>“Yes,” said he, in a still lower voice. “Let me in.”
 I let him in, and he was as alert as I in bolting and barring
 the door. Then he came and whispered to me his
 doleful tale. He had come from the hospital in the
 opposite quarter of the town, the hospital which he
 visited; he should have been with me sooner, but he
 had feared lest he should be watched. He had come
-from Amante's death-bed. Her fears of the jeweller
+from Amante’s death-bed. Her fears of the jeweller
 were too well founded. She had left the house where
 she was employed that morning, to transact some errand
 connected with her work in the town; she must have
@@ -2725,18 +2639,11 @@ solitary wood-paths, for some of the wood-rangers belonging
 to the great house had found her lying there, stabbed
 to death, but not dead; with the poniard again plunged
 through the fatal writing, once more; but this time with
-the word "un" underlined, so as to show that the
+the word “un” underlined, so as to show that the
 assassin was aware of his previous mistake.</p>
 
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<div class="center">
- <p class="noindent">
-  Num&eacute;ro <i>Un</i>.<br />
-  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
- </p>
-</div>
-
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center" style="font-size: small;"><span class="smallcaps">Numéro <i>Un</i>.</span><br >
+  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.</div>
 
 <p>They had carried her to the house, and given her
 restoratives till she had recovered the feeble use of her
@@ -2753,10 +2660,10 @@ enough to enable him to understand the position in which
 I was left; before the priest had heard half her tale
 Amante was dead.</p>
 
-<p>Doctor Voss told me he had made all sorts of <i>d&eacute;tours</i>,
+<p>Doctor Voss told me he had made all sorts of <i>détours</i>,
 and waited thus, late at night, for fear of being watched
 and followed. But I do not think he was. At any rate,
-as I afterwards learnt from him, the Baron R&oelig;der, on
+as I afterwards learnt from him, the Baron Rœder, on
 hearing of the similitude of this murder with that of
 his wife in every particular, made such a search after
 the assassins, that, although they were not discovered,
@@ -2788,8 +2695,8 @@ whom Dr. Voss had secretly married. They called
 me the Grey Woman.</p>
 
 <p>He made me give you his surname. Till now you
-have known no other father&mdash;while he lived you needed
-no father's love. Once only, only once more, did the
+have known no other father—while he lived you needed
+no father’s love. Once only, only once more, did the
 old terror come upon me. For some reason which I
 forget, I broke through my usual custom, and went to
 the window of my room for some purpose, either to
@@ -2809,7 +2716,7 @@ afterwards.</p>
 
 <p>Once again I saw him. Dead. He and Lefebvre
 were at last caught; hunted down by the Baron de
-R&oelig;der in some of their crimes. Dr. Voss had heard
+Rœder in some of their crimes. Dr. Voss had heard
 of their arrest; their condemnation, their death; but
 he never said a word to me, until one day he bade me
 show him that I loved him by my obedience and my
@@ -2829,8 +2736,8 @@ he, seeing what an effort it was, gave up urging me
 at last.</p>
 
 <p>You know all the rest. How we both mourned bitterly
-the loss of that dear husband and father&mdash;for such I will
-call him ever&mdash;and as such you must consider him, my
+the loss of that dear husband and father—for such I will
+call him ever—and as such you must consider him, my
 child, after this one revelation is over.</p>
 
 <p>Why has it been made, you ask. For this reason,
@@ -2839,19 +2746,14 @@ M. Lebrun, a French artist, told me but yesterday his
 real name, dropped because the blood-thirsty republicans
 might consider it as too aristocratic. It is Maurice de
 Poissy.</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
 
-<h3><a name="cit" id="cit"></a>CURIOUS IF TRUE.</h3>
-
-<h5>(<span class="smallcaps">Extract from a Letter from Richard Whittingham, Esq.</span>)</h5>
+<hr class="chap" >
+<h2 id="cit">CURIOUS IF TRUE.</h2>
 
+<div class="center smallcaps" style="font-size: small;">(Extract from a Letter from Richard Whittingham, Esq.)</div>
 
 <p>You were formerly so much amused at my pride in my
-descent from that sister of Calvin's, who married a
+descent from that sister of Calvin’s, who married a
 Whittingham, Dean of Durham, that I doubt if you will
 be able to enter into the regard for my distinguished
 relation that has led me to France, in order to examine
@@ -2873,15 +2775,15 @@ bishop of the diocese before I could see certain family
 papers, which had fallen into the possession of the
 Church; and, as I had several English friends at Tours,
 I awaited the answer to my request to Monseigneur
-de <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>, at that town. I was ready to accept any
+de <span class="norewrap">——</span>, at that town. I was ready to accept any
 invitation; but I received very few; and was sometimes
 a little at a loss what to do with my evenings. The
-<i>table d'h&ocirc;te</i> was at five o'clock; I did not wish to go
+<i>table d’hôte</i> was at five o’clock; I did not wish to go
 to the expense of a private sitting-room, disliked the
-dinnery atmosphere of the <i>salle &agrave; manger</i>, could not
+dinnery atmosphere of the <i>salle à manger</i>, could not
 play either at pool or billiards, and the aspect of my
 fellow guests was unprepossessing enough to make me
-unwilling to enter into any <i>t&ecirc;te-&agrave;-t&ecirc;te</i> gamblings with
+unwilling to enter into any <i>tête-à-tête</i> gamblings with
 them. So I usually rose from table early, and tried to
 make the most of the remaining light of the August
 evenings in walking briskly off to explore the surrounding
@@ -2910,12 +2812,12 @@ and asking my way from the inhabitants; but here I
 could see no such welcome sight; indeed, I believe
 French peasants go to bed with the summer daylight,
 so if there were any habitations in the neighbourhood I
-never saw them. At last&mdash;I believe I must have walked
-two hours in the darkness,&mdash;I saw the dusky outline of
+never saw them. At last—I believe I must have walked
+two hours in the darkness,—I saw the dusky outline of
 a wood on one side of the weariful lane, and, impatiently
 careless of all forest laws and penalties for trespassers, I
 made my way to it, thinking that if the worst came to
-the worst, I could find some covert&mdash;some shelter where
+the worst, I could find some covert—some shelter where
 I could lie down and rest, until the morning light gave
 me a chance of finding my way back to Tours. But the
 plantation, on the outskirts of what appeared to me a
@@ -2924,14 +2826,14 @@ be more than slender stems growing up to a good height,
 with scanty foliage on their summits. On I went towards
 the thicker forest, and once there I slackened my pace,
 and began to look about me for a good lair. I was as
-dainty as Lochiel's grandchild, who made his grandsire
+dainty as Lochiel’s grandchild, who made his grandsire
 indignant at the luxury of his pillow of snow: this brake
 was too full of brambles, that felt damp with dew; there
 was no hurry, since I had given up all hope of passing
 the night between four walls; and I went leisurely
 groping about, and trusting that there were no wolves
 to be poked up out of their summer drowsiness by my
-stick, when all at once I saw a ch&acirc;teau before me, not a
+stick, when all at once I saw a château before me, not a
 quarter of a mile off, at the end of what seemed to be an
 ancient avenue (now overgrown and irregular), which I
 happened to be crossing, when I looked to my right, and
@@ -2944,14 +2846,14 @@ building that I was now facing, it was plain enough
 that there were lights in many windows, as if some
 great entertainment was going on.</p>
 
-<p>"They are hospitable people, at any rate," thought I.
-"Perhaps they will give me a bed. I don't suppose
-French propri&eacute;taires have traps and horses quite as
+<p>“They are hospitable people, at any rate,” thought I.
+“Perhaps they will give me a bed. I don’t suppose
+French propriétaires have traps and horses quite as
 plentiful as English gentlemen; but they are evidently
 having a large party, and some of their guests may be
 from Tours, and will give me a cast back to the Lion
-d'Or. I am not proud, and I am dog-tired. I am not
-above hanging on behind, if need be."</p>
+d’Or. I am not proud, and I am dog-tired. I am not
+above hanging on behind, if need be.”</p>
 
 <p>So, putting a little briskness and spirit into my walk,
 I went up to the door, which was standing open, most
@@ -2965,36 +2867,36 @@ French (so curiously pronounced that I thought I had
 hit upon a new kind of <i>patois</i>), my name, and whence I
 came. I thought he would not be much the wiser, still
 it was but civil to give it before I made my request for
-assistance; so, in reply, I said&mdash;</p>
+assistance; so, in reply, I said—</p>
 
-<p>"My name is Whittingham&mdash;Richard Whittingham,
-an English gentleman, staying at <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>." To my infinite
+<p>“My name is Whittingham—Richard Whittingham,
+an English gentleman, staying at <span class="norewrap">——</span>.” To my infinite
 surprise, a light of pleased intelligence came over the
-giant's face; he made me a low bow, and said (still in
+giant’s face; he made me a low bow, and said (still in
 the same curious dialect) that I was welcome, that I was
 long expected.</p>
 
-<p>"Long expected!" What could the fellow mean?
-Had I stumbled on a nest of relations by John Calvin's
+<p>“Long expected!” What could the fellow mean?
+Had I stumbled on a nest of relations by John Calvin’s
 side, who had heard of my genealogical inquiries, and
 were gratified and interested by them? But I was too
 much pleased to be under shelter for the night to think
 it necessary to account for my agreeable reception before
 I enjoyed it. Just as he was opening the great heavy
 <i>battants</i> of the door that led from the hall to the interior,
-he turned round and said,&mdash;</p>
+he turned round and said,—</p>
 
-<p>"Apparently Monsieur le G&eacute;anquilleur is not come
-with you."</p>
+<p>“Apparently Monsieur le Géanquilleur is not come
+with you.”</p>
 
-<p>"No! I am all alone; I have lost my way,"&mdash;and I
+<p>“No! I am all alone; I have lost my way,”—and I
 was going on with my explanation, when he, as if quite
 indifferent to it, led the way up a great stone staircase,
 as wide as many rooms, and having on each landing-place
 massive iron wickets, in a heavy framework; these
 the porter unlocked with the solemn slowness of age.
 Indeed, a strange, mysterious awe of the centuries that
-had passed away since this ch&acirc;teau was built, came over
+had passed away since this château was built, came over
 me as I waited for the turning of the ponderous keys in
 the ancient locks. I could almost have fancied that I
 heard a mighty rushing murmur (like the ceaseless sound
@@ -3006,12 +2908,12 @@ as if the voices of generations of men yet echoed and
 eddied in the silent air. It was strange, too, that my
 friend the porter going before me, ponderously infirm,
 with his feeble old hands striving in vain to keep the
-tall flambeau he held steadily before him,&mdash;strange, I
+tall flambeau he held steadily before him,—strange, I
 say, that he was the only domestic I saw in the vast
 halls and passages, or met with on the grand staircase.
 At length we stood before the gilded doors that led into
-the saloon where the family&mdash;or it might be the company,
-so great was the buzz of voices&mdash;was assembled.
+the saloon where the family—or it might be the company,
+so great was the buzz of voices—was assembled.
 I would have remonstrated when I found he was going
 to introduce me, dusty and travel-smeared, in a morning
 costume that was not even my best, into this grand <i>salon</i>,
@@ -3042,7 +2944,7 @@ the eye of the other.</p>
 
 <p>She immediately came towards me with the most
 friendly actions of greeting, even before she had advanced
-near enough to speak. Then,&mdash;and was it not strange?&mdash;her
+near enough to speak. Then,—and was it not strange?—her
 words and accent were that of the commonest
 peasant of the country. Yet she herself looked high-bred,
 and would have been dignified had she been a
@@ -3050,7 +2952,7 @@ shade less restless, had her countenance worn a little
 less lively and inquisitive expression. I had been
 poking a good deal about the old parts of Tours, and
 had had to understand the dialect of the people who
-dwelt in the March&eacute; au Vendredi and similar places,
+dwelt in the Marché au Vendredi and similar places,
 or I really should not have understood my handsome
 hostess, as she offered to present me to her husband, a
 henpecked, gentlemanly man, who was more quaintly
@@ -3063,7 +2965,7 @@ excess as to become ridiculous.</p>
 in making my acquaintance, and led me to a strange
 uneasy easy-chair, much of a piece with the rest of the
 furniture, which might have taken its place without any
-anachronism by the side of that in the H&ocirc;tel Cluny.
+anachronism by the side of that in the Hôtel Cluny.
 Then again began the clatter of French voices, which
 my arrival had for an instant interrupted, and I had
 leisure to look about me. Opposite to me sat a very
@@ -3095,24 +2997,24 @@ guest); and one or two of his gestures and actions were
 more like the tricks of an uneducated rustic than anything
 else. To explain what I mean: his boots had
 evidently seen much service, and had been re-topped,
-re-heeled, re-soled to the extent of cobbler's powers.
+re-heeled, re-soled to the extent of cobbler’s powers.
 Why should he have come in them if they were not his
-best&mdash;his only pair? And what can be more ungenteel
+best—his only pair? And what can be more ungenteel
 than poverty? Then again he had an uneasy trick of
 putting his hand up to his throat, as if he expected to
 find something the matter with it; and he had the
-awkward habit&mdash;which I do not think he could have
+awkward habit—which I do not think he could have
 copied from Dr. Johnson, because most probably he
-had never heard of him&mdash;of trying always to retrace
+had never heard of him—of trying always to retrace
 his steps on the exact boards on which he had trodden
 to arrive at any particular part of the room. Besides,
 to settle the question, I once heard him addressed as
-Monsieur Poucet, without any aristocratic "de" for a
+Monsieur Poucet, without any aristocratic “de” for a
 prefix; and nearly every one else in the room was a
 marquis, at any rate.</p>
 
-<p>I say, "nearly every one;" for some strange people
-had the entr&eacute;e; unless, indeed, they were, like me,
+<p>I say, “nearly every one;” for some strange people
+had the entrée; unless, indeed, they were, like me,
 benighted. One of the guests I should have taken for
 a servant, but for the extraordinary influence he seemed
 to have over the man I took for his master, and who
@@ -3124,23 +3026,23 @@ man, continually sauntering about, and I almost
 guessed an object of suspicion to some of the gentlemen
 present, which, perhaps, drove him on the companionship
 of his follower, who was dressed something in the
-style of an ambassador's chasseur; yet it was not a
-chasseur's dress after all; it was something more
+style of an ambassador’s chasseur; yet it was not a
+chasseur’s dress after all; it was something more
 thoroughly old-world; boots half way up his ridiculously
 small legs, which clattered as he walked along, as if
 they were too large for his little feet; and a great
 quantity of grey fur, as trimming to coat, court-mantle,
-boots, cap&mdash;everything. You know the way in which
+boots, cap—everything. You know the way in which
 certain countenances remind you perpetually of some
 animal, be it bird or beast! Well, this chasseur (as I
 will call him for want of a better name) was exceedingly
 like the great Tom-cat that you have seen so often in
 my chambers, and laughed at almost as often for his
 uncanny gravity of demeanour. Grey whiskers has my
-Tom&mdash;grey whiskers had the chasseur: grey hair overshadows
-the upper lip of my Tom&mdash;grey mustachios hid
-that of the chasseur. The pupils of Tom's eyes dilate
-and contract as I had thought cats' pupils only could do,
+Tom—grey whiskers had the chasseur: grey hair overshadows
+the upper lip of my Tom—grey mustachios hid
+that of the chasseur. The pupils of Tom’s eyes dilate
+and contract as I had thought cats’ pupils only could do,
 until I saw those of the chasseur. To be sure, canny
 as Tom is, the chasseur had the advantage in the more
 intelligent expression. He seemed to have obtained
@@ -3173,28 +3075,28 @@ side insinuated himself so much into my confidence,
 that I had half a mind to tell him of my exact situation,
 and to turn him into a friend and an ally.</p>
 
-<p>"Madame is perceptibly growing older," said he, in
+<p>“Madame is perceptibly growing older,” said he, in
 the midst of my perplexity, glancing at our hostess.</p>
 
-<p>"Madame is still a very fine woman," replied I.</p>
+<p>“Madame is still a very fine woman,” replied I.</p>
 
-<p>"Now, is it not strange," continued he, lowering his
-voice, "how women almost invariably praise the absent,
+<p>“Now, is it not strange,” continued he, lowering his
+voice, “how women almost invariably praise the absent,
 or departed, as if they were angels of light, while as for
-the present, or the living"&mdash;here he shrugged up his
-little shoulders, and made an expressive pause. "Would
+the present, or the living”—here he shrugged up his
+little shoulders, and made an expressive pause. “Would
 you believe it! Madame is always praising her late
-husband to monsieur's face; till, in fact, we guests are
+husband to monsieur’s face; till, in fact, we guests are
 quite perplexed how to look: for, you know, the late
-M. de Retz's character was quite notorious,&mdash;everybody
-has heard of him." All the world of Touraine, thought
+M. de Retz’s character was quite notorious,—everybody
+has heard of him.” All the world of Touraine, thought
 I, but I made an assenting noise.</p>
 
 <p>At this instant, monsieur our host came up to me, and
 with a civil look of tender interest (such as some people
 put on when they inquire after your mother, about whom
 they do not care one straw), asked if I had heard lately
-how my cat was? "How my cat was!" What could
+how my cat was? “How my cat was!” What could
 the man mean? My cat! Could he mean the tailless
 Tom, born in the Isle of Man, and now supposed to be
 keeping guard against the incursions of rats and mice
@@ -3204,53 +3106,53 @@ their legs for rubbing-posts without scruple, and highly
 esteemed by them for his gravity of demeanour, and
 wise manner of winking his eyes. But could his fame
 have reached across the Channel? However, an answer
-must be returned to the inquiry, as monsieur's face was
+must be returned to the inquiry, as monsieur’s face was
 bent down to mine with a look of polite anxiety; so I,
 in my turn, assumed an expression of gratitude, and
 assured him that, to the best of my belief, my cat was
 in remarkably good health.</p>
 
-<p>"And the climate agrees with her?"</p>
+<p>“And the climate agrees with her?”</p>
 
-<p>"Perfectly," said I, in a maze of wonder at this deep
+<p>“Perfectly,” said I, in a maze of wonder at this deep
 solicitude in a tailless cat who had lost one foot and half
 an ear in some cruel trap. My host smiled a sweet
 smile, and, addressing a few words to my little neighbour,
 passed on.</p>
 
-<p>"How wearisome those aristocrats are!" quoth my
-neighbour, with a slight sneer. "Monsieur's conversation
+<p>“How wearisome those aristocrats are!” quoth my
+neighbour, with a slight sneer. “Monsieur’s conversation
 rarely extends to more than two sentences to any
 one. By that time his faculties are exhausted, and he
 needs the refreshment of silence. You and I, monsieur,
 are, at any rate, indebted to our own wits for our rise
-in the world!"</p>
+in the world!”</p>
 
 <p>Here again I was bewildered! As you know, I am
 rather proud of my descent from families which, if not
-noble themselves, are allied to nobility,&mdash;and as to my
-"rise in the world"&mdash;if I had risen, it would have been
+noble themselves, are allied to nobility,—and as to my
+“rise in the world”—if I had risen, it would have been
 rather for balloon-like qualities than for mother-wit, to
 being unencumbered with heavy ballast either in my head
 or my pockets. However, it was my cue to agree: so I
 smiled again.</p>
 
-<p>"For my part," said he, "if a man does not stick at
+<p>“For my part,” said he, “if a man does not stick at
 trifles, if he knows how to judiciously add to, or withhold
 facts, and is not sentimental in his parade of humanity,
 he is sure to do well; sure to affix a <i>de</i> or <i>von</i> to
 his name, and end his days in comfort. There is an
-example of what I am saying"&mdash;and he glanced furtively
+example of what I am saying”—and he glanced furtively
 at the weak-looking master of the sharp, intelligent
 servant, whom I have called the chasseur.</p>
 
-<p>"Monsieur le Marquis would never have been anything
-but a miller's son, if it had not been for the talents of
-his servant. Of course you know his antecedents?"</p>
+<p>“Monsieur le Marquis would never have been anything
+but a miller’s son, if it had not been for the talents of
+his servant. Of course you know his antecedents?”</p>
 
 <p>I was going to make some remarks on the changes in
-the order of the peerage since the days of Louis XVI.&mdash;going,
-in fact, to be very sensible and historical&mdash;when
+the order of the peerage since the days of Louis XVI.—going,
+in fact, to be very sensible and historical—when
 there was a slight commotion among the people at
 the other end of the room. Lacqueys in quaint liveries
 must have come in from behind the tapestry, I suppose
@@ -3259,7 +3161,7 @@ to the doors), and were handing about the slight beverages
 and slighter viands which are considered sufficient
 refreshments, but which looked rather meagre to my
 hungry appetite. These footmen were standing solemnly
-opposite to a lady,&mdash;beautiful, splendid as the dawn, but&mdash;sound
+opposite to a lady,—beautiful, splendid as the dawn, but—sound
 asleep in a magnificent settee. A gentleman
 who showed so much irritation at her ill-timed slumbers,
 that I think he must have been her husband, was trying
@@ -3272,38 +3174,38 @@ of monsieur and madame.</p>
 <p>My little friend sat down with a sneer, as if his
 curiosity was quenched in contempt.</p>
 
-<p>"Moralists would make an infinity of wise remarks
-on that scene," said he. "In the first place, note the
+<p>“Moralists would make an infinity of wise remarks
+on that scene,” said he. “In the first place, note the
 ridiculous position into which their superstitious reverence
 for rank and title puts all these people. Because
 monsieur is a reigning prince over some minute principality,
 the exact situation of which no one has as yet
 discovered, no one must venture to take their glass of
-eau sucr&eacute; till Madame la Princesse awakens; and,
+eau sucré till Madame la Princesse awakens; and,
 judging from past experience, those poor lacqueys may
-have to stand for a century before that happens. Next&mdash;always
-speaking as a moralist, you will observe&mdash;note
+have to stand for a century before that happens. Next—always
+speaking as a moralist, you will observe—note
 how difficult it is to break off bad habits acquired in
-youth!"</p>
+youth!”</p>
 
 <p>Just then the prince succeeded, by what means I did
 not see, in awaking the beautiful sleeper. But at first
 she did not remember where she was, and looking up at
 her husband with loving eyes, she smiled and said:</p>
 
-<p>"Is it you, my prince?"</p>
+<p>“Is it you, my prince?”</p>
 
 <p>But he was too conscious of the suppressed amusement
 of the spectators and his own consequent annoyance,
 to be reciprocally tender, and turned away with
 some little French expression, best rendered into English
-by "Pooh, pooh, my dear!"</p>
+by “Pooh, pooh, my dear!”</p>
 
 <p>After I had had a glass of delicious wine of some
 unknown quality, my courage was in rather better plight
-than before, and I told my cynical little neighbour&mdash;whom
-I must say I was beginning to dislike&mdash;that I had
-lost my way in the wood, and had arrived at the ch&acirc;teau
+than before, and I told my cynical little neighbour—whom
+I must say I was beginning to dislike—that I had
+lost my way in the wood, and had arrived at the château
 quite by mistake.</p>
 
 <p>He seemed mightily amused at my story; said that
@@ -3315,76 +3217,76 @@ ended his story by making me admire his boots, which
 he said he still wore, patched though they were, and all
 their excellent quality lost by patching, because they
 were of such a first-rate make for long pedestrian excursions.
-"Though, indeed," he wound up by saying,
-"the new fashion of railroads would seem to supersede
-the necessity for this description of boots."</p>
+“Though, indeed,” he wound up by saying,
+“the new fashion of railroads would seem to supersede
+the necessity for this description of boots.”</p>
 
 <p>When I consulted him as to whether I ought to make
 myself known to my host and hostess as a benighted
 traveller, instead of the guest whom they had taken
-me for, he exclaimed, "By no means! I hate such
-squeamish morality." And he seemed much offended
+me for, he exclaimed, “By no means! I hate such
+squeamish morality.” And he seemed much offended
 by my innocent question, as if it seemed by implication
 to condemn something in himself. He was offended and
 silent; and just at this moment I caught the sweet,
-attractive eyes of the lady opposite&mdash;that lady whom I
+attractive eyes of the lady opposite—that lady whom I
 named at first as being no longer in the bloom of youth,
 but as being somewhat infirm about the feet, which were
 supported on a raised cushion before her. Her looks
-seemed to say, "Come here, and let us have some conversation
-together;" and, with a bow of silent excuse to
+seemed to say, “Come here, and let us have some conversation
+together;” and, with a bow of silent excuse to
 my little companion, I went across to the lame old lady.
 She acknowledged my coming with the prettiest gesture
-of thanks possible; and, half apologetically, said, "It
+of thanks possible; and, half apologetically, said, “It
 is a little dull to be unable to move about on such evenings
 as this; but it is a just punishment to me for my
 early vanities. My poor feet, that were by nature so
 small, are now taking their revenge for my cruelty in
-forcing them into such little slippers&#8230;.
-Besides, monsieur," with a pleasant smile, "I thought
+forcing them into such little slippers....
+Besides, monsieur,” with a pleasant smile, “I thought
 it was possible you might be weary of the malicious
 sayings of your little neighbour. He has not borne the
 best character in his youth, and such men are sure to
-be cynical in their old age."</p>
+be cynical in their old age.”</p>
 
-<p>"Who is he?" asked I, with English abruptness.</p>
+<p>“Who is he?” asked I, with English abruptness.</p>
 
-<p>"His name is Poucet, and his father was, I believe,
+<p>“His name is Poucet, and his father was, I believe,
 a wood-cutter, or charcoal burner, or something of the
 sort. They do tell sad stories of connivance at murder,
-ingratitude, and obtaining money on false pretences&mdash;but
+ingratitude, and obtaining money on false pretences—but
 you will think me as bad as he if I go on with my
 slanders. Rather let us admire the lovely lady coming
-up towards us, with the roses in her hand&mdash;I never see
+up towards us, with the roses in her hand—I never see
 her without roses, they are so closely connected with her
-past history, as you are doubtless aware. Ah, beauty!"
-said my companion to the lady drawing near to us, "it
+past history, as you are doubtless aware. Ah, beauty!”
+said my companion to the lady drawing near to us, “it
 is like you to come to me, now that I can no longer
-go to you." Then turning to me, and gracefully drawing
-me into the conversation, she said, "You must
+go to you.” Then turning to me, and gracefully drawing
+me into the conversation, she said, “You must
 know that, although we never met until we were both
 married, we have been almost like sisters ever since.
 There have been so many points of resemblance in our
 circumstances, and I think I may say in our characters.
-We had each two elder sisters&mdash;mine were but half-sisters,
-though&mdash;who were not so kind to us as they
-might have been."</p>
+We had each two elder sisters—mine were but half-sisters,
+though—who were not so kind to us as they
+might have been.”</p>
 
-<p>"But have been sorry for it since," put in the other
+<p>“But have been sorry for it since,” put in the other
 lady.</p>
 
-<p>"Since we have married princes," continued the same
+<p>“Since we have married princes,” continued the same
 lady, with an arch smile that had nothing of unkindness
-in it, "for we both have married far above our original
+in it, “for we both have married far above our original
 stations in life; we are both unpunctual in our habits,
 and, in consequence of this failing of ours, we have both
-had to suffer mortification and pain."</p>
+had to suffer mortification and pain.”</p>
 
-<p>"And both are charming," said a whisper close
-behind me. "My lord the marquis, say it&mdash;say, 'And
-both are charming.'"</p>
+<p>“And both are charming,” said a whisper close
+behind me. “My lord the marquis, say it—say, ‘And
+both are charming.’”</p>
 
-<p>"And both are charming," was spoken aloud by
+<p>“And both are charming,” was spoken aloud by
 another voice. I turned, and saw the wily cat-like chasseur,
 prompting his master to make civil speeches.</p>
 
@@ -3406,12 +3308,12 @@ fallen a little into the background at this interruption in
 a conversation which promised to be so pleasant, and I
 could not help hearing his words.</p>
 
-<p>"Really, De Carabas grows more stupid every day.
+<p>“Really, De Carabas grows more stupid every day.
 I have a great mind to throw off his boots, and leave
 him to his fate. I was intended for a court, and to
 a court I will go, and make my own fortune as I
 have made his. The emperor will appreciate my
-talents."</p>
+talents.”</p>
 
 <p>And such are the habits of the French, or such his
 forgetfulness of good manners in his anger, that he spat
@@ -3420,18 +3322,18 @@ right and left on the parquetted floor.</p>
 <p>Just then a very ugly, very pleasant-looking man,
 came towards the two ladies to whom I had lately been
 speaking, leading up to them a delicate, fair woman,
-dressed all in the softest white, as if she were <i>vou&eacute;e au
+dressed all in the softest white, as if she were <i>vouée au
 blanc</i>. I do not think there was a bit of colour about
 her. I thought I heard her making, as she came along,
 a little noise of pleasure, not exactly like the singing of
 a tea-kettle, nor yet like the cooing of a dove, but
 reminding me of each sound.</p>
 
-<p>"Madame de Mioumiou was anxious to see you,"
-said he, addressing the lady with the roses, "so I have
-brought her across to give you a pleasure!" What an
+<p>“Madame de Mioumiou was anxious to see you,”
+said he, addressing the lady with the roses, “so I have
+brought her across to give you a pleasure!” What an
 honest, good face! but oh! how ugly! And yet I liked
-his ugliness better than most persons' beauty. There
+his ugliness better than most persons’ beauty. There
 was a look of pathetic acknowledgment of his ugliness,
 and a deprecation of your too hasty judgment, in his
 countenance that was positively winning. The soft,
@@ -3443,45 +3345,45 @@ the same tune, for at a sound behind the tapestry, which
 was more like the scuttering of rats and mice than anything
 else, both Madame de Mioumiou and the chasseur
 started with the most eager look of anxiety on their
-countenances, and by their restless movements&mdash;madame's
-panting, and the fiery dilation of his eyes&mdash;one
+countenances, and by their restless movements—madame’s
+panting, and the fiery dilation of his eyes—one
 might see that commonplace sounds affected
 them both in a manner very different to the rest of
 the company. The ugly husband of the lovely lady
 with the roses now addressed himself to me.</p>
 
-<p>"We are much disappointed," he said, "in finding
-that monsieur is not accompanied by his countryman&mdash;le
-grand Jean d'Angleterre; I cannot pronounce his
-name rightly"&mdash;and he looked at me to help him out.</p>
+<p>“We are much disappointed,” he said, “in finding
+that monsieur is not accompanied by his countryman—le
+grand Jean d’Angleterre; I cannot pronounce his
+name rightly”—and he looked at me to help him out.</p>
 
-<p>"Le grand Jean d'Angleterre!" now who was le grand
-Jean d'Angleterre? John Bull? John Russell? John
+<p>“Le grand Jean d’Angleterre!” now who was le grand
+Jean d’Angleterre? John Bull? John Russell? John
 Bright?</p>
 
-<p>"Jean&mdash;Jean"&mdash;continued the gentleman, seeing my
-embarrassment. "Ah, these terrible English names&mdash;'Jean
-de G&eacute;anquilleur!'"</p>
+<p>“Jean—Jean”—continued the gentleman, seeing my
+embarrassment. “Ah, these terrible English names—‘Jean
+de Géanquilleur!’”</p>
 
 <p>I was as wise as ever. And yet the name struck me
 as familiar, but slightly disguised. I repeated it to
 myself. It was mighty like John the Giant-killer, only
-his friends always call that worthy "Jack." I said the
+his friends always call that worthy “Jack.” I said the
 name aloud.</p>
 
-<p>"Ah, that is it!" said he. "But why has he not
-accompanied you to our little reunion to-night?"</p>
+<p>“Ah, that is it!” said he. “But why has he not
+accompanied you to our little reunion to-night?”</p>
 
 <p>I had been rather puzzled once or twice before, but
 this serious question added considerably to my perplexity.
 Jack the Giant-killer had once, it is true,
 been rather an intimate friend of mine, as far as
-(printer's) ink and paper can keep up a friendship, but
+(printer’s) ink and paper can keep up a friendship, but
 I had not heard his name mentioned for years; and
-for aught I knew he lay enchanted with King Arthur's
+for aught I knew he lay enchanted with King Arthur’s
 knights, who lie entranced until the blast of the trumpets
 of four mighty kings shall call them to help at
-England's need. But the question had been asked in
+England’s need. But the question had been asked in
 serious earnest by that gentleman, whom I more wished
 to think well of me than I did any other person in the
 room. So I answered respectfully that it was long since
@@ -3491,7 +3393,7 @@ was doing myself to have been present at such an agreeable
 gathering of friends. He bowed, and then the lame
 lady took up the word.</p>
 
-<p>"To-night is the night when, of all the year, this
+<p>“To-night is the night when, of all the year, this
 great old forest surrounding the castle is said to be
 haunted by the phantom of a little peasant girl who
 once lived hereabouts; the tradition is that she was
@@ -3499,11 +3401,11 @@ devoured by a wolf. In former days I have seen her
 on this night out of yonder window at the end of the
 gallery. Will you, ma belle, take monsieur to see the
 view outside by the moonlight (you may possibly see
-the phantom-child); and leave me to a little <i>t&ecirc;te-&agrave;-t&ecirc;te</i>
-with your husband?"</p>
+the phantom-child); and leave me to a little <i>tête-à-tête</i>
+with your husband?”</p>
 
 <p>With a gentle movement the lady with the roses complied
-with the other's request, and we went to a great
+with the other’s request, and we went to a great
 window, looking down on the forest, in which I had lost
 my way. The tops of the far-spreading and leafy trees
 lay motionless beneath us in that pale, wan light, which
@@ -3512,33 +3414,33 @@ colour, as by day. We looked down on the countless
 avenues, which seemed to converge from all quarters
 to the great old castle; and suddenly across one, quite
 near to us, there passed the figure of a little girl, with
-the "capuchon" on, that takes the place of a peasant
-girl's bonnet in France. She had a basket on one arm,
+the “capuchon” on, that takes the place of a peasant
+girl’s bonnet in France. She had a basket on one arm,
 and by her, on the side to which her head was turned,
 there went a wolf. I could almost have said it was
 licking her hand, as if in penitent love, if either penitence
-or love had ever been a quality of wolves,&mdash;but
+or love had ever been a quality of wolves,—but
 though not of living, perhaps it may be of phantom
 wolves.</p>
 
-<p>"There, we have seen her!" exclaimed my beautiful
-companion. "Though so long dead, her simple story
+<p>“There, we have seen her!” exclaimed my beautiful
+companion. “Though so long dead, her simple story
 of household goodness and trustful simplicity still lingers
 in the hearts of all who have ever heard of her; and
 the country-people about here say that seeing that
 phantom-child on this anniversary brings good luck for
 the year. Let us hope that we shall share in the traditionary
-good fortune. Ah! here is Madame de Retz&mdash;she
+good fortune. Ah! here is Madame de Retz—she
 retains the name of her first husband, you know, as
-he was of higher rank than the present." We were
+he was of higher rank than the present.” We were
 joined by our hostess.</p>
 
-<p>"If monsieur is fond of the beauties of nature and
-art," said she, perceiving that I had been looking at
-the view from the great window, "he will perhaps take
-pleasure in seeing the picture." Here she sighed, with
-a little affectation of grief. "You know the picture I
-allude to," addressing my companion, who bowed assent,
+<p>“If monsieur is fond of the beauties of nature and
+art,” said she, perceiving that I had been looking at
+the view from the great window, “he will perhaps take
+pleasure in seeing the picture.” Here she sighed, with
+a little affectation of grief. “You know the picture I
+allude to,” addressing my companion, who bowed assent,
 and smiled a little maliciously, as I followed the lead of
 madame.</p>
 
@@ -3547,86 +3449,86 @@ by the way with what keen curiosity she caught up what
 was passing either in word or action on each side of her.
 When we stood opposite to the end wall, I perceived a
 full-length picture of a handsome, peculiar-looking man,
-with&mdash;in spite of his good looks&mdash;a very fierce and
+with—in spite of his good looks—a very fierce and
 scowling expression. My hostess clasped her hands
 together as her arms hung down in front, and sighed
-once more. Then, half in soliloquy, she said&mdash;</p>
+once more. Then, half in soliloquy, she said—</p>
 
-<p>"He was the love of my youth; his stern yet manly
-character first touched this heart of mine. When&mdash;when
-shall I cease to deplore his loss!"</p>
+<p>“He was the love of my youth; his stern yet manly
+character first touched this heart of mine. When—when
+shall I cease to deplore his loss!”</p>
 
 <p>Not being acquainted with her enough to answer this
 question (if, indeed, it were not sufficiently answered by
 the fact of her second marriage), I felt awkward; and,
-by way of saying something, I remarked,&mdash;</p>
+by way of saying something, I remarked,—</p>
 
-<p>"The countenance strikes me as resembling something
-I have seen before&mdash;in an engraving from an
+<p>“The countenance strikes me as resembling something
+I have seen before—in an engraving from an
 historical picture, I think; only, it is there the principal
 figure in a group: he is holding a lady by her
 hair, and threatening her with his scimitar, while two
 cavaliers are rushing up the stairs, apparently only just
-in time to save her life."</p>
+in time to save her life.”</p>
 
-<p>"Alas, alas!" said she, "you too accurately describe
+<p>“Alas, alas!” said she, “you too accurately describe
 a miserable passage in my life, which has often been
-represented in a false light. The best of husbands"&mdash;here
+represented in a false light. The best of husbands”—here
 she sobbed, and became slightly inarticulate with
-her grief&mdash;"will sometimes be displeased. I was young
-and curious, he was justly angry with my disobedience&mdash;my
-brothers were too hasty&mdash;the consequence is, I
-became a widow!"</p>
+her grief—“will sometimes be displeased. I was young
+and curious, he was justly angry with my disobedience—my
+brothers were too hasty—the consequence is, I
+became a widow!”</p>
 
 <p>After due respect for her tears, I ventured to suggest
 some commonplace consolation. She turned round
-sharply:&mdash;</p>
+sharply:—</p>
 
-<p>"No, monsieur: my only comfort is that I have
+<p>“No, monsieur: my only comfort is that I have
 never forgiven the brothers who interfered so cruelly,
 in such an uncalled-for manner, between my dear husband
-and myself. To quote my friend Monsieur Sganarelle&mdash;'Ce
+and myself. To quote my friend Monsieur Sganarelle—‘Ce
 sont petites choses qui sont de temps en
-temps necessaires dans l'amiti&eacute;; et cinq ou six coups
-d'&eacute;p&eacute;e entre gens qui s'aiment ne font que ragaillardir
-l'affection.' You observe the colouring is not quite what
-it should be?"</p>
+temps necessaires dans l’amitié; et cinq ou six coups
+d’épée entre gens qui s’aiment ne font que ragaillardir
+l’affection.’ You observe the colouring is not quite what
+it should be?”</p>
 
-<p>"In this light the beard is of rather a peculiar tint,"
+<p>“In this light the beard is of rather a peculiar tint,”
 said I.</p>
 
-<p>"Yes: the painter did not do it justice. It was most
+<p>“Yes: the painter did not do it justice. It was most
 lovely, and gave him such a distinguished air, quite
 different from the common herd. Stay, I will show you
-the exact colour, if you will come near this flambeau!"
+the exact colour, if you will come near this flambeau!”
 And going near the light, she took off a bracelet of hair,
 with a magnificent clasp of pearls. It was peculiar,
-certainly. I did not know what to say. "His precious
-lovely beard!" said she. "And the pearls go so well
-with the delicate blue!"</p>
+certainly. I did not know what to say. “His precious
+lovely beard!” said she. “And the pearls go so well
+with the delicate blue!”</p>
 
 <p>Her husband, who had come up to us, and waited till
 her eye fell upon him before venturing to speak, now
-said, "It is strange Monsieur Ogre is not yet arrived!"</p>
+said, “It is strange Monsieur Ogre is not yet arrived!”</p>
 
-<p>"Not at all strange," said she, tartly. "He was
+<p>“Not at all strange,” said she, tartly. “He was
 always very stupid, and constantly falls into mistakes,
 in which he comes worse off; and it is very well he
 does, for he is a credulous and cowardly fellow. Not at
-all strange! If you will"&mdash;turning to her husband, so
-that I hardly heard her words, until I caught&mdash;"Then
+all strange! If you will”—turning to her husband, so
+that I hardly heard her words, until I caught—“Then
 everybody would have their rights, and we should have
-no more trouble. Is it not, monsieur?" addressing me.</p>
+no more trouble. Is it not, monsieur?” addressing me.</p>
 
-<p>"If I were in England, I should imagine madame was
-speaking of the reform bill, or the millennium,&mdash;but I
-am in ignorance."</p>
+<p>“If I were in England, I should imagine madame was
+speaking of the reform bill, or the millennium,—but I
+am in ignorance.”</p>
 
 <p>And just as I spoke, the great folding-doors were
 thrown open wide, and every one started to their feet
-to greet a little old lady, leaning on a thin black wand&mdash;and&mdash;</p>
+to greet a little old lady, leaning on a thin black wand—and—</p>
 
-<p>"Madame la F&eacute;emarraine," was announced by a
+<p>“Madame la Féemarraine,” was announced by a
 chorus of sweet shrill voices.</p>
 
 <p>And in a moment I was lying in the grass close by a
@@ -3635,19 +3537,14 @@ day shining full in my face, and thousands of little birds
 and delicate insects piping and warbling out their welcome
 to the ruddy splendour.</p>
 
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-<h3><a name="swh" id="swh"></a>SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM.</h3>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="chap">
+<h2 id="swh">SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM.</h2>
 
 <p>After I left Oxford, I determined to spend some months
 in travel before settling down in life. My father had
 left me a few thousands, the income arising from which
 would be enough to provide for all the necessary requirements
-of a lawyer's education; such as lodgings in a
+of a lawyer’s education; such as lodgings in a
 quiet part of London, fees and payment to the distinguished
 barrister with whom I was to read; but there
 would be small surplus left over for luxuries or amusements;
@@ -3659,7 +3556,7 @@ pounds. As long as that sum would last me I would
 remain abroad; when it was spent my holiday should
 be over, and I would return and settle down somewhere
 in the neighbourhood of Russell Square, in order to be
-near Mr. &mdash;&mdash;'s chambers in Lincoln's-inn. I had to
+near Mr. ——’s chambers in Lincoln’s-inn. I had to
 wait in London for one day while my passport was
 being made out, and I went to examine the streets in
 which I purposed to live; I had picked them out, from
@@ -3680,7 +3577,7 @@ countrymen frequented.</p>
 
 <p>I have stated this much about myself to explain how
 I fell in with the little story that I am going to record,
-but with which I had not much to do,&mdash;my part in it
+but with which I had not much to do,—my part in it
 being little more than that of a sympathizing spectator.
 I had been through France into Switzerland, where I
 had gone beyond my strength in the way of walking,
@@ -3712,7 +3609,7 @@ my sleeping quarters for the night.</p>
 
 <p>If the place had been much less clean and inviting, I
 should have remained there; I was almost surprised
-myself at my vis inerti&aelig;; once seated in the last warm
+myself at my vis inertiæ; once seated in the last warm
 rays of the slanting sun by the garden window, I was
 disinclined to move, or even to speak. My hostess had
 taken my orders as to my evening meal, and had left
@@ -3726,10 +3623,10 @@ dazzling my eyes by gazing out into the crimson light.</p>
 my supper. She began to lay the cloth at one end of
 the large table. There was a smaller one close by me.
 I mustered up my voice, which seemed a little as if it
-was getting beyond my control, and called to her,&mdash;</p>
+was getting beyond my control, and called to her,—</p>
 
-<p>"Will you let me have my supper here on this
-table?"</p>
+<p>“Will you let me have my supper here on this
+table?”</p>
 
 <p>She came near; the light fell on her while I was
 in shadow. She was a tall young woman, with a fine
@@ -3740,25 +3637,25 @@ reddened by weather, so as to have lost much of its
 delicacy, and the features, as I had afterwards opportunity
 enough of observing, were anything but regular.
 She had white teeth, however, and well-opened blue
-eyes&mdash;grave-looking eyes which had shed tears for past
-sorrow&mdash;plenty of light-brown hair, rather elaborately
+eyes—grave-looking eyes which had shed tears for past
+sorrow—plenty of light-brown hair, rather elaborately
 plaited, and fastened up by two great silver pins. That
-was all&mdash;perhaps more than all&mdash;I noticed that first
+was all—perhaps more than all—I noticed that first
 night. She began to lay the cloth where I had
 directed. A shiver passed over me: she looked at me,
-and then said,&mdash;</p>
+and then said,—</p>
 
-<p>"The gentleman is cold: shall I light the stove?"</p>
+<p>“The gentleman is cold: shall I light the stove?”</p>
 
-<p>Something vexed me&mdash;I am not usually so impatient:
-it was the coming-on of serious illness&mdash;I did not like
+<p>Something vexed me—I am not usually so impatient:
+it was the coming-on of serious illness—I did not like
 to be noticed so closely; I believed that food would
 restore me, and I did not want to have my meal delayed,
 as I feared it might be by the lighting of the stove;
 and most of all I was feverishly annoyed by movement.
-I answered sharply and abruptly,&mdash;</p>
+I answered sharply and abruptly,—</p>
 
-<p>"No; bring supper quickly; that is all I want."</p>
+<p>“No; bring supper quickly; that is all I want.”</p>
 
 <p>Her quiet, sad eyes met mine for a moment; but I
 saw no change in their expression, as if I had vexed her
@@ -3794,7 +3691,7 @@ still asleep. But I could see through my apparently
 closed eyelids. In came, walking on tip-toe, with a
 slow care that defeated its object, two men. The first
 was aged from thirty to forty, in the dress of a Black
-Forest peasant,&mdash;old-fashioned coat and knee-breeches
+Forest peasant,—old-fashioned coat and knee-breeches
 of strong blue cloth, but of a thoroughly good quality;
 he was followed by an older man, whose dress, of more
 pretension as to cut and colour (it was all black), was,
@@ -3828,21 +3725,21 @@ beginning of September.</p>
 <p>Again the doctor conveyed his sense of extreme
 satisfaction in a series of rapid pantomimic nods, and
 then replied in deliberate but tolerable English, to my
-great surprise,&mdash;</p>
+great surprise,—</p>
 
-<p>"It is the 29th of September, my dear sir. You
+<p>“It is the 29th of September, my dear sir. You
 must thank the dear God. Your fever has made its
 course of twenty-one days. Now patience and care must
 be practised. The good host and his household will
 have the care; you must have the patience. If you
 have relations in England, I will do my endeavours to
-tell them the state of your health."</p>
+tell them the state of your health.”</p>
 
-<p>"I have no near relations," said I, beginning in my
+<p>“I have no near relations,” said I, beginning in my
 weakness to cry, as I remembered, as if it had been a
 dream, the days when I had father, mother, sister.</p>
 
-<p>"Chut, chut!" said he; then, turning to the landlord,
+<p>“Chut, chut!” said he; then, turning to the landlord,
 he told him in German to make Thekla bring me
 one of her good bouillons; after which I was to have
 certain medicines, and to sleep as undisturbedly as
@@ -3858,7 +3755,7 @@ economy; but I sank into dozing unconsciousness before
 I could quite follow out my idea. I was roused by the
 touch of a spoon on my lips; it was Thekla feeding me.
 Her sweet, grave face had something approaching to a
-mother's look of tenderness upon it, as she gave me
+mother’s look of tenderness upon it, as she gave me
 spoonful after spoonful with gentle patience and dainty
 care: and then I fell asleep once more. When next I
 wakened it was night; the stove was lighted, and the
@@ -3889,17 +3786,17 @@ by her hand, softly to my bedside. When she saw my
 open eyes she went to a porringer placed at the top of
 the stove, and fed me with soup. She did not speak
 while doing this. I was half aware that she had done it
-many times since the doctor's visit, although this seemed
+many times since the doctor’s visit, although this seemed
 to be the first time that I was fully awake. She passed
 her arm under the pillow on which my head rested, and
 raised me a very little; her support was as firm as a
-man's could have been. Again back to her work, and
+man’s could have been. Again back to her work, and
 I to my slumbers, without a word being exchanged.</p>
 
 <p>It was broad daylight when I wakened again; I could
 see the sunny atmosphere of the garden outside stealing
 in through the nicks at the side of the shawl hung up to
-darken the room&mdash;a shawl which I was sure had not
+darken the room—a shawl which I was sure had not
 been there when I had observed the window in the night.
 How gently my nurse must have moved about while
 doing her thoughtful act!</p>
@@ -3919,101 +3816,101 @@ hers. By this time I was somewhat revived, and could
 talk a little; besides, it seemed churlish to be longer
 without acknowledging so much kindness received.</p>
 
-<p>"I am afraid I have been a great trouble," said I.
-"I can only say that I am truly grateful."</p>
+<p>“I am afraid I have been a great trouble,” said I.
+“I can only say that I am truly grateful.”</p>
 
 <p>His good broad face reddened, and he moved a little
 uneasily.</p>
 
-<p>"I don't see how I could have done otherwise than
-I<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>than we, did," replied he, in the soft German of
-the district. "We were all glad enough to do what we
-could; I don't say it was a pleasure, because it is our
-busiest time of year,&mdash;but then," said he, laughing a
+<p>“I don’t see how I could have done otherwise than
+I<span class="norewrap">——</span>than we, did,” replied he, in the soft German of
+the district. “We were all glad enough to do what we
+could; I don’t say it was a pleasure, because it is our
+busiest time of year,—but then,” said he, laughing a
 little awkwardly, as if he feared his expression might
-have been misunderstood, "I don't suppose it has been
+have been misunderstood, “I don’t suppose it has been
 a pleasure to you either, sir, to be laid up so far from
-home."</p>
+home.”</p>
 
-<p>"No, indeed."</p>
+<p>“No, indeed.”</p>
 
-<p>"I may as well tell you now, sir, that we had to look
+<p>“I may as well tell you now, sir, that we had to look
 over your papers and clothes. In the first place, when
 you were so ill I would fain have let your kinsfolk know,
 if I could have found a clue; and besides, you needed
-linen."</p>
+linen.”</p>
 
-<p>"I am wearing a shirt of yours though," said I,
+<p>“I am wearing a shirt of yours though,” said I,
 touching my sleeve.</p>
 
-<p>"Yes, sir!" said he again, reddening a little. "I
+<p>“Yes, sir!” said he again, reddening a little. “I
 told Thekla to take the finest out of the chest; but I am
-afraid you find it coarser than your own."</p>
+afraid you find it coarser than your own.”</p>
 
 <p>For all answer I could only lay my weak hand on the
 great brown paw resting on the bed-side. He gave me
 a sudden squeeze in return that I thought would have
 crushed my bones.</p>
 
-<p>"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, misinterpreting the
-sudden look of pain which I could not repress; "but
+<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” said he, misinterpreting the
+sudden look of pain which I could not repress; “but
 watching a man come out of the shadow of death into
-life makes one feel very friendly towards him."</p>
+life makes one feel very friendly towards him.”</p>
 
-<p>"No old or true friend that I have had could have
+<p>“No old or true friend that I have had could have
 done more for me than you, and your wife, and Thekla,
-and the good doctor."</p>
+and the good doctor.”</p>
 
-<p>"I am a widower," said he, turning round the great
-wedding-ring that decked his third finger. "My sister
-keeps house for me, and takes care of the children,&mdash;that
+<p>“I am a widower,” said he, turning round the great
+wedding-ring that decked his third finger. “My sister
+keeps house for me, and takes care of the children,—that
 is to say, she does it with the help of Thekla, the
-house-maiden. But I have other servants," he continued.
-"I am well to do, the good God be thanked!
+house-maiden. But I have other servants,” he continued.
+“I am well to do, the good God be thanked!
 I have land, and cattle, and vineyards. It will soon be
 our vintage-time, and then you must go and see my
-grapes as they come into the village. I have a <i>'chasse'</i>,
+grapes as they come into the village. I have a <i>‘chasse’</i>,
 too, in the Odenwald; perhaps one day you will be strong
-enough to go and shoot the <i>'chevreuil'</i> with me."</p>
+enough to go and shoot the <i>‘chevreuil’</i> with me.”</p>
 
 <p>His good, true heart was trying to make me feel like
 a welcome guest. Some time afterwards I learnt from
-the doctor that&mdash;my poor fifty pounds being nearly all
-expended&mdash;my host and he had been brought to believe
+the doctor that—my poor fifty pounds being nearly all
+expended—my host and he had been brought to believe
 in my poverty, as the necessary examination of my clothes
 and papers showed so little evidence of wealth. But I
 myself have but little to do with my story; I only name
 these things, and repeat these conversations, to show
 what a true, kind, honest man my host was. By the
 way, I may as well call him by his name henceforward,
-Fritz M&uuml;ller. The doctor's name, Wiedermann.</p>
+Fritz Müller. The doctor’s name, Wiedermann.</p>
 
 <p>I was tired enough with this interview with Fritz
-M&uuml;ller; but when Dr. Wiedermann came he pronounced
+Müller; but when Dr. Wiedermann came he pronounced
 me to be much better; and through the day much the
 same course was pursued as on the previous one: being
 fed, lying still, and sleeping, were my passive and active
 occupations. It was a hot, sunshiny day, and I craved
-for air. Fresh air does not enter into the pharmacop&oelig;ia
+for air. Fresh air does not enter into the pharmacopœia
 of a German doctor; but somehow I obtained my
 wish. During the morning hours the window through
-which the sun streamed&mdash;the window looking on to the
-front court&mdash;was opened a little; and through it I heard
+which the sun streamed—the window looking on to the
+front court—was opened a little; and through it I heard
 the sounds of active life, which gave me pleasure and
-interest enough. The hen's cackle, the cock's exultant
-call when he had found the treasure of a grain of corn,&mdash;the
+interest enough. The hen’s cackle, the cock’s exultant
+call when he had found the treasure of a grain of corn,—the
 movements of a tethered donkey, and the cooing
 and whirring of the pigeons which lighted on the window-sill,
 gave me just subjects enough for interest. Now and
-then a cart or carriage drove up,&mdash;I could hear them
+then a cart or carriage drove up,—I could hear them
 ascending the rough village street long before they stopped
-at the "Halbmond," the village inn. Then there came
+at the “Halbmond,” the village inn. Then there came
 a sound of running and haste in the house; and Thekla
 was always called for in sharp, imperative tones. I
-heard little children's footsteps, too, from time to time;
+heard little children’s footsteps, too, from time to time;
 and once there must have been some childish accident
 or hurt, for a shrill, plaintive little voice kept calling
-out, "Thekla, Thekla, liebe Thekla." Yet, after the
+out, “Thekla, Thekla, liebe Thekla.” Yet, after the
 first early morning hours, when my hostess attended on
 my wants, it was always Thekla who came to give me
 my food or my medicine; who redded up my room; who
@@ -4025,13 +3922,13 @@ the large eating-room (out of which my room opened),
 and called Thekla away from whatever was her occupation
 in my room at the time, in a sharp, injured,
 imperative whisper. Once I remember it was to say
-that sheets were wanted for some stranger's bed, and
+that sheets were wanted for some stranger’s bed, and
 to ask where she, the speaker, could have put the
 keys, in a tone of irritation, as though Thekla were
-responsible for Fr&auml;ulein M&uuml;ller's own forgetfulness.</p>
+responsible for Fräulein Müller’s own forgetfulness.</p>
 
 <p>Night came on; the sounds of daily life died away
-into silence; the children's voices were no more heard;
+into silence; the children’s voices were no more heard;
 the poultry were all gone to roost; the beasts of burden
 to their stables; and travellers were housed. Then
 Thekla came in softly and quietly, and took up her
@@ -4061,8 +3958,8 @@ the quiet movement habitual to her. Then she looked
 before her, not at me, but at vacancy filled up by
 memories; and as the enchanter brought up the scenes
 and people which she saw, but I could not, her eyes
-filled with tears&mdash;tears that gathered almost imperceptibly
-to herself as it would seem&mdash;for when one large
+filled with tears—tears that gathered almost imperceptibly
+to herself as it would seem—for when one large
 drop fell on her hands (held slightly together before
 her as she stood) she started a little, and brushed her
 eyes with the back of her hand, and then came towards
@@ -4092,7 +3989,7 @@ inquisitiveness remained ungratified, I felt as if I could
 not get well. But to do myself justice, it was more
 than inquisitiveness. Thekla had tended me with the
 gentle, thoughtful care of a sister, in the midst of her
-busy life. I could often hear the Fr&auml;ulein's sharp voice
+busy life. I could often hear the Fräulein’s sharp voice
 outside blaming her for something that had gone wrong;
 but I never heard much from Thekla in reply. Her
 name was called in various tones by different people,
@@ -4105,53 +4002,53 @@ but Thekla was the one of all to whom I owed my
 comforts, if not my life. If I could do anything to
 smooth her path (and a little money goes a great way
 in these primitive parts of Germany), how willingly
-would I give it? So one night I began&mdash;she was no
+would I give it? So one night I began—she was no
 longer needed to watch by my bedside, but she was
-arranging my room before leaving me for the night&mdash;</p>
+arranging my room before leaving me for the night—</p>
 
-<p>"Thekla," said I, "you don't belong to Heppenheim,
-do you?"</p>
+<p>“Thekla,” said I, “you don’t belong to Heppenheim,
+do you?”</p>
 
 <p>She looked at me, and reddened a little.</p>
 
-<p>"No. Why do you ask?"</p>
+<p>“No. Why do you ask?”</p>
 
-<p>"You have been so good to me that I cannot help
+<p>“You have been so good to me that I cannot help
 wanting to know more about you. I must needs feel
 interested in one who has been by my side through my
 illness as you have. Where do your friends live? Are
-your parents alive?"</p>
+your parents alive?”</p>
 
 <p>All this time I was driving at the letter.</p>
 
-<p>"I was <ins title="original has borne">born</ins> at Altenahr. My father is an innkeeper
-there. He owns the 'Golden Stag.' My mother
+<p>“I was <ins title="original has borne">born</ins> at Altenahr. My father is an innkeeper
+there. He owns the ‘Golden Stag.’ My mother
 is dead, and he has married again, and has many
-children."</p>
+children.”</p>
 
-<p>"And your stepmother is unkind to you," said I,
+<p>“And your stepmother is unkind to you,” said I,
 jumping to a conclusion.</p>
 
-<p>"Who said so?" asked she, with a shade of indignation
-in her tone. "She is a right good woman, and
-makes my father a good wife."</p>
+<p>“Who said so?” asked she, with a shade of indignation
+in her tone. “She is a right good woman, and
+makes my father a good wife.”</p>
 
-<p>"Then why are you here living so far from home?"</p>
+<p>“Then why are you here living so far from home?”</p>
 
 <p>Now the look came back to her face which I had seen
 upon it during the night hours when I had watched her
 by stealth; a dimming of the grave frankness of her
 eyes, a light quiver at the corners of her mouth. But
-all she said was, "It was better."</p>
+all she said was, “It was better.”</p>
 
 <p>Somehow, I persisted with the wilfulness of an invalid.
 I am half ashamed of it now.</p>
 
-<p>"But why better, Thekla? Was there<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>" How
+<p>“But why better, Thekla? Was there<span class="norewrap">——</span>” How
 should I put it? I stopped a little, and then rushed
-blindfold at my object: "Has not that letter which
+blindfold at my object: “Has not that letter which
 you read so often something to do with your being
-here?"</p>
+here?”</p>
 
 <p>She fixed me with her serious eyes till I believe I
 reddened far more than she; and I hastened to pour
@@ -4159,56 +4056,56 @@ out, incoherently enough, my conviction that she had
 some secret care, and my desire to help her if she was
 in any trouble.</p>
 
-<p>"You cannot help me," said she, a little softened by
+<p>“You cannot help me,” said she, a little softened by
 my explanation, though some shade of resentment at
 having been thus surreptitiously watched yet lingered in
-her manner. "It is an old story; a sorrow gone by,
+her manner. “It is an old story; a sorrow gone by,
 past, at least it ought to be, only sometimes I am
-foolish"&mdash;her tones were softening now&mdash;"and it is
-punishment enough that you have seen my folly."</p>
+foolish”—her tones were softening now—“and it is
+punishment enough that you have seen my folly.”</p>
 
-<p>"If you had a brother here, Thekla, you would let
+<p>“If you had a brother here, Thekla, you would let
 him give you his sympathy if he could not give you his
 help, and you would not blame yourself if you had shown
 him your sorrow, should you? I tell you again, let me
-be as a brother to you."</p>
+be as a brother to you.”</p>
 
-<p>"In the first place, sir"&mdash;this "sir" was to mark
-the distinction between me and the imaginary brother&mdash;"I
+<p>“In the first place, sir”—this “sir” was to mark
+the distinction between me and the imaginary brother—“I
 should have been ashamed to have shown even a
 brother my sorrow, which is also my reproach and my
-disgrace." These were strong words; and I suppose
+disgrace.” These were strong words; and I suppose
 my face showed that I attributed to them a still stronger
 meaning than they warranted; but <i>honi soit qui mal y
-pense</i>&mdash;for she went on dropping her eyes and speaking
+pense</i>—for she went on dropping her eyes and speaking
 hurriedly.</p>
 
-<p>"My shame and my reproach is this: I have loved a
-man who has not loved me"&mdash;she grasped her hands
+<p>“My shame and my reproach is this: I have loved a
+man who has not loved me”—she grasped her hands
 together till the fingers made deep white dents in the
-rosy flesh&mdash;"and I can't make out whether he ever did,
+rosy flesh—“and I can’t make out whether he ever did,
 or whether he did once and is changed now; if only he
-did once love me, I could forgive myself."</p>
+did once love me, I could forgive myself.”</p>
 
 <p>With hasty, trembling hands she began to rearrange
 the tisane and medicines for the night on the
 little table at my bed-side. But, having got thus far,
 I was determined to persevere.</p>
 
-<p>"Thekla," said I, "tell me all about it, as you would
+<p>“Thekla,” said I, “tell me all about it, as you would
 to your mother, if she were alive. There are often
 misunderstandings which, never set to rights, make the
-misery and desolation of a life-time."</p>
+misery and desolation of a life-time.”</p>
 
 <p>She did not speak at first. Then she pulled out
 the letter, and said, in a quiet, hopeless tone of
-voice:&mdash;</p>
+voice:—</p>
 
-<p>"You can read German writing? Read that, and
-see if I have any reason for misunderstanding."</p>
+<p>“You can read German writing? Read that, and
+see if I have any reason for misunderstanding.”</p>
 
-<p>The letter was signed "Franz Weber," and dated
-from some small town in Switzerland&mdash;I forget what&mdash;about
+<p>The letter was signed “Franz Weber,” and dated
+from some small town in Switzerland—I forget what—about
 a month previous to the time when I read it. It
 began with acknowledging the receipt of some money
 which had evidently been requested by the writer, and
@@ -4230,20 +4127,20 @@ steadily, not speaking a word till I had folded up the
 letter again, and given it back to her. Then our eyes
 met.</p>
 
-<p>"There is no misunderstanding possible, is there,
-sir?" asked she, with a faint smile.</p>
+<p>“There is no misunderstanding possible, is there,
+sir?” asked she, with a faint smile.</p>
 
-<p>"No," I replied; "but you are well rid of such a
-fellow."</p>
+<p>“No,” I replied; “but you are well rid of such a
+fellow.”</p>
 
-<p>She shook her head a little. "It shows his bad side,
+<p>She shook her head a little. “It shows his bad side,
 sir. We have all our bad sides. You must not judge
 him harshly; at least, I cannot. But then we were
-brought up together."</p>
+brought up together.”</p>
 
-<p>"At Altenahr?"</p>
+<p>“At Altenahr?”</p>
 
-<p>"Yes; his father kept the other inn, and our parents,
+<p>“Yes; his father kept the other inn, and our parents,
 instead of being rivals, were great friends. Franz is a
 little younger than I, and was a delicate child. I had
 to take him to school, and I used to be so proud of it
@@ -4259,12 +4156,12 @@ and learn the ways at the great hotels on the Rhine
 before he settled down in Altenahr. You know that is
 the custom in Germany, sir. They go from town to
 town as journeymen, learning something fresh everywhere,
-they say."</p>
+they say.”</p>
 
-<p>"I knew that was done in trades," I replied.</p>
+<p>“I knew that was done in trades,” I replied.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, yes; and among inn-keepers, too," she said.
-"Most of the waiters at the great hotels in Frankfort,
+<p>“Oh, yes; and among inn-keepers, too,” she said.
+“Most of the waiters at the great hotels in Frankfort,
 and Heidelberg, and Mayence, and, I daresay, at all the
 other places, are the sons of innkeepers in small towns,
 who go out into the world to learn new ways, and perhaps
@@ -4273,48 +4170,48 @@ they say, they should never get on. Franz went off
 from Altenahr on his journeyings four years ago next
 May-day; and before he went, he brought me back a
 ring from Bonn, where he bought his new clothes. I
-don't wear it now; but I have got it upstairs, and it
+don’t wear it now; but I have got it upstairs, and it
 comforts me to see something that shows me it was not
 all my silly fancy. I suppose he fell among bad people,
-for he soon began to play for money,&mdash;and then he lost
-more than he could always pay&mdash;and sometimes I could
+for he soon began to play for money,—and then he lost
+more than he could always pay—and sometimes I could
 help him a little, for we wrote to each other from time
-to time, as we knew each other's addresses; for the little
-ones grew around my father's hearth, and I thought that
+to time, as we knew each other’s addresses; for the little
+ones grew around my father’s hearth, and I thought that
 I, too, would go forth into the world and earn my own
-living, so that<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>well, I will tell the truth&mdash;I thought
+living, so that<span class="norewrap">——</span>well, I will tell the truth—I thought
 that by going into service, I could lay by enough for
 buying a handsome stock of household linen, and plenty
-of pans and kettles against&mdash;against what will never
-come to pass now."</p>
+of pans and kettles against—against what will never
+come to pass now.”</p>
 
-<p>"Do the German women buy the pots and kettles, as
-you call them, when they are married?" asked I, awkwardly,
+<p>“Do the German women buy the pots and kettles, as
+you call them, when they are married?” asked I, awkwardly,
 laying hold of a trivial question to conceal the
 indignant sympathy with her wrongs which I did not like
 to express.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, yes; the bride furnishes all that is wanted in
+<p>“Oh, yes; the bride furnishes all that is wanted in
 the kitchen, and all the store of house-linen. If my
 mother had lived, it would have been laid by for me, as
 she could have afforded to buy it, but my stepmother
 will have hard enough work to provide for her own four
-little girls. However," she continued, brightening up,
-"I can help her, for now I shall never marry; and my
+little girls. However,” she continued, brightening up,
+“I can help her, for now I shall never marry; and my
 master here is just and liberal, and pays me sixty florins
-a year, which is high wages." (Sixty florins are about
-five pounds sterling.) "And now, good-night, sir. This
+a year, which is high wages.” (Sixty florins are about
+five pounds sterling.) “And now, good-night, sir. This
 cup to the left holds the tisane, that to the right the
-acorn-tea." She shaded the candle, and was leaving
+acorn-tea.” She shaded the candle, and was leaving
 the room. I raised myself on my elbow, and called her
 back.</p>
 
-<p>"Don't go on thinking about this man," said I.
-"He was not good enough for you. You are much
-better unmarried."</p>
+<p>“Don’t go on thinking about this man,” said I.
+“He was not good enough for you. You are much
+better unmarried.”</p>
 
-<p>"Perhaps so," she answered gravely. "But you
-cannot do him justice; you do not know him."</p>
+<p>“Perhaps so,” she answered gravely. “But you
+cannot do him justice; you do not know him.”</p>
 
 <p>A few minutes after, I heard her soft and cautious
 return; she had taken her shoes off, and came in her
@@ -4322,10 +4219,10 @@ stockinged feet up to my bedside, shading the light with
 her hand. When she saw that my eyes were open, she
 laid down two letters on the table, close by my night-lamp.</p>
 
-<p>"Perhaps, some time, sir, you would take the trouble
+<p>“Perhaps, some time, sir, you would take the trouble
 to read these letters; you would then see how noble and
 clever Franz really is. It is I who ought to be blamed,
-not he."</p>
+not he.”</p>
 
 <p>No more was said that night.</p>
 
@@ -4350,7 +4247,7 @@ came in, in the midst of these meditations, bringing a
 great flowered dressing-gown, lined with flannel, and
 the embroidered smoking-cap which he evidently considered
 as belonging to this Indian-looking robe. They
-had been his father's, he told me; and as he helped me
+had been his father’s, he told me; and as he helped me
 to dress, he went on with his communications on small
 family matters. His inn was flourishing; the numbers
 increased every year of those who came to see the church
@@ -4379,14 +4276,14 @@ that first afternoon, sunless and cheerless, with the long,
 unoccupied table, and the necessary chairs for the possible
 visitors; but round the windows that opened on
 the garden a part of the room was enclosed by the
-household clothes'-horses hung with great pieces of the
+household clothes’-horses hung with great pieces of the
 blue homespun cloth of which the dress of the Black
 Forest peasant is made. This shut-in space was warmed
 by the lighted stove, as well as by the lowering rays of
 the October sun. There was a little round walnut table
 with some flowers upon it, and a great cushioned armchair
 placed so as to look out upon the garden and the
-hills beyond. I felt sure that this was all Thekla's
+hills beyond. I felt sure that this was all Thekla’s
 arrangement; I had rather wondered that I had seen so
 little of her this day. She had come once or twice on
 necessary errands into my room in the morning, but had
@@ -4405,16 +4302,16 @@ request as Thekla. I did not like this estrangement,
 though it was the natural consequence of my improved
 health, which would daily make me less and less require
 services which seemed so urgently claimed by others.
-And, moreover, after my host left me&mdash;I fear I had cut
+And, moreover, after my host left me—I fear I had cut
 him a little short in the recapitulation of his domestic
 difficulties, but he was too thorough and good-hearted a
-man to bear malice&mdash;I wanted to be amused or interested.
+man to bear malice—I wanted to be amused or interested.
 So I rang my little hand-bell, hoping that
 Thekla would answer it, when I could have fallen into
 conversation with her, without specifying any decided
-want. Instead of Thekla the Fr&auml;ulein came, and I had
+want. Instead of Thekla the Fräulein came, and I had
 to invent a wish; for I could not act as a baby, and say
-that I wanted my nurse. However, the Fr&auml;ulein was
+that I wanted my nurse. However, the Fräulein was
 better than no one, so I asked her if I could have some
 grapes, which had been provided for me on every day
 but this, and which were especially grateful to my
@@ -4424,15 +4321,15 @@ she expressed the sincerest regret as she told me that
 there were no more in the house. Like an invalid I
 fretted at my wish not being granted, and spoke out.</p>
 
-<p>"But Thekla told me the vintage was not till the
+<p>“But Thekla told me the vintage was not till the
 fourteenth; and you have a vineyard close beyond the
 garden on the slope of the hill out there, have you
-not?"</p>
+not?”</p>
 
-<p>"Yes; and grapes for the gathering. But perhaps
+<p>“Yes; and grapes for the gathering. But perhaps
 the gentleman does not know our laws. Until the
-vintage&mdash;(the day of beginning the vintage is fixed by
-the Grand Duke, and advertised in the public papers)&mdash;until
+vintage—(the day of beginning the vintage is fixed by
+the Grand Duke, and advertised in the public papers)—until
 the vintage, all owners of vineyards may only go
 on two appointed days in every week to gather their
 grapes; on those two days (Tuesdays and Fridays this
@@ -4442,20 +4339,20 @@ short measure, why they have to go without. And these
 two last days the Half-Moon has been besieged with
 visitors, all of whom have asked for grapes. But
 to-morrow the gentleman can have as many as he will; it
-is the day for gathering them."</p>
+is the day for gathering them.”</p>
 
-<p>"What a strange kind of paternal law," I grumbled
-out. "Why is it so ordained? Is it to secure the
-owners against pilfering from their unfenced vineyards?"</p>
+<p>“What a strange kind of paternal law,” I grumbled
+out. “Why is it so ordained? Is it to secure the
+owners against pilfering from their unfenced vineyards?”</p>
 
-<p>"I am sure I cannot tell," she replied. "Country
+<p>“I am sure I cannot tell,” she replied. “Country
 people in these villages have strange customs in many
 ways, as I daresay the English gentleman has perceived.
 If he would come to Worms he would see a different
-kind of life."</p>
+kind of life.”</p>
 
-<p>"But not a view like this," I replied, caught by a
-sudden change of light&mdash;some cloud passing away from
+<p>“But not a view like this,” I replied, caught by a
+sudden change of light—some cloud passing away from
 the sun, or something. Right outside of the windows
 was, as I have so often said, the garden. Trained
 plum-trees with golden leaves, great bushes of purple,
@@ -4463,19 +4360,19 @@ Michaelmas daisy, late flowering roses, apple-trees partly
 stripped of their rosy fruit, but still with enough left on
 their boughs to require the props set to support the
 luxuriant burden; to the left an arbour covered over
-with honeysuckle and other sweet-smelling creepers&mdash;all
+with honeysuckle and other sweet-smelling creepers—all
 bounded by a low gray stone wall which opened out upon
 the steep vineyard, that stretched up the hill beyond,
 one hill of a series rising higher and higher into the
-purple distance. "Why is there a rope with a bunch
+purple distance. “Why is there a rope with a bunch
 of straw tied in it stretched across the opening of the
-garden into the vineyard?" I inquired, as my eye suddenly
+garden into the vineyard?” I inquired, as my eye suddenly
 caught upon the object.</p>
 
-<p>"It is the country way of showing that no one must
+<p>“It is the country way of showing that no one must
 pass along that path. To-morrow the gentleman will
 see it removed; and then he shall have the grapes.
-Now I will go and prepare his coffee." With a curtsey,
+Now I will go and prepare his coffee.” With a curtsey,
 after the fashion of Worms gentility, she withdrew. But
 an under-servant brought me my coffee; and with her
 I could not exchange a word: she spoke in such an
@@ -4486,7 +4383,7 @@ table; yet in the morning I found that every usual want
 or wish of mine had been attended to.</p>
 
 <p>I was wakened by a tap at my door, and a pretty
-piping child's voice asking, in broken German, to come
+piping child’s voice asking, in broken German, to come
 in. On giving the usual permission, Thekla entered,
 carrying a great lovely boy of two years old, or thereabouts,
 who had only his little night-shirt on, and was
@@ -4494,8 +4391,8 @@ all flushed with sleep. He held tight in his hands a
 great cluster of muscatel and noble grapes. He seemed
 like a little Bacchus, as she carried him towards me
 with an expression of pretty loving pride upon her face
-as she looked at him. But when he came close to me&mdash;the
-grim, wasted, unshorn&mdash;he turned quick away, and
+as she looked at him. But when he came close to me—the
+grim, wasted, unshorn—he turned quick away, and
 hid his face in her neck, still grasping tight his bunch
 of grapes. She spoke to him rapidly and softly, coaxing
 him as I could tell full well, although I could not follow
@@ -4506,32 +4403,17 @@ fruit on the bed by me. Then he clutched at her again,
 burying his face in her kerchief, and fastening his little
 fists in her luxuriant hair.</p>
 
-<p>
-<a name="gwimg3" id="gwimg3">&nbsp;</a></p>
-<div class="center">
-<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="illustration">
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      <a href="images/gwimg3.jpg">
-      <img src="images/gwimg3.jpg"
-      alt="HE SEEMED LIKE A LITTLE BACCHUS" /></a>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      <span class="caption">He seemed like a little Bacchus.<br />
-      Click to <a href="images/gwimg3.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-</table>
-</div>
+<figure class="illowp67 mt5" id="gwimg3">
+  <img src="images/gwimg3.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>He seemed like a little Bacchus.</figcaption>
+</figure>
 
-<p>"It is my master's only boy," said she, disentangling
+<p>“It is my master’s only boy,” said she, disentangling
 his fingers with quiet patience, only to have them grasp
-her braids afresh. "He is my little Max, my heart's
+her braids afresh. “He is my little Max, my heart’s
 delight, only he must not pull so hard. Say his
-'to-meet-again,' and kiss his hand lovingly, and we will
-go." The promise of a speedy departure from my dusky
+‘to-meet-again,’ and kiss his hand lovingly, and we will
+go.” The promise of a speedy departure from my dusky
 room proved irresistible; he babbled out his Aufwiedersehen,
 and kissing his chubby hand, he was borne away
 joyful and chattering fast in his infantile half-language.
@@ -4541,27 +4423,27 @@ same creature as the blooming, cheerful maiden whom
 I had seen in the morning; she looked wan and careworn,
 older by several years.</p>
 
-<p>"What is the matter, Thekla?" said I, with true
+<p>“What is the matter, Thekla?” said I, with true
 anxiety as to what might have befallen my good, faithful
 nurse.</p>
 
-<p>She looked round before answering. "I have seen
-him," she said. "He has been here, and the Fr&auml;ulein
+<p>She looked round before answering. “I have seen
+him,” she said. “He has been here, and the Fräulein
 has been so angry! She says she will tell my master.
-Oh, it has been such a day!" The poor young woman,
+Oh, it has been such a day!” The poor young woman,
 who was usually so composed and self-restrained, was
 on the point of bursting into tears; but by a strong
 effort she checked herself, and tried to busy herself with
 rearranging the white china cup, so as to place it more
 conveniently to my hand.</p>
 
-<p>"Come, Thekla," said I, "tell me all about it. I
+<p>“Come, Thekla,” said I, “tell me all about it. I
 have heard loud voices talking, and I fancied something
-had put the Fr&auml;ulein out; and Lottchen looked flurried
+had put the Fräulein out; and Lottchen looked flurried
 when she brought me my dinner. Is Franz here?
-How has he found you out?"</p>
+How has he found you out?”</p>
 
-<p>"He is here. Yes, I am sure it is he; but four
+<p>“He is here. Yes, I am sure it is he; but four
 years makes such a difference in a man; his whole look
 and manner seemed so strange to me; but he knew me
 at once, and called me all the old names which we used
@@ -4569,57 +4451,57 @@ to call each other when we were children; and he must
 needs tell me how it had come to pass that he had not
 married that Swiss Anna. He said he had never loved
 her; and that now he was going home to settle, and he
-hoped that I would come too, and<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>" There she
+hoped that I would come too, and<span class="norewrap">——</span>” There she
 stopped short.</p>
 
-<p>"And marry him, and live at the inn at Altenahr,"
+<p>“And marry him, and live at the inn at Altenahr,”
 said I, smiling, to reassure her, though I felt rather
 disappointed about the whole affair.</p>
 
-<p>"No," she replied. "Old Weber, his father, is dead;
+<p>“No,” she replied. “Old Weber, his father, is dead;
 he died in debt, and Franz will have no money. And
 he was always one that needed money. Some are, you
 know; and while I was thinking, and he was standing
-near me, the Fr&auml;ulein came in; and&mdash;and&mdash;I don't
-wonder&mdash;for poor Franz is not a pleasant-looking man
-now-a-days&mdash;she was very angry, and called me a bold,
+near me, the Fräulein came in; and—and—I don’t
+wonder—for poor Franz is not a pleasant-looking man
+now-a-days—she was very angry, and called me a bold,
 bad girl, and said she could have no such goings on at
-the 'Halbmond,' but would tell my master when he
-came home from the forest."</p>
+the ‘Halbmond,’ but would tell my master when he
+came home from the forest.”</p>
 
-<p>"But you could have told her that you were old
-friends." I hesitated, before saying the word lovers,
+<p>“But you could have told her that you were old
+friends.” I hesitated, before saying the word lovers,
 but, after a pause, out it came.</p>
 
-<p>"Franz might have said so," she replied, a little
-stiffly. "I could not; but he went off as soon as she
-bade him. He went to the 'Adler' over the way, only
+<p>“Franz might have said so,” she replied, a little
+stiffly. “I could not; but he went off as soon as she
+bade him. He went to the ‘Adler’ over the way, only
 saying he would come for my answer to-morrow morning.
 I think it was he that should have told her what
-we were&mdash;neighbours' children and early friends&mdash;not
-have left it all to me. Oh," said she, clasping her
-hands tight together, "she will make such a story of it
-to my master."</p>
+we were—neighbours’ children and early friends—not
+have left it all to me. Oh,” said she, clasping her
+hands tight together, “she will make such a story of it
+to my master.”</p>
 
-<p>"Never mind," said I, "tell the master I want to
+<p>“Never mind,” said I, “tell the master I want to
 see him, as soon as he comes in from the forest, and
-trust me to set him right before the Fr&auml;ulein has the
-chance to set him wrong."</p>
+trust me to set him right before the Fräulein has the
+chance to set him wrong.”</p>
 
 <p>She looked up at me gratefully, and went away without
 any more words. Presently the fine burly figure of
 my host stood at the opening to my enclosed sitting-room.
 He was there, three-cornered hat in hand, looking
-tired and heated as a man does after a hard day's
+tired and heated as a man does after a hard day’s
 work, but as kindly and genial as ever, which is not
 what every man is who is called to business after such
 a day, before he has had the necessary food and rest.</p>
 
-<p>I had been reflecting a good deal on Thekla's story;
+<p>I had been reflecting a good deal on Thekla’s story;
 I could not quite interpret her manner to-day to my
 full satisfaction; but yet the love which had grown with
 her growth, must assuredly have been called forth by
-her lover's sudden reappearance; and I was inclined to
+her lover’s sudden reappearance; and I was inclined to
 give him some credit for having broken off an engagement
 to Swiss Anna, which had promised so many
 worldly advantages; and, again, I had considered that
@@ -4628,72 +4510,72 @@ who would marry him by her own free will, and perhaps
 she had sense and quiet resolution enough for both.
 So I gave the heads of the little history I have told you
 to my good friend and host, adding that I should like to
-have a man's opinion of this man; but that if he were
+have a man’s opinion of this man; but that if he were
 not an absolute good-for-nothing, and if Thekla still
 loved him, as I believed, I would try and advance them
 the requisite money towards establishing themselves in
 the hereditary inn at Altenahr.</p>
 
-<p>Such was the romantic ending to Thekla's sorrows, I
+<p>Such was the romantic ending to Thekla’s sorrows, I
 had been planning and brooding over for the last hour.
 As I narrated my tale, and hinted at the possible happy
-conclusion that might be in store, my host's face changed.
+conclusion that might be in store, my host’s face changed.
 The ruddy colour faded, and his look became almost
-stern&mdash;certainly very grave in expression. It was so
+stern—certainly very grave in expression. It was so
 unsympathetic, that I instinctively cut my words short.
 When I had done, he paused a little, and then said:
-"You would wish me to learn all I can respecting this
-stranger now at the 'Adler,' and give you the impression
-I receive of the fellow."</p>
+“You would wish me to learn all I can respecting this
+stranger now at the ‘Adler,’ and give you the impression
+I receive of the fellow.”</p>
 
-<p>"Exactly so," said I; "I want to learn all I can about
-him for Thekla's sake."</p>
+<p>“Exactly so,” said I; “I want to learn all I can about
+him for Thekla’s sake.”</p>
 
-<p>"For Thekla's sake I will do it," he gravely repeated.</p>
+<p>“For Thekla’s sake I will do it,” he gravely repeated.</p>
 
-<p>"And come to me to-night, even if I am gone to
-bed?"</p>
+<p>“And come to me to-night, even if I am gone to
+bed?”</p>
 
-<p>"Not so," he replied. "You must give me all the
-time you can in a matter like this."</p>
+<p>“Not so,” he replied. “You must give me all the
+time you can in a matter like this.”</p>
 
-<p>"But he will come for Thekla's answer in the morning."</p>
+<p>“But he will come for Thekla’s answer in the morning.”</p>
 
-<p>"Before he comes you shall know all I can learn."</p>
+<p>“Before he comes you shall know all I can learn.”</p>
 
 <p>I was resting during the fatigues of dressing the
 next day, when my host tapped at my door. He looked
 graver and sterner than I had ever seen him do before;
 he sat down almost before I had begged him to do so.</p>
 
-<p>"He is not worthy of her," he said. "He drinks
+<p>“He is not worthy of her,” he said. “He drinks
 brandy right hard; he boasts of his success at play,
-and"&mdash;here he set his teeth hard&mdash;"he boasts of the
+and”—here he set his teeth hard—“he boasts of the
 women who have loved him. In a village like this, sir,
 there are always those who spend their evenings in the
 gardens of the inns; and this man, after he had drank
 his fill, made no secrets; it needed no spying to find
 out what he was, else I should not have been the one
-to do it."</p>
+to do it.”</p>
 
-<p>"Thekla must be told of this," said I. "She is not
-the woman to love any one whom she cannot respect."</p>
+<p>“Thekla must be told of this,” said I. “She is not
+the woman to love any one whom she cannot respect.”</p>
 
-<p>Herr M&uuml;ller laughed a low bitter laugh, quite unlike
-himself. Then he replied,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Herr Müller laughed a low bitter laugh, quite unlike
+himself. Then he replied,—</p>
 
-<p>"As for that matter, sir, you are young; you have
+<p>“As for that matter, sir, you are young; you have
 had no great experience of women. From what my
-sister tells me there can be little doubt of Thekla's
+sister tells me there can be little doubt of Thekla’s
 feeling towards him. She found them standing together
-by the window; his arm round Thekla's waist, and
-whispering in her ear&mdash;and to do the maiden justice
+by the window; his arm round Thekla’s waist, and
+whispering in her ear—and to do the maiden justice
 she is not the one to suffer such familiarities from every
-one. No"&mdash;continued he, still in the same contemptuous
-tone&mdash;"you'll find she will make excuses for his
+one. No”—continued he, still in the same contemptuous
+tone—“you’ll find she will make excuses for his
 faults and vices; or else, which is perhaps more likely,
 she will not believe your story, though I who tell it you
-can vouch for the truth of every word I say." He
+can vouch for the truth of every word I say.” He
 turned short away and left the room. Presently I saw
 his stalwart figure in the hill-side vineyard, before my
 windows, scaling the steep ascent with long regular
@@ -4705,19 +4587,19 @@ walking fast, or labouring hard; but with the cloud off
 his brows, and the kindly light shining once again out
 of his honest eyes.</p>
 
-<p>"I ask your pardon, sir," he began, "for troubling
+<p>“I ask your pardon, sir,” he began, “for troubling
 you afresh. I believe I was possessed by the devil this
 morning. I have been thinking it over. One has
-perhaps no right to rule for another person's happiness.
-To have such a"&mdash;here the honest fellow choked a
-little&mdash;"such a woman as Thekla to love him ought to
+perhaps no right to rule for another person’s happiness.
+To have such a”—here the honest fellow choked a
+little—“such a woman as Thekla to love him ought to
 raise any man. Besides, I am no judge for him or for
 her. I have found out this morning that I love her
 myself, and so the end of it is, that if you, sir, who are
 so kind as to interest yourself in the matter, and if you
-think it is really her heart's desire to marry this man&mdash;which
+think it is really her heart’s desire to marry this man—which
 ought to be his salvation both for earth and
-heaven&mdash;I shall be very glad to go halves with you in
+heaven—I shall be very glad to go halves with you in
 any place for setting them up in the inn at Altenahr;
 only allow me to see that whatever money we advance
 is well and legally tied up, so that it is secured to her.
@@ -4725,7 +4607,7 @@ And be so kind as to take no notice of what I have
 said about my having found out that I have loved her;
 I named it as a kind of apology for my hard words this
 morning, and as a reason why I was not a fit judge of
-what was best." He had hurried on, so that I could
+what was best.” He had hurried on, so that I could
 not have stopped his eager speaking even had I wished
 to do so; but I was too much interested in the revelation
 of what was passing in his brave tender heart to
@@ -4733,7 +4615,7 @@ desire to stop him. Now, however, his rapid words
 tripped each other up, and his speech ended in an
 unconscious sigh.</p>
 
-<p>"But," I said, "since you were here Thekla has
+<p>“But,” I said, “since you were here Thekla has
 come to me, and we have had a long talk. She speaks
 now as openly to me as she would if I were her brother;
 with sensible frankness, where frankness is wise, with
@@ -4741,59 +4623,59 @@ modest reticence, where confidence would be unbecoming.
 She came to ask me, if I thought it her duty to
 marry this fellow, whose very appearance, changed for
 the worse, as she says it is, since she last saw him four
-years ago, seemed to have repelled her."</p>
+years ago, seemed to have repelled her.”</p>
 
-<p>"She could let him put his arm round her waist
-yesterday," said Herr M&uuml;ller, with a return of his
-morning's surliness.</p>
+<p>“She could let him put his arm round her waist
+yesterday,” said Herr Müller, with a return of his
+morning’s surliness.</p>
 
-<p>"And she would marry him now if she could believe
+<p>“And she would marry him now if she could believe
 it to be her duty. For some reason of his own, this
 Franz Weber has tried to work upon this feeling of
-hers. He says it would be the saving of him."</p>
+hers. He says it would be the saving of him.”</p>
 
-<p>"As if a man had not strength enough in him&mdash;a
-man who is good for aught&mdash;to save himself, but needed
-a woman to pull him through life!"</p>
+<p>“As if a man had not strength enough in him—a
+man who is good for aught—to save himself, but needed
+a woman to pull him through life!”</p>
 
-<p>"Nay," I replied, hardly able to keep from smiling.
-"You yourself said, not five minutes ago, that her
+<p>“Nay,” I replied, hardly able to keep from smiling.
+“You yourself said, not five minutes ago, that her
 marrying him might be his salvation both for earth and
-heaven."</p>
+heaven.”</p>
 
-<p>"That was when I thought she loved the fellow,"
-he answered quick. "Now<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>but what did you say
-to her, sir?"</p>
+<p>“That was when I thought she loved the fellow,”
+he answered quick. “Now<span class="norewrap">——</span>but what did you say
+to her, sir?”</p>
 
-<p>"I told her, what I believe to be as true as gospel,
+<p>“I told her, what I believe to be as true as gospel,
 that as she owned she did not love him any longer now
 his real self had come to displace his remembrance, that
 she would be sinning in marrying him; doing evil that
 possible good might come. I was clear myself on this
 point, though I should have been perplexed how to
-advise, if her love had still continued."</p>
+advise, if her love had still continued.”</p>
 
-<p>"And what answer did she make?"</p>
+<p>“And what answer did she make?”</p>
 
-<p>"She went over the history of their lives; she was
+<p>“She went over the history of their lives; she was
 pleading against her wishes to satisfy her conscience.
 She said that all along through their childhood she had
 been his strength; that while under her personal influence
 he had been negatively good; away from her, he
-had fallen into mischief&mdash;"</p>
+had fallen into mischief—”</p>
 
-<p>"Not to say vice," put in Herr M&uuml;ller.</p>
+<p>“Not to say vice,” put in Herr Müller.</p>
 
-<p>"And now he came to her penitent, in sorrow,
+<p>“And now he came to her penitent, in sorrow,
 desirous of amendment, asking her for the love she
 seems to have considered as tacitly plighted to him in
-years gone by&mdash;"</p>
+years gone by—”</p>
 
-<p>"And which he has slighted and insulted. I hope
+<p>“And which he has slighted and insulted. I hope
 you told her of his words and conduct last night in the
-'Adler' gardens?"</p>
+‘Adler’ gardens?”</p>
 
-<p>"No. I kept myself to the general principle, which,
+<p>“No. I kept myself to the general principle, which,
 I am sure, is a true one. I repeated it in different
 forms; for the idea of the duty of self-sacrifice had
 taken strong possession of her fancy. Perhaps, if I had
@@ -4801,50 +4683,50 @@ failed in setting her notion of her duty in the right
 aspect, I might have had recourse to the statement of
 facts, which would have pained her severely, but would
 have proved to her how little his words of penitence
-and promises of amendment were to be trusted to."</p>
+and promises of amendment were to be trusted to.”</p>
 
-<p>"And it ended?"</p>
+<p>“And it ended?”</p>
 
-<p>"Ended by her being quite convinced that she would
+<p>“Ended by her being quite convinced that she would
 be doing wrong instead of right if she married a man
 whom she had entirely ceased to love, and that no real
 good could come from a course of action based on
-wrong-doing."</p>
+wrong-doing.”</p>
 
-<p>"That is right and true," he replied, his face
+<p>“That is right and true,” he replied, his face
 broadening into happiness again.</p>
 
-<p>"But she says she must leave your service, and go
-elsewhere."</p>
+<p>“But she says she must leave your service, and go
+elsewhere.”</p>
 
-<p>"Leave my service she shall; go elsewhere she
-shall not."</p>
+<p>“Leave my service she shall; go elsewhere she
+shall not.”</p>
 
-<p>"I cannot tell what you may have the power of inducing
-her to do; but she seems to me very resolute."</p>
+<p>“I cannot tell what you may have the power of inducing
+her to do; but she seems to me very resolute.”</p>
 
-<p>"Why?" said he, firing round at me, as if I had
+<p>“Why?” said he, firing round at me, as if I had
 made her resolute.</p>
 
-<p>"She says your sister spoke to her before the maids
+<p>“She says your sister spoke to her before the maids
 of the household, and before some of the townspeople, in
 a way that she could not stand; and that you yourself
 by your manner to her last night showed how she had
 lost your respect. She added, with her face of pure
 maidenly truth, that he had come into such close contact
 with her only the instant before your sister had entered
-the room."</p>
+the room.”</p>
 
-<p>"With your leave, sir," said Herr M&uuml;ller, turning
-towards the door, "I will go and set all that right at
-once."</p>
+<p>“With your leave, sir,” said Herr Müller, turning
+towards the door, “I will go and set all that right at
+once.”</p>
 
 <p>It was easier said than done. When I next saw
 Thekla, her eyes were swollen up with crying, but she
 was silent, almost defiant towards me. A look of
 resolute determination had settled down upon her face.
 I learnt afterwards that parts of my conversation with
-Herr M&uuml;ller had been injudiciously quoted by him in the
+Herr Müller had been injudiciously quoted by him in the
 talk he had had with her. I thought I would leave her
 to herself, and wait till she unburdened herself of the
 feeling of unjust resentment towards me. But it was
@@ -4857,44 +4739,44 @@ a foolish, impetuous lover, had spoken out his mind and
 his wishes to her in the presence of his sister, who, it
 must be remembered, had heard no explanation of the
 conduct which had given her propriety so great a shock
-the day before. Herr M&uuml;ller thought to re-instate
-Thekla in his sister's good opinion by giving her in
-the Fr&auml;ulein's very presence the highest possible mark
+the day before. Herr Müller thought to re-instate
+Thekla in his sister’s good opinion by giving her in
+the Fräulein’s very presence the highest possible mark
 of his own love and esteem. And there in the kitchen,
-where the Fr&auml;ulein was deeply engaged in the hot work
+where the Fräulein was deeply engaged in the hot work
 of making some delicate preserve on the stove, and
 ordering Thekla about with short, sharp displeasure
 in her tones, the master had come in, and possessing
-himself of the maiden's hand, had, to her infinite surprise&mdash;to
-his sister's infinite indignation&mdash;made her the
+himself of the maiden’s hand, had, to her infinite surprise—to
+his sister’s infinite indignation—made her the
 offer of his heart, his wealth, his life; had begged of
 her to marry him. I could gather from his account that
 she had been in a state of trembling discomfiture at
 first; she had not spoken, but had twisted her hand
 out of his, and had covered her face with her apron.
-And then the Fr&auml;ulein had burst forth&mdash;"accursed
-words" he called her speech. Thekla uncovered her
+And then the Fräulein had burst forth—“accursed
+words” he called her speech. Thekla uncovered her
 face to listen; to listen to the end; to listen to the
 passionate recrimination between the brother and the
 sister. And then she went up, close up to the angry
-Fr&auml;ulein, and had said quite quietly, but with a manner
+Fräulein, and had said quite quietly, but with a manner
 of final determination which had evidently sunk deep
-into her suitor's heart, and depressed him into hopelessness,
-that the Fr&auml;ulein had no need to disturb herself;
+into her suitor’s heart, and depressed him into hopelessness,
+that the Fräulein had no need to disturb herself;
 that on this very day she had been thinking of
 marrying another man, and that her heart was not like
 a room to let, into which as one tenant went out another
-might enter. Nevertheless, she felt the master's goodness.
+might enter. Nevertheless, she felt the master’s goodness.
 He had always treated her well from the time
 when she had entered the house as his servant. And
 she should be sorry to leave him; sorry to leave the
 children; very sorry to leave little Max: yes, she should
-even be sorry to leave the Fr&auml;ulein, who was a good
+even be sorry to leave the Fräulein, who was a good
 woman, only a little too apt to be hard on other women.
 But she had already been that very day and deposited
 her warning at the police office; the busy time would
 be soon over, and she should be glad to leave their
-service on All Saints' Day. Then (he thought) she
+service on All Saints’ Day. Then (he thought) she
 had felt inclined to cry, for she suddenly braced herself
 up, and said, yes, she should be very glad; for somehow,
 though they had been kind to her, she had been
@@ -4904,7 +4786,7 @@ stepmother, and her nursling half-sister Ida, and be
 among her own people again.</p>
 
 <p>I could see it was this last part that most of all
-rankled in Herr M&uuml;ller's mind. In all probability
+rankled in Herr Müller’s mind. In all probability
 Franz Weber was making his way back to Heppenheim
 too; and the bad suspicion would keep welling up that
 some lingering feeling for her old lover and disgraced
@@ -4918,10 +4800,10 @@ was always on her face. Lottchen spoke out freely
 enough; the place would not be worth having if Thekla
 left it; it was she who had the head for everything,
 the patience for everything; who stood between all the
-under-servants and the Fr&auml;ulein's tempers. As for the
+under-servants and the Fräulein’s tempers. As for the
 children, poor motherless children! Lottchen was sure
 that the master did not know what he was doing when
-he allowed his sister to turn Thekla away&mdash;and all for
+he allowed his sister to turn Thekla away—and all for
 what? for having a lover, as every girl had who could
 get one. Why, the little boy Max slept in the room
 which Lottchen shared with Thekla; and she heard
@@ -4936,7 +4818,7 @@ the room I could hear her repeating that she thought
 she should leave when Thekla went, for that her place
 would not be worth having.</p>
 
-<p>Even the Fr&auml;ulein had her word of regret&mdash;regret
+<p>Even the Fräulein had her word of regret—regret
 mingled with self-justification. She thought she had
 been quite right in speaking to Thekla for allowing such
 familiarities; how was she to know that the man was
@@ -4944,8 +4826,8 @@ an old friend and playmate? He looked like a right
 profligate good-for-nothing. And to have a servant take
 up her scolding as an unpardonable offence, and persist
 in quitting her place, just when she had learnt all her
-work, and was so useful in the household&mdash;so useful
-that the Fr&auml;ulein could never put up with any fresh,
+work, and was so useful in the household—so useful
+that the Fräulein could never put up with any fresh,
 stupid house-maiden, but, sooner than take the trouble
 of teaching the new servant where everything was, and
 how to give out the stores if she was busy, she would
@@ -4958,35 +4840,35 @@ compared to Worms.</p>
 of leaving him, and returning to her former home;
 indeed a feeling of coolness had evidently grown up
 between the brother and sister during these latter days.
-When one evening Herr M&uuml;ller brought in his pipe,
+When one evening Herr Müller brought in his pipe,
 and, as his custom had sometimes been, sat down by
 my stove to smoke, he looked gloomy and annoyed. I
 let him puff away, and take his own time. At length he
-began,&mdash;</p>
+began,—</p>
 
-<p>"I have rid the village of him at last. I could not
+<p>“I have rid the village of him at last. I could not
 bear to have him here disgracing Thekla with speaking
 to her whenever she went to the vineyard or the fountain.
-I don't believe she likes him a bit."</p>
+I don’t believe she likes him a bit.”</p>
 
-<p>"No more do I," I said. He turned on me.</p>
+<p>“No more do I,” I said. He turned on me.</p>
 
-<p>"Then why did she speak to him at all? Why cannot
+<p>“Then why did she speak to him at all? Why cannot
 she like an honest man who likes her? Why is she
-so bent on going home to Altenahr?"</p>
+so bent on going home to Altenahr?”</p>
 
-<p>"She speaks to him because she has known him from
+<p>“She speaks to him because she has known him from
 a child, and has a faithful pity for one whom she has
 known so innocent, and who is now so lost in all good
-men's regard. As for not liking an honest man&mdash;(though
-I may have my own opinion about that)&mdash;liking
+men’s regard. As for not liking an honest man—(though
+I may have my own opinion about that)—liking
 goes by fancy, as we say in English; and Altenahr is
-her home; her father's house is at Altenahr, as you
-know."</p>
+her home; her father’s house is at Altenahr, as you
+know.”</p>
 
-<p>"I wonder if he will go there," quoth Herr M&uuml;ller,
-after two or three more puffs. "He was fast at the
-'Adler;' he could not pay his score, so he kept on
+<p>“I wonder if he will go there,” quoth Herr Müller,
+after two or three more puffs. “He was fast at the
+‘Adler;’ he could not pay his score, so he kept on
 staying here, saying that he should receive a letter from
 a friend with money in a day or two; lying in wait, too,
 for Thekla, who is well-known and respected all through
@@ -4995,48 +4877,48 @@ him have a kind of standing. I went in this morning
 and paid his score, on condition that he left the place
 this day; and he left the village as merrily as a cricket,
 caring no more for Thekla than for the Kaiser who built
-our church: for he never looked back at the 'Halbmond,'
-but went whistling down the road."</p>
+our church: for he never looked back at the ‘Halbmond,’
+but went whistling down the road.”</p>
 
-<p>"That is a good riddance," said I.</p>
+<p>“That is a good riddance,” said I.</p>
 
-<p>"Yes. But my sister says she must return to Worms.
+<p>“Yes. But my sister says she must return to Worms.
 And Lottchen has given notice; she says the place will
 not be worth having when Thekla leaves. I wish I
-could give notice too."</p>
+could give notice too.”</p>
 
-<p>"Try Thekla again."</p>
+<p>“Try Thekla again.”</p>
 
-<p>"Not I," said he, reddening. "It would seem now
+<p>“Not I,” said he, reddening. “It would seem now
 as if I only wanted her for a housekeeper. Besides,
 she avoids me at every turn, and will not even look at
 me. I am sure she bears me some ill-will about that
-ne'er-do-well."</p>
+ne’er-do-well.”</p>
 
 <p>There was silence between us for some time, which
 he at length broke.</p>
 
-<p>"The pastor has a good and comely daughter. Her
+<p>“The pastor has a good and comely daughter. Her
 mother is a famous housewife. They often have asked
 me to come to the parsonage and smoke a pipe. When
 the vintage is over, and I am less busy, I think I will
-go there, and look about me."</p>
+go there, and look about me.”</p>
 
-<p>"When is the vintage?" asked I. "I hope it will
+<p>“When is the vintage?” asked I. “I hope it will
 take place soon, for I am growing so well and strong I
 fear I must leave you shortly; but I should like to see
-the vintage first."</p>
+the vintage first.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, never fear! you must not travel yet awhile; and
+<p>“Oh, never fear! you must not travel yet awhile; and
 Government has fixed the grape-gathering to begin on
-the fourteenth."</p>
+the fourteenth.”</p>
 
-<p>"What a paternal Government! How does it
+<p>“What a paternal Government! How does it
 know when the grapes will be ripe? Why cannot
 every man fix his own time for gathering his own
-grapes?"</p>
+grapes?”</p>
 
-<p>"That has never been our way in Germany. There
+<p>“That has never been our way in Germany. There
 are people employed by the Government to examine the
 vines, and report when the grapes are ripe. It is necessary
 to make laws about it; for, as you must have seen,
@@ -5045,99 +4927,99 @@ vineyards and fruit-trees; there are no enclosures along
 the Berg-Strasse, as you tell me you have in England;
 but, as people are only allowed to go into the vineyards
 on stated days, no one, under pretence of gathering his
-own produce, can stray into his neighbour's grounds and
-help himself, without some of the duke's foresters seeing
-him."</p>
+own produce, can stray into his neighbour’s grounds and
+help himself, without some of the duke’s foresters seeing
+him.”</p>
 
-<p>"Well," said I, "to each country its own laws."</p>
+<p>“Well,” said I, “to each country its own laws.”</p>
 
 <p>I think it was on that very evening that Thekla came
 in for something. She stopped arranging the tablecloth
 and the flowers, as if she had something to say,
 yet did not know how to begin. At length I found that
 her sore, hot heart, wanted some sympathy; her hand
-was against every one's, and she fancied every one had
+was against every one’s, and she fancied every one had
 turned against her. She looked up at me, and said, a
-little abruptly,&mdash;</p>
+little abruptly,—</p>
 
-<p>"Does the gentleman know that I go on the
-fifteenth?"</p>
+<p>“Does the gentleman know that I go on the
+fifteenth?”</p>
 
-<p>"So soon?" said I, with surprise. "I thought you
-were to remain here till All Saints' Day."</p>
+<p>“So soon?” said I, with surprise. “I thought you
+were to remain here till All Saints’ Day.”</p>
 
-<p>"So I should have done&mdash;so I must have done&mdash;if
-the Fr&auml;ulein had not kindly given me leave to accept of
-a place&mdash;a very good place too&mdash;of housekeeper to a
+<p>“So I should have done—so I must have done—if
+the Fräulein had not kindly given me leave to accept of
+a place—a very good place too—of housekeeper to a
 widow lady at Frankfort. It is just the sort of situation
 I have always wished for. I expect I shall be so happy
-and comfortable there."</p>
+and comfortable there.”</p>
 
-<p>"Methinks the lady doth profess too much," came
+<p>“Methinks the lady doth profess too much,” came
 into my mind. I saw she expected me to doubt the
 probability of her happiness, and was in a defiant
 mood.</p>
 
-<p>"Of course," said I, "you would hardly have wished
+<p>“Of course,” said I, “you would hardly have wished
 to leave Heppenheim if you had been happy here; and
 every new place always promises fair, whatever its performance
 may be. But wherever you go, remember you
-have always a friend in me."</p>
+have always a friend in me.”</p>
 
-<p>"Yes," she replied, "I think you are to be trusted.
+<p>“Yes,” she replied, “I think you are to be trusted.
 Though, from my experience, I should say that of very
-few men."</p>
+few men.”</p>
 
-<p>"You have been unfortunate," I answered; "many
-men would say the same of women."</p>
+<p>“You have been unfortunate,” I answered; “many
+men would say the same of women.”</p>
 
 <p>She thought a moment, and then said, in a changed
-tone of voice, "The Fr&auml;ulein here has been much more
+tone of voice, “The Fräulein here has been much more
 friendly and helpful of these late days than her brother;
 yet I have served him faithfully, and have cared for his
 little Max as though he were my own brother. But this
 morning he spoke to me for the first time for many
-days,&mdash;he met me in the passage, and, suddenly stopping,
+days,—he met me in the passage, and, suddenly stopping,
 he said he was glad I had met with so comfortable
 a place, and that I was at full liberty to go whenever I
 liked: and then he went quickly on, never waiting for
-my answer."</p>
+my answer.”</p>
 
-<p>"And what was wrong in that? It seems to me he
+<p>“And what was wrong in that? It seems to me he
 was trying to make you feel entirely at your ease, to
 do as you thought best, without regard to his own
-interests."</p>
+interests.”</p>
 
-<p>"Perhaps so. It is silly, I know," she continued,
-turning full on me her grave, innocent eyes; "but one's
+<p>“Perhaps so. It is silly, I know,” she continued,
+turning full on me her grave, innocent eyes; “but one’s
 vanity suffers a little when every one is so willing to part
-with one."</p>
+with one.”</p>
 
-<p>"Thekla! I owe you a great debt&mdash;let me speak to
+<p>“Thekla! I owe you a great debt—let me speak to
 you openly. I know that your master wanted to marry
 you, and that you refused him. Do not deceive yourself.
-You are sorry for that refusal now?"</p>
+You are sorry for that refusal now?”</p>
 
 <p>She kept her serious look fixed upon me; but her
 face and throat reddened all over.</p>
 
-<p>"No," said she, at length; "I am not sorry. What
+<p>“No,” said she, at length; “I am not sorry. What
 can you think I am made of; having loved one man
 ever since I was a little child until a fortnight ago, and
 now just as ready to love another? I know you do not
 rightly consider what you say, or I should take it as an
-insult."</p>
+insult.”</p>
 
-<p>"You loved an ideal man; he disappointed you, and
+<p>“You loved an ideal man; he disappointed you, and
 you clung to your remembrance of him. He came, and
-the reality dispelled all illusions."</p>
+the reality dispelled all illusions.”</p>
 
-<p>"I do not understand philosophy," said she. "I
-only know that I think that Herr M&uuml;ller had lost all
+<p>“I do not understand philosophy,” said she. “I
+only know that I think that Herr Müller had lost all
 respect for me from what his sister had told him; and I
 know that I am going away; and I trust I shall be
 happier in Frankfort than I have been here of late
-days." So saying, she left the room.</p>
+days.” So saying, she left the room.</p>
 
 <p>I was wakened up on the morning of the fourteenth
 by the merry ringing of church bells, and the perpetual
@@ -5149,9 +5031,9 @@ glistening on the delicate gossamer webs, which stretched
 from flower to flower in the garden, lying in the morning
 shadow of the house. But beyond the garden, on the
 sunny hill-side, men, women, and children were clambering
-up the vineyards like ants,&mdash;busy, irregular in movement,
-clustering together, spreading wide apart,&mdash;I could
-hear the shrill merry voices as I sat,&mdash;and all along the
+up the vineyards like ants,—busy, irregular in movement,
+clustering together, spreading wide apart,—I could
+hear the shrill merry voices as I sat,—and all along the
 valley, as far as I could see, it was much the same; for
 every one filled his house for the day of the vintage,
 that great annual festival. Lottchen, who had brought
@@ -5161,10 +5043,10 @@ grapes. Bright colours seemed to abound; I could see
 dots of scarlet, and crimson, and orange through the
 fading leaves; it was not a day to languish in the
 house; and I was on the point of going out by myself,
-when Herr M&uuml;ller came in to offer me his sturdy arm,
+when Herr Müller came in to offer me his sturdy arm,
 and help me in walking to the vineyard. We crept
 through the garden scented with late flowers and sunny
-fruit,&mdash;we passed through the gate I had so often gazed
+fruit,—we passed through the gate I had so often gazed
 at from the easy-chair, and were in the busy vineyard;
 great baskets lay on the grass already piled nearly full
 of purple and yellow grapes. The wine made from these
@@ -5183,7 +5065,7 @@ snowy shirt and gaily-worked braces; and presently he
 was as busy as any one. I looked down on the village;
 the gray and orange and crimson roofs lay glowing in
 the noonday sun. I could see down into the streets;
-but they were all empty&mdash;even the old people came toiling
+but they were all empty—even the old people came toiling
 up the hill-side to share in the general festivity.
 Lottchen had brought up cold dinners for a regiment of
 men; every one came and helped himself. Thekla was
@@ -5194,18 +5076,18 @@ sad and grave, and spoke so little, even to her friends,
 that it was evident to see that she was trying to wean
 herself finally from the place. But I could see that she
 had lost her short, defiant manner. What she did say
-was kindly and gently spoken. The Fr&auml;ulein came out
+was kindly and gently spoken. The Fräulein came out
 late in the morning, dressed, I suppose, in the latest
-Worms fashion&mdash;quite different to anything I had ever
+Worms fashion—quite different to anything I had ever
 seen before. She came up to me, and talked very
 graciously to me for some time.</p>
 
-<p>"Here comes the proprietor (squire) and his lady,
+<p>“Here comes the proprietor (squire) and his lady,
 and their dear children. See, the vintagers have tied
 bunches of the finest grapes on to a stick, heavier than
 the children or even the lady can carry. Look! look!
-how he bows!&mdash;one can tell he has been an <i>attach&eacute;</i> at
-Vienna. That is the court way of bowing there&mdash;holding
+how he bows!—one can tell he has been an <i>attaché</i> at
+Vienna. That is the court way of bowing there—holding
 the hat right down before them, and bending the
 back at right angles. How graceful! And here is the
 doctor! I thought he would spare time to come up
@@ -5213,12 +5095,12 @@ here. Well, doctor, you will go all the more cheerfully
 to your next patient for having been up into the vineyards.
 Nonsense, about grapes making other patients
 for you. Ah, here is the pastor and his wife, and the
-Fr&auml;ulein Anna. Now, where is my brother, I wonder?
+Fräulein Anna. Now, where is my brother, I wonder?
 Up in the far vineyard, I make no doubt. Mr. Pastor,
 the view up above is far finer than what it is here, and
 the best grapes grow there; shall I accompany you and
-madame, and the dear Fr&auml;ulein? The gentleman will
-excuse me."</p>
+madame, and the dear Fräulein? The gentleman will
+excuse me.”</p>
 
 <p>I was left alone. Presently I thought I would walk
 a little farther, or at any rate change my position. I
@@ -5237,38 +5119,38 @@ watching the busy fingers with eager intentness. Both
 looked up as I drew near, and we exchanged a few
 words.</p>
 
-<p>"Where is the master?" I asked. "I promised to
+<p>“Where is the master?” I asked. “I promised to
 await his return; he wished to give me his arm down
-the wooden steps; but I do not see him."</p>
+the wooden steps; but I do not see him.”</p>
 
-<p>"He is in the higher vineyard," said Thekla, quietly,
-but not looking round in that direction. "He will be some
+<p>“He is in the higher vineyard,” said Thekla, quietly,
+but not looking round in that direction. “He will be some
 time there, I should think. He went with the pastor
 and his wife; he will have to speak to his labourers
 and his friends. My arm is strong, and I can leave
-Max in Lina's care for five minutes. If you are tired,
+Max in Lina’s care for five minutes. If you are tired,
 and want to go back, let me help you down the steps;
-they are steep and slippery."</p>
+they are steep and slippery.”</p>
 
 <p>I had turned to look up the valley. Three or four
 hundred yards off, in the higher vineyard, walked the
 dignified pastor, and his homely, decorous wife. Behind
-came the Fr&auml;ulein Anna, in her short-sleeved Sunday
+came the Fräulein Anna, in her short-sleeved Sunday
 gown, daintily holding a parasol over her luxuriant brown
-hair. Close behind her came Herr M&uuml;ller, stopping
-now to speak to his men,&mdash;again, to cull out a bunch
-of grapes to tie on to the Fr&auml;ulein's stick; and by my
+hair. Close behind her came Herr Müller, stopping
+now to speak to his men,—again, to cull out a bunch
+of grapes to tie on to the Fräulein’s stick; and by my
 feet sate the proud serving-maid in her country dress,
 waiting for my answer, with serious, up-turned eyes,
 and sad, composed face.</p>
 
-<p>"No, I am much obliged to you, Thekla; and if
+<p>“No, I am much obliged to you, Thekla; and if
 I did not feel so strong I would have thankfully taken
 your arm. But I only wanted to leave a message for
-the master, just to say that I have gone home."</p>
+the master, just to say that I have gone home.”</p>
 
-<p>"Lina will give it to the father when he comes
-down," said Thekla.</p>
+<p>“Lina will give it to the father when he comes
+down,” said Thekla.</p>
 
 <p>I went slowly down into the garden. The great
 labour of the day was over, and the younger part of
@@ -5291,7 +5173,7 @@ spared to see that day. Then I heard the distant
 voices, the deep tones of the men, the shriller pipes
 of women and children, join in the German harvest-hymn,
 which is generally sung on such occasions;<a href="#gwfn"><small><sup>1</sup></small></a>
-<a name="gwfnr" id="gwfnr"></a>
+<a id="gwfnr"></a>
 then silence, while I concluded that a blessing was
 spoken by the pastor, with outstretched arms; and then
 they once more dispersed, some to the village, some to
@@ -5299,38 +5181,38 @@ finish their labours for the day among the vines. I saw
 Thekla coming through the garden with Max in her
 arms, and Lina clinging to her woollen skirts. Thekla
 made for my open window; it was rather a shorter
-passage into the house than round by the door. "I
-may come through, may I not?" she asked, softly.
-"I fear Max is not well; I cannot understand his
-look, and he wakened up so strange!" She paused
-to let me see the child's face; it was flushed almost
+passage into the house than round by the door. “I
+may come through, may I not?” she asked, softly.
+“I fear Max is not well; I cannot understand his
+look, and he wakened up so strange!” She paused
+to let me see the child’s face; it was flushed almost
 to a crimson look of heat, and his breathing was
 laboured and uneasy, his eyes half-open and filmy.</p>
 
-<p>"Something is wrong, I am sure," said I. "I don't
+<p>“Something is wrong, I am sure,” said I. “I don’t
 know anything about children, but he is not in the least
-like himself."</p>
+like himself.”</p>
 
 <p>She bent down and kissed the cheek so tenderly that
-she would not have bruised the petal of a rose. "Heart's
-darling," she murmured. He quivered all over at her
+she would not have bruised the petal of a rose. “Heart’s
+darling,” she murmured. He quivered all over at her
 touch, working his fingers in an unnatural kind of way,
 and ending with a convulsive twitching all over his body.
 Lina began to cry at the grave, anxious look on our
 faces.</p>
 
-<p>"You had better call the Fr&auml;ulein to look at him,"
-said I. "I feel sure he ought to have a doctor; I
-should say he was going to have a fit."</p>
+<p>“You had better call the Fräulein to look at him,”
+said I. “I feel sure he ought to have a doctor; I
+should say he was going to have a fit.”</p>
 
-<p>"The Fr&auml;ulein and the master are gone to the
-pastor's for coffee, and Lottchen is in the higher vineyard,
+<p>“The Fräulein and the master are gone to the
+pastor’s for coffee, and Lottchen is in the higher vineyard,
 taking the men their bread and beer. Could you
 find the kitchen girl, or old Karl? he will be in the
-stables, I think. I must lose no time." Almost without
+stables, I think. I must lose no time.” Almost without
 waiting for my reply, she had passed through the
 room, and in the empty house I could hear her firm,
-careful footsteps going up the stair; Lina's pattering
+careful footsteps going up the stair; Lina’s pattering
 beside her; and the one voice wailing, the other speaking
 low comfort.</p>
 
@@ -5339,79 +5221,79 @@ me too much like one of their own for me not to do what
 I could in such a case as this. I made my way out into
 the street, for the first time since I had come to the
 house on that memorable evening six weeks ago. I
-bribed the first person I met to guide me to the doctor's,
-and send him straight down to the "Halbmond," not
+bribed the first person I met to guide me to the doctor’s,
+and send him straight down to the “Halbmond,” not
 staying to listen to the thorough scolding he fell to
 giving me; then on to the parsonage, to tell the master
-and the Fr&auml;ulein of the state of things at home.</p>
+and the Fräulein of the state of things at home.</p>
 
 <p>I was sorry to be the bearer of bad news into such a
-festive chamber as the pastor's. There they sat, resting
+festive chamber as the pastor’s. There they sat, resting
 after heat and fatigue, each in their best gala dress,
-the table spread with "Dicker-milch," potato-salad,
-cakes of various shapes and kinds&mdash;all the dainty <ins title="delicacy (archaic)">cates</ins>
+the table spread with “Dicker-milch,” potato-salad,
+cakes of various shapes and kinds—all the dainty <ins title="delicacy (archaic)">cates</ins>
 dear to the German palate. The pastor was talking to
-Herr M&uuml;ller, who stood near the pretty young Fr&auml;ulein
+Herr Müller, who stood near the pretty young Fräulein
 Anna, in her fresh white chemisette, with her round
 white arms, and her youthful coquettish airs, as she
-prepared to pour out the coffee; our Fr&auml;ulein was talking
+prepared to pour out the coffee; our Fräulein was talking
 busily to the Frau Mama; the younger boys and
 girls of the family filling up the room. A ghost would
 have startled the assembled party less than I did, and
 would probably have been more welcome, considering
 the news I brought. As he listened, the master caught
 up his hat and went forth, without apology or farewell.
-Our Fr&auml;ulein made up for both, and questioned me
+Our Fräulein made up for both, and questioned me
 fully; but now she, I could see, was in haste to go,
 although restrained by her manners, and the kind-hearted
 Frau Pastorin soon set her at liberty to follow
 her inclination. As for me I was dead-beat, and only
-too glad to avail myself of the hospitable couple's pressing
+too glad to avail myself of the hospitable couple’s pressing
 request that I would stop and share their meal.
 Other magnates of the village came in presently, and
 relieved me of the strain of keeping up a German conversation
 about nothing at all with entire strangers.
-The pretty Fr&auml;ulein's face had clouded over a little at
-Herr M&uuml;ller's sudden departure; but she was soon as
+The pretty Fräulein’s face had clouded over a little at
+Herr Müller’s sudden departure; but she was soon as
 bright as could be, giving private chase and sudden
 little scoldings to her brothers, as they made raids
 upon the dainties under her charge. After I was duly
 rested and refreshed, I took my leave; for I, too, had
-my quieter anxieties about the sorrow in the M&uuml;ller
+my quieter anxieties about the sorrow in the Müller
 family.</p>
 
-<p>The only person I could see at the "Halbmond"
+<p>The only person I could see at the “Halbmond”
 was Lottchen; every one else was busy about the poor
 little Max, who was passing from one fit into another.
 I told Lottchen to ask the doctor to come in and see me
 before he took his leave for the night, and tired as I
 was, I kept up till after his visit, though it was very late
 before he came; I could see from his face how anxious
-he was. He would give me no opinion as to the child's
+he was. He would give me no opinion as to the child’s
 chances of recovery, from which I guessed that he had
 not much hope. But when I expressed my fear he cut
 me very short.</p>
 
-<p>"The truth is, you know nothing about it; no more
+<p>“The truth is, you know nothing about it; no more
 do I, for that matter. It is enough to try any man,
-much less a father, to hear his perpetual moans&mdash;not
+much less a father, to hear his perpetual moans—not
 that he is conscious of pain, poor little worm; but if
 she stops for a moment in her perpetual carrying him
 backwards and forwards, he plains so piteously it is
-enough to&mdash;enough to make a man bless the Lord who
+enough to—enough to make a man bless the Lord who
 never led him into the pit of matrimony. To see the
 father up there, following her as she walks up and down
-the room, the child's head over her shoulder, and M&uuml;ller
+the room, the child’s head over her shoulder, and Müller
 trying to make the heavy eyes recognize the old familiar
 ways of play, and the chirruping sounds which he can
-scarce make for crying<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>I shall be here to-morrow
+scarce make for crying<span class="norewrap">——</span>I shall be here to-morrow
 early, though before that either life or death will have
-come without the old doctor's help."</p>
+come without the old doctor’s help.”</p>
 
-<p>All night long I dreamt my feverish dream&mdash;of the
-vineyard&mdash;the carts, which held little coffins instead of
-baskets of grapes&mdash;of the pastor's daughter, who would
-pull the dying child out of Thekla's arms; it was a bad,
+<p>All night long I dreamt my feverish dream—of the
+vineyard—the carts, which held little coffins instead of
+baskets of grapes—of the pastor’s daughter, who would
+pull the dying child out of Thekla’s arms; it was a bad,
 weary night! I slept long into the morning; the broad
 daylight filled my room, and yet no one had been near
 to waken me! Did that mean life or death? I got up
@@ -5424,28 +5306,28 @@ it was life or death. At the door of a room I found
 Lottchen crying; at the sight of me in that unwonted
 place she started, and began some kind of apology,
 broken both by tears and smiles, as she told me that the
-doctor said the danger was over&mdash;past, and that Max
-was sleeping a gentle peaceful slumber in Thekla's
-arms&mdash;arms that had held him all through the livelong
+doctor said the danger was over—past, and that Max
+was sleeping a gentle peaceful slumber in Thekla’s
+arms—arms that had held him all through the livelong
 night.</p>
 
-<p>"Look at him, sir; only go in softly; it is a pleasure
-to see the child to-day; tread softly, sir."</p>
+<p>“Look at him, sir; only go in softly; it is a pleasure
+to see the child to-day; tread softly, sir.”</p>
 
 <p>She opened the chamber-door. I could see Thekla
 sitting, propped up by cushions and stools, holding her
 heavy burden, and bending over him with a look of tenderest
-love. Not far off stood the Fr&auml;ulein, all disordered
+love. Not far off stood the Fräulein, all disordered
 and tearful, stirring or seasoning some hot soup,
 while the master stood by her impatient. As soon as it
 was cooled or seasoned enough he took the basin and
 went to Thekla, and said something very low; she lifted
 up her head, and I could see her face; pale, weary with
 watching, but with a soft peaceful look upon it, which
-it had not worn for weeks. Fritz M&uuml;ller began to feed
+it had not worn for weeks. Fritz Müller began to feed
 her, for her hands were occupied in holding his child;
-I could not help remembering Mrs. Inchbald's pretty
-description of Dorriforth's anxiety in feeding Miss Milner;
+I could not help remembering Mrs. Inchbald’s pretty
+description of Dorriforth’s anxiety in feeding Miss Milner;
 she compares it, if I remember rightly, to that of a
 tender-hearted boy, caring for his darling bird, the loss
 of which would embitter all the joys of his holidays.
@@ -5454,52 +5336,52 @@ the sleeping child. Lottchen brought me my coffee
 and bread; she was ready either to laugh or to weep
 on the slightest occasion. I could not tell if it was in
 innocence or mischief. She asked me the following
-question,&mdash;</p>
+question,—</p>
 
-<p>"Do you think Thekla will leave to-day, sir?"</p>
+<p>“Do you think Thekla will leave to-day, sir?”</p>
 
-<p>In the afternoon I heard Thekla's step behind my
+<p>In the afternoon I heard Thekla’s step behind my
 extemporary screen. I knew it quite well. She stopped
 for a moment before emerging into my view.</p>
 
 <p>She was trying to look as composed as usual, but,
 perhaps because her steady nerves had been shaken by
-her night's watching, she could not help faint touches of
+her night’s watching, she could not help faint touches of
 dimples at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes were
 veiled from any inquisitive look by their drooping lids.</p>
 
-<p>"I thought you would like to know that the doctor
+<p>“I thought you would like to know that the doctor
 says Max is quite out of danger now. He will only
-require care."</p>
+require care.”</p>
 
-<p>"Thank you, Thekla; Doctor <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span> has been in
+<p>“Thank you, Thekla; Doctor <span class="norewrap">——</span> has been in
 already this afternoon to tell me so, and I am truly
-glad."</p>
+glad.”</p>
 
 <p>She went to the window, and looked out for a
 moment. Many people were in the vineyards again
 to-day; although we, in our household anxiety, had paid
 them but little heed. Suddenly she turned round into
 the room, and I saw that her face was crimson with
-blushes. In another instant Herr M&uuml;ller entered by the
+blushes. In another instant Herr Müller entered by the
 window.</p>
 
-<p>"Has she told you, sir?" said he, possessing himself
+<p>“Has she told you, sir?” said he, possessing himself
 of her hand, and looking all a-glow with happiness.
-"Hast thou told our good friend?" addressing her.</p>
+“Hast thou told our good friend?” addressing her.</p>
 
-<p>"No. I was going to tell him, but I did not know
-how to begin."</p>
+<p>“No. I was going to tell him, but I did not know
+how to begin.”</p>
 
-<p>"Then I will prompt thee. Say after me&mdash;'I have
-been a wilful, foolish woman<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>'"</p>
+<p>“Then I will prompt thee. Say after me—‘I have
+been a wilful, foolish woman<span class="norewrap">——</span>’”</p>
 
-<p>She wrenched her hand out of his, half-laughing&mdash;"I
+<p>She wrenched her hand out of his, half-laughing—“I
 am a foolish woman, for I have promised to marry
 him. But he is a still more foolish man, for he wishes
-to marry me. That is what I say."</p>
+to marry me. That is what I say.”</p>
 
-<p>"And I have sent Babette to Frankfort with the
+<p>“And I have sent Babette to Frankfort with the
 pastor. He is going there, and will explain all to
 Frau v. Schmidt; and Babette will serve her for a
 time. When Max is well enough to have the change
@@ -5507,30 +5389,26 @@ of air the doctor prescribes for him, thou shalt take
 him to Altenahr, and thither will I also go; and
 become known to thy people and thy father. And
 before Christmas the gentleman here shall dance at our
-wedding."</p>
+wedding.”</p>
 
-<p>"I must go home to England, dear friends, before
+<p>“I must go home to England, dear friends, before
 many days are over. Perhaps we may travel together
 as far as Remagen. Another year I will come back to
-Heppenheim and see you."</p>
+Heppenheim and see you.”</p>
 
 <p>As I planned it, so it was. We left Heppenheim all
-together on a lovely All-Saints' Day. The day before&mdash;the
-day of All-Souls&mdash;I had watched Fritz and Thekla
+together on a lovely All-Saints’ Day. The day before—the
+day of All-Souls—I had watched Fritz and Thekla
 lead little Lina up to the Acre of God, the Field of
-Rest, to hang the wreath of immortelles on her mother's
+Rest, to hang the wreath of immortelles on her mother’s
 grave. Peace be with the dead and the living.</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<h3><a name="lm" id="lm"></a>LIBBIE MARSH'S THREE ERAS.</h3>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<h3>ERA I.</h3>
+<hr class="chap">
+<h2 id="lm">LIBBIE MARSH’S THREE ERAS.</h2>
 
-<h4>VALENTINE'S DAY.</h4>
+<h3>ERA I.</h3>
 
+<div class="center bold" style="font-size: small;">VALENTINE’S DAY.</div>
 
 <p>Last November but one, there was a flitting in our
 neighbourhood; hardly a flitting, after all, for it was
@@ -5551,22 +5429,22 @@ try to be contented, but in spite of her reason, the old
 feeling of desolation came over her, as she was now
 about to be thrown again entirely among strangers.</p>
 
-<p>No. 2, <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span> Court, Albemarle Street, was reached at
+<p>No. 2, <span class="norewrap">——</span> Court, Albemarle Street, was reached at
 last, and the pace, slow as it was, slackened as she drew
 near the spot where she was to be left by the man who
 carried her box, for, trivial as her acquaintance with him
 was, he was not quite a stranger, as every one else was,
 peering out of their open doors, and satisfying themselves
-it was only "Dixon's new lodger."</p>
+it was only “Dixon’s new lodger.”</p>
 
-<p>Dixon's house was the last on the left-hand side of
+<p>Dixon’s house was the last on the left-hand side of
 the court. A high dead brick wall connected it with its
 opposite neighbour. All the dwellings were of the same
 monotonous pattern, and one side of the court looked
 at its exact likeness opposite, as if it were seeing itself
 in a looking-glass.</p>
 
-<p>Dixon's house was shut up, and the key left next
+<p>Dixon’s house was shut up, and the key left next
 door; but the woman in whose charge it was left knew
 that Libbie was expected, and came forward to say a few
 explanatory words, to unlock the door, and stir the dull
@@ -5581,10 +5459,10 @@ tears.</p>
 <p>Dixon and his wife, and their eldest girl, worked in
 factories, and were absent all day from the house: the
 youngest child, also a little girl, was boarded out on the
-week-days at the neighbour's where the door-key was
+week-days at the neighbour’s where the door-key was
 deposited, but although busy making dirt-pies, at the
 entrance to the court, when Libbie came in, she was too
-young to care much about her parents' new lodger.
+young to care much about her parents’ new lodger.
 Libbie knew that she was to sleep with the elder girl in
 the front bedroom, but, as you may fancy, it seemed a
 liberty even to go upstairs to take off her things, when no
@@ -5592,8 +5470,8 @@ one was at home to marshal the way up the ladder-like
 steps. So she could only take off her bonnet, and sit
 down, and gaze at the now blazing fire, and think sadly
 on the past, and on the lonely creature she was in this
-wide world&mdash;father and mother gone, her little brother
-long since dead&mdash;he would have been more than nineteen had
+wide world—father and mother gone, her little brother
+long since dead—he would have been more than nineteen had
 he been alive, but she only thought of him as the darling
 baby; her only friends (to call friends) living far
 away at their new house; her employers, kind enough
@@ -5601,10 +5479,10 @@ people in their way, but too rapidly twirling round on
 this bustling earth to have leisure to think of the little
 work-woman, excepting when they wanted gowns turned,
 carpets mended, or household linen darned; and hardly
-even the natural though hidden hope of a young girl's
+even the natural though hidden hope of a young girl’s
 heart, to cheer her on with the bright visions of a
 home of her own at some future day, where, loving
-and beloved, she might fulfil a woman's dearest
+and beloved, she might fulfil a woman’s dearest
 duties.</p>
 
 <p>For Libbie was very plain, as she had known so long
@@ -5617,9 +5495,9 @@ are sure to hear a good number of truths, some of them
 combined with such a spirit of impudent fun, that you
 can scarcely keep from laughing, even at the joke
 against yourself. Libbie had often and often been
-greeted by such questions as&mdash;"How long is it since
-you were a beauty?"&mdash;"What would you take a day
-to stand in the fields to scare away the birds?"
+greeted by such questions as—“How long is it since
+you were a beauty?”—“What would you take a day
+to stand in the fields to scare away the birds?”
 &amp;c., for her to linger under any impression as to her
 looks.</p>
 
@@ -5634,15 +5512,15 @@ laughed so loudly and so much, and bustled about so
 noisily over everything they did. Dixon took hold of
 one iron handle of her box, and helped her to bump it
 upstairs, while his daughter Anne followed to see the
-unpacking, and what sort of clothes "little sewing
-body had gotten." Mrs. Dixon rattled out her tea-things,
+unpacking, and what sort of clothes “little sewing
+body had gotten.” Mrs. Dixon rattled out her tea-things,
 and put the kettle on, fetched home her youngest
 child, which added to the commotion. Then she called
 Anne downstairs, and sent her for this thing and that:
 eggs to put to the cream, it was so thin; ham, to give a
 relish to the bread and butter; some new bread, hot, if
 she could get it. Libbie heard all these orders, given
-at full pitch of Mrs. Dixon's voice, and wondered at
+at full pitch of Mrs. Dixon’s voice, and wondered at
 their extravagance, so different from the habits of the
 place where she had last lodged. But they were fine
 spinners, in the receipt of good wages; and confined all
@@ -5661,10 +5539,10 @@ to ask for a candle, to go and finish her unpacking
 before bedtime, as she had to go out sewing for several
 succeeding days. But once in the comparative peace
 of her bedroom, her energy failed her, and she contented
-herself with locking her Noah's ark of a chest, and put
+herself with locking her Noah’s ark of a chest, and put
 out her candle, and went to sit by the window, and gaze
-out at the bright heavens; for ever and ever "the blue
-sky, that bends over all," sheds down a feeling of sympathy
+out at the bright heavens; for ever and ever “the blue
+sky, that bends over all,” sheds down a feeling of sympathy
 with the sorrowful at the solemn hours when the
 ceaseless stars are seen to pace its depths.</p>
 
@@ -5672,8 +5550,8 @@ ceaseless stars are seen to pace its depths.</p>
 window to her own, on the opposite side of the
 court. It was lighted, but the blind was drawn down:
 upon the blind she saw, first unconsciously, the constant
-weary motion of a little spectral shadow, a child's hand
-and arm&mdash;no more; long, thin fingers hanging down
+weary motion of a little spectral shadow, a child’s hand
+and arm—no more; long, thin fingers hanging down
 from the wrist, while the arm moved up and down, as if
 keeping time to the heavy pulses of dull pain. She
 could not help hoping that sleep would soon come to
@@ -5685,19 +5563,19 @@ sudden start of agony. When Anne came up to bed,
 Libbie was still sitting, watching the shadow, and she
 directly asked to whom it belonged.</p>
 
-<p>"It will be Margaret Hall's lad. Last summer, when
+<p>“It will be Margaret Hall’s lad. Last summer, when
 it was so hot, there was no biding with the window shut
-at night, and theirs was open too: and many's the time
-he has waked me with his moans; they say he's been
-better sin' cold weather came."</p>
+at night, and theirs was open too: and many’s the time
+he has waked me with his moans; they say he’s been
+better sin’ cold weather came.”</p>
 
-<p>"Is he always in bed? Whatten ails him?" asked
+<p>“Is he always in bed? Whatten ails him?” asked
 Libbie.</p>
 
-<p>"Summat's amiss wi' his backbone, folks say; he's
-better and worse, like. He's a nice little chap enough,
-and his mother's not that bad either; only my mother
-and her had words, so now we don't speak."</p>
+<p>“Summat’s amiss wi’ his backbone, folks say; he’s
+better and worse, like. He’s a nice little chap enough,
+and his mother’s not that bad either; only my mother
+and her had words, so now we don’t speak.”</p>
 
 <p>Libbie went on watching, and when she next spoke,
 to ask who and what his mother was, Anne Dixon was
@@ -5708,7 +5586,7 @@ things. Libbie found out that Margaret Hall was a
 widow, who earned her living as a washerwoman; that
 the little suffering lad was her only child, her dearly
 beloved. That while she scolded, pretty nearly, everybody
-else, "till her name was up" in the neighbourhood
+else, “till her name was up” in the neighbourhood
 for a termagant, to him she was evidently most
 tender and gentle. He lay alone on his little bed, near
 the window, through the day, while she was away toiling
@@ -5735,7 +5613,7 @@ that this gave him pleasure. I think she would have
 been encouraged by this smile to have proceeded to a
 speaking acquaintance, if it had not been for his terrible
 mother, to whom it seemed to be irritation enough to
-know that Libbie was a lodger at the Dixons' for her to
+know that Libbie was a lodger at the Dixons’ for her to
 talk at her whenever they encountered each other, and
 to live evidently in wait for some good opportunity of
 abuse.</p>
@@ -5773,7 +5651,7 @@ could have no more living flowers to tend.</p>
 <p>Libbie thought and thought, till at last an idea flashed
 upon her mind, that often made a happy smile steal over
 her face as she stitched away, and that cheered her
-through the solitary winter&mdash;for solitary it continued to
+through the solitary winter—for solitary it continued to
 be, though the Dixons were very good sort of people,
 never pressed her for payment, if she had had but little
 work to do that week; never grudged her a share of
@@ -5784,21 +5662,21 @@ and they would fain have taught her to drink rum in
 her tea, assuring her that she should have it for
 nothing and welcome. But they were too touchy,
 too prosperous, too much absorbed in themselves, to
-take off Libbie's feeling of solitariness; not half as
+take off Libbie’s feeling of solitariness; not half as
 much as the little face by day, and the shadow by
 night, of him with whom she had never yet exchanged
 a word.</p>
 
 <p>Her idea was this: her mother came from the east of
 England, where, as perhaps you know, they have the
-pretty custom of sending presents on St. Valentine's
-day, with the donor's name unknown, and, of course,
+pretty custom of sending presents on St. Valentine’s
+day, with the donor’s name unknown, and, of course,
 the mystery constitutes half the enjoyment. The fourteenth
-of February was Libbie's birthday too, and many
+of February was Libbie’s birthday too, and many
 a year, in the happy days of old, had her mother
 delighted to surprise her with some little gift, of which
 she more than half-guessed the giver, although each
-Valentine's day the manner of its arrival was varied.
+Valentine’s day the manner of its arrival was varied.
 Since then the fourteenth of February had been the
 dreariest of all the year, because the most haunted
 by memory of departed happiness. But now, this
@@ -5810,13 +5688,13 @@ who wore out his monotonous life with so few
 pleasures, and so much pain.</p>
 
 <p>I doubt I may not tell you here of the anxieties and the
-fears, of the hopes and the self-sacrifices&mdash;all, perhaps
-small in the tangible effect as the widow's mite, yet not
+fears, of the hopes and the self-sacrifices—all, perhaps
+small in the tangible effect as the widow’s mite, yet not
 the less marked by the viewless angels who go about
-continually among us&mdash;which varied Libbie's life before
+continually among us—which varied Libbie’s life before
 she accomplished her purpose. It is enough to say it
 was accomplished. The very day before the fourteenth
-she found time to go with her half-guinea to a barber's
+she found time to go with her half-guinea to a barber’s
 who lived near Albemarle Street, and who was famous
 for his stock of singing-birds. There are enthusiasts
 about all sorts of things, both good and bad, and many
@@ -5827,7 +5705,7 @@ touch on the subject of birds to light up their faces
 with brightness. They will tell you who won the prizes
 at the last canary show, where the prize birds may
 be seen, and give you all the details of those funny,
-but pretty and interesting mimicries of great people's
+but pretty and interesting mimicries of great people’s
 cattle shows. Among these amateurs, Emanuel Morris
 the barber was an oracle.</p>
 
@@ -5846,28 +5724,28 @@ all prize birds; and, on inquiry, Libbie heard, with some
 little sinking at heart, that their price ran from one to
 two guineas.</p>
 
-<p>"I'm not over-particular as to shape and colour,"
-said she, "I should like a good singer, that's all!"</p>
+<p>“I’m not over-particular as to shape and colour,”
+said she, “I should like a good singer, that’s all!”</p>
 
-<p>She dropped a little in Emanuel's estimation. However,
+<p>She dropped a little in Emanuel’s estimation. However,
 he showed her his good singers, but all were above
-Libbie's means.</p>
+Libbie’s means.</p>
 
-<p>"After all, I don't think I care so much about the
-singing very loud; it's but a noise after all, and sometimes
-noise fidgets folks."</p>
+<p>“After all, I don’t think I care so much about the
+singing very loud; it’s but a noise after all, and sometimes
+noise fidgets folks.”</p>
 
-<p>"They must be nesh folks as is put out with the
-singing o' birds," replied Emanuel, rather affronted.</p>
+<p>“They must be nesh folks as is put out with the
+singing o’ birds,” replied Emanuel, rather affronted.</p>
 
-<p>"It's for one who is poorly," said Libbie, deprecatingly.</p>
+<p>“It’s for one who is poorly,” said Libbie, deprecatingly.</p>
 
-<p>"Well," said he, as if considering the matter, "folk
-that are cranky, often take more to them as shows 'em
+<p>“Well,” said he, as if considering the matter, “folk
+that are cranky, often take more to them as shows ’em
 love, than to them as is clever and gifted. Happen
-yo'd rather have this'n," opening a cage-door, and calling
+yo’d rather have this’n,” opening a cage-door, and calling
 to a dull-coloured bird, sitting moped up in a corner,
-"Here&mdash;Jupiter, Jupiter!"</p>
+“Here—Jupiter, Jupiter!”</p>
 
 <p>The bird smoothed its feathers in an instant, and,
 uttering a little note of delight, flew to Emanuel, putting
@@ -5883,40 +5761,40 @@ preparatory to carrying it home. Emanuel meanwhile
 was giving her directions as to its food, with all the
 minuteness of one loving his subject.</p>
 
-<p>"Will it soon get to know any one?" asked she.</p>
+<p>“Will it soon get to know any one?” asked she.</p>
 
-<p>"Give him two days only, and you and he'll be as
-thick as him and me are now. You've only to open his
-door, and call him, and he'll follow you round the room;
-but he'll first kiss you, and then perch on your head.
-He only wants larning, which I've no time to give him,
-to do many another accomplishment."</p>
+<p>“Give him two days only, and you and he’ll be as
+thick as him and me are now. You’ve only to open his
+door, and call him, and he’ll follow you round the room;
+but he’ll first kiss you, and then perch on your head.
+He only wants larning, which I’ve no time to give him,
+to do many another accomplishment.”</p>
 
-<p>"What's his name? I did not rightly catch it."</p>
+<p>“What’s his name? I did not rightly catch it.”</p>
 
-<p>"Jupiter,&mdash;it's not common; but the town's o'errun
+<p>“Jupiter,—it’s not common; but the town’s o’errun
 with Bobbies and Dickies, and as my birds are thought
-a bit out o' the way, I like to have better names for 'em,
-so I just picked a few out o' my lad's school books. It's
-just as ready, when you're used to it, to say Jupiter as
-Dicky."</p>
+a bit out o’ the way, I like to have better names for ’em,
+so I just picked a few out o’ my lad’s school books. It’s
+just as ready, when you’re used to it, to say Jupiter as
+Dicky.”</p>
 
-<p>"I could bring my tongue round to Peter better;
-would he answer to Peter?" asked Libbie, now on the
+<p>“I could bring my tongue round to Peter better;
+would he answer to Peter?” asked Libbie, now on the
 point of departing.</p>
 
-<p>"Happen he might; but I think he'd come readier to
-the three syllables."</p>
+<p>“Happen he might; but I think he’d come readier to
+the three syllables.”</p>
 
-<p>On Valentine's day, Jupiter's cage was decked round
+<p>On Valentine’s day, Jupiter’s cage was decked round
 with ivy leaves, making quite a pretty wreath on the
 wicker work; and to one of them was pinned a slip of
-paper, with these words, written in Libbie's best round
-hand:&mdash;</p>
+paper, with these words, written in Libbie’s best round
+hand:—</p>
 
-<p>"From your faithful Valentine. Please take notice
-his name is Peter, and he'll come if you call him, after
-a bit."</p>
+<p>“From your faithful Valentine. Please take notice
+his name is Peter, and he’ll come if you call him, after
+a bit.”</p>
 
 <p>But little work did Libbie do that afternoon, she was
 so engaged in watching for the messenger who was to
@@ -5942,8 +5820,8 @@ his possession of such a treasure; and when the shadow
 of his mother darkened on the blind, and the bird had
 been exhibited, Libbie saw her do what, with all her
 tenderness, seemed rarely to have entered into her
-thoughts&mdash;she bent down and kissed her boy, in a
-mother's sympathy with the joy of her child.</p>
+thoughts—she bent down and kissed her boy, in a
+mother’s sympathy with the joy of her child.</p>
 
 <p>The canary was placed for the night between the little
 bed and window; and when Libbie rose once, to take
@@ -5952,17 +5830,14 @@ round the cage, as if embracing his new treasure even
 in his sleep. How Jupiter slept this first night is quite
 another thing.</p>
 
-<p>So ended the first day in Libbie's three eras in last
-year.</p>
-
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>So ended the first day in Libbie’s three eras in last year.</p>
 
 <h3>ERA II.</h3>
 
-<h4>WHITSUNTIDE.</h4>
+<div class="center bold" style="font-size: small;">WHITSUNTIDE.</div>
 
 <p>The brightest, fullest daylight poured down into No. 2,
-<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span> Court, Albemarle Street, and the heat, even at the
+<span class="norewrap">——</span> Court, Albemarle Street, and the heat, even at the
 early hour of five, as at the noontide on the June days
 of many years past.</p>
 
@@ -5972,56 +5847,56 @@ had been so all night, on account of the heat; and
 every now and then you might see a head and a pair
 of shoulders, simply encased in shirt sleeves, popped
 out, and you might hear the inquiry passed from one
-to the other,&mdash;"Well, Jack, and where art thee bound
-for?"</p>
+to the other,—“Well, Jack, and where art thee bound
+for?”</p>
 
-<p>"Dunham!"</p>
+<p>“Dunham!”</p>
 
-<p>"Why, what an old-fashioned chap thou be'st. Thy
+<p>“Why, what an old-fashioned chap thou be’st. Thy
 grandad afore thee went to Dunham: but thou wert
-always a slow coach. I'm off to Alderley,&mdash;me and
-my missis."</p>
+always a slow coach. I’m off to Alderley,—me and
+my missis.”</p>
 
-<p>"Ay, that's because there's only thee and thy missis.
+<p>“Ay, that’s because there’s only thee and thy missis.
 Wait till thou hast gotten four childer, like me, and
-thou'lt be glad enough to take 'em to Dunham, oud-fashioned
-way, for fourpence apiece."</p>
+thou’lt be glad enough to take ’em to Dunham, oud-fashioned
+way, for fourpence apiece.”</p>
 
-<p>"I'd still go to Alderley; I'd not be bothered with
-my children; they should keep house at home."</p>
+<p>“I’d still go to Alderley; I’d not be bothered with
+my children; they should keep house at home.”</p>
 
 <p>A pair of hands, the person to whom they belonged
 invisible, boxed his ears on this last speech, in a very
 spirited, though playful, manner, and the neighbours
 all laughed at the surprised look of the speaker, at this
 assault from an unseen foe. The man who had been
-holding conversation with him cried out,&mdash;</p>
+holding conversation with him cried out,—</p>
 
-<p>"Sarved him right, Mrs. Slater: he knows nought
-about it yet; but when he gets them he'll be as loth
+<p>“Sarved him right, Mrs. Slater: he knows nought
+about it yet; but when he gets them he’ll be as loth
 to leave the babbies at home on a Whitsuntide as any
 on us. We shall live to see him in Dunham Park yet,
-wi' twins in his arms, and another pair on 'em clutching
-at daddy's coat-tails, let alone your share of youngsters,
-missis."</p>
+wi’ twins in his arms, and another pair on ’em clutching
+at daddy’s coat-tails, let alone your share of youngsters,
+missis.”</p>
 
 <p>At this moment our friend Libbie appeared at her
 window, and Mrs. Slater, who had taken her discomfited
-husband's place, called out,&mdash;</p>
+husband’s place, called out,—</p>
 
-<p>"Elizabeth Marsh, where are Dixons and you bound
-to?"</p>
+<p>“Elizabeth Marsh, where are Dixons and you bound
+to?”</p>
 
-<p>"Dixons are not up yet; he said last night he'd take
-his holiday out in lying in bed. I'm going to the old-fashioned
-place, Dunham."</p>
+<p>“Dixons are not up yet; he said last night he’d take
+his holiday out in lying in bed. I’m going to the old-fashioned
+place, Dunham.”</p>
 
-<p>"Thou art never going by thyself, moping!"</p>
+<p>“Thou art never going by thyself, moping!”</p>
 
-<p>"No. I'm going with Margaret Hall and her lad,"
+<p>“No. I’m going with Margaret Hall and her lad,”
 replied Libbie, hastily withdrawing from the window, in
 order to avoid hearing any remarks on the associates
-she had chosen for her day of pleasure&mdash;the scold of
+she had chosen for her day of pleasure—the scold of
 the neighbourhood, and her sickly, ailing child!</p>
 
 <p>But Jupiter might have been a dove, and his ivy
@@ -6038,11 +5913,11 @@ a bundle of work half as large as herself, as she dragged
 herself along through the heated streets, she was overtaken
 by Margaret Hall, her burden gently pulled from
 her, and her way home shortened, and her weary spirits
-soothed and cheered, by the outpourings of Margaret's
+soothed and cheered, by the outpourings of Margaret’s
 heart; for the barrier of reserve once broken down, she
 had much to say, to thank her for days of amusement
 and happy employment for her lad, to speak of his
-gratitude, to tell of her hopes and fears,&mdash;the hopes
+gratitude, to tell of her hopes and fears,—the hopes
 and fears that made up the dates of her life. From
 that time, Libbie lost her awe of the termagant in
 interest for the mother, whose all was ventured in so
@@ -6060,29 +5935,29 @@ so Libbie let herself out very gently, and went across
 to her friends. She knocked at the door of their lodging-room,
 and, without waiting for an answer, entered.</p>
 
-<p>Franky's face was flushed, and he was trembling with
-excitement,&mdash;partly with pleasure, but partly with some
+<p>Franky’s face was flushed, and he was trembling with
+excitement,—partly with pleasure, but partly with some
 eager wish not yet granted.</p>
 
-<p>"He wants sore to take Peter with him," said his
+<p>“He wants sore to take Peter with him,” said his
 mother to Libbie, as if referring the matter to her.
 The boy looked imploringly at her.</p>
 
-<p>"He would like it, I know; for one thing, he'd
-miss me sadly, and chirrup for me all day long, he'd
+<p>“He would like it, I know; for one thing, he’d
+miss me sadly, and chirrup for me all day long, he’d
 be so lonely. I could not be half so happy a-thinking
 on him, left alone here by himself. Then, Libbie,
-he's just like a Christian, so fond of flowers and green
+he’s just like a Christian, so fond of flowers and green
 leaves, and them sort of things. He chirrups to me
 so when mother brings me a pennyworth of wall-flowers
 to put round his cage. He would talk if he could, you
 know; but I can tell what he means quite as one as
-if he spoke. Do let Peter go, Libbie; I'll carry him
-in my own arms."</p>
+if he spoke. Do let Peter go, Libbie; I’ll carry him
+in my own arms.”</p>
 
 <p>So Jupiter was allowed to be of the party. Now
 Libbie had overcome the great difficulty of conveying
-Franky to the boat, by offering to "slay" for a coach,
+Franky to the boat, by offering to “slay” for a coach,
 and the shouts and exclamations of the neighbours told
 them that their conveyance awaited them at the bottom
 of the court. His mother carried Franky, light in
@@ -6104,9 +5979,9 @@ many a day.</p>
 in attempted endurance of the pain the motion caused
 him; he winced and shrank, until they were fairly on
 a Macadamized thoroughfare, when he closed his eyes,
-and seemed desirous of a few minutes' rest. Libbie
+and seemed desirous of a few minutes’ rest. Libbie
 <ins title="original has fell">felt</ins> very shy, and very much afraid of being seen by
-her employers, "set up in a coach!" and so she hid
+her employers, “set up in a coach!” and so she hid
 herself in a corner, and made herself as small as possible;
 while Mrs. Hall had exactly the opposite feeling,
 and was delighted to stand up, stretching out of the
@@ -6116,23 +5991,23 @@ a few, for the streets were quite gay, even at that early
 hour, with parties going to this or that railway station,
 or to the boats which crowded the canals on this bright
 holiday week; and almost every one they met seemed
-to enter into Mrs. Hall's exhilaration of feeling, and
+to enter into Mrs. Hall’s exhilaration of feeling, and
 had a smile or nod in return. At last she plumped
-down by Libbie, and exclaimed, "I never was in a
+down by Libbie, and exclaimed, “I never was in a
 coach but once afore, and that was when I was a-going
-to be married. It's like heaven; and all done over
-with such beautiful gimp, too!" continued she, admiring
+to be married. It’s like heaven; and all done over
+with such beautiful gimp, too!” continued she, admiring
 the lining of the vehicle. Jupiter did not enjoy it so much.</p>
 
 <p>As if the holiday time, the lovely weather, and the
-"sweet hour of prime" had a genial influence, as no
-doubt they have, everybody's heart seemed softened
+“sweet hour of prime” had a genial influence, as no
+doubt they have, everybody’s heart seemed softened
 towards poor Franky. The driver lifted him out with
 the tenderness of strength, and bore him carefully down
 to the boat; the people then made way, and gave him
-the best seat in their power,&mdash;or rather I should call it
+the best seat in their power,—or rather I should call it
 a couch, for they saw he was weary, and insisted on his
-lying down,&mdash;an attitude he would have been ashamed
+lying down,—an attitude he would have been ashamed
 to assume without the protection of his mother and
 Libbie, who now appeared, bearing their baskets and
 carrying Peter.</p>
@@ -6145,7 +6020,7 @@ Even every standing-place in the canal packets was
 occupied, and as they glided along, the banks were
 lined with people, who seemed to find it object enough
 to watch the boats go by, packed close and full with
-happy beings brimming with anticipations of a day's
+happy beings brimming with anticipations of a day’s
 pleasure. The country through which they passed is
 as uninteresting as can well be imagined; but still it
 is the country: and the screams of delight from the
@@ -6164,107 +6039,107 @@ both to be paved with gold), enjoyed the easy motion
 of the boat so much, floating along, while pictures moved
 before him, that he regretted when the time came for
 landing among the soft, green meadows, that came sloping
-down to the dancing water's brim. His fellow-passengers
+down to the dancing water’s brim. His fellow-passengers
 carried him to the park, and refused all payment,
 although his mother had laid by sixpence on purpose, as
 a recompense for this service.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, Libbie, how beautiful! Oh, mother, mother!
+<p>“Oh, Libbie, how beautiful! Oh, mother, mother!
 is the whole world out of Manchester as beautiful as
 this? I did not know trees were like this! Such green
 homes for birds! Look, Peter! would not you like to
-be there, up among those boughs? But I can't let you
-go, you know, because you're my little bird brother, and
-I should be quite lost without you."</p>
+be there, up among those boughs? But I can’t let you
+go, you know, because you’re my little bird brother, and
+I should be quite lost without you.”</p>
 
 <p>They spread a shawl upon the fine mossy turf, at the
 root of a beech-tree, which made a sort of natural
 couch, and there they laid him, and bade him rest, in
 spite of the delight which made him believe himself
-capable of any exertion. Where he lay,&mdash;always holding
-Jupiter's cage, and often talking to him as to a
-playfellow,&mdash;he was on the verge of a green area, shut
+capable of any exertion. Where he lay,—always holding
+Jupiter’s cage, and often talking to him as to a
+playfellow,—he was on the verge of a green area, shut
 in by magnificent trees, in all the glory of their early
 foliage, before the summer heats had deepened their
 verdure into one rich, monotonous tint. And hither
 came party after party; old men and maidens, young
-men and children,&mdash;whole families trooped along after
+men and children,—whole families trooped along after
 the guiding fathers, who bore the youngest in their
 arms, or astride upon their backs, while they turned
 round occasionally to the wives, with whom they shared
 some fond local remembrance. For years has Dunham
 Park been the favourite resort of the Manchester work-people;
 for more years than I can tell; probably ever
-since "the Duke," by his canals, opened out the system
+since “the Duke,” by his canals, opened out the system
 of cheap travelling. Its scenery, too, which presents
 such a complete contrast to the whirl and turmoil of
 Manchester; so thoroughly woodland, with its ancestral
-trees (here and there lightning blanched); its "verdurous
-walls;" its grassy walks, leading far away into
+trees (here and there lightning blanched); its “verdurous
+walls;” its grassy walks, leading far away into
 some glade, where you start at the rabbit rustling among
-the last year's fern, and where the wood-pigeon's call
+the last year’s fern, and where the wood-pigeon’s call
 seems the only fitting and accordant sound. Depend
 upon it, this complete sylvan repose, this accessible
 quiet, this lapping the soul in green images of the
-country, forms the most complete contrast to a town's-person,
+country, forms the most complete contrast to a town’s-person,
 and consequently has over such the greatest
 power to charm.</p>
 
 <p>Presently Libbie found out she was very hungry.
 Now they were but provided with dinner, which was, of
-course, to be eaten as near twelve o'clock as might be;
+course, to be eaten as near twelve o’clock as might be;
 and Margaret Hall, in her prudence, asked a working-man
-near to tell her what o'clock it was.</p>
+near to tell her what o’clock it was.</p>
 
-<p>"Nay," said he, "I'll ne'er look at clock or watch
-to-day. I'll not spoil my pleasure by finding out how
-fast it's going away. If thou'rt hungry, eat. I make
+<p>“Nay,” said he, “I’ll ne’er look at clock or watch
+to-day. I’ll not spoil my pleasure by finding out how
+fast it’s going away. If thou’rt hungry, eat. I make
 my own dinner hour, and I have eaten mine an hour
-ago."</p>
+ago.”</p>
 
 <p>So they had their veal pies, and then found out it was
-only about half-past ten o'clock; by so many pleasurable
+only about half-past ten o’clock; by so many pleasurable
 events had that morning been marked. But such was
 their buoyancy of spirits, that they only enjoyed their
 mistake, and joined in the general laugh against the
 man who had eaten his dinner somewhere about nine.
 He laughed most heartily of all, till, suddenly stopping,
-he said,&mdash;</p>
+he said,—</p>
 
-<p>"I must not go on at this rate; laughing gives one
-such an appetite."</p>
+<p>“I must not go on at this rate; laughing gives one
+such an appetite.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! if that's all," said a merry-looking man, lying
+<p>“Oh! if that’s all,” said a merry-looking man, lying
 at full length, and brushing the fresh scent out of the
 grass, while two or three little children tumbled over
 him, and crept about him, as kittens or puppies frolic
-with their parents, "if that's all, we'll have a subscription
+with their parents, “if that’s all, we’ll have a subscription
 of eatables for them improvident folk as have eaten
-their dinner for their breakfast. Here's a sausage pasty
+their dinner for their breakfast. Here’s a sausage pasty
 and a handful of nuts for my share. Bring round a hat,
-Bob, and see what the company will give."</p>
+Bob, and see what the company will give.”</p>
 
-<p>Bob carried out the joke, much to little Franky's
+<p>Bob carried out the joke, much to little Franky’s
 amusement; and no one was so churlish as to refuse,
 although the contributions varied from a peppermint drop
 up to a veal pie and a sausage pasty.</p>
 
-<p>"It's a thriving trade," said Bob, as he emptied his
-hatful of provisions on the grass by Libbie's side.
-"Besides, it's tiptop, too, to live on the public. Hark!
-what is that?"</p>
+<p>“It’s a thriving trade,” said Bob, as he emptied his
+hatful of provisions on the grass by Libbie’s side.
+“Besides, it’s tiptop, too, to live on the public. Hark!
+what is that?”</p>
 
 <p>The laughter and the chat were suddenly hushed, and
-mothers told their little ones to listen,&mdash;as, far away in
+mothers told their little ones to listen,—as, far away in
 the distance, now sinking and falling, now swelling and
-clear, came a ringing peal of children's voices, blended
+clear, came a ringing peal of children’s voices, blended
 together in one of those psalm tunes which we are all
 of us familiar with, and which bring to mind the old,
 old days, when we, as wondering children, were first led
-to worship "Our Father," by those beloved ones who
+to worship “Our Father,” by those beloved ones who
 have since gone to the more perfect worship. Holy was
 that distant choral praise, even to the most thoughtless;
-and when it, in fact, was ended, in the instant's pause,
+and when it, in fact, was ended, in the instant’s pause,
 during which the ear awaits the repetition of the air,
 they caught the noontide hum and buzz of the myriads
 of insects who danced away their lives in the glorious
@@ -6272,9 +6147,9 @@ day; they heard the swaying of the mighty woods in the
 soft but resistless breeze, and then again once more
 burst forth the merry jests and the shouts of childhood;
 and again the elder ones resumed their happy
-talk, as they lay or sat "under the greenwood tree."
+talk, as they lay or sat “under the greenwood tree.”
 Fresh parties came dropping in; some laden with wild
-flowers&mdash;almost with branches of hawthorn, indeed;
+flowers—almost with branches of hawthorn, indeed;
 while one or two had made prizes of the earliest dog-roses,
 and had cast away campion, stitchwort, ragged
 robin, all to keep the lady of the hedges from being
@@ -6292,24 +6167,24 @@ but Libbie saw them and understood them; and a chill
 shudder went through her, even on that day, as she
 thought on the future.</p>
 
-<p>"Ay! I thought we should give you a start!"</p>
+<p>“Ay! I thought we should give you a start!”</p>
 
 <p>A start they did give, with their terrible slap on
-Libbie's back, as she sat idly grouping flowers, and
+Libbie’s back, as she sat idly grouping flowers, and
 following out her sorrowful thoughts. It was the
 Dixons. Instead of keeping their holiday by lying in
 bed, they and their children had roused themselves, and
 had come by the omnibus to the nearest point. For an
 instant the meeting was an awkward one, on account of
 the feud between Margaret Hall and Mrs. Dixon, but
-there was no long resisting of kindly mother Nature's
+there was no long resisting of kindly mother Nature’s
 soothings, at that holiday time, and in that lonely
 tranquil spot; or if they could have been unheeded, the
 sight of Franky would have awed every angry feeling
 into rest, so changed was he since the Dixons had last
 seen him; and since he had been the Puck or Robin
 Goodfellow of the neighbourhood, whose marbles were
-always rolling under other people's feet, and whose top-strings
+always rolling under other people’s feet, and whose top-strings
 were always hanging in nooses to catch the
 unwary. Yes, he, the feeble, mild, almost girlish-looking
 lad, had once been a merry, happy rogue, and
@@ -6318,14 +6193,14 @@ who now stood gazing with the tears in her eyes. Could
 she, in sight of him, the changed, the fading, keep up a
 quarrel with his mother?</p>
 
-<p>"How long hast thou been here?" asked Dixon.</p>
+<p>“How long hast thou been here?” asked Dixon.</p>
 
-<p>"Welly on for all day," answered Libbie.</p>
+<p>“Welly on for all day,” answered Libbie.</p>
 
-<p>"Hast never been to see the deer, or the king and
-queen oaks? Lord, how stupid."</p>
+<p>“Hast never been to see the deer, or the king and
+queen oaks? Lord, how stupid.”</p>
 
-<p>His wife pinched his arm, to remind him of Franky's
+<p>His wife pinched his arm, to remind him of Franky’s
 helpless condition, which of course tethered the otherwise
 willing feet. But Dixon had a remedy. He called
 Bob, and one or two others, and each taking a corner of
@@ -6338,7 +6213,7 @@ always in sight of the hammock; now picking up some
 green treasure from the ground, now catching at the low
 hanging branches of the horse-chestnut. The soul grew
 much on this day, and in these woods, and all unconsciously,
-as souls do grow. They followed Franky's
+as souls do grow. They followed Franky’s
 hammock-bearers up a grassy knoll, on the top of which
 stood a group of pine trees, whose stems looked like
 dark red gold in the sunbeams. They had taken Franky
@@ -6346,30 +6221,30 @@ there to show him Manchester, far away in the blue
 plain, against which the woodland foreground cut with a
 soft clear line. Far, far away in the distance on that
 flat plain, you might see the motionless cloud of smoke
-hanging over a great town, and that was Manchester,&mdash;ugly,
+hanging over a great town, and that was Manchester,—ugly,
 smoky Manchester, dear, busy, earnest, noble-working
 Manchester; where their children had been
 born, and where, perhaps, some lay buried; where
 their homes were, and where God had cast their lives,
 and told them to work out their destiny.</p>
 
-<p>"Hurrah! for oud smoke-jack!" cried Bob, putting
+<p>“Hurrah! for oud smoke-jack!” cried Bob, putting
 Franky softly down on the grass, before he whirled his
-hat round, preparatory to a shout. "Hurrah! hurrah!"
-from all the men. "There's the rim of my hat lying
-like a quoit yonder," observed Bob quietly, as he
+hat round, preparatory to a shout. “Hurrah! hurrah!”
+from all the men. “There’s the rim of my hat lying
+like a quoit yonder,” observed Bob quietly, as he
 replaced his brimless hat on his head with the gravity
 of a judge.</p>
 
-<p>"Here's the Sunday-school children a-coming to sit on
+<p>“Here’s the Sunday-school children a-coming to sit on
 this shady side, and have their buns and milk. Hark!
-they're singing the infant-school grace."</p>
+they’re singing the infant-school grace.”</p>
 
 <p>They sat close at hand, so that Franky could hear the
 words they sang, in rings of children, making, in their
 gay summer prints, newly donned for that week,
 garlands of little faces, all happy and bright upon that
-green hill-side. One little "Dot" of a girl came shily
+green hill-side. One little “Dot” of a girl came shily
 behind Franky, whom she had long been watching, and
 threw her half-bun at his side, and then ran away and
 hid herself, in very shame at the boldness of her own
@@ -6383,18 +6258,18 @@ which was the Creator of this lovely earth. But the
 day drew to an end; the heat declined; the birds once
 more began their warblings; the fresh scents again hung
 about plant, and tree, and grass, betokening the fragrant
-presence of the reviving dew, and&mdash;the boat time was
+presence of the reviving dew, and—the boat time was
 near. As they trod the meadow-path once more, they
 were joined by many a party they had encountered
 during the day, all abounding in happiness, all full of
-the day's adventures. Long-cherished quarrels had
+the day’s adventures. Long-cherished quarrels had
 been forgotten, new friendships formed. Fresh tastes
 and higher delights had been imparted that day. We
 have all of us our look, now and then, called up by some
 noble or loving thought (our highest on earth), which
 will be our likeness in heaven. I can catch the glance
 on many a face, the glancing light of the cloud of glory
-from heaven, "which is our home." That look was
+from heaven, “which is our home.” That look was
 present on many a hard-worked, wrinkled countenance,
 as they turned backwards to catch a longing, lingering
 look at Dunham woods, fast deepening into blackness of
@@ -6403,43 +6278,39 @@ and freshness, many a loom, and workshop, and factory,
 with images of peace and beauty.</p>
 
 <p>That night, as Libbie lay awake, revolving the incidents
-of the day, she caught Franky's voice through the
+of the day, she caught Franky’s voice through the
 open windows. Instead of the frequent moan of pain,
-he was trying to recall the burden of one of the children's
-hymns,&mdash;</p>
+he was trying to recall the burden of one of the children’s
+hymns,—</p>
 
 <div class="poem">
  <p class="noindent">
-  Here we suffer grief and pain,<br />
-  Here we meet to part again;<br />
-   <span class="ind2">In Heaven we part no more.</span><br />
+  Here we suffer grief and pain,<br >
+  Here we meet to part again;<br >
+   <span class="ind2">In Heaven we part no more.</span><br >
    <span class="ind4">Oh! that will be joyful, &amp;c.</span>
  </p>
 </div>
 
 <p>She recalled his question, the whispered question, to her,
-in the happiest part of the day. He asked Libbie, "Is
+in the happiest part of the day. He asked Libbie, “Is
 Dunham like heaven? the people here are as kind as
-angels, and I don't want heaven to be more beautiful
+angels, and I don’t want heaven to be more beautiful
 than this place. If you and mother would but die with
-me, I should like to die, and live always there!" She
+me, I should like to die, and live always there!” She
 had checked him, for she feared he was impious; but
-now the young child's craving for some definite idea of
+now the young child’s craving for some definite idea of
 the land to which his inner wisdom told him he was
 hastening, had nothing in it wrong, or even sorrowful,
-for&mdash;</p>
+for—</p>
 
 <div class="poem">
-<p>
-In Heaven we part no more.
-</p>
+<p>In Heaven we part no more.</p>
 </div>
 
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
 <h3>ERA III.</h3>
 
-<h4>MICHAELMAS.</h4>
+<div class="center bold" style="font-size: small;">MICHAELMAS.</div>
 
 <p>The church clocks had struck three; the crowds of
 gentlemen returning to business, after their early dinners,
@@ -6450,7 +6321,7 @@ their afternoon calls.</p>
 
 <p>Slowly, slowly, along the streets, elbowed by life at
 every turn, a little funeral wound its quiet way. Four
-men bore along a child's coffin; two women with bowed
+men bore along a child’s coffin; two women with bowed
 heads followed meekly.</p>
 
 <p>I need not tell you whose coffin it was, or who were
@@ -6467,9 +6338,9 @@ poor, cast-off, worn-out body as if she were borne along
 by some oppressive dream. If he were really dead, how
 could she be still alive?</p>
 
-<p>Libbie's mind was far less stunned, and consequently
-far more active, than Margaret Hall's. Visions, as in a
-phantasmagoria, came rapidly passing before her&mdash;recollections
+<p>Libbie’s mind was far less stunned, and consequently
+far more active, than Margaret Hall’s. Visions, as in a
+phantasmagoria, came rapidly passing before her—recollections
 of the time (which seemed now so long ago)
 when the shadow of the feebly-waving arm first caught
 her attention; of the bright, strangely isolated day at
@@ -6482,21 +6353,21 @@ nights when his mother and she had watched by his
 side, as he moaned continually, whether awake or
 asleep; of the fevered moaning slumber of exhaustion;
 of the pitiful little self-upbraidings for his own impatience
-of suffering, only impatient in his own eyes&mdash;most
+of suffering, only impatient in his own eyes—most
 true and holy patience in the sight of others; and then
 the fading away of life, the loss of power, the increased
 unconsciousness, the lovely look of angelic peace, which
 followed the dark shadow on the countenance, where was
-he&mdash;what was he now?</p>
+he—what was he now?</p>
 
 <p>And so they laid him in his grave, and heard the
 solemn funeral words; but far off in the distance, as if
 not addressed to them.</p>
 
 <p>Margaret Hall bent over the grave to catch one last
-glance&mdash;she had not spoken, nor sobbed, nor done aught
+glance—she had not spoken, nor sobbed, nor done aught
 but shiver now and then, since the morning; but now
-her weight bore more heavily on Libbie's arm, and without
+her weight bore more heavily on Libbie’s arm, and without
 sigh or sound she fell an unconscious heap on the
 piled-up gravel. They helped Libbie to bring her round;
 but long after her half-opened eyes and altered <ins title="original has breathings">breathing</ins>
@@ -6511,12 +6382,12 @@ consecrated still; where he had rendered up his spirit;
 and where memories of him haunted each common, rude
 piece of furniture that their eyes fell upon. As the
 woman of the house opened the door, she pulled Libbie
-on one side, and said&mdash;</p>
+on one side, and said—</p>
 
-<p>"Anne Dixon has been across to see you; she wants
-to have a word with you."</p>
+<p>“Anne Dixon has been across to see you; she wants
+to have a word with you.”</p>
 
-<p>"I cannot go now," replied Libbie, as she pushed
+<p>“I cannot go now,” replied Libbie, as she pushed
 hastily along, in order to enter the room (<i>his</i> room), at
 the same time with the childless mother: for, as she
 had anticipated, the sight of that empty spot, the glance
@@ -6526,27 +6397,27 @@ long been darkened and subdued, unlocked the waters
 of the fountain, and long and shrill were the cries for her
 boy that the poor woman uttered.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! dear Mrs. Hall," said Libbie, herself drenched
-in tears, "do not take on so badly; I'm sure it would
-grieve <i>him</i> sore if he were alive, and you know he is&mdash;Bible
-tells us so; and may be he's here watching how
-we go on without him, and hoping we don't fret over
-much."</p>
+<p>“Oh! dear Mrs. Hall,” said Libbie, herself drenched
+in tears, “do not take on so badly; I’m sure it would
+grieve <i>him</i> sore if he were alive, and you know he is—Bible
+tells us so; and may be he’s here watching how
+we go on without him, and hoping we don’t fret over
+much.”</p>
 
-<p>Mrs. Hall's sobs grew worse and more hysterical.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Hall’s sobs grew worse and more hysterical.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! listen," said Libbie, once more struggling
-against her own increasing agitation. "Listen! there's
-Peter chirping as he always does when he's put about,
-frightened like; and you know he that's gone could
+<p>“Oh! listen,” said Libbie, once more struggling
+against her own increasing agitation. “Listen! there’s
+Peter chirping as he always does when he’s put about,
+frightened like; and you know he that’s gone could
 never abide to hear the canary chirp in that shrill
-way."</p>
+way.”</p>
 
 <p>Margaret Hall did check herself, and curb her expressions
 of agony, in order not to frighten the little creature
 he had loved; and as her outward grief subsided, Libbie
 took up the large old Bible, which fell open at the never-failing
-comfort of the fourteenth chapter of St. John's
+comfort of the fourteenth chapter of St. John’s
 Gospel.</p>
 
 <p>How often these large family Bibles do open at that
@@ -6559,171 +6430,171 @@ and cares.</p>
 <p>And Margaret put back her wet, ruffled, grey hair
 from her heated, tear-stained, woeful face, and listened
 with such earnest eyes, trying to form some idea of
-the "Father's house," where her boy had gone to
+the “Father’s house,” where her boy had gone to
 dwell.</p>
 
 <p>They were interrupted by a low tap at the door.
-Libbie went. "Anne Dixon has watched you home,
-and wants to have a word with you," said the woman of
+Libbie went. “Anne Dixon has watched you home,
+and wants to have a word with you,” said the woman of
 the house, in a whisper. Libbie went back and closed
 the book, with a word of explanation to Margaret Hall,
-and then ran downstairs, to learn the reason of Anne's
+and then ran downstairs, to learn the reason of Anne’s
 anxiety to see her.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, Libbie!" she burst out with, and then, checking
-herself with the remembrance of Libbie's last solemn
-duty, "how's Margaret Hall? But, of course, poor
-thing, she'll fret a bit at first; she'll be some time
-coming round, mother says, seeing it's as well that poor
-lad is taken; for he'd always ha' been a cripple, and a
-trouble to her&mdash;he was a fine lad once, too."</p>
+<p>“Oh, Libbie!” she burst out with, and then, checking
+herself with the remembrance of Libbie’s last solemn
+duty, “how’s Margaret Hall? But, of course, poor
+thing, she’ll fret a bit at first; she’ll be some time
+coming round, mother says, seeing it’s as well that poor
+lad is taken; for he’d always ha’ been a cripple, and a
+trouble to her—he was a fine lad once, too.”</p>
 
 <p>She had come full of another and a different subject;
-but the sight of Libbie's sad, weeping face, and the
+but the sight of Libbie’s sad, weeping face, and the
 quiet, subdued tone of her manner, made her feel it
 awkward to begin on any other theme than the one which
-filled up her companion's mind. To her last speech
-Libbie answered sorrowfully&mdash;</p>
+filled up her companion’s mind. To her last speech
+Libbie answered sorrowfully—</p>
 
-<p>"No doubt, Anne, it's ordered for the best; but oh!
-don't call him, don't think he could ever ha' been, a
+<p>“No doubt, Anne, it’s ordered for the best; but oh!
+don’t call him, don’t think he could ever ha’ been, a
 trouble to his mother, though he were a cripple. She
 loved him all the more for each thing she had to do for
-him&mdash;I am sure I did." Libbie cried a little behind
+him—I am sure I did.” Libbie cried a little behind
 her apron. Anne Dixon felt still more awkward in
 introducing the discordant subject.</p>
 
-<p>"Well! 'flesh is grass,' Bible says," and having
+<p>“Well! ‘flesh is grass,’ Bible says,” and having
 fulfilled the etiquette of quoting a text if possible, if not
 of making a moral observation on the fleeting nature of
 earthly things, she thought she was at liberty to pass on
 to her real errand.</p>
 
-<p>"You must not go on moping yourself, Libbie Marsh.
+<p>“You must not go on moping yourself, Libbie Marsh.
 What I wanted special for to see you this afternoon, was
 to tell you, you must come to my wedding to-morrow.
-Nanny Dawson has fallen sick, and there's none as I
+Nanny Dawson has fallen sick, and there’s none as I
 should like to have bridesmaid in her place as well as
-you."</p>
+you.”</p>
 
-<p>"To-morrow! Oh, I cannot!&mdash;indeed I cannot!"</p>
+<p>“To-morrow! Oh, I cannot!—indeed I cannot!”</p>
 
-<p>"Why not?"</p>
+<p>“Why not?”</p>
 
 <p>Libbie did not answer, and Anne Dixon grew impatient.</p>
 
-<p>"Surely, in the name o' goodness, you're never going
-to baulk yourself of a day's pleasure for the sake of yon
-little cripple that's dead and gone!"</p>
+<p>“Surely, in the name o’ goodness, you’re never going
+to baulk yourself of a day’s pleasure for the sake of yon
+little cripple that’s dead and gone!”</p>
 
-<p>"No,&mdash;it's not baulking myself of&mdash;don't be angry,
-Anne Dixon, with him, please; but I don't think it
-would be a pleasure to me,&mdash;I don't feel as if I could
+<p>“No,—it’s not baulking myself of—don’t be angry,
+Anne Dixon, with him, please; but I don’t think it
+would be a pleasure to me,—I don’t feel as if I could
 enjoy it; thank you all the same. But I did love that
-little lad very dearly&mdash;I did," sobbing a little, "and I
-can't forget him and make merry so soon."</p>
+little lad very dearly—I did,” sobbing a little, “and I
+can’t forget him and make merry so soon.”</p>
 
-<p>"Well&mdash;I never!" exclaimed Anne, almost angrily.</p>
+<p>“Well—I never!” exclaimed Anne, almost angrily.</p>
 
-<p>"Indeed, Anne, I feel your kindness, and you
-and Bob have my best wishes,&mdash;that's what you
+<p>“Indeed, Anne, I feel your kindness, and you
+and Bob have my best wishes,—that’s what you
 have; but even if I went, I should be thinking all
 day of him, and of his poor, poor mother, and they
-say it's bad to think very much on them that's dead,
-at a wedding."</p>
+say it’s bad to think very much on them that’s dead,
+at a wedding.”</p>
 
-<p>"Nonsense," said Anne, "I'll take the risk of the
+<p>“Nonsense,” said Anne, “I’ll take the risk of the
 ill-luck. After all, what is marrying? Just a spree,
 Bob says. He often says he does not think I shall make
 him a good wife, for I know nought about house matters,
-wi' working in a factory; but he says he'd rather be
-uneasy wi' me than easy wi' anybody else. There's love
-for you! And I tell him I'd rather have him tipsy than
-any one else sober."</p>
+wi’ working in a factory; but he says he’d rather be
+uneasy wi’ me than easy wi’ anybody else. There’s love
+for you! And I tell him I’d rather have him tipsy than
+any one else sober.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! Anne Dixon, hush! you don't know yet what
+<p>“Oh! Anne Dixon, hush! you don’t know yet what
 it is to have a drunken husband. I have seen something
 of it: father used to get fuddled, and, in the long run,
-it killed mother, let alone&mdash;oh! Anne, God above only
+it killed mother, let alone—oh! Anne, God above only
 knows what the wife of a drunken man has to bear.
-Don't tell," said she, lowering her voice, "but father
+Don’t tell,” said she, lowering her voice, “but father
 killed our little baby in one of his bouts; mother never
 looked up again, nor father either, for that matter, only
 his was in a different way. Mother will have gotten to
-little Jemmie now, and they'll be so happy together,&mdash;and
-perhaps Franky too. Oh!" said she, recovering
-herself from her train of thought, "never say aught
-lightly of the wife's lot whose husband is given to
-drink!"</p>
+little Jemmie now, and they’ll be so happy together,—and
+perhaps Franky too. Oh!” said she, recovering
+herself from her train of thought, “never say aught
+lightly of the wife’s lot whose husband is given to
+drink!”</p>
 
-<p>"Dear, what a preachment. I tell you what, Libbie,
-you're as born an old maid as ever I saw. You'll never
-be married to either drunken or sober."</p>
+<p>“Dear, what a preachment. I tell you what, Libbie,
+you’re as born an old maid as ever I saw. You’ll never
+be married to either drunken or sober.”</p>
 
-<p>Libbie's face went rather red, but without losing its
+<p>Libbie’s face went rather red, but without losing its
 meek expression.</p>
 
-<p>"I know that as well as you can tell me; and more
+<p>“I know that as well as you can tell me; and more
 reason, therefore, as God has seen fit to keep me out of
-woman's natural work, I should try and find work for
-myself. I mean," seeing Anne Dixon's puzzled look,
-"that as I know I'm never likely to have a home of my
+woman’s natural work, I should try and find work for
+myself. I mean,” seeing Anne Dixon’s puzzled look,
+“that as I know I’m never likely to have a home of my
 own, or a husband that would look to me to make all
 straight, or children to watch over or care for, all which
-I take to be woman's natural work, I must not lose time
+I take to be woman’s natural work, I must not lose time
 in fretting and fidgetting after marriage, but just look
 about me for somewhat else to do. I can see many a
 one misses it in this. They will hanker after what is
-ne'er likely to be theirs, instead of facing it out, and
+ne’er likely to be theirs, instead of facing it out, and
 settling down to be old maids; and, as old maids, just
 looking round for the odd jobs God leaves in the world
-for such as old maids to do. There's plenty of such
-work, and there's the blessing of God on them as does
-it." Libbie was almost out of breath at this outpouring
+for such as old maids to do. There’s plenty of such
+work, and there’s the blessing of God on them as does
+it.” Libbie was almost out of breath at this outpouring
 of what had long been her inner thoughts.</p>
 
-<p>"That's all very true, I make no doubt, for them as
-is to be old maids; but as I'm not, please God to-morrow
+<p>“That’s all very true, I make no doubt, for them as
+is to be old maids; but as I’m not, please God to-morrow
 comes, you might have spared your breath to
 cool your porridge. What I want to know is, whether
-you'll be bridesmaid to-morrow or not. Come, now
+you’ll be bridesmaid to-morrow or not. Come, now
 do; it will do you good, after all your working, and
 watching, and slaving yourself for that poor Franky
-Hall."</p>
+Hall.”</p>
 
-<p>"It was one of my odd jobs," said Libbie, smiling,
-though her eyes were brimming over with tears; "but,
-dear Anne," said she, recovering itself, "I could not do
-it to-morrow, indeed I could not."</p>
+<p>“It was one of my odd jobs,” said Libbie, smiling,
+though her eyes were brimming over with tears; “but,
+dear Anne,” said she, recovering itself, “I could not do
+it to-morrow, indeed I could not.”</p>
 
-<p>"And I can't wait," said Anne Dixon, almost sulkily,
-"Bob and I put it off from to-day, because of the funeral,
+<p>“And I can’t wait,” said Anne Dixon, almost sulkily,
+“Bob and I put it off from to-day, because of the funeral,
 and Bob had set his heart on its being on Michaelmas-day;
-and mother says the goose won't keep beyond
+and mother says the goose won’t keep beyond
 to-morrow. Do come: father finds eatables, and Bob
-finds drink, and we shall be so jolly! and after we've
-been to church, we're to walk round the town in pairs,
+finds drink, and we shall be so jolly! and after we’ve
+been to church, we’re to walk round the town in pairs,
 white satin ribbon in our bonnets, and refreshments at
 any public-house we like, Bob says. And after dinner
-there's to be a dance. Don't be a fool; you can do no
+there’s to be a dance. Don’t be a fool; you can do no
 good by staying. Margaret Hall will have to go out
-washing, I'll be bound."</p>
+washing, I’ll be bound.”</p>
 
-<p>"Yes, she must go to Mrs. Wilkinson's, and, for that
+<p>“Yes, she must go to Mrs. Wilkinson’s, and, for that
 matter, I must go working too. Mrs. Williams has been
-after me to make her girl's winter things ready; only I
-could not leave Franky, he clung so to me."</p>
+after me to make her girl’s winter things ready; only I
+could not leave Franky, he clung so to me.”</p>
 
-<p>"Then you won't be bridesmaid! is that your last
-word?"</p>
+<p>“Then you won’t be bridesmaid! is that your last
+word?”</p>
 
-<p>"It is; you must not be angry with me, Anne Dixon,"
+<p>“It is; you must not be angry with me, Anne Dixon,”
 said Libbie, deprecatingly.</p>
 
 <p>But Anne was gone without a reply.</p>
 
 <p>With a heavy heart Libbie mounted the little staircase,
-for she felt how ungracious her refusal of Anne's
+for she felt how ungracious her refusal of Anne’s
 kindness must appear, to one who understood so little
 the feelings which rendered her acceptance of it a moral
 impossibility.</p>
@@ -6738,79 +6609,79 @@ first learns to read. So Libbie took the stool by her
 side, before she was aware that any one had entered the
 room.</p>
 
-<p>"What did she want you for?" asked Margaret.
-"But I can guess; she wanted you to be at th' wedding
-that is to come off this week, they say. Ay, they'll
+<p>“What did she want you for?” asked Margaret.
+“But I can guess; she wanted you to be at th’ wedding
+that is to come off this week, they say. Ay, they’ll
 marry, and laugh, and dance, all as one as if my boy
-was alive," said she, bitterly. "Well, he was neither
+was alive,” said she, bitterly. “Well, he was neither
 kith nor kin of yours, so I maun try and be thankful for
-what you've done for him, and not wonder at your forgetting
-him afore he's well settled in his grave."</p>
+what you’ve done for him, and not wonder at your forgetting
+him afore he’s well settled in his grave.”</p>
 
-<p>"I never can forget him, and I'm not going to the
-wedding," said Libbie, quietly, for she understood the
-mother's jealousy of her dead child's claims.</p>
+<p>“I never can forget him, and I’m not going to the
+wedding,” said Libbie, quietly, for she understood the
+mother’s jealousy of her dead child’s claims.</p>
 
-<p>"I must go work at Mrs. Williams' to-morrow," she
+<p>“I must go work at Mrs. Williams’ to-morrow,” she
 said, in explanation, for she was unwilling to boast of
 her tender, fond regret, which had been her principal
-motive for declining Anne's invitation.</p>
+motive for declining Anne’s invitation.</p>
 
-<p>"And I mun go washing, just as if nothing had happened,"
-sighed forth Mrs. Hall, "and I mun come home
+<p>“And I mun go washing, just as if nothing had happened,”
+sighed forth Mrs. Hall, “and I mun come home
 at night, and find his place empty, and all still where I
 used to be sure of hearing his voice ere ever I got up
-the stair: no one will ever call me mother again." She
+the stair: no one will ever call me mother again.” She
 fell crying pitifully, and Libbie could not speak for her
 own emotion for some time. But during this silence
 she put the keystone in the arch of thoughts she had
 been building up for many days; and when Margaret
-was again calm in her sorrow, Libbie said, "Mrs. Hall,
-I should like&mdash;would you like me to come for to live
-here altogether?"</p>
+was again calm in her sorrow, Libbie said, “Mrs. Hall,
+I should like—would you like me to come for to live
+here altogether?”</p>
 
 <p>Margaret Hall looked up with a sudden light in her
 countenance, which encouraged Libbie to go on.</p>
 
-<p>"I could sleep with you, and pay half, you know;
+<p>“I could sleep with you, and pay half, you know;
 and we should be together in the evenings; and her as
-was home first would watch for the other, and" (dropping
-her voice) "we could talk of him at nights, you
-know."</p>
+was home first would watch for the other, and” (dropping
+her voice) “we could talk of him at nights, you
+know.”</p>
 
 <p>She was going on, but Mrs. Hall interrupted her.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, Libbie Marsh! and can you really think of
-coming to live wi' me. I should like it above&mdash;but no!
-it must not be; you've no notion on what a creature I
-am, at times; more like a mad one when I'm in a rage,
+<p>“Oh, Libbie Marsh! and can you really think of
+coming to live wi’ me. I should like it above—but no!
+it must not be; you’ve no notion on what a creature I
+am, at times; more like a mad one when I’m in a rage,
 and I cannot keep it down. I seem to get out of bed
 wrong side in the morning, and I must have my passion
-out with the first person I meet. Why, Libbie," said
-she, with a doleful look of agony on her face, "I even
+out with the first person I meet. Why, Libbie,” said
+she, with a doleful look of agony on her face, “I even
 used to fly out on him, poor sick lad as he was, and you
 may judge how little you can keep it down frae that.
-No, you must not come. I must live alone now," sinking
+No, you must not come. I must live alone now,” sinking
 her voice into the low tones of despair.</p>
 
-<p>But Libbie's resolution was brave and strong. "I'm
-not afraid," said she, smiling. "I know you better
-than you know yourself, Mrs. Hall. I've seen you try
-of late to keep it down, when you've been boiling over,
-and I think you'll go on a-doing so. And at any rate,
-when you've had your fit out, you're very kind, and I
-can forget if you've been a bit put out. But I'll try not
+<p>But Libbie’s resolution was brave and strong. “I’m
+not afraid,” said she, smiling. “I know you better
+than you know yourself, Mrs. Hall. I’ve seen you try
+of late to keep it down, when you’ve been boiling over,
+and I think you’ll go on a-doing so. And at any rate,
+when you’ve had your fit out, you’re very kind, and I
+can forget if you’ve been a bit put out. But I’ll try not
 to put you out. Do let me come: I think <i>he</i> would like
-us to keep together. I'll do my very best to make you
-comfortable."</p>
+us to keep together. I’ll do my very best to make you
+comfortable.”</p>
 
-<p>"It's me! it's me as will be making your life miserable
+<p>“It’s me! it’s me as will be making your life miserable
 with my temper; or else, God knows, how my
 heart clings to you. You and me is folk alone in the
 world, for we both loved one who is dead, and who
 had none else to love him. If you will live with me,
-Libbie, I'll try as I never did afore to be gentle and
-quiet-tempered. Oh! will you try me, Libbie Marsh?"
+Libbie, I’ll try as I never did afore to be gentle and
+quiet-tempered. Oh! will you try me, Libbie Marsh?”
 So out of the little grave there sprang a hope and a
 resolution, which made life an object to each of the
 two.</p>
@@ -6818,47 +6689,47 @@ two.</p>
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 
 <p>When Elizabeth Marsh returned home the next evening
-from her day's labours, Anne (Dixon no longer)
+from her day’s labours, Anne (Dixon no longer)
 crossed over, all in her bridal finery, to endeavour to
-induce her to join the dance going on in her father's
+induce her to join the dance going on in her father’s
 house.</p>
 
-<p>"Dear Anne, this is good of you, a-thinking of me
-to-night," said Libbie, kissing her, "and though I cannot
-come,&mdash;I've promised Mrs. Hall to be with her,&mdash;I
-shall think on you, and I trust you'll be happy. I
+<p>“Dear Anne, this is good of you, a-thinking of me
+to-night,” said Libbie, kissing her, “and though I cannot
+come,—I’ve promised Mrs. Hall to be with her,—I
+shall think on you, and I trust you’ll be happy. I
 have got a little needle-case I have looked out for you;
-stay, here it is,&mdash;I wish it were more<span class="norewrap">&mdash;only&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+stay, here it is,—I wish it were more<span class="norewrap">—only——</span>”</p>
 
-<p>"Only, I know what. You've been a-spending all
-your money in nice things for poor Franky. Thou'rt
-a real good un, Libbie, and I'll keep your needle-book
-to my dying day, that I will." Seeing Anne in such a
+<p>“Only, I know what. You’ve been a-spending all
+your money in nice things for poor Franky. Thou’rt
+a real good un, Libbie, and I’ll keep your needle-book
+to my dying day, that I will.” Seeing Anne in such a
 friendly mood, emboldened Libbie to tell her of her
 change of place; of her intention of lodging henceforward
 with Margaret Hall.</p>
 
-<p>"Thou never will! Why father and mother are as
-fond of thee as can be; they'll lower thy rent if that's
-what it is&mdash;and thou knowst they never grudge thee bit
-or drop. And Margaret Hall, of all folk, to lodge wi'!
-She's such a Tartar! Sooner than not have a quarrel,
-she'd fight right hand against left. Thou'lt have no
+<p>“Thou never will! Why father and mother are as
+fond of thee as can be; they’ll lower thy rent if that’s
+what it is—and thou knowst they never grudge thee bit
+or drop. And Margaret Hall, of all folk, to lodge wi’!
+She’s such a Tartar! Sooner than not have a quarrel,
+she’d fight right hand against left. Thou’lt have no
 peace of thy life. What on earth can make you think
-of such a thing, Libbie Marsh?"</p>
+of such a thing, Libbie Marsh?”</p>
 
-<p>"She'll be so lonely without me," pleaded Libbie.
-"I'm sure I could make her happier, even if she did
-scold me a bit now and then, than she'd be a living
-alone, and I'm not afraid of her; and I mean to do
+<p>“She’ll be so lonely without me,” pleaded Libbie.
+“I’m sure I could make her happier, even if she did
+scold me a bit now and then, than she’d be a living
+alone, and I’m not afraid of her; and I mean to do
 my best not to vex her: and it will ease her heart,
 maybe, to talk to me at times about Franky. I shall
 often see your father and mother, and I shall always
 thank them for their kindness to me. But they
 have you and little Mary, and poor Mrs. Hall has
-no one."</p>
+no one.”</p>
 
-<p>Anne could only repeat, "Well, I never!" and hurry
+<p>Anne could only repeat, “Well, I never!” and hurry
 off to tell the news at home.</p>
 
 <p>But Libbie was right. Margaret Hall is a different
@@ -6870,7 +6741,7 @@ hardly have cared for her more tenderly than does the
 hard-hearted washerwoman, not long ago so fierce and
 unwomanly. Libbie, herself, has such peace shining on
 her countenance, as almost makes it beautiful, as she
-tenders the services of a daughter to Franky's mother,
+tenders the services of a daughter to Franky’s mother,
 no longer the desolate lonely orphan, a stranger on the
 earth.</p>
 
@@ -6881,33 +6752,30 @@ story? I never do, but I once (in the year 1811, I
 think) heard of a deaf old lady, living by herself, who
 did; and as she may have left some descendants with
 the same amiable peculiarity, I will put in, for their
-benefit, what I believe to be the secret of Libbie's
+benefit, what I believe to be the secret of Libbie’s
 peace of mind, the real reason why she no longer feels
-oppressed at her own loneliness in the world,&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+oppressed at her own loneliness in the world,—</p>
 
 <p>She has a purpose in life; and that purpose is a holy
 one.</p>
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
+<hr class="narrow" >
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<h3><a name="cs" id="cs"></a>CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE.</h3>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2 id="cs">CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE.</h2>
 
-<p>In the town of <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span> (no matter where) there circulated
+<p>In the town of <span class="norewrap">——</span> (no matter where) there circulated
 two local newspapers (no matter when). Now the <i>Flying
-Post</i> was long established and respectable&mdash;alias bigoted
-and Tory; the <i>Examiner</i> was spirited and intelligent&mdash;alias
+Post</i> was long established and respectable—alias bigoted
+and Tory; the <i>Examiner</i> was spirited and intelligent—alias
 new-fangled and democratic. Every week these
 newspapers contained articles abusing each other; as
 cross and peppery as articles could be, and evidently
 the production of irritated minds, although they seemed
-to have one stereotyped commencement,&mdash;"Though the
-article appearing in last week's <i>Post</i> (or <i>Examiner</i>) is
-below contempt, yet we have been induced," &amp;c., &amp;c.,
+to have one stereotyped commencement,—“Though the
+article appearing in last week’s <i>Post</i> (or <i>Examiner</i>) is
+below contempt, yet we have been induced,” &amp;c., &amp;c.,
 and every Saturday the Radical shopkeepers shook hands
 together, and agreed that the <i>Post</i> was done for, by the
 slashing, clever <i>Examiner</i>; while the more dignified
@@ -6928,14 +6796,14 @@ forthcoming crop of green peas in December; a grey
 thrush having been seen, or a white hare, or such interesting
 phenomena; invented for the occasion, I must
 confess; but what of that? His wife always knew
-when to expect a little specimen of her husband's literary
+when to expect a little specimen of her husband’s literary
 talent by a peculiar cough, which served as prelude;
 and, judging from this encouraging sign, and the high-pitched
 and emphatic voice in which he read them, she
-was inclined to think, that an "Ode to an early Rose-bud,"
+was inclined to think, that an “Ode to an early Rose-bud,”
 in the corner devoted to original poetry, and a
-letter in the correspondence department, signed "Pro
-Bono Publico," were her husband's writing, and to hold
+letter in the correspondence department, signed “Pro
+Bono Publico,” were her husband’s writing, and to hold
 up her head accordingly.</p>
 
 <p>I never could find out what it was that occasioned the
@@ -6946,12 +6814,12 @@ I leave you to give it a name. But Jenkins had a
 proper sense of his position, and a proper reverence
 for all in authority, from the king down to the editor
 and sub-editor. He would as soon have thought of
-borrowing the king's crown for a nightcap, or the king's
+borrowing the king’s crown for a nightcap, or the king’s
 sceptre for a walking-stick, as he would have thought
 of filling up any spare corner with any production of
 his own; and I think it would have even added to his
 contempt of Hodgson (if that were possible), had he
-known of the "productions of his brain," as the latter
+known of the “productions of his brain,” as the latter
 fondly alluded to the paragraphs he inserted, when
 speaking to his wife.</p>
 
@@ -6961,45 +6829,45 @@ one memorable Christmas week, some dozen years ago,
 between the two neighbours, the two compositors. And
 with wives, it was a very pretty, a very complete quarrel.
 To make the opposing parties still more equal, still more
-well-matched, if the Hodgsons had a baby ("such a
-baby!&mdash;a poor, puny little thing"), Mrs. Jenkins had
-a cat ("such a cat! a great, nasty, miowling tom-cat,
-that was always stealing the milk put by for little Angel's
-supper"). And now, having matched Greek with Greek,
+well-matched, if the Hodgsons had a baby (“such a
+baby!—a poor, puny little thing”), Mrs. Jenkins had
+a cat (“such a cat! a great, nasty, miowling tom-cat,
+that was always stealing the milk put by for little Angel’s
+supper”). And now, having matched Greek with Greek,
 I must proceed to the tug of war. It was the day before
 Christmas; such a cold east wind! such an inky sky!
-such a blue-black look in people's faces, as they were
+such a blue-black look in people’s faces, as they were
 driven out more than usual, to complete their purchases
-for the next day's festival.</p>
+for the next day’s festival.</p>
 
 <p>Before leaving home that morning, Jenkins had given
-some money to his wife to buy the next day's dinner.</p>
+some money to his wife to buy the next day’s dinner.</p>
 
-<p>"My dear, I wish for turkey and sausages. It may
+<p>“My dear, I wish for turkey and sausages. It may
 be a weakness, but I own I am partial to sausages. My
 deceased mother was. Such tastes are hereditary. As
-to the sweets&mdash;whether plum-pudding or mince-pies&mdash;I
+to the sweets—whether plum-pudding or mince-pies—I
 leave such considerations to you; I only beg you not to
-mind expense. Christmas comes but once a year."</p>
+mind expense. Christmas comes but once a year.”</p>
 
 <p>And again he had called out from the bottom of the
-first flight of stairs, just close to the Hodgsons' door
-("such ostentatiousness," as Mrs. Hodgson observed),
-"You will not forget the sausages, my dear?"</p>
+first flight of stairs, just close to the Hodgsons’ door
+(“such ostentatiousness,” as Mrs. Hodgson observed),
+“You will not forget the sausages, my dear?”</p>
 
-<p>"I should have liked to have had something above
-common, Mary," said Hodgson, as they too made their
-plans for the next day, "but I think roast beef must do
-for us. You see, love, we've a family."</p>
+<p>“I should have liked to have had something above
+common, Mary,” said Hodgson, as they too made their
+plans for the next day, “but I think roast beef must do
+for us. You see, love, we’ve a family.”</p>
 
-<p>"Only one, Jem! I don't want more than roast
-beef, though, I'm sure. Before I went to service,
+<p>“Only one, Jem! I don’t want more than roast
+beef, though, I’m sure. Before I went to service,
 mother and me would have thought roast beef a very
-fine dinner."</p>
+fine dinner.”</p>
 
-<p>"Well, let's settle it then, roast beef and a plum-pudding;
+<p>“Well, let’s settle it then, roast beef and a plum-pudding;
 and now, good-by. Mind and take care of
-little Tom. I thought he was a bit hoarse this morning."</p>
+little Tom. I thought he was a bit hoarse this morning.”</p>
 
 <p>And off he went to his work.</p>
 
@@ -7013,7 +6881,7 @@ a servant, which Mrs. Jenkins had not; and the little
 occasional pinchings which the Hodgsons were obliged
 to resort to, to make both ends meet, would have been
 very patiently endured by Mary, if she had not winced
-under Mrs. Jenkins's knowledge of such economy. But
+under Mrs. Jenkins’s knowledge of such economy. But
 she had her revenge. She had a child, and Mrs. Jenkins
 had none. To have had a child, even such a puny baby
 as little Tom, Mrs. Jenkins would have worn commonest
@@ -7022,32 +6890,32 @@ bone. The great unspoken disappointment of her life
 soured her temper, and turned her thoughts inward, and
 made her morbid and selfish.</p>
 
-<p>"Hang that cat! he's been stealing again! he's
-gnawed the cold mutton in his nasty mouth till it's not
-fit to set before a Christian; and I've nothing else for
-Jem's dinner. But I'll give it him now I've caught him,
-that I will!"</p>
+<p>“Hang that cat! he’s been stealing again! he’s
+gnawed the cold mutton in his nasty mouth till it’s not
+fit to set before a Christian; and I’ve nothing else for
+Jem’s dinner. But I’ll give it him now I’ve caught him,
+that I will!”</p>
 
-<p>So saying, Mary Hodgson caught up her husband's
-Sunday cane, and despite pussy's cries and scratches,
+<p>So saying, Mary Hodgson caught up her husband’s
+Sunday cane, and despite pussy’s cries and scratches,
 she gave him such a beating as she hoped might cure
 him of his thievish propensities; when lo! and behold,
 Mrs. Jenkins stood at the door with a face of bitter
 wrath.</p>
 
-<p>"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, ma'am, to abuse a
-poor dumb animal, ma'am, as knows no better than to
-take food when he sees it, ma'am? He only follows
-the nature which God has given, ma'am; and it's a
-pity your nature, ma'am, which I've heard, is of the
+<p>“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, ma’am, to abuse a
+poor dumb animal, ma’am, as knows no better than to
+take food when he sees it, ma’am? He only follows
+the nature which God has given, ma’am; and it’s a
+pity your nature, ma’am, which I’ve heard, is of the
 stingy saving species, does not make you shut your
 cupboard-door a little closer. There is such a thing as
-law for brute animals. I'll ask Mr. Jenkins, but I don't
+law for brute animals. I’ll ask Mr. Jenkins, but I don’t
 think them Radicals has done away with that law yet,
-for all their Reform Bill, ma'am. My poor precious love
+for all their Reform Bill, ma’am. My poor precious love
 of a Tommy, is he hurt? and is his leg broke for
 taking a mouthful of scraps, as most people would give
-away to a beggar,&mdash;if he'd take 'em?" wound up Mrs.
+away to a beggar,—if he’d take ’em?” wound up Mrs.
 Jenkins, casting a contemptuous look on the remnant
 of a scrag end of mutton.</p>
 
@@ -7058,15 +6926,15 @@ wished she had not beaten him so hard, for it certainly
 was her own careless way of never shutting the cupboard-door
 that had tempted him to his fault. But the
 sneer at her little bit of mutton turned her penitence to
-fresh wrath, and she shut the door in <ins title="original has Mr.">Mrs.</ins> Jenkins's face,
+fresh wrath, and she shut the door in <ins title="original has Mr.">Mrs.</ins> Jenkins’s face,
 as she stood caressing her cat in the lobby, with such a
 bang, that it wakened little Tom, and he began to cry.</p>
 
 <p>Everything was to go wrong with Mary to-day. Now
-baby was awake, who was to take her husband's dinner
+baby was awake, who was to take her husband’s dinner
 to the office? She took the child in her arms, and
 tried to hush him off to sleep again, and as she sung
-she cried, she could hardly tell why,&mdash;a sort of reaction
+she cried, she could hardly tell why,—a sort of reaction
 from her violent angry feelings. She wished she had
 never beaten the poor cat; she wondered if his leg was
 really broken. What would her mother say if she knew
@@ -7081,7 +6949,7 @@ long past dinner-time. So she pared the mutton carefully,
 although by so doing she reduced the meat to an
 infinitesimal quantity, and taking the baked potatoes out
 of the oven, she popped them piping hot into her basket
-with the et-c&aelig;teras of plate, butter, salt, and knife and
+with the et-cæteras of plate, butter, salt, and knife and
 fork.</p>
 
 <p>It was, indeed, a bitter wind. She bent against it as
@@ -7096,7 +6964,7 @@ again. So, after she had tried to feed baby, and he had
 fretfully refused to take his bread and milk, she laid
 him down as usual on his quilt, surrounded by playthings,
 while she sided away, and chopped suet for the
-next day's pudding. Early in the afternoon a parcel
+next day’s pudding. Early in the afternoon a parcel
 came, done up first in brown paper, then in such a white,
 grass-bleached, sweet-smelling towel, and a note from
 her dear, dear mother; in which quaint writing she
@@ -7107,85 +6975,85 @@ some of his famous pork, out of which she had manufactured
 some sausages, and flavoured them just as Mary
 used to like when she lived at home.</p>
 
-<p>"Dear, dear mother!" said Mary to herself. "There
+<p>“Dear, dear mother!” said Mary to herself. “There
 never was any one like her for remembering other folk.
 What rare sausages she used to make! Home things
-have a smack with 'em, no bought things can ever have.
-Set them up with their sausages! I've a notion if Mrs.
-Jenkins had ever tasted mother's she'd have no fancy
-for them town-made things Fanny took in just now."</p>
+have a smack with ’em, no bought things can ever have.
+Set them up with their sausages! I’ve a notion if Mrs.
+Jenkins had ever tasted mother’s she’d have no fancy
+for them town-made things Fanny took in just now.”</p>
 
 <p>And so she went on thinking about home, till the
 smiles and the dimples came out again at the remembrance
 of that pretty cottage, which would look green
 even now in the depth of winter, with its pyracanthus,
 and its holly-bushes, and the great Portugal laurel that
-was her mother's pride. And the back path through
-the orchard to Farmer Burton's; how well she remembered
+was her mother’s pride. And the back path through
+the orchard to Farmer Burton’s; how well she remembered
 it. The bushels of unripe apples she had picked
 up there, and distributed among his pigs, till he had
 scolded her for giving them so much green trash.</p>
 
-<p>She was interrupted&mdash;her baby (I call him a baby,
+<p>She was interrupted—her baby (I call him a baby,
 because his father and mother did, and because he was
 so little of his age, but I rather think he was eighteen
 months old,) had fallen asleep some time before among
 his playthings; an uneasy, restless sleep; but of which
-Mary had been thankful, as his morning's nap had
+Mary had been thankful, as his morning’s nap had
 been too short, and as she was so busy. But now
 he began to make such a strange crowing noise, just
 like a chair drawn heavily and gratingly along a kitchen-floor!
 His eyes <ins title="original has was">were</ins> open, but expressive of nothing
 but pain.</p>
 
-<p>"Mother's darling!" said Mary, in terror, lifting
-him up. "Baby, try not to make that noise. Hush,
-hush, darling; what hurts him?" But the noise came
+<p>“Mother’s darling!” said Mary, in terror, lifting
+him up. “Baby, try not to make that noise. Hush,
+hush, darling; what hurts him?” But the noise came
 worse and worse.</p>
 
-<p>"Fanny! Fanny!" Mary called in mortal fright, for
+<p>“Fanny! Fanny!” Mary called in mortal fright, for
 her baby was almost black with his gasping breath, and
-she had no one to ask for aid or sympathy but her landlady's
+she had no one to ask for aid or sympathy but her landlady’s
 daughter, a little girl of twelve or thirteen, who
-attended to the house in her mother's absence, as daily
-cook in gentlemen's families. Fanny was more especially
+attended to the house in her mother’s absence, as daily
+cook in gentlemen’s families. Fanny was more especially
 considered the attendant of the upstairs lodgers
-(who paid for the use of the kitchen, "for Jenkins
-could not abide the smell of meat cooking"), but just
-now she was fortunately sitting at her afternoon's work
-of darning stockings, and hearing Mrs. Hodgson's cry of
+(who paid for the use of the kitchen, “for Jenkins
+could not abide the smell of meat cooking”), but just
+now she was fortunately sitting at her afternoon’s work
+of darning stockings, and hearing Mrs. Hodgson’s cry of
 terror, she ran to her sitting-room, and understood the
 case at a glance.</p>
 
-<p>"He's got the croup! Oh, Mrs. Hodgson, he'll
+<p>“He’s got the croup! Oh, Mrs. Hodgson, he’ll
 die as sure as fate. Little brother had it, and he died
 in no time. The doctor said he could do nothing for
-him&mdash;it had gone too far. He said if we'd put him in a
+him—it had gone too far. He said if we’d put him in a
 warm bath at first, it might have saved him; but, bless
-you! he was never half so bad as your baby." Unconsciously
+you! he was never half so bad as your baby.” Unconsciously
 there mingled in her statement some of a
-child's love of producing an effect; but the increasing
+child’s love of producing an effect; but the increasing
 danger was clear enough.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, my baby! my baby! Oh, love, love! don't
+<p>“Oh, my baby! my baby! Oh, love, love! don’t
 look so ill; I cannot bear it. And my fire so low!
 There, I was thinking of home, and picking currants,
 and never minding the fire. Oh, Fanny! what is the
-fire like in the kitchen? Speak."</p>
+fire like in the kitchen? Speak.”</p>
 
-<p>"Mother told me to screw it up, and throw some
+<p>“Mother told me to screw it up, and throw some
 slack on as soon as Mrs. Jenkins had done with it, and
-so I did. It's very low and black. But, oh, Mrs. Hodgson!
-let me run for the doctor&mdash;I cannot abear to hear
-him, it's so like little brother."</p>
+so I did. It’s very low and black. But, oh, Mrs. Hodgson!
+let me run for the doctor—I cannot abear to hear
+him, it’s so like little brother.”</p>
 
 <p>Through her streaming tears Mary motioned her to
 go; and trembling, sinking, sick at heart, she laid her
 boy in his cradle, and ran to fill her kettle.</p>
 
-<p>Mrs. Jenkins, having cooked her husband's snug little
+<p>Mrs. Jenkins, having cooked her husband’s snug little
 dinner, to which he came home; having told him her
-story of pussy's beating, at which he was justly and
+story of pussy’s beating, at which he was justly and
 dignifiedly indignant, saying it was all of a piece
 with that abusive <i>Examiner</i>; having received the
 sausages, and turkey, and mince pies, which her husband
@@ -7197,72 +7065,70 @@ done all these and many other things, Mrs. Jenkins
 sate down to get up the real lace cap. Every thread
 was pulled out separately, and carefully stretched:
 when, what was that? Outside, in the street, a
-chorus of piping children's voices sang the old carol
+chorus of piping children’s voices sang the old carol
 she had heard a hundred times in the days of her
-youth:&mdash;</p>
+youth:—</p>
 
 <div class="poem2">
-<p class="noindent">
-"As Joseph was a walking he heard an angel sing,<br />
-'This night shall be born our heavenly King.<br />
-&nbsp;He neither shall be born in housen nor in hall,<br />
-&nbsp;Nor in the place of Paradise, but in an ox's stall.<br />
-&nbsp;He neither shall be clothed in purple nor in pall,<br />
-&nbsp;But all in fair linen, as were babies all:<br />
-&nbsp;He neither shall be rocked in silver nor in gold,<br />
-&nbsp;But in a wooden cradle that rocks on the mould,'" &amp;c.<br />
-</p>
+“As Joseph was a walking he heard an angel sing,<br >
+‘This night shall be born our heavenly King.<br >
+&nbsp;He neither shall be born in housen nor in hall,<br >
+&nbsp;Nor in the place of Paradise, but in an ox’s stall.<br >
+&nbsp;He neither shall be clothed in purple nor in pall,<br >
+&nbsp;But all in fair linen, as were babies all:<br >
+&nbsp;He neither shall be rocked in silver nor in gold,<br >
+&nbsp;But in a wooden cradle that rocks on the mould,’” &amp;c.<br >
 </div>
 
 <p>She got up and went to the window. There, below,
 stood the group of grey black little figures, relieved
 against the snow, which now enveloped everything.
-"For old sake's sake," as she phrased it, she counted
+“For old sake’s sake,” as she phrased it, she counted
 out a halfpenny apiece for the singers, out of the copper
 bag, and threw them down below.</p>
 
 <p>The room had become chilly while she had been <ins title="original has count-out">counting out</ins>
 and throwing down her money, so she stirred her
-already glowing fire, and sat down right before it&mdash;but
+already glowing fire, and sat down right before it—but
 not to stretch her lace; like Mary Hodgson, she began
 to think over long-past days, on softening remembrances
 of the dead and gone, on words long forgotten, on holy
-stories heard at her mother's knee.</p>
+stories heard at her mother’s knee.</p>
 
-<p>"I cannot think what's come over me to-night," said
+<p>“I cannot think what’s come over me to-night,” said
 she, half aloud, recovering herself by the sound of her
-own voice from her train of thought&mdash;"My head goes
-wandering on them old times. I'm sure more texts
+own voice from her train of thought—“My head goes
+wandering on them old times. I’m sure more texts
 have come into my head with thinking on my mother
-within this last half hour, than I've thought on for years
-and years. I hope I'm not going to die. Folks say,
-thinking too much on the dead betokens we're going to
-join 'em; I should be loth to go just yet&mdash;such a fine
-turkey as we've got for dinner to-morrow, too!"</p>
+within this last half hour, than I’ve thought on for years
+and years. I hope I’m not going to die. Folks say,
+thinking too much on the dead betokens we’re going to
+join ’em; I should be loth to go just yet—such a fine
+turkey as we’ve got for dinner to-morrow, too!”</p>
 
 <p>Knock, knock, knock, at the door, as fast as knuckles
 could go. And then, as if the comer could not wait,
 the door was opened, and Mary Hodgson stood there as
 white as death.</p>
 
-<p>"Mrs. Jenkins!&mdash;oh, your kettle is boiling, thank
+<p>“Mrs. Jenkins!—oh, your kettle is boiling, thank
 God! Let me have the water for my baby, for the love
-of God! He's got croup, and is dying!"</p>
+of God! He’s got croup, and is dying!”</p>
 
 <p>Mrs. Jenkins turned on her chair with a wooden
 inflexible look on her face, that (between ourselves)
 her husband knew and dreaded for all his pompous
 dignity.</p>
 
-<p>"I'm sorry I can't oblige you, ma'am; my kettle is
-wanted for my husband's tea. Don't be afeared, Tommy,
-Mrs. Hodgson won't venture to intrude herself where
-she's not desired. You'd better send for the doctor,
-ma'am, instead of wasting your time in wringing your
-hands, ma'am&mdash;my kettle is engaged."</p>
+<p>“I’m sorry I can’t oblige you, ma’am; my kettle is
+wanted for my husband’s tea. Don’t be afeared, Tommy,
+Mrs. Hodgson won’t venture to intrude herself where
+she’s not desired. You’d better send for the doctor,
+ma’am, instead of wasting your time in wringing your
+hands, ma’am—my kettle is engaged.”</p>
 
 <p>Mary clasped her hands together with passionate
-force, but spoke no word of entreaty to that wooden face&mdash;that
+force, but spoke no word of entreaty to that wooden face—that
 sharp, determined voice; but, as she turned
 away, she prayed for strength to bear the coming trial,
 and strength to forgive Mrs. Jenkins.</p>
@@ -7271,22 +7137,22 @@ and strength to forgive Mrs. Jenkins.</p>
 has no hope, and then she turned upon herself as sharply
 as she ever did on any one else.</p>
 
-<p>"What a brute I am, Lord forgive me! What's my
-husband's tea to a baby's life? In croup, too, where
-time is everything. You crabbed old vixen, you!&mdash;any
-one may know you never had a child!"</p>
+<p>“What a brute I am, Lord forgive me! What’s my
+husband’s tea to a baby’s life? In croup, too, where
+time is everything. You crabbed old vixen, you!—any
+one may know you never had a child!”</p>
 
 <p>She was down stairs (kettle in hand) before she had
-finished her self-upbraiding; and when in Mrs. Hodgson's
+finished her self-upbraiding; and when in Mrs. Hodgson’s
 room, she rejected all thanks (Mary had not the
-voice for many words), saying, stiffly, "I do it for the
-poor babby's sake, ma'am, hoping he may live to have
+voice for many words), saying, stiffly, “I do it for the
+poor babby’s sake, ma’am, hoping he may live to have
 mercy to poor dumb beasts, if he does forget to lock his
-cupboards."</p>
+cupboards.”</p>
 
 <p>But she did everything, and more than Mary, with
 her young inexperience, could have thought of. She
-prepared the warm bath, and tried it with her husband's
+prepared the warm bath, and tried it with her husband’s
 own thermometer (Mr. Jenkins was as punctual as clockwork
 in noting down the temperature of every day).
 She let his mother place her baby in the tub, still preserving
@@ -7299,11 +7165,11 @@ minutes till the doctor should come. But, before he
 came, down again stalked Mrs. Jenkins, with something
 in her hand.</p>
 
-<p>"I've seen many of these croup-fits, which, I take it,
-you've not, ma'am. Mustard plaisters is very sovereign,
-put on the throat; I've been up and made one,
-ma'am, and, by your leave, I'll put it on the poor little
-fellow."</p>
+<p>“I’ve seen many of these croup-fits, which, I take it,
+you’ve not, ma’am. Mustard plaisters is very sovereign,
+put on the throat; I’ve been up and made one,
+ma’am, and, by your leave, I’ll put it on the poor little
+fellow.”</p>
 
 <p>Mary could not speak, but she signed her grateful
 assent.</p>
@@ -7313,21 +7179,21 @@ he looked up to his mother as if seeking courage from
 her looks to bear the stinging pain; but she was softly
 crying, to see him suffer, and her want of courage reacted
 upon him, and he began to sob aloud. Instantly
-Mrs. Jenkins's apron was up, hiding her face: "Peep-bo,
-baby," said she, as merrily as she could. His little
+Mrs. Jenkins’s apron was up, hiding her face: “Peep-bo,
+baby,” said she, as merrily as she could. His little
 face brightened, and his mother having once got the cue,
 the two women kept the little fellow amused, until his
 plaister had taken effect.</p>
 
-<p>"He's better,&mdash;oh, Mrs. Jenkins, look at his eyes!
-how different! And he breathes quite softly<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+<p>“He’s better,—oh, Mrs. Jenkins, look at his eyes!
+how different! And he breathes quite softly<span class="norewrap">——</span>”</p>
 
 <p>As Mary spoke thus, the doctor entered. He examined
 his patient. Baby was really better.</p>
 
-<p>"It has been a sharp attack, but the remedies you
-have applied have been worth all the Pharmacop&oelig;ia an
-hour later.&mdash;I shall send a powder," &amp;c. &amp;c.</p>
+<p>“It has been a sharp attack, but the remedies you
+have applied have been worth all the Pharmacopœia an
+hour later.—I shall send a powder,” &amp;c. &amp;c.</p>
 
 <p>Mrs. Jenkins stayed to hear this opinion; and (her
 heart wonderfully more easy) was going to leave the
@@ -7349,77 +7215,77 @@ been in.</p>
 <p>When she came down (later than usual), she found
 the household in a commotion. What do you think had
 happened? Why, pussy had been a traitor to his best
-friend, and eaten up some of Mr. Jenkins's own especial
+friend, and eaten up some of Mr. Jenkins’s own especial
 sausages; and gnawed and tumbled the rest so, that
 they were not fit to be eaten! There were no bounds to
-that cat's appetite! he would have eaten his own father
+that cat’s appetite! he would have eaten his own father
 if he had been tender enough. And now Mrs. Jenkins
-stormed and cried&mdash;"Hang the cat!"</p>
+stormed and cried—“Hang the cat!”</p>
 
-<p>Christmas Day, too! and all the shops shut! "What
-was turkey without sausages?" gruffly asked Mr.
+<p>Christmas Day, too! and all the shops shut! “What
+was turkey without sausages?” gruffly asked Mr.
 Jenkins.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, Jem!" whispered Mary, "hearken what a piece
-of work he's making about sausages,&mdash;I should like to
-take Mrs. Jenkins up some of mother's; they're twice as
-good as bought sausages."</p>
+<p>“Oh, Jem!” whispered Mary, “hearken what a piece
+of work he’s making about sausages,—I should like to
+take Mrs. Jenkins up some of mother’s; they’re twice as
+good as bought sausages.”</p>
 
-<p>"I see no objection, my dear. Sausages do not
+<p>“I see no objection, my dear. Sausages do not
 involve intimacies, else his politics are what I can no
-ways respect."</p>
+ways respect.”</p>
 
-<p>"But, oh, Jem, if you had seen her last night about
-baby! I'm sure she may scold me for ever, and I'll
-not answer. I'd even make her cat welcome to the
-sausages." The tears gathered to Mary's eyes as she
+<p>“But, oh, Jem, if you had seen her last night about
+baby! I’m sure she may scold me for ever, and I’ll
+not answer. I’d even make her cat welcome to the
+sausages.” The tears gathered to Mary’s eyes as she
 kissed her boy.</p>
 
-<p>"Better take 'em upstairs, my dear, and give them
-to the cat's mistress." And Jem chuckled at his saying.</p>
+<p>“Better take ’em upstairs, my dear, and give them
+to the cat’s mistress.” And Jem chuckled at his saying.</p>
 
 <p>Mary put them on a plate, but still she loitered.</p>
 
-<p>"What must I say, Jem? I never know."</p>
+<p>“What must I say, Jem? I never know.”</p>
 
-<p>"Say&mdash;I hope you'll accept of these sausages, as my
-mother&mdash;no, that's not grammar;&mdash;say what comes
-uppermost, Mary, it will be sure to be right."</p>
+<p>“Say—I hope you’ll accept of these sausages, as my
+mother—no, that’s not grammar;—say what comes
+uppermost, Mary, it will be sure to be right.”</p>
 
 <p>So Mary carried them upstairs and knocked at the
-door; and when told to "come in," she looked very red,
-but went up to Mrs. Jenkins, saying, "Please take these.
-Mother made them." And was away before an answer
+door; and when told to “come in,” she looked very red,
+but went up to Mrs. Jenkins, saying, “Please take these.
+Mother made them.” And was away before an answer
 could be given.</p>
 
 <p>Just as Hodgson was ready to go to church, Mrs.
 Jenkins came downstairs, and called Fanny. In a
-minute, the latter entered the Hodgsons' room, and
-delivered Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins's compliments, and they
+minute, the latter entered the Hodgsons’ room, and
+delivered Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins’s compliments, and they
 would be particular glad if Mr. and Mrs. Hodgson would
 eat their dinner with them.</p>
 
-<p>"And carry baby upstairs in a shawl, be sure," added
-Mrs. Jenkins's voice in the passage, close to the door,
+<p>“And carry baby upstairs in a shawl, be sure,” added
+Mrs. Jenkins’s voice in the passage, close to the door,
 whither she had followed her messenger. There was no
 discussing the matter, with the certainty of every word
 being overheard.</p>
 
 <p>Mary looked anxiously at her husband. She remembered
-his saying he did not approve of Mr. Jenkins's
+his saying he did not approve of Mr. Jenkins’s
 politics.</p>
 
-<p>"Do you think it would do for baby?" asked he.</p>
+<p>“Do you think it would do for baby?” asked he.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, yes," answered she, eagerly; "I would wrap
-him up so warm."</p>
+<p>“Oh, yes,” answered she, eagerly; “I would wrap
+him up so warm.”</p>
 
-<p>"And I've got our room up to sixty-five already, for
-all it's so frosty," added the voice outside.</p>
+<p>“And I’ve got our room up to sixty-five already, for
+all it’s so frosty,” added the voice outside.</p>
 
 <p>Now, how do you think they settled the matter? The
 very best way in the world. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins
-came down into the Hodgsons' room, and dined there.
+came down into the Hodgsons’ room, and dined there.
 Turkey at the top, roast beef at the bottom, sausages
 at one side, potatoes at the other. Second course,
 plum-pudding at the top, and mince pies at the
@@ -7431,97 +7297,94 @@ declared he was admiring the real lace on her cap, but
 Mary thought (though she did not say so) that he was
 pleased by her kind looks and coaxing words. Then he
 was wrapped up and carried carefully upstairs to tea, in
-Mrs. Jenkins's room. And after tea, Mrs. Jenkins,
-and Mary, and her husband, found out each other's
+Mrs. Jenkins’s room. And after tea, Mrs. Jenkins,
+and Mary, and her husband, found out each other’s
 mutual liking for music, and sat singing old glees and
-catches, till I don't know what o'clock, without one word
+catches, till I don’t know what o’clock, without one word
 of politics or newspapers.</p>
 
 <p>Before they parted, Mary had coaxed pussy on to her
 knee; for Mrs. Jenkins would not part with baby, who
 was sleeping on her lap.</p>
 
-<p>"When you're busy, bring him to me. Do, now, it
+<p>“When you’re busy, bring him to me. Do, now, it
 will be a real favour. I know you must have a deal to
-do, with another coming; let him come up to me. I'll
+do, with another coming; let him come up to me. I’ll
 take the greatest of cares of him; pretty darling, how
-sweet he looks when he's asleep!"</p>
+sweet he looks when he’s asleep!”</p>
 
 <p>When the couples were once more alone, the husbands
 unburdened their minds to their wives.</p>
 
-<p>Mr. Jenkins said to his&mdash;"Do you know, Burgess
+<p>Mr. Jenkins said to his—“Do you know, Burgess
 tried to make me believe Hodgson was such a fool as to
 put paragraphs into the <i>Examiner</i> now and then; but I
 see he knows his place, and has got too much sense to
-do any such thing."</p>
+do any such thing.”</p>
 
-<p>Hodgson said&mdash;"Mary, love, I almost fancy from
-Jenkins's way of speaking (so much civiler than I
-expected), he guesses I wrote that 'Pro Bono' and
-the 'Rose-bud,'&mdash;at any rate, I've no objection to your
+<p>Hodgson said—“Mary, love, I almost fancy from
+Jenkins’s way of speaking (so much civiler than I
+expected), he guesses I wrote that ‘Pro Bono’ and
+the ‘Rose-bud,’—at any rate, I’ve no objection to your
 naming it, if the subject should come uppermost; I
-should like him to know I'm a literary man."</p>
+should like him to know I’m a literary man.”</p>
 
-<p>Well! I've ended my tale; I hope you don't think it
+<p>Well! I’ve ended my tale; I hope you don’t think it
 too long; but, before I go, just let me say one thing.</p>
 
 <p>If any of you have any quarrels, or misunderstandings,
 or coolnesses, or cold shoulders, or shynesses, or tiffs,
 or miffs, or huffs, with any one else, just make friends
-before Christmas,&mdash;you will be so much merrier if you do.</p>
+before Christmas,—you will be so much merrier if you do.</p>
 
 <p>I ask it of you for the sake of that old angelic song,
 heard so many years ago by the shepherds, keeping
 watch by night, on Bethlehem Heights.</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<h3><a name="hh" id="hh"></a>HAND AND HEART.</h3>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<p>"Mother, I should so like to have a great deal of
-money," said little Tom Fletcher one evening, as he sat
-on a low stool by his mother's knee. His mother was
+<hr class="chap">
+<h2 id="hh">HAND AND HEART.</h2>
+
+<p>“Mother, I should so like to have a great deal of
+money,” said little Tom Fletcher one evening, as he sat
+on a low stool by his mother’s knee. His mother was
 knitting busily by the firelight, and they had both been
 silent for some time.</p>
 
-<p>"What would you do with a great deal of money if
-you had it?"</p>
+<p>“What would you do with a great deal of money if
+you had it?”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! I don't know&mdash;I would do a great many things.
+<p>“Oh! I don’t know—I would do a great many things.
 But should not you like to have a great deal of money,
-mother?" persisted he.</p>
+mother?” persisted he.</p>
 
-<p>"Perhaps I should," answered Mrs. Fletcher. "I
+<p>“Perhaps I should,” answered Mrs. Fletcher. “I
 am like you sometimes, dear, and think that I should be
-very glad of a little more money. But then I don't
+very glad of a little more money. But then I don’t
 think I am like you in one thing, for I have always
 some little plan in my mind, for which I should want
-the money. I never wish for it just for its own sake."</p>
+the money. I never wish for it just for its own sake.”</p>
 
-<p>"Why, mother! there are so many things we could
-do if we had but money;&mdash;real good, wise things I mean."</p>
+<p>“Why, mother! there are so many things we could
+do if we had but money;—real good, wise things I mean.”</p>
 
-<p>"And if we have real good, wise things in our head
+<p>“And if we have real good, wise things in our head
 to do, which cannot be done without money, I can quite
 enter into the wish for money. But you know, my little
-boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise thing."</p>
+boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise thing.”</p>
 
-<p>"No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise
+<p>“No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise
 things just then, but only how much I should like money
-to do what I liked," answered little Tom ingenuously,
-looking up in his mother's face. She smiled down upon
+to do what I liked,” answered little Tom ingenuously,
+looking up in his mother’s face. She smiled down upon
 him, and stroked his head. He knew she was pleased
 with him for having told her openly what was passing in
 his mind. Presently he began again.</p>
 
-<p>"Mother, if you wanted to do something very good
+<p>“Mother, if you wanted to do something very good
 and wise, and if you could not do it without money,
-what should you do?"</p>
+what should you do?”</p>
 
-<p>"There are two ways of obtaining money for such
+<p>“There are two ways of obtaining money for such
 wants; one is by earning; and the other is by saving.
 Now both are good, because both imply self-denial. Do
 you understand me, Tom? If you have to earn money,
@@ -7537,66 +7400,66 @@ possess the money it would have cost. Inasmuch as
 self-denial, energy, and industry are all good things,
 you do well either to earn or to save. But you see the
 purpose for which you want the money must be taken
-into consideration. You say, for 'something wise and
-good.' Either earning or saving becomes holy in this
+into consideration. You say, for ‘something wise and
+good.’ Either earning or saving becomes holy in this
 case. I must then think which will be most consistent
 with my other duties, before I decide whether I will earn
-or save money."</p>
+or save money.”</p>
 
-<p>"I don't quite know what you mean, mother."</p>
+<p>“I don’t quite know what you mean, mother.”</p>
 
-<p>"I will try and explain myself. You know I have to
+<p>“I will try and explain myself. You know I have to
 keep a little shop, and to try and get employment in
 knitting stockings, and to clean my house, and to mend
 our clothes, and many other things. Now, do you think
 I should be doing my duty if I left you in the evenings,
 when you come home from school, to go out as a waiter
-at ladies' parties? I could earn a good deal of money
+at ladies’ parties? I could earn a good deal of money
 by it, and I could spend it well among those who are
 poorer than I am (such as lame Harry), but then I
 should be leaving you alone in the little time that we
 have to be together; I do not think I should be doing
-right even for our 'good and wise purpose' to earn
+right even for our ‘good and wise purpose’ to earn
 money, if it took me away from you at nights: do you,
-Tom?"</p>
+Tom?”</p>
 
-<p>"No, indeed; you never mean to do it, do you,
-mother?"</p>
+<p>“No, indeed; you never mean to do it, do you,
+mother?”</p>
 
-<p>"No," said she, smiling; "at any rate not till you
+<p>“No,” said she, smiling; “at any rate not till you
 are older. You see at present then, I cannot <i>earn</i>
 money, if I want a little more than usual to help a sick
 neighbour. I must then try and <i>save</i> money. Nearly
-every one can do that."</p>
+every one can do that.”</p>
 
-<p>"Can <i>we</i>, mother? We are so careful of everything.
-Ned Dixon calls us stingy: what could <i>we</i> save?"</p>
+<p>“Can <i>we</i>, mother? We are so careful of everything.
+Ned Dixon calls us stingy: what could <i>we</i> save?”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, many and many a little thing. We use many
+<p>“Oh, many and many a little thing. We use many
 things which are luxuries; which we do not want, but
-only use them for pleasure. Tea and sugar&mdash;butter&mdash;our
-Sunday's dinner of bacon or meat&mdash;the grey ribbon
+only use them for pleasure. Tea and sugar—butter—our
+Sunday’s dinner of bacon or meat—the grey ribbon
 I bought for my bonnet, because you thought it prettier
 than the black, which was cheaper; all these are luxuries.
 We use very little tea or sugar, it is true; but we might
-do without any."</p>
+do without any.”</p>
 
-<p>"You did do without any, mother, for a long, long
+<p>“You did do without any, mother, for a long, long
 time, you know, to help widow Black; it was only for
-your bad head-aches."</p>
+your bad head-aches.”</p>
 
-<p>"Well! but you see we can save money; a penny, a
+<p>“Well! but you see we can save money; a penny, a
 halfpenny a day, or even a penny a week, would in time
-make a little store ready to be applied to the 'good and
-wise' purpose, when the time comes. But do you know,
+make a little store ready to be applied to the ‘good and
+wise’ purpose, when the time comes. But do you know,
 my little boy, I think we may be considering money too
 much as the only thing required if we want to do a
-kindness."</p>
+kindness.”</p>
 
-<p>"If it is not the only thing, it is the chief thing, at
-any rate."</p>
+<p>“If it is not the only thing, it is the chief thing, at
+any rate.”</p>
 
-<p>"No, love, it is not the chief thing. I should think
+<p>“No, love, it is not the chief thing. I should think
 very poorly of that beggar who liked sixpence given with
 a curse (as I have sometimes heard it), better than the
 kind and gentle words some people use in refusing to
@@ -7606,27 +7469,27 @@ made hard before by harsh treatment. And mere money
 can do little to cheer a sore heart. It is kindness only
 that can do this. Now we have all of us kindness in our
 power. The little child of two years old, who can only
-just totter about, can show kindness."</p>
+just totter about, can show kindness.”</p>
 
-<p>"Can I, mother?"</p>
+<p>“Can I, mother?”</p>
 
-<p>"To be sure, dear; and you often do, only perhaps
+<p>“To be sure, dear; and you often do, only perhaps
 not quite so often as you might do. Neither do I. But
-instead of wishing for money (of which I don't think
+instead of wishing for money (of which I don’t think
 either you or I are ever likely to have much), suppose
 you try to-morrow how you can make people happier, by
 thinking of little loving actions of help. Let us try and
-take for our text, 'Silver and gold I have none, but such
-as I have give I unto thee.'"</p>
+take for our text, ‘Silver and gold I have none, but such
+as I have give I unto thee.’”</p>
 
-<p>"Ay, mother, we will."</p>
+<p>“Ay, mother, we will.”</p>
 
-<p>Must I tell you about little Tom's "to-morrow."</p>
+<p>Must I tell you about little Tom’s “to-morrow.”</p>
 
 <p>I do not know if little Tom dreamed of what his
 mother and he had been talking about, but I do know
 that the first thing he thought about, when he awoke in
-the morning, was his mother's saying that he might try
+the morning, was his mother’s saying that he might try
 how many kind actions he could do that day without
 money; and he was so impatient to begin, that he
 jumped up and dressed himself, although it was more
@@ -7640,10 +7503,10 @@ that was the first thing he had to do; and then
 he would try, without too much planning beforehand, to
 keep himself ready to lend a helping hand, or to give a
 kind word, when the right time came. So he screwed
-himself into a corner, out of the way of his mother's
+himself into a corner, out of the way of his mother’s
 sweeping and dusting, and tucked his feet up on the
 rail of the chair, turned his face to the wall, and in
-about half an hour's time, he could turn round with a
+about half an hour’s time, he could turn round with a
 light heart, feeling he had learnt his lesson well, and
 might employ his time as he liked till breakfast was
 ready. He looked round the room; his mother had
@@ -7657,79 +7520,79 @@ court, and speaking very angrily and loudly to her little
 girl, who was getting into some mischief in the house-place,
 as her mother perceived through the open door.</p>
 
-<p>"There never were such plagues as my children are,
-to be sure," said Ann Jones, as she went into her house,
+<p>“There never were such plagues as my children are,
+to be sure,” said Ann Jones, as she went into her house,
 looking very red and passionate. Directly after, Tom
-heard the sound of a slap, and then a little child's cry of
+heard the sound of a slap, and then a little child’s cry of
 pain.</p>
 
-<p>"I wonder," thought he, "if I durst go and offer to
+<p>“I wonder,” thought he, “if I durst go and offer to
 nurse and play with little Hester. Ann Jones is fearful
 cross, and just as likely to take me wrong as right; but
-she won't box me for mother's sake; mother nursed
-Jemmy many a day through the fever, so she won't slap
-me, I think. Any rate, I'll try." But it was with a
+she won’t box me for mother’s sake; mother nursed
+Jemmy many a day through the fever, so she won’t slap
+me, I think. Any rate, I’ll try.” But it was with a
 beating heart he said to the fierce-looking Mrs. Jones,
-"Please, may I go and play with Hester. May be
-I could keep her quiet while you're busy hanging out
-clothes."</p>
+“Please, may I go and play with Hester. May be
+I could keep her quiet while you’re busy hanging out
+clothes.”</p>
 
-<p>"What! and let you go slopping about, I suppose,
-just when I'd made all ready for my master's breakfast.
-Thank you, but my own children's mischief is as much
-as I reckon on; I'll have none of strange lads in my
-house."</p>
+<p>“What! and let you go slopping about, I suppose,
+just when I’d made all ready for my master’s breakfast.
+Thank you, but my own children’s mischief is as much
+as I reckon on; I’ll have none of strange lads in my
+house.”</p>
 
-<p>"I did not mean to do mischief or slop," said Tom, a
+<p>“I did not mean to do mischief or slop,” said Tom, a
 little sadly at being misunderstood in his good intentions.
-"I only wanted to help."</p>
+“I only wanted to help.”</p>
 
-<p>"If you want to help, lift me up those clothes' pegs,
-and save me stooping; my back's broken with it."</p>
+<p>“If you want to help, lift me up those clothes’ pegs,
+and save me stooping; my back’s broken with it.”</p>
 
 <p>Tom would much rather have gone to play with and
 amuse little Hester; but it was true enough that giving
-Mrs. Jones the clothes' pegs as she wanted them would
+Mrs. Jones the clothes’ pegs as she wanted them would
 help her as much; and perhaps keep her from being so
 cross with her children if they did anything to hinder
-her. Besides, little Hester's cry had died away, and
+her. Besides, little Hester’s cry had died away, and
 she was evidently occupied in some new pursuit (Tom
 could only hope that it was not in mischief this time);
 so he began to give Ann the pegs as she wanted them,
 and she, soothed by his kind help, opened her heart a
 little to him.</p>
 
-<p>"I wonder how it is your mother has trained you up
-to be so handy, Tom; you're as good as a girl&mdash;better
-than many a girl. I don't think Hester in three years'
-time will be as thoughtful as you. There!" (as a fresh
+<p>“I wonder how it is your mother has trained you up
+to be so handy, Tom; you’re as good as a girl—better
+than many a girl. I don’t think Hester in three years’
+time will be as thoughtful as you. There!” (as a fresh
 scream reached them from the little ones inside the
-house), "they are at some mischief again; but I'll
-teach 'em," said she, getting down from her stool in a
+house), “they are at some mischief again; but I’ll
+teach ’em,” said she, getting down from her stool in a
 fresh access of passion.</p>
 
-<p>"Let me go," said Tom, in a begging voice, for he
-dreaded the cruel sound of another slap. "I'll lift the
+<p>“Let me go,” said Tom, in a begging voice, for he
+dreaded the cruel sound of another slap. “I’ll lift the
 basket of pegs on to a stool, so that you need not stoop;
-and I'll keep the little ones safe out of mischief till
-you're done. Do let me go, missus."</p>
+and I’ll keep the little ones safe out of mischief till
+you’re done. Do let me go, missus.”</p>
 
 <p>With some grumblings at losing his help, she let him
 go into the house-place. He found Hester, a little girl
 of five, and two younger ones. They had been fighting
 for a knife, and in the struggle, the second, Johnnie,
-had cut his finger&mdash;not very badly, but he was frightened
+had cut his finger—not very badly, but he was frightened
 at the sight of the blood; and Hester, who might have
 helped, and who was really sorry, stood sullenly aloof,
 dreading the scolding her mother always gave her if
 either of the little ones hurt themselves while under
 her care.</p>
 
-<p>"Hester," said Tom, "will you get me some cold
+<p>“Hester,” said Tom, “will you get me some cold
 water, please? it will stop the bleeding better than anything.
-I daresay you can find me a basin to hold it."</p>
+I daresay you can find me a basin to hold it.”</p>
 
-<p>Hester trotted off, pleased at Tom's confidence in her
+<p>Hester trotted off, pleased at Tom’s confidence in her
 power. When the bleeding was partly stopped, he asked
 her to find him a bit of rag, and she scrambled under the
 dresser for a little piece she had hidden there the day
@@ -7740,39 +7603,24 @@ so much attention and consequence. The baby, too, sat
 on the floor, gravely wondering at the commotion; and
 thus busily occupied, they were quiet and out of mischief
 till Ann Jones came in, and, having hung out her
-clothes, and finished that morning's piece of work, she
+clothes, and finished that morning’s piece of work, she
 was ready to attend to her children in her rough, hasty
 kind of way.</p>
 
-<p>
-<a name="gwimg4" id="gwimg4">&nbsp;</a></p>
-<div class="center">
-<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="illustration">
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      <a href="images/gwimg4.jpg">
-      <img src="images/gwimg4.jpg"
-      alt="The Cut Finger" /></a>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td align="center">
-      <span class="caption">The Cut Finger.<br />
-      Click to <a href="images/gwimg4.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
-    </td>
-  </tr>
-</table>
-</div>
+<figure class="illowp67 mt5" id="gwimg4">
+  <img src="images/gwimg4.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>The Cut Finger.</figcaption>
+</figure>
 
-<p>"Well! I'm sure, Tom, you've tied it up as neatly
-as I could have done. I wish I'd always such an
+<p>“Well! I’m sure, Tom, you’ve tied it up as neatly
+as I could have done. I wish I’d always such an
 one as you to see after the children; but you must
 run off now, lad, your mother was calling you as I
-came in, and I said I'd send you&mdash;good-by, and thank
-you."</p>
+came in, and I said I’d send you—good-by, and thank
+you.”</p>
 
 <p>As Tom was going away, the baby, sitting in square
-gravity on the floor, but somehow conscious of Tom's
+gravity on the floor, but somehow conscious of Tom’s
 gentle helpful ways, put up her mouth to be kissed; and
 he stooped down in answer to the little gesture, feeling
 very happy, and very full of love and kindliness.</p>
@@ -7796,20 +7644,20 @@ steps. Tom ran across the street, for, as perhaps you
 have found out, he was very fond of babies, and could
 not bear to hear them cry.</p>
 
-<p>"Little girl, what is he crying about? Does he
-want to be carried? I'll take him up, and carry him
-as far as I go alongside of you."</p>
+<p>“Little girl, what is he crying about? Does he
+want to be carried? I’ll take him up, and carry him
+as far as I go alongside of you.”</p>
 
 <p>So saying, Tom was going to suit the action to the
 word; but the baby did not choose that any one should
-carry him but his sister, and refused Tom's kindness.
+carry him but his sister, and refused Tom’s kindness.
 Still he could carry the heavy basket of potatoes for the
 little girl, which he did as far as their road lay together,
 when she thanked him, and bade him good-by, and
 said she could manage very well now, her home was so
 near. So Tom went into school very happy and peaceful;
 and had a good character to take home to his
-mother for that morning's lesson.</p>
+mother for that morning’s lesson.</p>
 
 <p>It happened that this very day was the weekly half-holiday,
 so that Tom had many hours unoccupied that
@@ -7824,7 +7672,7 @@ wished he were the little boy who lived opposite, who
 had three brothers ready to play with him on half-holidays;
 he wished he were Sam Harrison, whose father
 had taken him one day a trip by the railroad; he wished
-he were the little boy who always went with the omnibuses,&mdash;it
+he were the little boy who always went with the omnibuses,—it
 must be so pleasant to go riding about on the
 step, and to see so many people; he wished he were a
 sailor, to sail away to the countries where grapes grew
@@ -7838,41 +7686,41 @@ up the dishes, and saw him deep in the reveries little
 boys and girls are apt to fall into when they are the only
 children in a house.</p>
 
-<p>"My dear Tom," said she, "why don't you go out,
-and make the most of this fine afternoon?"</p>
+<p>“My dear Tom,” said she, “why don’t you go out,
+and make the most of this fine afternoon?”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, mother," answered he (suddenly recalled to the
+<p>“Oh, mother,” answered he (suddenly recalled to the
 fact that he was little Tom Fletcher, instead of the Prince
-of Wales, and consequently feeling a little bit flat), "it
+of Wales, and consequently feeling a little bit flat), “it
 is so dull going out by myself. I have no one to play
-with. Can't you go with me, mother&mdash;just this once,
-into the fields?"</p>
+with. Can’t you go with me, mother—just this once,
+into the fields?”</p>
 
 <p>Poor Mrs. Fletcher heartily wished she could gratify
 this very natural desire of her little boy; but she had the
 shop to mind, and many a little thing besides to do; it
 was impossible. But however much she might regret
 a thing, she was too faithful to repine. So, after a
-moment's thought, she said, cheerfully, "Go into the
+moment’s thought, she said, cheerfully, “Go into the
 fields for a walk, and see how many wild flowers you can
-bring me home, and I'll get down father's jug for you to
-put them in when you come back."</p>
+bring me home, and I’ll get down father’s jug for you to
+put them in when you come back.”</p>
 
-<p>"But, mother, there are so few pretty flowers near a
-town," said Tom, a little unwillingly, for it was a coming
+<p>“But, mother, there are so few pretty flowers near a
+town,” said Tom, a little unwillingly, for it was a coming
 down from being Prince of Wales, and he was not yet
 quite reconciled to it.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh dear! there are a great many if you'll only look
-for them. I dare say you'll make me up as many as
-twenty different kinds."</p>
+<p>“Oh dear! there are a great many if you’ll only look
+for them. I dare say you’ll make me up as many as
+twenty different kinds.”</p>
 
-<p>"Will you reckon daisies, mother?"</p>
+<p>“Will you reckon daisies, mother?”</p>
 
-<p>"To be sure; they are just as pretty as any."</p>
+<p>“To be sure; they are just as pretty as any.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, if you'll reckon such as them, I dare say I can
-bring you more than twenty."</p>
+<p>“Oh, if you’ll reckon such as them, I dare say I can
+bring you more than twenty.”</p>
 
 <p>So off he ran; his mother watching him till he was
 out of sight, and then she returned to her work. In
@@ -7882,63 +7730,63 @@ taken with cheerful spirits, had done him all the good
 his mother desired, and had restored his usually even,
 happy temper.</p>
 
-<p>"Look, mother! here are three-and-twenty different
+<p>“Look, mother! here are three-and-twenty different
 kinds; you said I might count all, so I have even counted
 this thing like a nettle with lilac flowers, and this little
-common blue thing."</p>
+common blue thing.”</p>
 
-<p>"Robin-run-in-the-hedge is its name," said his
-mother. "It's very pretty if you look at it close.
-One, two, three"&mdash;she counted them all over, and there
+<p>“Robin-run-in-the-hedge is its name,” said his
+mother. “It’s very pretty if you look at it close.
+One, two, three”—she counted them all over, and there
 really were three-and-twenty. She went to reach down
 the best jug.</p>
 
-<p>"Mother," said little Tom, "do you like them very
-much?"</p>
+<p>“Mother,” said little Tom, “do you like them very
+much?”</p>
 
-<p>"Yes, very much," said she, not understanding his
-meaning. He was silent, and gave a little sigh. "Why,
-my dear?"</p>
+<p>“Yes, very much,” said she, not understanding his
+meaning. He was silent, and gave a little sigh. “Why,
+my dear?”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, only&mdash;it does not signify if you like them very
+<p>“Oh, only—it does not signify if you like them very
 much; but I thought how nice it would be to take them
 to lame Harry, who can never walk so far as the fields,
-and can hardly know what summer is like, I think."</p>
+and can hardly know what summer is like, I think.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, that will be very nice; I am glad you thought
-of it."</p>
+<p>“Oh, that will be very nice; I am glad you thought
+of it.”</p>
 
 <p>Lame Harry was sitting by himself, very patiently,
 in a neighbouring cellar. He was supported by his
-daughter's earnings; but as she worked in a factory, he
+daughter’s earnings; but as she worked in a factory, he
 was much alone.</p>
 
 <p>If the bunch of flowers had looked pretty in the fields,
 they looked ten times as pretty in the cellar to which
-they were now carried. Lame Harry's eyes brightened
+they were now carried. Lame Harry’s eyes brightened
 up with pleasure at the sight; and he began to talk of
 the times long ago, when he was a little boy in the
-country, and had a corner of his father's garden to call
-his own, and grow lad's-love and wall-flower in. Little
+country, and had a corner of his father’s garden to call
+his own, and grow lad’s-love and wall-flower in. Little
 Tom put them in water for him, and put the jug on the
 table by him; on which his daughter had placed the old
 Bible, worn with much reading, although treated with
-careful reverence. It was lying open, with Harry's horn
+careful reverence. It was lying open, with Harry’s horn
 spectacles put in to mark the place.</p>
 
-<p>"I reckon my spectacles are getting worn out; they
+<p>“I reckon my spectacles are getting worn out; they
 are not so clear as they used to be; they are dim-like
-before my eyes, and it hurts me to read long together,"
-said Harry. "It's a sad miss to me. I never thought
+before my eyes, and it hurts me to read long together,”
+said Harry. “It’s a sad miss to me. I never thought
 the time long when I could read; but now I keep wearying
 for the day to be over, though the nights, when I
 cannot sleep for my legs paining me, are almost as bad.
-However, it's the Lord's will."</p>
+However, it’s the Lord’s will.”</p>
 
-<p>"Would you like me&mdash;I cannot read very well aloud,
-but I'd do my best, if you'd like me to read a bit to
-you. I'll just run home and get my tea, and be back
-directly." And off Tom ran.</p>
+<p>“Would you like me—I cannot read very well aloud,
+but I’d do my best, if you’d like me to read a bit to
+you. I’ll just run home and get my tea, and be back
+directly.” And off Tom ran.</p>
 
 <p>He found it very pleasant reading aloud to lame
 Harry, for the old man had so much to say that was
@@ -7954,35 +7802,35 @@ reading.</p>
 
 <p>When Tom got up to go away, lame Harry gave him
 many thanks, and told him he would not sleep the worse
-for having made an old man's evening so pleasant. Tom
-came home in high self-satisfaction. "Mother," said
-he, "it's all very true what you said about the good that
-may be done without money: I've done many pieces of
-good to-day without a farthing. First," said he, taking
-hold of his little finger, "I helped Ann Jones with
-hanging out her clothes when she was"&mdash;</p>
+for having made an old man’s evening so pleasant. Tom
+came home in high self-satisfaction. “Mother,” said
+he, “it’s all very true what you said about the good that
+may be done without money: I’ve done many pieces of
+good to-day without a farthing. First,” said he, taking
+hold of his little finger, “I helped Ann Jones with
+hanging out her clothes when she was”—</p>
 
 <p>His mother had been listening while she turned over
 the pages of the New Testament which lay by her, and
 now having found what she wanted, she put her arm
 gently round his waist, and drew him fondly towards
 her. He saw her finger put under one passage, and
-read,&mdash;</p>
+read,—</p>
 
-<p>"Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand
-doeth."</p>
+<p>“Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand
+doeth.”</p>
 
 <p>He was silent in a moment.</p>
 
-<p>Then his mother spoke in her soft low voice:&mdash;"Dearest
-Tom, though I don't want us to talk about it,
+<p>Then his mother spoke in her soft low voice:—“Dearest
+Tom, though I don’t want us to talk about it,
 as if you had been doing more than just what you ought,
 I am glad you have seen the truth of what I said; how
 far more may be done by the loving heart than by mere
 money-giving; and every one may have the loving
-heart."</p>
+heart.”</p>
 
-<p>I have told you of one day of little Tom's life, when
+<p>I have told you of one day of little Tom’s life, when
 he was eight years old, and lived with his mother. I
 must now pass over a year, and tell you of a very
 different kind of life he had then to lead. His mother
@@ -7997,15 +7845,15 @@ hands, who is a Father to the fatherless, and defendeth
 the cause of the widow.</p>
 
 <p>When she felt that she had not many more days to
-live, she sent for her husband's brother, who lived in a
+live, she sent for her husband’s brother, who lived in a
 town not many miles off; and gave her little Tom in
 charge to him to bring up.</p>
 
-<p>"There are a few pounds in the savings-bank&mdash;I
-don't know how many exactly&mdash;and the furniture and
+<p>“There are a few pounds in the savings-bank—I
+don’t know how many exactly—and the furniture and
 bit of stock in the shop; perhaps they would be enough
 to bring him up to be a joiner, like his father before
-him."</p>
+him.”</p>
 
 <p>She spoke feebly, and with many pauses. Her
 brother-in-law, though a rough kind of man, wished to
@@ -8013,15 +7861,15 @@ do all he could to make her feel easy in her last
 moments, and touched with the reference to his dead
 brother, promised all she required.</p>
 
-<p>"I'll take him back with me after"&mdash;the funeral, he
+<p>“I’ll take him back with me after”—the funeral, he
 was going to say, but he stopped. She smiled gently,
 fully understanding his meaning.</p>
 
-<p>"We shall, may be, not be so tender with him as
-you've been; but I'll see he comes to no harm. It will
+<p>“We shall, may be, not be so tender with him as
+you’ve been; but I’ll see he comes to no harm. It will
 be a good thing for him to rough it a bit with other
-children,&mdash;he's too nesh for a boy; but I'll pay them if
-they aren't kind to him in the long run, never fear."</p>
+children,—he’s too nesh for a boy; but I’ll pay them if
+they aren’t kind to him in the long run, never fear.”</p>
 
 <p>Though this speech was not exactly what she liked,
 there was quite enough of good feeling in it to make her
@@ -8039,9 +7887,9 @@ passed some well-remembered cottage, or thorn-bush, or
 tree on the road. His uncle was very sorry for him,
 but did not know what to say, or how to comfort him.</p>
 
-<p>"Now mind, lad, thou com'st to me if thy cousins are
-o'er hard upon thee. Let me hear if they misuse thee,
-and I'll give it them."</p>
+<p>“Now mind, lad, thou com’st to me if thy cousins are
+o’er hard upon thee. Let me hear if they misuse thee,
+and I’ll give it them.”</p>
 
 <p>Tom shrunk from the idea that this gave him of the
 cousins, whose companionship he had, until then, been
@@ -8056,16 +7904,16 @@ way with a rough movement of her arm; while she was
 scolding a boy a little older than Tom, who stood
 listening sullenly to her angry words.</p>
 
-<p>"I'll tell father of thee, I will," said she; and turning
+<p>“I’ll tell father of thee, I will,” said she; and turning
 to uncle John, she began to pour out her complaints
 against Jack, without taking any notice of little Tom,
-who clung to his uncle's hand as to a protector in the
+who clung to his uncle’s hand as to a protector in the
 scene of violence into which he had entered.</p>
 
-<p>"Well, well, wife!&mdash;I'll leather Jack the next time
+<p>“Well, well, wife!—I’ll leather Jack the next time
 I catch him letting the water out of the pipe; but now
-get this lad and me some tea, for we're weary and
-tired."</p>
+get this lad and me some tea, for we’re weary and
+tired.”</p>
 
 <p>His aunt seemed to wish Jack might be leathered
 now, and to be angry with her husband for not revenging
@@ -8081,76 +7929,76 @@ on the fire, and had no water in the house to fill the
 kettle with. Her husband grew angry, and Tom was
 frightened to hear his uncle speaking sharply.</p>
 
-<p>"If I can't have a cup of tea in my own house without
-all this ado, I'll go to the Spread Eagle, and take
-Tom with me. They've a bright fire there at all times,
+<p>“If I can’t have a cup of tea in my own house without
+all this ado, I’ll go to the Spread Eagle, and take
+Tom with me. They’ve a bright fire there at all times,
 choose how they manage it; and no scolding wives.
-Come, Tom, let's be off."</p>
+Come, Tom, let’s be off.”</p>
 
 <p>Jack had been trying to scrape acquaintance with his
-cousin by winks and grimaces behind his mother's back,
+cousin by winks and grimaces behind his mother’s back,
 and now made a sign of drinking out of an imaginary
 glass. But Tom clung to his uncle, and softly pulled
 him down again on his chair, from which he had risen
 to go to the public-house.</p>
 
-<p>"If you please, ma'am," said he, sadly frightened of
-his aunt, "I think I could find the pump, if you'd let
-me try."</p>
+<p>“If you please, ma’am,” said he, sadly frightened of
+his aunt, “I think I could find the pump, if you’d let
+me try.”</p>
 
 <p>She muttered something like an acquiescence; so
 Tom took up the kettle, and, tired as he was, went
 out to the pump. Jack, who had done nothing but
 mischief all day, stood amazed, but at last settled that
-his cousin was a "softy."</p>
+his cousin was a “softy.”</p>
 
 <p>When Tom came back, he tried to blow the fire with
 the broken bellows, and at last the water boiled, and
-the tea was made. "Thou'rt a rare lad, Tom," said
-his uncle. "I wonder when our Jack will be of as
-much use."</p>
+the tea was made. “Thou’rt a rare lad, Tom,” said
+his uncle. “I wonder when our Jack will be of as
+much use.”</p>
 
 <p>This comparison did not please either Jack or his
 mother, who liked to keep to herself the privilege of
-directing their father's dissatisfaction with his children.
+directing their father’s dissatisfaction with his children.
 Tom felt their want of kindliness towards him; and now
 that he had nothing to do but rest and eat, he began to
 feel very sad, and his eyes kept filling with tears, which
 he brushed away with the back of his hand, not wishing
 to have them seen. But his uncle noticed him.</p>
 
-<p>"Thou had'st better have had a glass at the Spread
-Eagle," said he, compassionately.</p>
+<p>“Thou had’st better have had a glass at the Spread
+Eagle,” said he, compassionately.</p>
 
-<p>"No; I only am rather tired. May I go to bed?"
+<p>“No; I only am rather tired. May I go to bed?”
 said he, longing for a good cry unobserved under the
 bed-clothes.</p>
 
-<p>"Where's he to sleep?" asked the husband of the
+<p>“Where’s he to sleep?” asked the husband of the
 wife.</p>
 
-<p>"Nay," said she, still offended on Jack's account,
-"that's thy look-out. He's thy flesh and blood, not
-mine."</p>
+<p>“Nay,” said she, still offended on Jack’s account,
+“that’s thy look-out. He’s thy flesh and blood, not
+mine.”</p>
 
-<p>"Come, wife," said uncle John, "he's an orphan,
-poor chap. An orphan is kin to every one."</p>
+<p>“Come, wife,” said uncle John, “he’s an orphan,
+poor chap. An orphan is kin to every one.”</p>
 
 <p>She was softened directly, for she had much kindness
 in her, although this evening she had been so much
 put out.</p>
 
-<p>"There's no place for him but with Jack and Dick.
-We've the baby, and the other three are packed close
-enough."</p>
+<p>“There’s no place for him but with Jack and Dick.
+We’ve the baby, and the other three are packed close
+enough.”</p>
 
 <p>She took Tom up to the little back room, and stopped
-to talk with him for a minute or two, for her husband's
+to talk with him for a minute or two, for her husband’s
 words had smitten her heart, and she was sorry for the
 ungracious reception she had given Tom at first.</p>
 
-<p>"Jack and Dick are never in bed till we come, and
-it's work enough to catch them then on fine evenings,"
+<p>“Jack and Dick are never in bed till we come, and
+it’s work enough to catch them then on fine evenings,”
 said she, as she took the candle away.</p>
 
 <p>Tom tried to speak to God as his mother had taught
@@ -8167,40 +8015,40 @@ and had thought he was once more taking a Sunday
 evening walk with his mother, when he was roughly
 wakened up by his cousins.</p>
 
-<p>"I say, lad, you're lying right across the bed. You
+<p>“I say, lad, you’re lying right across the bed. You
 must get up, and let Dick and me come in, and then
-creep into the space that's left."</p>
+creep into the space that’s left.”</p>
 
 <p>Tom got up dizzy and half awake. His cousins got
 into bed, and then squabbled about the largest share.
 It ended in a kicking match, during which Tom stood
 shivering by the bedside.</p>
 
-<p>"I'm sure we're pinched enough as it is," said Dick
-at last. "And why they've put Tom in with us I can't
-think. But I'll not stand it. Tom shan't sleep with us.
-He may lie on the floor, if he likes. I'll not hinder him."</p>
+<p>“I’m sure we’re pinched enough as it is,” said Dick
+at last. “And why they’ve put Tom in with us I can’t
+think. But I’ll not stand it. Tom shan’t sleep with us.
+He may lie on the floor, if he likes. I’ll not hinder him.”</p>
 
 <p>He expected an opposition from Tom, and was rather
 surprised when he heard the little fellow quietly lie down,
 and cover himself as well as he could with his clothes.
 After some more quarrelling, Jack and Dick fell asleep.
 But in the middle of the night Dick awoke, and heard
-by Tom's breathing that he was still awake, and was
+by Tom’s breathing that he was still awake, and was
 crying gently.</p>
 
-<p>"What! molly-coddle, crying for a softer bed?"
+<p>“What! molly-coddle, crying for a softer bed?”
 asked Dick.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, no&mdash;I don't care for that&mdash;if&mdash;oh! if mother
-were but alive," little Tom sobbed aloud.</p>
+<p>“Oh, no—I don’t care for that—if—oh! if mother
+were but alive,” little Tom sobbed aloud.</p>
 
-<p>"I say," said Dick, after a pause. "There's room
-at my back, if you'll creep in. There! don't be afraid&mdash;why,
-how cold you are, lad."</p>
+<p>“I say,” said Dick, after a pause. “There’s room
+at my back, if you’ll creep in. There! don’t be afraid—why,
+how cold you are, lad.”</p>
 
-<p>Dick was sorry for his cousin's loss, but could not
-speak about it. However, his kind tone sank into Tom's
+<p>Dick was sorry for his cousin’s loss, but could not
+speak about it. However, his kind tone sank into Tom’s
 heart, and he fell asleep once more.</p>
 
 <p>The three boys all got up at the same time in the
@@ -8208,7 +8056,7 @@ morning, but were not inclined to talk. Jack and Dick
 put on their clothes as fast as possible, and ran downstairs;
 but this was quite a different way of going on to
 what Tom had been accustomed. He looked about for
-some kind of basin or mug to wash in; there was none&mdash;not
+some kind of basin or mug to wash in; there was none—not
 even a jug of water in the room. He slipped on
 a few necessary clothes, and went downstairs, found a
 pitcher, and went off to the pump. His cousins, who
@@ -8226,7 +8074,7 @@ in it; they had only felt tired and unrefreshed, with a dull
 headache; but now that Tom came back again into it,
 he could not mistake its oppressive nature. He went to
 the window to try and open it. It was what people call
-a "Yorkshire light," where you know one-half has to
+a “Yorkshire light,” where you know one-half has to
 be pushed on one side. It was very stiff, for it had not
 been opened for a long time. Tom pushed against it
 with all his might; at length it gave way with a jerk;
@@ -8241,41 +8089,41 @@ getting into a scrape. He sat down on the bedside, and
 began to cry. But the morning air blowing in upon
 him, refreshed him, and made him feel stronger. He
 grew braver as he washed himself in the pure, cold
-water. "She can't be cross with me longer than a
+water. “She can’t be cross with me longer than a
 day; by to-night it will be all over; I can bear it for
-a day."</p>
+a day.”</p>
 
 <p>Dick came running upstairs for something he had
 forgotten.</p>
 
-<p>"My word, Tom! but you'll catch it!" exclaimed
+<p>“My word, Tom! but you’ll catch it!” exclaimed
 he, when he saw the broken window. He was half
-pleased at the event, and half sorry for Tom. "Mother
+pleased at the event, and half sorry for Tom. “Mother
 did so beat Jack last week for throwing a stone right
 through the window downstairs. He kept out of the
 way till night, but she was on the look-out for him,
 and as soon as she saw him, she caught hold of him
 and gave it him. Eh! Tom, I would not be you for
-a deal!"</p>
+a deal!”</p>
 
-<p>Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt's
+<p>Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt’s
 anger; Dick became more and more sorry for him.</p>
 
-<p>"I'll tell thee what; we'll go down and say it was a
+<p>“I’ll tell thee what; we’ll go down and say it was a
 lad in yon back-yard throwing stones, and that one went
-smack through the window. I've got one in my pocket
-that will just do to show."</p>
+smack through the window. I’ve got one in my pocket
+that will just do to show.”</p>
 
-<p>"No," said Tom, suddenly stopping crying. "I dare
-not do that."</p>
+<p>“No,” said Tom, suddenly stopping crying. “I dare
+not do that.”</p>
 
-<p>"Daren't! Why you'll have to dare much more if you
-go down and face mother without some such story."</p>
+<p>“Daren’t! Why you’ll have to dare much more if you
+go down and face mother without some such story.”</p>
 
-<p>"No! I shan't. I shan't have to dare God's anger.
+<p>“No! I shan’t. I shan’t have to dare God’s anger.
 Mother taught me to fear that; she said I need never
 be really afraid of aught else. Just be quiet, Dick,
-while I say my prayers."</p>
+while I say my prayers.”</p>
 
 <p>Dick watched his little cousin kneel down by the bed,
 and bury his face in the clothes; he did not say any
@@ -8285,27 +8133,27 @@ murmuring which Dick heard, to be talking to a dear
 friend; and though at first he sobbed and cried, as he
 asked for help and strength, yet when he got up, his
 face looked calm and bright, and he spoke quietly as he
-said to Dick, "Now I'm ready to go and tell aunt."</p>
+said to Dick, “Now I’m ready to go and tell aunt.”</p>
 
-<p>"Aunt" meanwhile had missed her pitcher and her
+<p>“Aunt” meanwhile had missed her pitcher and her
 soap, and was in no good-tempered mood when Tom
 came to make his confession. She had been hindered
-in her morning's work by his taking her things away;
+in her morning’s work by his taking her things away;
 and now he was come to tell her of the pane being
 broken and that it must be mended, and money must
-go all for a child's nonsense.</p>
+go all for a child’s nonsense.</p>
 
 <p>She gave him (as he had been led to expect) one or
 two very sharp blows. Jack and Dick looked on with
 curiosity, to see how he would take it; Jack, at any
-rate, expecting a hearty crying from "softy" (Jack
+rate, expecting a hearty crying from “softy” (Jack
 himself had cried loudly at his last beating), but Tom
 never shed a tear, though his face did go very red, and
 his mouth did grow set with the pain. But what struck
-the boys more even than his being "hard" in bearing
+the boys more even than his being “hard” in bearing
 such blows, was his quietness afterwards. He did not
 grumble loudly, as Jack would have done, nor did he
-turn sullen, as was Dick's custom; but the minute afterwards
+turn sullen, as was Dick’s custom; but the minute afterwards
 he was ready to run an errand for his aunt; nor
 did he make any mention of the hard blows, when his
 uncle came in to breakfast, as his aunt had rather
@@ -8322,7 +8170,7 @@ first morning. He had nothing to do. Jack went to
 work at the factory; and Dick went grumbling to school.
 Tom wondered if he was to go to school again, but he
 did not like to ask. He sat on a little stool, as much
-out of his terrible aunt's way as he could. She had her
+out of his terrible aunt’s way as he could. She had her
 youngest child, a little girl of about a year and a half
 old, crawling about on the floor. Tom longed to play
 with her; but he was not sure how far his aunt would
@@ -8333,7 +8181,7 @@ his knee. His aunt saw it, and though she did not
 speak, she did not look displeased. He did everything
 he could think of to amuse little Annie; and her mother
 was very glad to have her attended to. When Annie
-grew sleepy, she still kept fast hold of one of Tom's
+grew sleepy, she still kept fast hold of one of Tom’s
 fingers in her little, round, soft hand, and he began to
 know the happy feeling of loving somebody again. Only
 the night before, when his cousins had made him get
@@ -8342,27 +8190,27 @@ old man, and never have anybody to love all that long
 time; but now his heart felt quite warm to the little
 thing that lay on his lap.</p>
 
-<p>"She'll tire you, Tom," said her mother, "you'd
-better let me put her down in the cot."</p>
+<p>“She’ll tire you, Tom,” said her mother, “you’d
+better let me put her down in the cot.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, no!" said he, "please don't! I like so much
-to have her here." He never moved, though she lay
+<p>“Oh, no!” said he, “please don’t! I like so much
+to have her here.” He never moved, though she lay
 very heavy on his arm, for fear of wakening her.</p>
 
-<p>When she did rouse up, his aunt said, "Thank you,
-Tom. I've got my work done rarely with you for a
+<p>When she did rouse up, his aunt said, “Thank you,
+Tom. I’ve got my work done rarely with you for a
 nurse. Now take a run in the yard, and play yourself
-a bit."</p>
+a bit.”</p>
 
 <p>His aunt was learning something, and Tom was teaching,
 though they would both have been very much surprised
 to hear it. Whenever, in a family, every one is
-selfish, and (as it is called) "stands up for his own
-rights," there are no feelings of gratitude; the gracefulness
-of "thanks" is never called for; nor can there
+selfish, and (as it is called) “stands up for his own
+rights,” there are no feelings of gratitude; the gracefulness
+of “thanks” is never called for; nor can there
 be any occasion for thoughtfulness for others when those
 others are sure to get the start in thinking for themselves,
-and taking care of number one. Tom's aunt
+and taking care of number one. Tom’s aunt
 had never had to remind Jack or Dick to go out to
 play. They were ready enough to see after their own
 pleasures.</p>
@@ -8372,19 +8220,19 @@ to the meal. It seemed to be a scramble who should be
 helped first, and cry out for the best pieces. Tom looked
 very red. His aunt in her new-born liking for him, helped
 him early to what she thought he would like. But he
-did not begin to eat. It had been his mother's custom
-to teach her little son to say a simple "grace" with
+did not begin to eat. It had been his mother’s custom
+to teach her little son to say a simple “grace” with
 her before they began their dinner. He expected his
 uncle to follow the same observance; and waited. Then
 he felt very hot and shy; but, thinking that it was right
 to say it, he put away his shyness, and very quietly, but
 very solemnly said the old accustomed sentence of
 thanksgiving. Jack burst out laughing when he had
-done; for which Jack's father gave him a sharp rap
+done; for which Jack’s father gave him a sharp rap
 and a sharp word, which made him silent through the
 rest of the dinner. But, excepting Jack, who was
 angry, I think all the family were the happier for having
-listened reverently (if with some surprise) to Tom's
+listened reverently (if with some surprise) to Tom’s
 thanksgiving. They were not an ill-disposed set of
 people, but wanted thoughtfulness in their every-day life;
 that sort of thoughtfulness which gives order to a home,
@@ -8400,11 +8248,11 @@ more like a girl than a boy, as was to be looked for
 from being brought up for so many years by a woman;
 but that was the greatest fault he ever had to find with
 him; and in spite of it, he really respected him for the
-very qualities which are most truly "manly;" for the
+very qualities which are most truly “manly;” for the
 courage with which he dared to do what was right, and
 the quiet firmness with which he bore many kinds of
 pain. As for little Annie, her friendship and favour and
-love were the delight of Tom's heart. He did not know
+love were the delight of Tom’s heart. He did not know
 how much the others were growing to like him, but
 Annie showed it in every way, and he loved her in
 return most dearly. Dick soon found out how useful
@@ -8412,8 +8260,8 @@ Tom could be to him in his lessons; for though older
 than his cousin, Master Dick was a regular dunce, and
 had never even wished to learn till Tom came; and long
 before Jack could be brought to acknowledge it, Dick
-maintained that "Tom had a great deal of pluck in him,
-though it was not of Jack's kind."</p>
+maintained that “Tom had a great deal of pluck in him,
+though it was not of Jack’s kind.”</p>
 
 <p>Now I shall jump another year, and tell you a very
 little about the household twelve months after Tom had
@@ -8426,7 +8274,7 @@ looked so sad and sorry to hear her. She has also
 spoken to him sometimes about his mother; at first
 because she thought he would like it; but latterly
 because she became really interested to hear of her
-ways; and Tom being an only child, and his mother's
+ways; and Tom being an only child, and his mother’s
 friend and companion, has been able to tell her of many
 household arts of comfort, which coming quite unconscious
 of any purpose, from the lips of a child, have
@@ -8438,7 +8286,7 @@ public-house, to get out of the way of noisy children, an
 unswept hearth, and a scolding wife. Once when Tom
 was ill for a day or two, his uncle missed the accustomed
 grace, and began to say it himself. He is now
-the person to say "Silence, boys;" and then to ask the
+the person to say “Silence, boys;” and then to ask the
 blessing on the meal. It makes them gather round the
 table, instead of sitting down here and there in the
 comfortless, unsociable way they used to do. Tom and
@@ -8447,15 +8295,15 @@ famously, and will soon be able to help his next brother
 over his lessons, as Tom has helped him.</p>
 
 <p>Even Jack has been heard to acknowledge that Tom
-has "pluck" in him; and as "pluck" in Jack's mind
+has “pluck” in him; and as “pluck” in Jack’s mind
 is a short way of summing up all the virtues, he has
 lately become very fond of his cousin. Tom does not
 think about happiness, but is happy; and I think we
 may hope that he, and the household among whom he is
-adopted, will go "from strength to strength."</p>
+adopted, will go “from strength to strength.”</p>
 
 <p>Now do you not see how much happier this family are
-from the one circumstance of a little child's coming
+from the one circumstance of a little child’s coming
 among them? Could money have made one-tenth part
 of this real and increasing happiness? I think you will
 all say no. And yet Tom was no powerful person; he
@@ -8463,25 +8311,21 @@ was not clever; he was very friendless at first; but he
 was loving and good; and on those two qualities, which
 any of us may have if we try, the blessing of God lies
 in rich abundance.</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<h3><a name="bth" id="bth"></a>BESSY'S TROUBLES AT HOME.</h3>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="chap">
+<h2 id="bth">BESSY’S TROUBLES AT HOME.</h2>
 
-<p>"Well, mother, I've got you a Southport ticket," said
+<p>“Well, mother, I’ve got you a Southport ticket,” said
 Bessy Lee, as she burst into a room where a pale, sick
-woman lay dressed on the outside of a bed. "Aren't
-you glad?" asked she, as her mother moved uneasily,
+woman lay dressed on the outside of a bed. “Aren’t
+you glad?” asked she, as her mother moved uneasily,
 but did not speak.</p>
 
-<p>"Yes, dear, I'm very thankful to you; but your
-sudden coming in has made my heart flutter so, I'm
-ready to choke."</p>
+<p>“Yes, dear, I’m very thankful to you; but your
+sudden coming in has made my heart flutter so, I’m
+ready to choke.”</p>
 
-<p>Poor Bessy's eyes filled with tears: but, it must be
+<p>Poor Bessy’s eyes filled with tears: but, it must be
 owned, they were tears half of anger. She had taken
 such pains, ever since the doctor said that Southport
 was the only thing for her mother, to get her an order
@@ -8495,21 +8339,21 @@ brought.</p>
 she said, she was almost choked with the palpitation at
 her heart.</p>
 
-<p>"You think it very silly in me, dear, to be so easily
+<p>“You think it very silly in me, dear, to be so easily
 startled; but it is not altogether silliness; it is I am so
 weak that every little noise gives me quite a fright. I
 shall be better, love, please God, when I come back
-from Southport. I am so glad you've got the order, for
-you've taken a deal of pains about it." Mrs. Lee
+from Southport. I am so glad you’ve got the order, for
+you’ve taken a deal of pains about it.” Mrs. Lee
 sighed.</p>
 
-<p>"Don't you want to go?" asked Bessy, rather sadly.
-"You always seem so sorrowful and anxious when we
-talk about it."</p>
+<p>“Don’t you want to go?” asked Bessy, rather sadly.
+“You always seem so sorrowful and anxious when we
+talk about it.”</p>
 
-<p>"It's partly my being ailing that makes me anxious,
-I know," said Mrs. Lee. "But it seems as if so many
-things might happen while I was away."</p>
+<p>“It’s partly my being ailing that makes me anxious,
+I know,” said Mrs. Lee. “But it seems as if so many
+things might happen while I was away.”</p>
 
 <p>Bessy felt a little impatient. Young people in strong
 health can hardly understand the fears that beset invalids.
@@ -8519,39 +8363,39 @@ that her mother had had to struggle hard with many
 cares ever since she had been left a widow, and that her
 illness now had made her nervous.</p>
 
-<p>"What nonsense, mother! What can happen? I can
+<p>“What nonsense, mother! What can happen? I can
 take care of the house and the little ones, and Tom and
-Jem can take care of themselves. What is to happen?"</p>
+Jem can take care of themselves. What is to happen?”</p>
 
-<p>"Jenny may fall into the fire," murmured Mrs. Lee,
+<p>“Jenny may fall into the fire,” murmured Mrs. Lee,
 who found little comfort in being talked to in this way.
-"Or your father's watch may be stolen while you are in,
-talking with the neighbours, or<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+“Or your father’s watch may be stolen while you are in,
+talking with the neighbours, or<span class="norewrap">——</span>”</p>
 
-<p>"Now come, mother, you know I've had the charge
+<p>“Now come, mother, you know I’ve had the charge
 of Jenny ever since father died, and you began to go
-out washing&mdash;and I'll lock father's watch up in the box
-in our room."</p>
+out washing—and I’ll lock father’s watch up in the box
+in our room.”</p>
 
-<p>"Then Tom and Jem won't know at what time to go
-to the factory. Besides, Bessy," said she, raising herself
-up, "they're are but young lads, and there's a deal
+<p>“Then Tom and Jem won’t know at what time to go
+to the factory. Besides, Bessy,” said she, raising herself
+up, “they’re are but young lads, and there’s a deal
 of temptation to take them away from their homes, if
 their homes are not comfortable and pleasant to them.
-It's that, more than anything, I've been fretting about
-all the time I've been ill,&mdash;that I've lost the power of
+It’s that, more than anything, I’ve been fretting about
+all the time I’ve been ill,—that I’ve lost the power of
 making this house the cleanest and brightest place
-they know. But it's no use fretting," said she, falling
-back weakly upon the bed and sighing. "I must leave
-it in God's hands. He raiseth up and He bringeth
-low."</p>
+they know. But it’s no use fretting,” said she, falling
+back weakly upon the bed and sighing. “I must leave
+it in God’s hands. He raiseth up and He bringeth
+low.”</p>
 
 <p>Bessy stood silent for a minute or two. Then she
-said, "Well, mother, I will try to make home comfortable
-for the lads, if you'll but keep your mind easy, and
-go off to Southport quiet and cheerful."</p>
+said, “Well, mother, I will try to make home comfortable
+for the lads, if you’ll but keep your mind easy, and
+go off to Southport quiet and cheerful.”</p>
 
-<p>"I'll try," said Mrs. Lee, taking hold of Bessy's
+<p>“I’ll try,” said Mrs. Lee, taking hold of Bessy’s
 hand, and looking up thankfully in her face.</p>
 
 <p>The next Wednesday she set off, leaving home with a
@@ -8565,7 +8409,7 @@ They were all good children, and all had faults. Tom
 and Jem helped to support the family by their earnings
 at the factory, and gave up their wages very cheerfully
 for this purpose, to their mother, who, however, insisted
-on a little being put by every week in the savings' bank.
+on a little being put by every week in the savings’ bank.
 It was one of her griefs now that, when the doctor
 ordered her some expensive delicacy in the way of diet
 during her illness (a thing which she persisted in thinking
@@ -8573,21 +8417,21 @@ she could have done without), her boys had gone
 and taken their money out in order to procure it for her.
 The article in question did not cost one quarter of the
 amount of their savings, but they had put off returning
-the remainder into the bank, saying the doctor's bill had
+the remainder into the bank, saying the doctor’s bill had
 yet to be paid, and that it seemed so silly to be always
 taking money in and out. But meanwhile Mrs. Lee
 feared lest it should be spent, and begged them to
-restore it to the savings' bank. This had not been done
+restore it to the savings’ bank. This had not been done
 when she left for Southport. Bill and Mary went to
 school. Little Jenny was the darling of all, and toddled
-about at home, having been her sister Bessy's especial
+about at home, having been her sister Bessy’s especial
 charge when all went on well, and the mother used to go
 out to wash.</p>
 
 <p>Mrs. Lee, however, had always made a point of giving
 all her children who were at home a comfortable breakfast
-at seven, before she set out to her day's work; and
-she prepared the boys' dinner ready for Bessy to warm
+at seven, before she set out to her day’s work; and
+she prepared the boys’ dinner ready for Bessy to warm
 for them. At night, too, she was anxious to be at home
 as soon after her boys as she could; and many of her
 employers respected her wish, and, finding her hard-working
@@ -8598,7 +8442,7 @@ liberty early in the evening.</p>
 home from seeing her mother off by the railway. She
 looked round the house with a new feeling of proprietorship,
 and then went to claim little Jenny from the
-neighbour's where she had been left while Bessy had
+neighbour’s where she had been left while Bessy had
 gone to the station. They asked her to stay and have a
 bit of chat; but she replied that she could not, for that
 it was near dinner-time, and she refused the invitation
@@ -8606,7 +8450,7 @@ that was then given her to go in some evening. She was
 full of good plans and resolutions.</p>
 
 <p>That afternoon she took Jenny and went to her
-teacher's to borrow a book, which she meant to ask one
+teacher’s to borrow a book, which she meant to ask one
 of her brothers to read to her in the evenings while she
 worked. She knew that it was a book which Jem would
 like, for though she had never read it, one of her school-fellows
@@ -8618,33 +8462,33 @@ evening.</p>
 <p>She hurried Jenny off to bed before her brothers
 came home; Jenny did not like to go so early, and had
 to be bribed and coaxed to give up the pleasure of
-sitting on brother Tom's knee; and when she was in bed,
+sitting on brother Tom’s knee; and when she was in bed,
 she could not go to sleep, and kept up a little whimper
 of distress. Bessy kept calling out to her, now in
 gentle, now in sharp tones, as she made the hearth
-clean and bright against her brothers' return, as she
-settled Bill and Mary to their next day's lessons, and
+clean and bright against her brothers’ return, as she
+settled Bill and Mary to their next day’s lessons, and
 got her work ready for a happy evening.</p>
 
 <p>Presently the elder boys came in.</p>
 
-<p>"Where's Jenny?" asked Tom, the first thing.</p>
+<p>“Where’s Jenny?” asked Tom, the first thing.</p>
 
-<p>"I've put her to bed," said Bessy. "I've borrowed
+<p>“I’ve put her to bed,” said Bessy. “I’ve borrowed
 a book for you to read to me while I darn the stockings;
-and it was time for Jenny to go."</p>
+and it was time for Jenny to go.”</p>
 
-<p>"Mother never puts her to bed so soon," said Tom,
+<p>“Mother never puts her to bed so soon,” said Tom,
 dissatisfied.</p>
 
-<p>"But she'd be so in the way of any quietness over
-our reading," said Bessy.</p>
+<p>“But she’d be so in the way of any quietness over
+our reading,” said Bessy.</p>
 
-<p>"I don't want to read," said Tom; "I want Jenny
+<p>“I don’t want to read,” said Tom; “I want Jenny
 to sit on my knee, as she always does, while I eat my
-supper."</p>
+supper.”</p>
 
-<p>"Tom, Tom, dear Tom!" called out little Jenny,
+<p>“Tom, Tom, dear Tom!” called out little Jenny,
 who had heard his voice, and, perhaps, a little of the
 conversation.</p>
 
@@ -8661,24 +8505,24 @@ about. She brooded over her fancied wrongs, ready to
 fall upon the first person who might give the slightest
 occasion for anger. It happened to be poor little Jenny,
 who, by some awkward movement, knocked over the jug
-of milk, and made a great splash on Bessy's clean white
+of milk, and made a great splash on Bessy’s clean white
 floor.</p>
 
-<p>"Never mind!" said Tom, as Jenny began to cry.
-"I like my porridge as well without milk as with it."</p>
+<p>“Never mind!” said Tom, as Jenny began to cry.
+“I like my porridge as well without milk as with it.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, never mind!" said Bessy, her colour rising,
-and her breath growing shorter. "Never mind dirtying
-anything, Jenny; it's only giving trouble to Bessy!
-But I'll make you mind," continued she, as she caught
-a glance of intelligence peep from Jem's eyes to Tom;
-and she slapped Jenny's head. The moment she had
+<p>“Oh, never mind!” said Bessy, her colour rising,
+and her breath growing shorter. “Never mind dirtying
+anything, Jenny; it’s only giving trouble to Bessy!
+But I’ll make you mind,” continued she, as she caught
+a glance of intelligence peep from Jem’s eyes to Tom;
+and she slapped Jenny’s head. The moment she had
 done it she was sorry for it; she could have beaten herself
 now with the greatest pleasure for having given way
 to passion; for she loved little Jenny dearly, and she
 saw that she really had hurt her. But Jem, with his
-loud, deep, "For shame, Bessy!" and Tom, with his
-excess of sympathy with his little sister's wrongs,
+loud, deep, “For shame, Bessy!” and Tom, with his
+excess of sympathy with his little sister’s wrongs,
 checked back any expression which Bessy might have
 uttered of sorrow and regret. She sat there ten times
 more unhappy than she had been before the accident,
@@ -8702,14 +8546,14 @@ but she was very tender and loving, and submitted
 meekly and humbly to the little slights and rebuffs she
 often met with for her stupidity.</p>
 
-<p>"Dear Bessy! good night!" said she, kissing her
-sister; and, at the soft kiss, Bessy's eyes filled with
+<p>“Dear Bessy! good night!” said she, kissing her
+sister; and, at the soft kiss, Bessy’s eyes filled with
 tears, and her heart began to melt.</p>
 
-<p>"Jenny," continued Mary, going to the little spoilt,
-wilful girl, "will you come to bed with me, and I'll tell
+<p>“Jenny,” continued Mary, going to the little spoilt,
+wilful girl, “will you come to bed with me, and I’ll tell
 you stories about school, and sing you my songs as I
-undress? Come, little one!" said she, holding out her
+undress? Come, little one!” said she, holding out her
 arms. Jenny was tempted by this speech, and went off
 to bed in a more reasonable frame of mind than any one
 had dared to hope.</p>
@@ -8718,25 +8562,25 @@ had dared to hope.</p>
 but each was too proud to propose it. Jem, indeed,
 seemed to have forgotten the book altogether, he was so
 busy whittling away at a piece of wood. At last Tom,
-by a strong effort, said, "Bessy, mayn't we have the
-book now?"</p>
+by a strong effort, said, “Bessy, mayn’t we have the
+book now?”</p>
 
-<p>"No!" said Jem, "don't begin reading, for I must
+<p>“No!” said Jem, “don’t begin reading, for I must
 go out and try and make Ned Bates give me a piece of
-ash-wood&mdash;deal is just good for nothing."</p>
+ash-wood—deal is just good for nothing.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh!" said Bessy, "I don't want any one to read
+<p>“Oh!” said Bessy, “I don’t want any one to read
 this book who does not like it. But I know mother
 would be better pleased if you were stopping at home
-quiet, rather than rambling to Ned Bates's at this time
-of night."</p>
+quiet, rather than rambling to Ned Bates’s at this time
+of night.”</p>
 
-<p>"I know what mother would like as well as you, and
-I'm not going to be preached to by a girl," said Jem,
+<p>“I know what mother would like as well as you, and
+I’m not going to be preached to by a girl,” said Jem,
 taking up his cap and going out. Tom yawned and
 went up to bed. Bessy sat brooding over the evening.</p>
 
-<p>"So much as I thought and I planned! I'm sure I
+<p>“So much as I thought and I planned! I’m sure I
 tried to do what was right, and make the boys happy at
 home. And yet nothing has happened as I wanted it to
 do. Every one has been so cross and contrary. Tom
@@ -8744,12 +8588,12 @@ would take Jenny up when she ought to have been
 in bed. Jem did not care a straw for this book that
 I borrowed on purpose for him, but sat laughing. I
 saw, though he did not think I did, when all was going
-provoking and vexatious. Mary&mdash;no! Mary was a help
+provoking and vexatious. Mary—no! Mary was a help
 and a comfort, as she always is, I think, though she
 is so stupid over her book. Mary always contrives to
 get people right, and to have her own way somehow;
-and yet I'm sure she does not take half the trouble I do
-to please people."</p>
+and yet I’m sure she does not take half the trouble I do
+to please people.”</p>
 
 <p>Jem came back soon, disappointed because Ned Bates
 was out, and could not give him any ash-wood. Bessy
@@ -8758,37 +8602,37 @@ and the brother and sister spoke angrily to each other
 all the way upstairs, and parted without even saying
 good-night. Jenny was asleep when Bessy entered the
 bedroom which she shared with her sisters and her
-mother; but she saw Mary's wakeful eyes looking at her
+mother; but she saw Mary’s wakeful eyes looking at her
 as she came in.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, Mary," said she, "I wish mother was back.
-The lads would mind her, and now I see they'll just
-go and get into mischief to spite and plague me."</p>
+<p>“Oh, Mary,” said she, “I wish mother was back.
+The lads would mind her, and now I see they’ll just
+go and get into mischief to spite and plague me.”</p>
 
-<p>"I don't think it's for that," said Mary, softly.
-"Jem did want that ash-wood, I know, for he told me
-in the morning he didn't think that deal would do. He
+<p>“I don’t think it’s for that,” said Mary, softly.
+“Jem did want that ash-wood, I know, for he told me
+in the morning he didn’t think that deal would do. He
 wants to make a wedge to keep the window from rattling
-so on windy nights; you know how that fidgets mother."</p>
+so on windy nights; you know how that fidgets mother.”</p>
 
 <p>The next day, little Mary, on her way to school, went
-round by Ned Bates's to beg a piece of wood for her
+round by Ned Bates’s to beg a piece of wood for her
 brother Jem; she brought it home to him at dinner-time,
 and asked him to be so good as to have everything
 ready for a quiet whittling at night, while Tom or Bessy
 read aloud. She told Jenny she would make haste with
 her lessons, so as to be ready to come to bed early,
 and talk to her about school (a grand, wonderful place,
-in Jenny's eyes), and thus Mary quietly and gently
+in Jenny’s eyes), and thus Mary quietly and gently
 prepared for a happy evening, by attending to the kind
 of happiness for which every one wished.</p>
 
 <p>While Mary had thus been busy preparing for a happy
 evening, Bessy had been spending part of the afternoon
-at a Mrs. Foster's, a neighbour of her mother's, and
+at a Mrs. Foster’s, a neighbour of her mother’s, and
 a very tidy, industrious old widow. Mrs. Foster earned
 part of her livelihood by working for the shops where
-knitted work of all kinds is to be sold; and Bessy's
+knitted work of all kinds is to be sold; and Bessy’s
 attention was caught, almost as soon as she went in, by
 a very gay piece of wool-knitting, in a new stitch, that
 was to be used as a warm covering for the feet. After
@@ -8797,69 +8641,69 @@ might be to her mother; and when Mrs. Foster heard
 this, she offered to teach Bessy how to do it. But where
 were the wools to come from? Those which Mrs. Foster
 used were provided her by the shop; and she was a
-very poor woman&mdash;too poor to make presents, though
+very poor woman—too poor to make presents, though
 rich enough (as we all are) to give help of many other
 kinds, and willing too to do what she could (which some
 of us are not).</p>
 
-<p>The two sat perplexed. "How much did you say
-it would cost?" said Bessy at last; as if the article
+<p>The two sat perplexed. “How much did you say
+it would cost?” said Bessy at last; as if the article
 was likely to have become cheaper, since she asked the
 question before.</p>
 
-<p>"Well! it's sure to be more than two shillings if it's
+<p>“Well! it’s sure to be more than two shillings if it’s
 German wool. You might get it for eighteenpence if you
-could be content with English."</p>
+could be content with English.”</p>
 
-<p>"But I've not got eighteenpence," said Bessy,
+<p>“But I’ve not got eighteenpence,” said Bessy,
 gloomily.</p>
 
-<p>"I could lend it you," said Mrs. Foster, "if I was
-sure of having it back before Monday. But it's part of
-my rent-money. Could you make sure, do you think?"</p>
+<p>“I could lend it you,” said Mrs. Foster, “if I was
+sure of having it back before Monday. But it’s part of
+my rent-money. Could you make sure, do you think?”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, yes!" said Bessy, eagerly. "At least I'd
+<p>“Oh, yes!” said Bessy, eagerly. “At least I’d
 try. But perhaps I had better not take it, for after all
-I don't know where I could get it. What Tom and Jem
-earn is little enough for the house, now that mother's
-washing is cut off."</p>
+I don’t know where I could get it. What Tom and Jem
+earn is little enough for the house, now that mother’s
+washing is cut off.”</p>
 
-<p>"They are good, dutiful lads, to give it to their
-mother," said Mrs. Foster, sighing: for she thought of
+<p>“They are good, dutiful lads, to give it to their
+mother,” said Mrs. Foster, sighing: for she thought of
 her own boys, that had left her in her old age to toil on,
 with faded eyesight and weakened strength.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! but mother makes them each keep a shilling
-out of it for themselves," said Bessy, in a complaining
+<p>“Oh! but mother makes them each keep a shilling
+out of it for themselves,” said Bessy, in a complaining
 tone, for she wanted money, and was inclined to envy
 any one who possessed it.</p>
 
-<p>"That's right enough," said Mrs. Foster. "They
+<p>“That’s right enough,” said Mrs. Foster. “They
 that earn it should have some of the power over
-it."</p>
+it.”</p>
 
-<p>"But about this wool; this eighteenpence! I wish
+<p>“But about this wool; this eighteenpence! I wish
 I was a boy and could earn money. I wish mother
-would have let me go to work in the factory."</p>
+would have let me go to work in the factory.”</p>
 
-<p>"Come now, Bessy, I can have none of that nonsense.
-Thy mother knows what's best for thee; and I'm not
+<p>“Come now, Bessy, I can have none of that nonsense.
+Thy mother knows what’s best for thee; and I’m not
 going to hear thee complain of what she has thought
 right. But may be, I can help you to a way of gaining
 eighteenpence. Mrs. Scott at the worsted shop told me
 that she should want some one to clean on Saturday;
-now you're a good strong girl, and can do a woman's
-work if you've a mind. Shall I say you will go? and
-then I don't mind if I lend you my eighteenpence.
-You'll pay me before I want my rent on Monday."</p>
+now you’re a good strong girl, and can do a woman’s
+work if you’ve a mind. Shall I say you will go? and
+then I don’t mind if I lend you my eighteenpence.
+You’ll pay me before I want my rent on Monday.”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! thank you, dear Mrs. Foster," said Bessy.
-"I can scour as well as any woman, mother often says
-so; and I'll do my best on Saturday; they shan't blame
-you for having spoken up for me."</p>
+<p>“Oh! thank you, dear Mrs. Foster,” said Bessy.
+“I can scour as well as any woman, mother often says
+so; and I’ll do my best on Saturday; they shan’t blame
+you for having spoken up for me.”</p>
 
-<p>"No, Bessy, they won't, I'm sure, if you do your
-best. You're a good sharp girl for your years."</p>
+<p>“No, Bessy, they won’t, I’m sure, if you do your
+best. You’re a good sharp girl for your years.”</p>
 
 <p>Bessy lingered for some time, hoping that Mrs. Foster
 would remember her offer of lending her the money;
@@ -8869,33 +8713,33 @@ nothing but forgetfulness, was evident from the haste
 with which Mrs. Foster bustled up to her tea-pot and
 took from it the money required.</p>
 
-<p>"You're as welcome to it as can be, Bessy, as long
-as I'm sure of its being repaid by Monday. But you're
-in a mighty hurry about this coverlet," continued she,
+<p>“You’re as welcome to it as can be, Bessy, as long
+as I’m sure of its being repaid by Monday. But you’re
+in a mighty hurry about this coverlet,” continued she,
 as she saw Bessy put on her bonnet and prepare to go
-out. "Stay, you must take patterns, and go to the
-right shop in St. Mary's Gate. Why, your mother won't
-be back this three weeks, child."</p>
+out. “Stay, you must take patterns, and go to the
+right shop in St. Mary’s Gate. Why, your mother won’t
+be back this three weeks, child.”</p>
 
-<p>"No. But I can't abide waiting, and I want to set
-to it before it is dark; and you'll teach me the stitch,
-won't you, when I come back with the wools? I won't
-be half an hour away."</p>
+<p>“No. But I can’t abide waiting, and I want to set
+to it before it is dark; and you’ll teach me the stitch,
+won’t you, when I come back with the wools? I won’t
+be half an hour away.”</p>
 
-<p>But Mary and Bill had to "abide waiting" that
+<p>But Mary and Bill had to “abide waiting” that
 afternoon; for though the neighbour at whose house
 the key was left could let them into the house, there
 was no supper ready for them on their return from
 school; even Jenny was away spending the afternoon
 with a playfellow; the fire was nearly out, the milk had
-been left at a neighbour's; altogether home was very
+been left at a neighbour’s; altogether home was very
 comfortless to the poor tired children, and Bill grumbled
-terribly; Mary's head ached, and the very tones of her
-brother's voice, as he complained, gave her pain; and
+terribly; Mary’s head ached, and the very tones of her
+brother’s voice, as he complained, gave her pain; and
 for a minute she felt inclined to sit down and cry. But
 then she thought of many little sayings which she had
-heard from her teacher&mdash;such as "Never complain of
-what you can cure," "Bear and forbear," and several
+heard from her teacher—such as “Never complain of
+what you can cure,” “Bear and forbear,” and several
 other short sentences of a similar description. So she
 began to make up the fire, and asked Bill to fetch some
 chips; and when he gave her the gruff answer, that he
@@ -8903,9 +8747,9 @@ did not see any use in making a fire when there was
 nothing to cook by it, she went herself and brought the
 wood without a word of complaint.</p>
 
-<p>Presently Bill said, "Here! you lend me those
-bellows; you're not blowing it in the right way; girls
-never do!" He found out that Mary was wise in
+<p>Presently Bill said, “Here! you lend me those
+bellows; you’re not blowing it in the right way; girls
+never do!” He found out that Mary was wise in
 making a bright fire ready; for before the blowing was
 ended, the neighbour with whom the milk had been left
 brought it in, and little handy Mary prepared the porridge
@@ -8915,28 +8759,28 @@ breathless; for she had suddenly remembered, in the
 middle of her knitting-lesson, that Bill and Mary must
 be at home from school.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh!" she said, "that's right. I have so hurried
-myself! I was afraid the fire would be out. Where's
+<p>“Oh!” she said, “that’s right. I have so hurried
+myself! I was afraid the fire would be out. Where’s
 Jenny? You were to have called for her, you know,
 as you came from school. Dear! how stupid you are,
 Mary. I am sure I told you over and over again.
-Now don't cry, silly child. The best thing you can do
-is to run off back again for her."</p>
+Now don’t cry, silly child. The best thing you can do
+is to run off back again for her.”</p>
 
-<p>"But my lessons, Bessy. They are so bad to learn.
-It's tables day to-morrow," pleaded Mary.</p>
+<p>“But my lessons, Bessy. They are so bad to learn.
+It’s tables day to-morrow,” pleaded Mary.</p>
 
-<p>"Nonsense; tables are as easy as can be. I can say
-up to sixteen times sixteen in no time."</p>
+<p>“Nonsense; tables are as easy as can be. I can say
+up to sixteen times sixteen in no time.”</p>
 
-<p>"But you know, Bessy, I'm very stupid, and my
-head aches so to-night!"</p>
+<p>“But you know, Bessy, I’m very stupid, and my
+head aches so to-night!”</p>
 
-<p>"Well! the air will do it good. Really, Mary, I
-would go myself, only I'm so busy; and you know Bill
+<p>“Well! the air will do it good. Really, Mary, I
+would go myself, only I’m so busy; and you know Bill
 is too careless, mother says, to fetch Jenny through the
 streets; and besides they would quarrel, and you can
-always manage Jenny."</p>
+always manage Jenny.”</p>
 
 <p>Mary sighed, and went away to bring her sister home.
 Bessy sat down to her knitting. Presently Bill came
@@ -8944,7 +8788,7 @@ up to her with some question about his lesson. She
 told him the answer without looking at the book; it
 was all wrong, and made nonsense; but Bill did not
 care to understand what he learnt, and went on saying,
-"Twelve inches make one shilling," as contentedly as
+“Twelve inches make one shilling,” as contentedly as
 if it were right.</p>
 
 <p>Mary brought Jenny home quite safely. Indeed,
@@ -8953,8 +8797,8 @@ her lessons well; and sometimes, if the teacher could
 have known how many tasks fell upon the willing,
 gentle girl at home, she would not have thought that
 poor Mary was slow or a dunce; and such thoughts
-would come into the teacher's mind sometimes, although
-she fully appreciated Mary's sweetness and humility of
+would come into the teacher’s mind sometimes, although
+she fully appreciated Mary’s sweetness and humility of
 disposition.</p>
 
 <p>To-night she tried hard at her tables, and all to no
@@ -8964,7 +8808,7 @@ mother, whose cool hands around her forehead always
 seemed to do her so much good, and whose soft, loving
 words were such a help to her when she had to bear
 pain. She had arranged so many plans for to-night,
-and now all were deranged by Bessy's new fancy for
+and now all were deranged by Bessy’s new fancy for
 knitting. But Mary did not see this in the plain, clear
 light in which I have put it before you. She only was
 sorry that she could not make haste with her lessons, as
@@ -8976,39 +8820,39 @@ she was defending herself, Mary, even at the risk of
 imperfect lessons, began to prepare the supper for her
 brothers. She did it all so quietly, that, almost before
 they were aware, it was ready for them; and Bessy,
-suddenly ashamed of herself, and touched by Mary's
+suddenly ashamed of herself, and touched by Mary’s
 quiet helpfulness, bent down and kissed her, as once
 more she settled to the never-ending difficulty of her
 lesson.</p>
 
-<p>Mary threw her arms round Bessy's neck, and began
+<p>Mary threw her arms round Bessy’s neck, and began
 to cry, for this little mark of affection went to her
 heart; she had been so longing for a word or a sign of
 love in her suffering.</p>
 
-<p>"Come, Molly," said Jem, "don't cry like a baby;"
-but he spoke very kindly. "What's the matter? the
+<p>“Come, Molly,” said Jem, “don’t cry like a baby;”
+but he spoke very kindly. “What’s the matter? the
 old headache come back? Never mind. Go to bed,
-and it will be better in the morning."</p>
+and it will be better in the morning.”</p>
 
-<p>"But I can't go to bed. I don't know my lesson!"
+<p>“But I can’t go to bed. I don’t know my lesson!”
 Mary looked happier, though the tears were in her eyes.</p>
 
-<p>"I know mine," said Bill, triumphantly.</p>
+<p>“I know mine,” said Bill, triumphantly.</p>
 
-<p>"Come here," said Jem. "There! I've time enough
+<p>“Come here,” said Jem. “There! I’ve time enough
 to whittle away at this before mother comes back. Now
-let's see this difficult lesson."</p>
+let’s see this difficult lesson.”</p>
 
-<p>Jem's help soon enabled Mary to conquer her lesson;
+<p>Jem’s help soon enabled Mary to conquer her lesson;
 but, meanwhile, Jenny and Bill had taken to quarrelling
-in spite of Bessy's scolding, administered in small sharp
+in spite of Bessy’s scolding, administered in small sharp
 doses, as she looked up from her all-absorbing knitting.</p>
 
-<p>"Well," said Tom, "with this riot on one side, and
+<p>“Well,” said Tom, “with this riot on one side, and
 this dull lesson on the other, and Bessy as cross as can
 be in the midst, I can understand what makes a man go
-out to spend his evenings from home."</p>
+out to spend his evenings from home.”</p>
 
 <p>Bessy looked up, suddenly wakened up to a sense of
 the danger which her mother had dreaded.</p>
@@ -9022,13 +8866,13 @@ mother had assigned to her, and that she had promised
 to fulfil. She was so eager about her own plans that
 she did not consider this; she did not consider at all,
 or else I think she would have seen many things to
-which she seemed to be blind now. When were Mary's
+which she seemed to be blind now. When were Mary’s
 lessons for Monday to be learnt? Bessy knew as well
 as we do, that lesson-learning was hard work to Mary.
 If Mary worked as hard as she could after morning
 school she could hardly get the house cleaned up bright
 and comfortable before her brothers came home from the
-factory, which "loosed" early on the Saturday afternoon;
+factory, which “loosed” early on the Saturday afternoon;
 and if pails of water, chairs heaped up one on
 the other, and tables put topsy-turvy on the dresser,
 were the most prominent objects in the house-place,
@@ -9043,7 +8887,7 @@ think about was the pleasant surprise she should give
 her mother by the warm and pretty covering for her
 feet, which she hoped to present her with on her return
 home. And if she had done the duties she was pledged
-to on her mother's departure first, if they had been
+to on her mother’s departure first, if they had been
 compatible with her plan of being a whole day absent
 from home, in order to earn the money for the wools,
 the project of the surprise would have been innocent
@@ -9054,7 +8898,7 @@ home that Saturday morning. She made a potato-pie
 all ready for putting in the oven; she was very particular
 in telling Mary what was to be cleaned, and how it was
 all to be cleaned; and then she kissed the children, and
-ran off to Mrs. Scott's. Mary was rather afraid of the
+ran off to Mrs. Scott’s. Mary was rather afraid of the
 responsibility thrust upon her; but still she was pleased
 that Bessy could trust her to do so much. She took
 Jenny to the ever-useful neighbour, as she and Bill went
@@ -9062,43 +8906,43 @@ to school; but she was rather frightened when Mrs.
 Jones began to grumble about these frequent visits of
 the child.</p>
 
-<p>"I was ready enough to take care of the wench when
+<p>“I was ready enough to take care of the wench when
 thy mother was ill; there was reason for that. And the
 child is a nice child enough, when she is not cross; but
 still there are some folks, it seems, who, if you give
-them an inch, will take an ell. Where's Bessy, that she
-can't mind her own sister?"</p>
+them an inch, will take an ell. Where’s Bessy, that she
+can’t mind her own sister?”</p>
 
-<p>"Gone out charing," said Mary, clasping the little
-hand in hers tighter, for she was afraid of Mrs. Jones's
+<p>“Gone out charing,” said Mary, clasping the little
+hand in hers tighter, for she was afraid of Mrs. Jones’s
 anger.</p>
 
-<p>"I could go out charing every day in the week if I'd
-the face to trouble other folks with my children," said
+<p>“I could go out charing every day in the week if I’d
+the face to trouble other folks with my children,” said
 Mrs. Jones, in a surly tone.</p>
 
-<p>"Shall I take her back, ma'am?" said Mary, timidly,
+<p>“Shall I take her back, ma’am?” said Mary, timidly,
 though she knew this would involve her staying away
 from school, and being blamed by the dear teacher. But
 Mrs. Jones growled worse than she bit, this time at least.</p>
 
-<p>"No," said she, "you may leave her with me. I
-suppose she's had her breakfast?"</p>
+<p>“No,” said she, “you may leave her with me. I
+suppose she’s had her breakfast?”</p>
 
-<p>"Yes; and I'll fetch her away as soon as ever I can
-after twelve."</p>
+<p>“Yes; and I’ll fetch her away as soon as ever I can
+after twelve.”</p>
 
 <p>If Mary had been one to consider the hardships of
-her little lot, she might have felt this morning's occurrence
-as one;&mdash;that she, who dreaded giving trouble to
+her little lot, she might have felt this morning’s occurrence
+as one;—that she, who dreaded giving trouble to
 anybody, and was painfully averse from asking any little
 favour for herself, should be the very one on whom it fell
-to presume upon another person's kindness. But Mary
+to presume upon another person’s kindness. But Mary
 never did think of any hardships; they seemed the
 natural events of life, and as if it was fitting and proper
 that she, who managed things badly, and was such a
 dunce, should be blamed. Still she was rather flurried
-by Mrs. Jones's scolding; and almost wished that she
+by Mrs. Jones’s scolding; and almost wished that she
 had taken Jenny home again. Her lessons were not
 well said, owing to the distraction of her mind.</p>
 
@@ -9109,14 +8953,14 @@ much so that Jenny was not all at once ready to leave
 her little playmates, and when once she had set out on
 the road, she was in no humour to make haste. Mary
 thought of the potato-pie and her brothers, and could
-almost have cried, as Jenny, heedless of her sister's
+almost have cried, as Jenny, heedless of her sister’s
 entreaties, would linger at the picture-shops.</p>
 
-<p>"I shall be obliged to go and leave you, Jenny! I
-must get dinner ready."</p>
+<p>“I shall be obliged to go and leave you, Jenny! I
+must get dinner ready.”</p>
 
-<p>"I don't care," said Jenny. "I don't want any
-dinner, and I can come home quite well by myself."</p>
+<p>“I don’t care,” said Jenny. “I don’t want any
+dinner, and I can come home quite well by myself.”</p>
 
 <p>Mary half longed to give her a fright, it was so provoking.
 But she thought of her mother, who was so
@@ -9128,29 +8972,29 @@ was cold. She put the pie in, and blew the fire; but
 the paste was quite white and soft when her brothers
 came home, eager and hungry.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh! Mary, what a manager you are!" said Tom.
-"Any one else would have remembered and put the pie
-in in time."</p>
+<p>“Oh! Mary, what a manager you are!” said Tom.
+“Any one else would have remembered and put the pie
+in in time.”</p>
 
-<p>Mary's eyes filled full of tears; but she did not try to
+<p>Mary’s eyes filled full of tears; but she did not try to
 justify herself. She went on blowing, till Jem took the
 bellows, and kindly told her to take off her bonnet, and
 lay the cloth. Jem was always kind. He gave Tom
 the best baked side of the pie, and quietly took the
 side himself where the paste was little better than dough,
-and the potatoes quite hard; and when he caught Mary's
+and the potatoes quite hard; and when he caught Mary’s
 little anxious face watching him, as he had to leave part
-of his dinner untasted, he said, "Mary, I should like
+of his dinner untasted, he said, “Mary, I should like
 this pie warmed up for supper; there is nothing so good
-as potato-pie made hot the second time."</p>
+as potato-pie made hot the second time.”</p>
 
-<p>Tom went off saying, "Mary, I would not have you
+<p>Tom went off saying, “Mary, I would not have you
 for a wife on any account. Why, my dinner would never
 be ready, and your sad face would take away my appetite
-if it were."</p>
+if it were.”</p>
 
-<p>But Jem kissed her and said, "Never mind, Mary!
-you and I will live together, old maid and old bachelor."</p>
+<p>But Jem kissed her and said, “Never mind, Mary!
+you and I will live together, old maid and old bachelor.”</p>
 
 <p>So she could set to with spirit to her cleaning, thinking
 there never was such a good brother as Jem; and as she
@@ -9167,17 +9011,17 @@ grew, the worse she got on. Her hands trembled, and
 things slipped out of them; and she shook so, she
 could not lift heavy pieces of furniture quickly and
 sharply; and in the middle the clock struck the hour for
-her brothers' return, when all ought to have been tidy
+her brothers’ return, when all ought to have been tidy
 and ready for tea. She gave it up in despair, and began
 to cry.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, Bessy, Bessy! why did you go away? I have
-tried hard, and I cannot do it," said she aloud, as if
+<p>“Oh, Bessy, Bessy! why did you go away? I have
+tried hard, and I cannot do it,” said she aloud, as if
 Bessy could hear.</p>
 
-<p>"Dear Mary, don't cry," said Jenny, suddenly coming
-away from her play. "I'll help you. I am very strong.
-I can do anything. I can lift that pan off the fire."</p>
+<p>“Dear Mary, don’t cry,” said Jenny, suddenly coming
+away from her play. “I’ll help you. I am very strong.
+I can do anything. I can lift that pan off the fire.”</p>
 
 <p>The pan was full of boiling water, ready for Mary.
 Jenny took hold of the handle, and dragged it along the
@@ -9187,66 +9031,66 @@ next moment her arm and side were full of burning
 pain, which turned her sick and dizzy, and Jenny was
 crying passionately beside her.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh, Mary! Mary! Mary! my hand is so scalded.
-What shall I do? I cannot bear it. It's all about my
-feet on the ground." She kept shaking her hand to cool
+<p>“Oh, Mary! Mary! Mary! my hand is so scalded.
+What shall I do? I cannot bear it. It’s all about my
+feet on the ground.” She kept shaking her hand to cool
 it by the action of the air. Mary thought that she herself
 was dying, so acute and terrible was the pain; she
 could hardly keep from screaming out aloud; but she
 felt that if she once began she could not stop herself, so
 she sat still, moaning, and the tears running down her
-face like rain. "Go, Jenny," said she, "and tell some
-one to come."</p>
+face like rain. “Go, Jenny,” said she, “and tell some
+one to come.”</p>
 
-<p>"I can't, I can't, my hand hurts so," said Jenny.
+<p>“I can’t, I can’t, my hand hurts so,” said Jenny.
 But she flew wildly out of the house the next minute,
-crying out, "Mary is dead. Come, come, come!" For
+crying out, “Mary is dead. Come, come, come!” For
 Mary could bear it no longer; but had fainted away, and
 looked, indeed, like one that was dead. Neighbours
 flocked in; and one ran for a doctor. In five minutes
 Tom and Jem came home. What a home it seems!
 People they hardly knew standing in the house-place,
-which looked as if it had never been cleaned&mdash;all was
+which looked as if it had never been cleaned—all was
 so wet, and in such disorder, and dirty with the trampling
 of many feet; Jenny still crying passionately, but
 half comforted at being at present the only authority as
 to how the affair happened; and faint moans from the
 room upstairs, where some women were cutting the clothes
-off poor Mary, preparatory for the doctor's inspection.
-Jem said directly, "Some one go straight to Mrs. Scott's,
-and fetch our Bessy. Her place is here, with Mary."</p>
+off poor Mary, preparatory for the doctor’s inspection.
+Jem said directly, “Some one go straight to Mrs. Scott’s,
+and fetch our Bessy. Her place is here, with Mary.”</p>
 
 <p>And then he civilly, but quietly, dismissed all the unnecessary
 and useless people, feeling sure that in case of
 any kind of illness, quiet was the best thing. Then he
 went upstairs.</p>
 
-<p>Mary's face was scarlet now with violent pain; but
+<p>Mary’s face was scarlet now with violent pain; but
 she smiled a little through her tears at seeing Jem. As
 for him, he cried outright.</p>
 
-<p>"I don't think it was anybody's fault, Jem," said she,
-softly. "It was very heavy to lift."</p>
+<p>“I don’t think it was anybody’s fault, Jem,” said she,
+softly. “It was very heavy to lift.”</p>
 
-<p>"Are you in great pain, dear?" asked Jem, in a
+<p>“Are you in great pain, dear?” asked Jem, in a
 whisper.</p>
 
-<p>"I think I'm killed, Jem. I do think I am. And I
-did so want to see mother again."</p>
+<p>“I think I’m killed, Jem. I do think I am. And I
+did so want to see mother again.”</p>
 
-<p>"Nonsense!" said the woman who had been helping
+<p>“Nonsense!” said the woman who had been helping
 Mary. For, as she said afterwards, whether Mary died
 or lived, crying was a bad thing for her; and she saw
 the girl was ready to cry when she thought of her mother,
 though she had borne up bravely all the time the clothes
 were cut off.</p>
 
-<p>Bessy's face, which had been red with hard running,
+<p>Bessy’s face, which had been red with hard running,
 faded to a dead white when she saw Mary; she looked
 so shocked and ill that Jem had not the heart to blame
 her, although the minute before she came in, he had been
 feeling very angry with her. Bessy stood quite still at
-the foot of Mary's bed, never speaking a word, while
+the foot of Mary’s bed, never speaking a word, while
 the doctor examined her side and felt her pulse; only
 great round tears gathered in her eyes, and rolled down
 her cheeks, as she saw Mary quiver with pain. Jem
@@ -9254,128 +9098,128 @@ followed the doctor downstairs. Then Bessy went and
 knelt beside Mary, and wiped away the tears that were
 trickling down the little face.</p>
 
-<p>"Is it very bad, Mary?" asked Bessy.</p>
+<p>“Is it very bad, Mary?” asked Bessy.</p>
 
-<p>"Oh yes! yes! if I speak, I shall scream."</p>
+<p>“Oh yes! yes! if I speak, I shall scream.”</p>
 
 <p>Then Bessy covered her head in the bed-clothes and
 cried outright.</p>
 
-<p>"I was not cross, was I? I did not mean to be&mdash;but
-I hardly know what I am saying," moaned out little
-Mary. "Please forgive me, Bessy, if I was cross."</p>
+<p>“I was not cross, was I? I did not mean to be—but
+I hardly know what I am saying,” moaned out little
+Mary. “Please forgive me, Bessy, if I was cross.”</p>
 
-<p>"God forgive me!" said Bessy, very low. They
+<p>“God forgive me!” said Bessy, very low. They
 were the first words she had spoken since she came
 home. But there could be no more talking between
 the sisters, for now the woman returned who had at
 first been assisting Mary. Presently Jem came to the
 door, and beckoned. Bessy rose up, and went with,
 him below. Jem looked very grave, yet not so sad as
-he had done before the doctor came. "He says she must
-go into the infirmary. He will see about getting her in."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Jem! I did so want to nurse her myself!"
-said Bessy, imploringly. "It was all my own fault,"
-(she choked with crying); "and I thought I might do
-that for her, to make up."</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Bessy,"&mdash;before he had seen Bessy, he
-had thought he could never call her "dear" again,
-but now he began&mdash;"My dear Bessy, we both want
-Mary to get better, don't we? I am sure we do. And
+he had done before the doctor came. “He says she must
+go into the infirmary. He will see about getting her in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Jem! I did so want to nurse her myself!”
+said Bessy, imploringly. “It was all my own fault,”
+(she choked with crying); “and I thought I might do
+that for her, to make up.”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Bessy,”—before he had seen Bessy, he
+had thought he could never call her “dear” again,
+but now he began—“My dear Bessy, we both want
+Mary to get better, don’t we? I am sure we do. And
 we want to take the best way of making her so, whatever
 that is; well, then, I think we must not be considering
 what we should like best just for ourselves, but
 what people, who know as well as doctors do, say is the
-right way. I can't remember all that he said; but I'm
+right way. I can’t remember all that he said; but I’m
 clear that he told me, all wounds on the skin required
 more and better air to heal in than Mary could have here:
-and there the doctor will see her twice a day, if need be."</p>
+and there the doctor will see her twice a day, if need be.”</p>
 
 <p>Bessy shook her head, but could not speak at first.
-At last she said, "Jem, I did so want to do something
-for her. No one could nurse her as I should."</p>
+At last she said, “Jem, I did so want to do something
+for her. No one could nurse her as I should.”</p>
 
-<p>Jem was silent. At last he took Bessy's hand, for
+<p>Jem was silent. At last he took Bessy’s hand, for
 he wanted to say something to her that he was afraid
 might vex her, and yet that he thought he ought to say.</p>
 
-<p>"Bessy!" said he, "when mother went away, you
+<p>“Bessy!” said he, “when mother went away, you
 planned to do all things right at home, and to make
 us all happy. I know you did. Now may I tell you
-how I think you went wrong? Don't be angry, Bessy."</p>
+how I think you went wrong? Don’t be angry, Bessy.”</p>
 
-<p>"I think I shall never have spirit enough in me to be
-angry again," said Bessy, humbly and sadly.</p>
+<p>“I think I shall never have spirit enough in me to be
+angry again,” said Bessy, humbly and sadly.</p>
 
-<p>"So much the better, dear. But don't over-fret
+<p>“So much the better, dear. But don’t over-fret
 about Mary. The doctor has good hopes of her, if he
-can get her into the infirmary. Now, I'm going on to
+can get her into the infirmary. Now, I’m going on to
 tell you how I think you got wrong after mother left.
 You see, Bessy, you wanted to make us all happy your
-way&mdash;as you liked; just as you are wanting now to
+way—as you liked; just as you are wanting now to
 nurse Mary in your way, and as you like. Now, as far
 as I can make out, those folks who make home the
 happiest, are people who try and find out how others
-think they could be happy, and then, if it's not wrong,
+think they could be happy, and then, if it’s not wrong,
 help them on with their wishes as far as they can. You
 know, you wanted us all to listen to your book; and
 very kind it was in you to think of it; only, you see,
 one wanted to whittle, and another wanted to do this
-or that, and then you were vexed with us all. I don't
+or that, and then you were vexed with us all. I don’t
 say but what I should have been if I had been in your
 place, and planned such a deal for others; only lookers-on
-always see a deal; and I saw that if you'd done
+always see a deal; and I saw that if you’d done
 what poor little Mary did next day, we should all have
 been far happier. She thought how she could forward
 us in our plans, instead of trying to force a plan of her
 own on us. She got me my right sort of wood for
 whittling, and arranged all nicely to get the little ones
 off to bed, so as to get the house quiet, if you wanted
-some reading, as she thought you did. And that's the
+some reading, as she thought you did. And that’s the
 way, I notice, some folks have of making a happy home.
-Others may mean just as well, but they don't hit the
-thing."</p>
+Others may mean just as well, but they don’t hit the
+thing.”</p>
 
-<p>"I dare say it's true," said Bessy. "But sometimes
+<p>“I dare say it’s true,” said Bessy. “But sometimes
 you all hang about as if you did not know what
 to do. And I thought reading travels would just please
-you all."</p>
+you all.”</p>
 
-<p>Jem was touched by Bessy's humble way of speaking,
+<p>Jem was touched by Bessy’s humble way of speaking,
 so different from her usual cheerful, self-confident
-manner. He answered, "I know you did, dear. And
+manner. He answered, “I know you did, dear. And
 many a time we should have been glad enough of it,
-when we had nothing to do, as you say."</p>
+when we had nothing to do, as you say.”</p>
 
-<p>"I had promised mother to try and make you all
-happy, and this is the end of it!" said Bessy, beginning
+<p>“I had promised mother to try and make you all
+happy, and this is the end of it!” said Bessy, beginning
 to cry afresh.</p>
 
-<p>"But, Bessy! I think you were not thinking of your
-promise, when you fixed to go out and char."</p>
+<p>“But, Bessy! I think you were not thinking of your
+promise, when you fixed to go out and char.”</p>
 
-<p>"I thought of earning money."</p>
+<p>“I thought of earning money.”</p>
 
-<p>"Earning money would not make us happy. We
+<p>“Earning money would not make us happy. We
 have enough, with care and management. If you were
 to have made us happy, you should have been at home,
-with a bright face, ready to welcome us; don't you
-think so, dear Bessy?"</p>
+with a bright face, ready to welcome us; don’t you
+think so, dear Bessy?”</p>
 
-<p>"I did not want the money for home. I wanted to
-make mother a present of such a pretty thing!"</p>
+<p>“I did not want the money for home. I wanted to
+make mother a present of such a pretty thing!”</p>
 
-<p>"Poor mother! I am afraid we must send for her home
-now. And she has only been three days at Southport!"</p>
+<p>“Poor mother! I am afraid we must send for her home
+now. And she has only been three days at Southport!”</p>
 
-<p>"Oh!" said Bessy, startled by this notion of Jem's;
-"don't, don't send for mother. The doctor did say so
+<p>“Oh!” said Bessy, startled by this notion of Jem’s;
+“don’t, don’t send for mother. The doctor did say so
 much about her going to Southport being the only thing
 for her, and I did so try to get her an order! It will
-kill her, Jem! indeed it will; you don't know how weak
-and frightened she is,&mdash;oh, Jem, Jem!"</p>
+kill her, Jem! indeed it will; you don’t know how weak
+and frightened she is,—oh, Jem, Jem!”</p>
 
 <p>Jem felt the truth of what his sister was saying. At
 last, he resolved to leave the matter for the doctor to
@@ -9384,65 +9228,65 @@ exactly how much danger there was about Mary. He
 proposed to Bessy that they should go and relieve the
 kind neighbour who had charge of Mary.</p>
 
-<p>"But you won't send for mother," pleaded Bessy;
-"if it's the best thing for Mary, I'll wash up her things
+<p>“But you won’t send for mother,” pleaded Bessy;
+“if it’s the best thing for Mary, I’ll wash up her things
 to-night, all ready for her to go into the infirmary.
-I won't think of myself, Jem."</p>
+I won’t think of myself, Jem.”</p>
 
-<p>"Well! I must speak to the doctor," said Jem. "I
+<p>“Well! I must speak to the doctor,” said Jem. “I
 must not try and fix any way just because we wish it,
-but because it is right."</p>
+but because it is right.”</p>
 
 <p>All night long, Bessy washed and ironed, and yet was
 always ready to attend to Mary when Jem called her.
-She took Jenny's scalded hand in charge as well, and
+She took Jenny’s scalded hand in charge as well, and
 bathed it with the lotion the doctor sent; and all was
 done so meekly and patiently that even Tom was struck
 with it, and admired the change. The doctor came
-very early. He had prepared everything for Mary's
+very early. He had prepared everything for Mary’s
 admission into the infirmary. And Jem consulted him
 about sending for his mother home. Bessy sat trembling,
 awaiting his answer.</p>
 
-<p>"I am very unwilling to sanction any concealment.
+<p>“I am very unwilling to sanction any concealment.
 And yet, as you say, your mother is in a very delicate
 state. It might do her serious harm if she had any
 shock. Well! suppose for this once, I take it on myself.
-If Mary goes on as I hope, why&mdash;well! well! we'll see.
+If Mary goes on as I hope, why—well! well! we’ll see.
 Mind that your mother is told all when she comes home.
-And if our poor Mary grows worse&mdash;but I'm not afraid
-of that, with infirmary care and nursing&mdash;but if she
-does, I'll write to your mother myself, and arrange with
+And if our poor Mary grows worse—but I’m not afraid
+of that, with infirmary care and nursing—but if she
+does, I’ll write to your mother myself, and arrange with
 a kind friend I have at Southport all about sending her
-home. And now," said he, turning suddenly to Bessy,
-"tell me what you were doing from home when this
+home. And now,” said he, turning suddenly to Bessy,
+“tell me what you were doing from home when this
 happened. Did not your mother leave you in charge of
-all at home?"</p>
+all at home?”</p>
 
-<p>"Yes, sir!" said Bessy, trembling. "But, sir, I
-thought I could earn money to make mother a present!"</p>
+<p>“Yes, sir!” said Bessy, trembling. “But, sir, I
+thought I could earn money to make mother a present!”</p>
 
-<p>"Thought! fiddle-de-dee. I'll tell you what; never
+<p>“Thought! fiddle-de-dee. I’ll tell you what; never
 you neglect the work clearly laid out for you by either
 God or man, to go making work for yourself, according
 to your own fancies. God knows what you are most fit
-for. Do that. And then wait; if you don't see your
+for. Do that. And then wait; if you don’t see your
 next duty clearly. You will not long be idle in this
 world, if you are ready for a summons. Now let me
 see that you send Mary all clean and tidy to the
-infirmary."</p>
+infirmary.”</p>
 
-<p>Jem was holding Bessy's hand. "She has washed
+<p>Jem was holding Bessy’s hand. “She has washed
 everything and made it fit for a queen. Our Bessy
 worked all night long, and was content to let me be
 with Mary (where she wished sore to be), because I
-could lift her better, being the stronger."</p>
+could lift her better, being the stronger.”</p>
 
-<p>"That's right. Even when you want to be of service
-to others, don't think how to please yourself."</p>
+<p>“That’s right. Even when you want to be of service
+to others, don’t think how to please yourself.”</p>
 
 <p>I have not much more to tell you about Bessy. This
-sad accident of Mary's did her a great deal of good,
+sad accident of Mary’s did her a great deal of good,
 although it cost her so much sorrow at first. It taught
 her several lessons, which it is good for every woman to
 learn, whether she is called upon, as daughter, sister,
@@ -9455,22 +9299,18 @@ could be the least selfish, and do the duties nearest to
 them with the most faithfulness and zeal. The mother
 stayed at Southport her full time, and came home well
 and strong. Then Bessy put her arms round her
-mother's neck, and told her all&mdash;and far more severely
+mother’s neck, and told her all—and far more severely
 against herself than either the doctor or Jem did, when
 they related the same story afterwards.</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<h3><a name="dis" id="dis"></a>DISAPPEARANCES.</h3>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="chap">
+<h2 id="dis">DISAPPEARANCES.</h2>
 
 <p>I am not in the habit of seeing the <i>Household Words</i>
 regularly; but a friend, who lately sent me some of the
-back numbers, recommended me to read "all the papers
-relating to the Detective and Protective Police," which
-I accordingly did&mdash;not as the generality of readers have
+back numbers, recommended me to read “all the papers
+relating to the Detective and Protective Police,” which
+I accordingly did—not as the generality of readers have
 done, as they appeared week by week, or with pauses
 between, but consecutively, as a popular history of the
 Metropolitan Police; and, as I suppose it may also be
@@ -9482,15 +9322,15 @@ preferred falling into a train of reverie and recollection.</p>
 <p>First of all I remembered, with a smile, the unexpected
 manner in which a relation of mine was discovered
 by an acquaintance, who had mislaid or forgotten
-Mr. B.'s address. Now my dear cousin, Mr. B., charming
+Mr. B.’s address. Now my dear cousin, Mr. B., charming
 as he is in many points, has the little peculiarity of
 liking to change his lodgings once every three months
 on an average, which occasions some bewilderment
 to his country friends, who have no sooner learnt the
 19, Belle Vue Road, Hampstead, than they have to
 take pains to forget that address, and to remember the
-27&frac12;, Upper Brown Street, Camberwell; and so on, till
-I would rather learn a page of <i>Walker's Pronouncing
+27½, Upper Brown Street, Camberwell; and so on, till
+I would rather learn a page of <i>Walker’s Pronouncing
 Dictionary</i>, than try to remember the variety of directions
 which I have had to put on my letters to Mr. B.
 during the last three years. Last summer it pleased
@@ -9500,8 +9340,8 @@ friend sought him. (I do not now speak of the following
 scent there had been through three or four different
 lodgings, where Mr. B. had been residing, before his
 country friend ascertained that he was now lodging at
-R<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>.) He spent the morning in making inquiries as
-to Mr. B.'s whereabouts in the village; but many gentlemen
+R<span class="norewrap">——</span>.) He spent the morning in making inquiries as
+to Mr. B.’s whereabouts in the village; but many gentlemen
 were lodging there for the summer, and neither
 butcher nor baker could inform him where Mr. B. was
 staying; his letters were unknown at the post-office,
@@ -9509,33 +9349,33 @@ which was accounted for by the circumstance of their
 always being directed to his office in town. At last the
 country friend sauntered back to the railway-office, and
 while he waited for the train he made inquiry, as a last
-resource, of the book-keeper at the station. "No, sir,
-I cannot tell you where Mr. B. lodges&mdash;so many gentlemen
+resource, of the book-keeper at the station. “No, sir,
+I cannot tell you where Mr. B. lodges—so many gentlemen
 go by the trains; but I have no doubt but that the
-person standing by that pillar can inform you." The
-individual to whom he directed the inquirer's attention
-had the appearance of a tradesman&mdash;respectable enough,
-yet with no pretensions to "gentility," and had, apparently,
+person standing by that pillar can inform you.” The
+individual to whom he directed the inquirer’s attention
+had the appearance of a tradesman—respectable enough,
+yet with no pretensions to “gentility,” and had, apparently,
 no more urgent employment than lazily watching
 the passengers who came dropping in to the station.
 However, when he was spoken to, he answered civilly
-and promptly. "Mr. B.? tall gentleman, with light
+and promptly. “Mr. B.? tall gentleman, with light
 hair? Yes, sir, I know Mr. B. He lodges at No. 8,
-Morton Villas&mdash;has done these three weeks or more;
-but you'll not find him there, sir, now. He went to
-town by the eleven o'clock train, and does not usually
-return until the half-past four train."</p>
+Morton Villas—has done these three weeks or more;
+but you’ll not find him there, sir, now. He went to
+town by the eleven o’clock train, and does not usually
+return until the half-past four train.”</p>
 
 <p>The country friend had no time to lose in returning
 to the village, to ascertain the truth of this statement.
 He thanked his informant, and said he would call on
-Mr. B. at his office in town; but before he left R<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>
+Mr. B. at his office in town; but before he left R<span class="norewrap">——</span>
 station, he asked the book-keeper who the person was to
 whom he had referred him for information as to his
-friend's place of residence. "One of the Detective
-Police, sir," was the answer. I need hardly say that
+friend’s place of residence. “One of the Detective
+Police, sir,” was the answer. I need hardly say that
 Mr. B., not without a little surprise, confirmed the
-accuracy of the policeman's report in every particular.</p>
+accuracy of the policeman’s report in every particular.</p>
 
 <p>When I heard this anecdote of my cousin and his
 friend, I thought that there could be no more romances
@@ -9545,9 +9385,9 @@ consists in the alternation of hope and fear, that the
 hero may, or may not, escape his pursuer. It is long
 since I have read the story, and I forget the name of the
 offended and injured gentleman, whose privacy Caleb
-has invaded; but I know that his pursuit of Caleb&mdash;his
-detection of the various hiding-places of the latter&mdash;his
-following up of slight clues&mdash;all, in fact, depended upon
+has invaded; but I know that his pursuit of Caleb—his
+detection of the various hiding-places of the latter—his
+following up of slight clues—all, in fact, depended upon
 his own energy, sagacity, and perseverance. The interest
 was caused by the struggle of man against man; and
 the uncertainty as to which would ultimately be successful
@@ -9560,7 +9400,7 @@ the time that would elapse before the hiding-place could
 be detected, and that could not be a question long. It
 is no longer a struggle between man and man, but
 between a vast organized machinery, and a weak,
-solitary individual; we have no hopes, no fears&mdash;only
+solitary individual; we have no hopes, no fears—only
 certainty. But if the materials of pursuit and evasion,
 as long as the chase is confined to England, are taken
 away from the store-house of the romancer, at any rate
@@ -9572,14 +9412,14 @@ reason for such fears.</p>
 
 <p>When I was a child, I was sometimes permitted to
 accompany a relation to drink tea with a very clever old
-lady, of one hundred and twenty&mdash;or, so I thought then;
+lady, of one hundred and twenty—or, so I thought then;
 I now think she, perhaps, was only about seventy. She
 was lively, and intelligent, and had seen and known
 much that was worth narrating. She was a cousin of
 the Sneyds, the family whence Mr. Edgeworth took two
-of his wives; had known Major Andr&eacute;; had mixed in
+of his wives; had known Major André; had mixed in
 the Old Whig Society that the beautiful Duchess of
-Devonshire and "Buff and Blue Mrs. Crewe" gathered
+Devonshire and “Buff and Blue Mrs. Crewe” gathered
 round them; her father had been one of the early
 patrons of the lovely Miss Linley. I name these facts
 to show that she was too intelligent and cultivated by
@@ -9587,15 +9427,15 @@ association, as well as by natural powers, to lend an
 over-easy credence to the marvellous; and yet I have
 heard her relate stories of disappearances which haunted
 my imagination longer than any tale of wonder. One
-of her stories was this:&mdash;Her father's estate lay in
+of her stories was this:—Her father’s estate lay in
 Shropshire, and his park-gates opened right on to a
 scattered village of which he was landlord. The houses
-formed a straggling irregular street&mdash;here a garden, next
+formed a straggling irregular street—here a garden, next
 a gable-end of a farm, there a row of cottages, and so
 on. Now, at the end house or cottage lived a very
 respectable man and his wife. They were well known
 in the village, and were esteemed for the patient attention
-which they paid to the husband's father, a paralytic old
+which they paid to the husband’s father, a paralytic old
 man. In winter, his chair was near the fire; in summer,
 they carried him out into the open space in front of the
 house to bask in the sunshine, and to receive what placid
@@ -9609,7 +9449,7 @@ the very old and the very young remained.</p>
 to bask in the sunshine that afternoon as usual, and his
 son and daughter-in-law went to the hay-making. But
 when they came home in the early evening, their paralysed
-father had disappeared&mdash;was gone! and from that
+father had disappeared—was gone! and from that
 day forwards, nothing more was ever heard of him. The
 old lady, who told this story, said with the quietness that
 always marked the simplicity of her narration, that every
@@ -9617,7 +9457,7 @@ inquiry which her father could make was made, and that
 it could never be accounted for. No one had observed
 any stranger in the village; no small household robbery,
 to which the old man might have been supposed an
-obstacle, had been committed in his son's dwelling that
+obstacle, had been committed in his son’s dwelling that
 afternoon. The son and daughter-in-law (noted too for
 their attention to the helpless father) had been a-field
 among all the neighbours the whole of the time. In
@@ -9640,7 +9480,7 @@ small town an attorney, with his mother and sister. He
 was agent for one of the squires near, and received rents
 for him on stated days, which of course were well known.
 He went at these times to a small public-house, perhaps
-five miles from <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>, where the tenants met him, paid
+five miles from <span class="norewrap">——</span>, where the tenants met him, paid
 their rents, and were entertained at dinner afterwards.
 One night he did not return from this festivity. He
 never returned. The gentleman whose agent he was,
@@ -9652,8 +9492,8 @@ the rumour spread that he must have gone abroad with
 the money; his mother heard the whispers all around
 her, and could not disprove it; and so her heart broke,
 and she died. Years after, I think as many as fifty, the
-well-to-do butcher and grazier of <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span> died; but, before
-his death, he confessed that he had waylaid Mr. <span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>
+well-to-do butcher and grazier of <span class="norewrap">——</span> died; but, before
+his death, he confessed that he had waylaid Mr. <span class="norewrap">——</span>
 on the heath close to the town, almost within call of his
 own house, intending only to rob him, but meeting with
 more resistance than he anticipated, had been provoked
@@ -9672,13 +9512,13 @@ It is only unaccounted for in one generation.
 But disappearances never to be accounted for on any supposition
 are not uncommon, among the traditions of the
 last century. I have heard (and I think I have read it
-in one of the earlier numbers of <i>Chambers's Journal</i>),
+in one of the earlier numbers of <i>Chambers’s Journal</i>),
 of a marriage which took place in Lincolnshire about
 the year 1750. It was not then <i>de rigueur</i> that the happy
 couple should set out on a wedding journey; but instead,
 they and their friends had a merry jovial dinner at the
 house of either bride or groom; and in this instance the
-whole party adjourned to the bridegroom's residence, and
+whole party adjourned to the bridegroom’s residence, and
 dispersed, some to ramble in the garden, some to rest in
 the house until the dinner-hour. The bridegroom, it is
 to be supposed, was with his bride, when he was suddenly
@@ -9689,20 +9529,20 @@ an old deserted Welsh Hall standing in a wood near
 Festiniog; there, too, the bridegroom was sent for to
 give audience to a stranger on his wedding-day, and disappeared
 from the face of the earth from that time;
-but there, they tell in addition, that the bride lived long,&mdash;that
+but there, they tell in addition, that the bride lived long,—that
 she passed her three-score years and ten, but
 that daily during all those years, while there was light
-of sun or moon to lighten the earth, she sat watching,&mdash;watching
+of sun or moon to lighten the earth, she sat watching,—watching
 at one particular window which commanded a
 view of the approach to the house. Her whole faculties,
 her whole mental powers, became absorbed in that weary
 watching; long before she died, she was childish, and
-only conscious of one wish&mdash;to sit in that long high window,
+only conscious of one wish—to sit in that long high window,
 and watch the road, along which he might come.
 She was as faithful as Evangeline, if pensive and inglorious.</p>
 
 <p>That these two similar stories of disappearance on a
-wedding-day "obtained," as the French say, shows us
+wedding-day “obtained,” as the French say, shows us
 that anything which adds to our facility of communication,
 and organization of means, adds to our security of
 life. Only let a bridegroom try to disappear from an
@@ -9720,23 +9560,23 @@ who was trying to struggle into sufficient knowledge of
 medicine, to go out as ship-surgeon in a Baltic vessel,
 and perhaps in this manner to earn money enough to
 spend a session in Edinburgh. He was furthered in all
-his plans by the late benevolent Dr. G<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>, of that
+his plans by the late benevolent Dr. G<span class="norewrap">——</span>, of that
 town. I believe the usual premium was not required in
 his case; the young man did many useful errands and
 offices which a finer young gentleman would have considered
 beneath him; and he resided with his mother in
-one of the alleys (or "chares,") which lead down from
-the main street of North Shields to the river. Dr. G<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>
+one of the alleys (or “chares,”) which lead down from
+the main street of North Shields to the river. Dr. G<span class="norewrap">——</span>
 had been with a patient all night, and left her very early
-on a winter's morning to return home to bed; but first
-he stepped down to his apprentice's home, and bade him
+on a winter’s morning to return home to bed; but first
+he stepped down to his apprentice’s home, and bade him
 get up, and follow him to his own house, where some
 medicine was to be mixed, and then taken to the lady.
 Accordingly the poor lad came, prepared the dose, and
-set off with it some time between five and six on a winter's
-morning. He was never seen again. Dr. G<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span> waited,
-thinking he was at his mother's house; she waited, considering
-that he had gone to his day's work. And
+set off with it some time between five and six on a winter’s
+morning. He was never seen again. Dr. G<span class="norewrap">——</span> waited,
+thinking he was at his mother’s house; she waited, considering
+that he had gone to his day’s work. And
 meanwhile, as people remembered afterwards, the small
 vessel bound to Edinburgh sailed out of port. The
 mother expected him back her whole life long; but some
@@ -9789,7 +9629,7 @@ they were, also, agents for several of the county
 families, who, driven from their old possessions by the
 enlargement of the town, found some compensation in
 the increased value of any land which they might choose
-to sell. Consequently the Messrs. S<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>, father and
+to sell. Consequently the Messrs. S<span class="norewrap">——</span>, father and
 son, were conveyancers in good repute, and acquainted
 with several secret pieces of family history, one of which
 related to Garratt Hall.</p>
@@ -9798,7 +9638,7 @@ related to Garratt Hall.</p>
 of the last century, married young; he and his wife had
 several children, and lived together in a quiet state of
 happiness for many years. At last, business of some
-kind took the husband up to London; a week's journey
+kind took the husband up to London; a week’s journey
 in those days. He wrote and announced his arrival; I
 do not think he ever wrote again. He seemed to be
 swallowed up in the abyss of the metropolis, for no
@@ -9812,14 +9652,14 @@ and devoted herself to the care of her children; and so
 they went on, tranquilly enough, until the heir came of
 age, when certain deeds were necessary before he could
 legally take possession of the property.  These deeds
-Mr. S<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span> (the family lawyer) stated had been given up
-by him into the missing gentleman's keeping just before
+Mr. S<span class="norewrap">——</span> (the family lawyer) stated had been given up
+by him into the missing gentleman’s keeping just before
 the last mysterious journey to London, with which I
 think they were in some way concerned. It was possible
 that they were still in existence; some one in London
 might have them in possession, and be either conscious
 or unconscious of their importance.  At any rate,
-Mr. S<span class="norewrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>'s advice to his client was that he should put
+Mr. S<span class="norewrap">——</span>’s advice to his client was that he should put
 an advertisement in the London papers, worded so skilfully
 that any one who might hold the important
 documents should understand to what it referred, and no
@@ -9878,7 +9718,7 @@ an attempt forbidden. I dare say the youth had no great
 desire to trace out the father, who had been one in name
 only. He returned to Lancashire; took possession of
 the property at Manchester; and many years elapsed before
-he received the mysterious intimation of his father's
+he received the mysterious intimation of his father’s
 real death. After that, he named the particulars connected
 with the recovery of the title-deeds to Mr. S., and one or
 two intimate friends. When the family became extinct,
@@ -9895,13 +9735,13 @@ comfort of knowing all about it.</p>
 the disappearance of the pupil of Dr. G., who vanished
 from North Shields, in charge of certain potions he was
 entrusted with, very early one morning, to convey to a
-patient:&mdash;"Dr. G.'s son married my sister, and the young
+patient:—“Dr. G.’s son married my sister, and the young
 man who disappeared was a pupil in the house. When
 he went out with the medicine, he was hardly dressed,
 having merely thrown on some clothes; and he went in
-slippers&mdash;which incidents induced the belief that he was
+slippers—which incidents induced the belief that he was
 made away with. After some months his family put on
-mourning; and the G.'s (<i>very</i> timid people) were so sure
+mourning; and the G.’s (<i>very</i> timid people) were so sure
 that he was murdered, that they wrote verses to his
 memory, and became sadly worn by terror. But, after a
 long time (I fancy, but am not sure, about a year and a
@@ -9911,61 +9751,59 @@ was lying at the wharf about to sail in the morning, and
 the youth, who had long meditated evasion, thought it a
 good opportunity, and stepped on board, after leaving
 the medicine at the proper door. I spent some weeks at
-Dr. G.'s after the occurrence; and very doleful we used
+Dr. G.’s after the occurrence; and very doleful we used
 to be about it. But the next time I went they were,
-naturally, very angry with the inconsiderate young man."</p>
-<h6>London: Printed by <span class="smallcaps">Smith, Elder</span> &amp; Co., 15&frac12;, Old Bailey, E.C.</h6>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
+naturally, very angry with the inconsiderate young man.”</p>
+
+<hr class="narrow" style="margin-top: 5em;">
+<div class="center bold" style="font-size: small;">London: Printed by <span class="smallcaps">Smith, Elder</span>
+  &amp; Co., 15½, Old Bailey, E. C.</div>
 
-<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3>
+<div class="center bold" style="font-size: large; margin-top: 3em;">FOOTNOTES</div>
 
-<p class="noindent"><a name="gwfn" id="gwfn"></a><a href="#gwfnr">1</a>.</p>
+<p class="noindent"><a id="gwfn"></a><a href="#gwfnr">1</a>.</p>
 
 <div class="poem3">
- <p class="noindent">
-Wir pfl&uuml;gen und wir streuen<br />
-Den Saamen auf das Land;<br />
-Das Wachsen und Gedeihen<br />
-Steht in des h&ouml;chsten Hand.<br />
-Er sendet Thau und Regen,<br />
-Und Sonn und Mondeschein;<br />
-Von Ihm kommt aller Segen,<br />
-Von unserm Gott allein:<br />
-Alle gute Gabe kommt her<br />
-Von Gott dem Herrn,<br />
+Wir pflügen und wir streuen<br >
+Den Saamen auf das Land;<br >
+Das Wachsen und Gedeihen<br >
+Steht in des höchsten Hand.<br >
+Er sendet Thau und Regen,<br >
+Und Sonn und Mondeschein;<br >
+Von Ihm kommt aller Segen,<br >
+Von unserm Gott allein:<br >
+Alle gute Gabe kommt her<br >
+Von Gott dem Herrn,<br >
 Drum dankt und hofft auf <ins title="original has Ihm">Ihn</ins>.
-</p>
 </div>
-<hr class="narrow" />
+
 <p>&nbsp;</p>
 
-<table border="0" style="background-color: #E6E6FA; margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Amendments">
+<table style="background-color: #E6E6FA; margin: 0 auto; border: none; padding: 4px;">
 <tr>
 <td colspan="2">
-		<div class="center">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</div>
+		<div class="center">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE</div>
 
 <p class="noindent" style="background-color: #E6E6FA">Contemporary spellings have been retained even
 when inconsistent. A small number of obvious typographical errors have been
-corrected, and missing punctuation has been silently added.<br />
-<br />
+corrected, and missing punctuation has been silently added.<br >
+<br >
 The following additional changes have been made; they can be identified
 in the body of the text by a grey dotted underline:</p>
 </td>
  </tr>
   <tr>
-	 <td valign="top">re-inter the inn</td>
-	 <td valign="top"><i>re-enter</i> the inn</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">re-inter the inn</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;"><i>re-enter</i> the inn</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
-	 <td valign="top">borne at Altenahr</td>
-	 <td valign="top"><i>born</i> at Altenahr</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">borne at Altenahr</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;"><i>born</i> at Altenahr</td>
  </tr>
 
  <tr>
-	 <td valign="top">hofft auf Ihm</td>
-	 <td valign="top">hofft auf <i>Ihn</i></td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">hofft auf Ihm</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">hofft auf <i>Ihn</i></td>
  </tr>
 
 <tr>
@@ -9974,405 +9812,27 @@ in the body of the text by a grey dotted underline:</p>
 </tr>
 
  <tr>
-	 <td valign="top">shut the door in Mr. Jenkins's face</td>
-	 <td valign="top">shut the door in <i>Mrs.</i> Jenkins's face</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">shut the door in Mr. Jenkins’s face</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">shut the door in <i>Mrs.</i> Jenkins’s face</td>
  </tr>
 
   <tr>
-	 <td valign="top">his eyes was open</td>
-	 <td valign="top">his eyes <i>were</i> open</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">his eyes was open</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">his eyes <i>were</i> open</td>
  </tr>
 
  <tr>
-	 <td valign="top">count-out and throwing down her money</td>
-	 <td valign="top"><i>counting out</i> and throwing down her money</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">count-out and throwing down her money</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;"><i>counting out</i> and throwing down her money</td>
  </tr>
 
    <tr>
-	 <td valign="top">altered breathings</td>
-	 <td valign="top">altered <i>breathing</i></td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">altered breathings</td>
+	 <td style="vertical-align: top;">altered <i>breathing</i></td>
  </tr>
 </table>
 
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 28636 ***</div>
 
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Woman and other Tales, by
-Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
-
-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: The Grey Woman and other Tales
-
-Author: Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
-
-Release Date: April 29, 2009 [EBook #28636]
-[Last updated: December 1, 2017]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ASCII
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WOMAN AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
-Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-THE GREY WOMAN
-AND
-OTHER TALES.
-
-MRS. GASKELL
-
-
-
-SMITH ELDER & Co
-65 CORNHILL
-1865]
-
-
-
-
-THE GREY WOMAN.
-AND OTHER TALES.
-
-
-BY MRS. GASKELL,
-
-AUTHOR OF "MARY BARTON," "NORTH AND SOUTH," "SYLVIA'S
-LOVERS," "COUSIN PHILLIS," "CRANFORD," ETC.
-
-
-ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
-
-
-LONDON:
-SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.
-M.DCCC.LXV.
-
-
-[_The Right of Translation is reserved._]
-
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS.                      PAGE
-
-THE GREY WOMAN                    5
-CURIOUS IF TRUE                  82
-SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM         105
-LIBBIE MARSH'S THREE ERAS       158
-CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE   197
-HAND AND HEART                  213
-BESSY'S TROUBLES AT HOME        240
-DISAPPEARANCES                  267
-
-
-
-
-THE GREY WOMAN.
-
-PORTION I.
-
-
-There is a mill by the Neckar-side, to which many people resort for
-coffee, according to the fashion which is almost national in Germany.
-There is nothing particularly attractive in the situation of this mill;
-it is on the Mannheim (the flat and unromantic) side of Heidelberg.
-The river turns the mill-wheel with a plenteous gushing sound; the
-out-buildings and the dwelling-house of the miller form a well-kept
-dusty quadrangle. Again, further from the river, there is a garden full
-of willows, and arbours, and flower-beds not well kept, but very profuse
-in flowers and luxuriant creepers, knotting and looping the arbours
-together. In each of these arbours is a stationary table of white
-painted wood, and light moveable chairs of the same colour and material.
-
-I went to drink coffee there with some friends in 184--. The stately old
-miller came out to greet us, as some of the party were known to him of
-old. He was of a grand build of a man, and his loud musical voice, with
-its tone friendly and familiar, his rolling laugh of welcome, went well
-with the keen bright eye, the fine cloth of his coat, and the general
-look of substance about the place. Poultry of all kinds abounded in the
-mill-yard, where there were ample means of livelihood for them strewed
-on the ground; but not content with this, the miller took out handfuls
-of corn from the sacks, and threw liberally to the cocks and hens that
-ran almost under his feet in their eagerness. And all the time he was
-doing this, as it were habitually, he was talking to us, and ever and
-anon calling to his daughter and the serving-maids, to bid them hasten
-the coffee we had ordered. He followed us to an arbour, and saw us
-served to his satisfaction with the best of everything we could ask for;
-and then left us to go round to the different arbours and see that each
-party was properly attended to; and, as he went, this great, prosperous,
-happy-looking man whistled softly one of the most plaintive airs I ever
-heard.
-
-"His family have held this mill ever since the old Palatinate days; or
-rather, I should say, have possessed the ground ever since then, for two
-successive mills of theirs have been burnt down by the French. If you
-want to see Scherer in a passion, just talk to him of the possibility of
-a French invasion."
-
-But at this moment, still whistling that mournful air, we saw the miller
-going down the steps that led from the somewhat raised garden into the
-mill-yard; and so I seemed to have lost my chance of putting him in a
-passion.
-
-We had nearly finished our coffee, and our "kucken," and our cinnamon
-cake, when heavy splashes fell on our thick leafy covering; quicker and
-quicker they came, coming through the tender leaves as if they were
-tearing them asunder; all the people in the garden were hurrying under
-shelter, or seeking for their carriages standing outside. Up the steps
-the miller came hastening, with a crimson umbrella, fit to cover every
-one left in the garden, and followed by his daughter, and one or two
-maidens, each bearing an umbrella.
-
-"Come into the house--come in, I say. It is a summer-storm, and will
-flood the place for an hour or two, till the river carries it away.
-Here, here."
-
-And we followed him back into his own house. We went into the kitchen
-first. Such an array of bright copper and tin vessels I never saw; and
-all the wooden things were as thoroughly scoured. The red tile floor was
-spotless when we went in, but in two minutes it was all over slop and
-dirt with the tread of many feet; for the kitchen was filled, and still
-the worthy miller kept bringing in more people under his great crimson
-umbrella. He even called the dogs in, and made them lie down under the
-tables.
-
-His daughter said something to him in German, and he shook his head
-merrily at her. Everybody laughed.
-
-"What did she say?" I asked.
-
-"She told him to bring the ducks in next; but indeed if more people
-come we shall be suffocated. What with the thundery weather, and the
-stove, and all these steaming clothes, I really think we must ask leave
-to pass on. Perhaps we might go in and see Frau Scherer."
-
-My friend asked the daughter of the house for permission to go into an
-inner chamber and see her mother. It was granted, and we went into a
-sort of saloon, overlooking the Neckar; very small, very bright, and
-very close. The floor was slippery with polish; long narrow pieces
-of looking-glass against the walls reflected the perpetual motion of
-the river opposite; a white porcelain stove, with some old-fashioned
-ornaments of brass about it; a sofa, covered with Utrecht velvet, a
-table before it, and a piece of worsted-worked carpet under it; a vase
-of artificial flowers; and, lastly, an alcove with a bed in it, on which
-lay the paralysed wife of the good miller, knitting busily, formed the
-furniture. I spoke as if this was all that was to be seen in the room;
-but, sitting quietly, while my friend kept up a brisk conversation in a
-language which I but half understood, my eye was caught by a picture in
-a dark corner of the room, and I got up to examine it more nearly.
-
-It was that of a young girl of extreme beauty; evidently of middle rank.
-There was a sensitive refinement in her face, as if she almost shrank
-from the gaze which, of necessity, the painter must have fixed upon her.
-It was not over-well painted, but I felt that it must have been a good
-likeness, from this strong impress of peculiar character which I have
-tried to describe. From the dress, I should guess it to have been
-painted in the latter half of the last century. And I afterwards heard
-that I was right.
-
-There was a little pause in the conversation.
-
-"Will you ask Frau Scherer who this is?"
-
-My friend repeated my question, and received a long reply in German.
-Then she turned round and translated it to me.
-
-"It is the likeness of a great-aunt of her husband's." (My friend was
-standing by me, and looking at the picture with sympathetic curiosity.)
-"See! here is the name on the open page of this Bible, 'Anna Scherer,
-1778.' Frau Scherer says there is a tradition in the family that this
-pretty girl, with her complexion of lilies and roses, lost her colour
-so entirely through fright, that she was known by the name of the
-Grey Woman. She speaks as if this Anna Scherer lived in some state
-of life-long terror. But she does not know details; refers me to her
-husband for them. She thinks he has some papers which were written by
-the original of that picture for her daughter, who died in this very
-house not long after our friend there was married. We can ask Herr
-Scherer for the whole story if you like."
-
-"Oh yes, pray do!" said I. And, as our host came in at this moment to
-ask how we were faring, and to tell us that he had sent to Heidelberg
-for carriages to convey us home, seeing no chance of the heavy rain
-abating, my friend, after thanking him, passed on to my request.
-
-"Ah!" said he, his face changing, "the aunt Anna had a sad history.
-It was all owing to one of those hellish Frenchmen; and her daughter
-suffered for it--the cousin Ursula, as we all called her when I was a
-child. To be sure, the good cousin Ursula was his child as well. The
-sins of the fathers are visited on their children. The lady would
-like to know all about it, would she? Well, there are papers--a kind
-of apology the aunt Anna wrote for putting an end to her daughter's
-engagement--or rather facts which she revealed, that prevented cousin
-Ursula from marrying the man she loved; and so she would never have
-any other good fellow, else I have heard say my father would have been
-thankful to have made her his wife." All this time he was rummaging in
-the drawer of an old-fashioned bureau, and now he turned round, with a
-bundle of yellow MSS. in his hand, which he gave to my friend, saying,
-"Take it home, take it home, and if you care to make out our crabbed
-German writing, you may keep it as long as you like, and read it at your
-leisure. Only I must have it back again when you have done with it,
-that's all."
-
-And so we became possessed of the manuscript of the following letter,
-which it was our employment, during many a long evening that ensuing
-winter, to translate, and in some parts to abbreviate. The letter began
-with some reference to the pain which she had already inflicted upon her
-daughter by some unexplained opposition to a project of marriage; but I
-doubt if, without the clue with which the good miller had furnished us,
-we could have made out even this much from the passionate, broken
-sentences that made us fancy that some scene between the mother and
-daughter--and possibly a third person--had occurred just before the
-mother had begun to write.
-
-
-"Thou dost not love thy child, mother! Thou dost not care if her heart
-is broken!" Ah, God! and these words of my heart-beloved Ursula ring in
-my ears as if the sound of them would fill them when I lie a-dying. And
-her poor tear-stained face comes between me and everything else. Child!
-hearts do not break; life is very tough as well as very terrible. But I
-will not decide for thee. I will tell thee all; and thou shalt bear the
-burden of choice. I may be wrong; I have little wit left, and never had
-much, I think; but an instinct serves me in place of judgment, and that
-instinct tells me that thou and thy Henri must never be married. Yet I
-may be in error. I would fain make my child happy. Lay this paper before
-the good priest Schriesheim; if, after reading it, thou hast doubts
-which make thee uncertain. Only I will tell thee all now, on condition
-that no spoken word ever passes between us on the subject. It would kill
-me to be questioned. I should have to see all present again.
-
-My father held, as thou knowest, the mill on the Neckar, where thy
-new-found uncle, Scherer, now lives. Thou rememberest the surprise with
-which we were received there last vintage twelvemonth. How thy uncle
-disbelieved me when I said that I was his sister Anna, whom he had long
-believed to be dead, and how I had to lead thee underneath the picture,
-painted of me long ago, and point out, feature by feature, the likeness
-between it and thee; and how, as I spoke, I recalled first to my own
-mind, and then by speech to his, the details of the time when it was
-painted; the merry words that passed between us then, a happy boy and
-girl; the position of the articles of furniture in the room; our father's
-habits; the cherry-tree, now cut down, that shaded the window of my
-bedroom, through which my brother was wont to squeeze himself, in order
-to spring on to the topmost bough that would bear his weight; and thence
-would pass me back his cap laden with fruit to where I sat on the
-window-sill, too sick with fright for him to care much for eating the
-cherries.
-
-And at length Fritz gave way, and believed me to be his sister Anna,
-even as though I were risen from the dead. And thou rememberest how
-he fetched in his wife, and told her that I was not dead, but was
-come back to the old home once more, changed as I was. And she would
-scarce believe him, and scanned me with a cold, distrustful eye, till
-at length--for I knew her of old as Babette Mueller--I said that I was
-well-to-do, and needed not to seek out friends for what they had to
-give. And then she asked--not me, but her husband--why I had kept silent
-so long, leading all--father, brother, every one that loved me in my own
-dear home--to esteem me dead. And then thine uncle (thou rememberest?)
-said he cared not to know more than I cared to tell; that I was his
-Anna, found again, to be a blessing to him in his old age, as I had been
-in his boyhood. I thanked him in my heart for his trust; for were the
-need for telling all less than it seems to me now I could not speak of
-my past life. But she, who was my sister-in-law still, held back her
-welcome, and, for want of that, I did not go to live in Heidelberg as
-I had planned beforehand, in order to be near my brother Fritz, but
-contented myself with his promise to be a father to my Ursula when I
-should die and leave this weary world.
-
-That Babette Mueller was, as I may say, the cause of all my life's
-suffering. She was a baker's daughter in Heidelberg--a great beauty, as
-people said, and, indeed, as I could see for myself. I, too--thou sawest
-my picture--was reckoned a beauty, and I believe I was so. Babette Mueller
-looked upon me as a rival. She liked to be admired, and had no one much
-to love her. I had several people to love me--thy grandfather, Fritz,
-the old servant Kaetchen, Karl, the head apprentice at the mill--and I
-feared admiration and notice, and the being stared at as the "Schoene
-Muellerin," whenever I went to make my purchases in Heidelberg.
-
-Those were happy, peaceful days. I had Kaetchen to help me in the
-housework, and whatever we did pleased my brave old father, who was
-always gentle and indulgent towards us women, though he was stern enough
-with the apprentices in the mill. Karl, the oldest of these, was his
-favourite; and I can see now that my father wished him to marry me, and
-that Karl himself was desirous to do so. But Karl was rough-spoken, and
-passionate--not with me, but with the others--and I shrank from him
-in a way which, I fear, gave him pain. And then came thy uncle Fritz's
-marriage; and Babette was brought to the mill to be its mistress. Not
-that I cared much for giving up my post, for, in spite of my father's
-great kindness, I always feared that I did not manage well for so large
-a family (with the men, and a girl under Kaetchen, we sat down eleven
-each night to supper). But when Babette began to find fault with Kaetchen,
-I was unhappy at the blame that fell on faithful servants; and by-and-by
-I began to see that Babette was egging on Karl to make more open love to
-me, and, as she once said, to get done with it, and take me off to a
-home of my own. My father was growing old, and did not perceive all my
-daily discomfort. The more Karl advanced, the more I disliked him. He
-was good in the main, but I had no notion of being married, and could
-not bear any one who talked to me about it.
-
-Things were in this way when I had an invitation to go to Carlsruhe to
-visit a schoolfellow, of whom I had been very fond. Babette was all for
-my going; I don't think I wanted to leave home, and yet I had been very
-fond of Sophie Rupprecht. But I was always shy among strangers. Somehow
-the affair was settled for me, but not until both Fritz and my father
-had made inquiries as to the character and position of the Rupprechts.
-They learned that the father had held some kind of inferior position
-about the Grand-duke's court, and was now dead, leaving a widow, a noble
-lady, and two daughters, the elder of whom was Sophie, my friend. Madame
-Rupprecht was not rich, but more than respectable--genteel. When this
-was ascertained, my father made no opposition to my going; Babette
-forwarded it by all the means in her power, and even my dear Fritz had
-his word to say in its favour. Only Kaetchen was against it--Kaetchen
-and Karl. The opposition of Karl did more to send me to Carlsruhe than
-anything. For I could have objected to go; but when he took upon himself
-to ask what was the good of going a-gadding, visiting strangers of whom
-no one knew anything, I yielded to circumstances--to the pulling of
-Sophie and the pushing of Babette. I was silently vexed, I remember, at
-Babette's inspection of my clothes; at the way in which she settled that
-this gown was too old-fashioned, or that too common, to go with me on
-my visit to a noble lady; and at the way in which she took upon herself
-to spend the money my father had given me to buy what was requisite for
-the occasion. And yet I blamed myself, for every one else thought her so
-kind for doing all this; and she herself meant kindly, too.
-
-At last I quitted the mill by the Neckar-side. It was a long day's
-journey, and Fritz went with me to Carlsruhe. The Rupprechts lived on
-the third floor of a house a little behind one of the principal streets,
-in a cramped-up court, to which we gained admittance through a doorway
-in the street. I remember how pinched their rooms looked after the large
-space we had at the mill, and yet they had an air of grandeur about them
-which was new to me, and which gave me pleasure, faded as some of it
-was. Madame Rupprecht was too formal a lady for me; I was never at my
-ease with her; but Sophie was all that I had recollected her at school:
-kind, affectionate, and only rather too ready with her expressions
-of admiration and regard. The little sister kept out of our way; and
-that was all we needed, in the first enthusiastic renewal of our early
-friendship. The one great object of Madame Rupprecht's life was to
-retain her position in society; and as her means were much diminished
-since her husband's death, there was not much comfort, though there was
-a great deal of show, in their way of living; just the opposite of what
-it was at my father's house. I believe that my coming was not too much
-desired by Madame Rupprecht, as I brought with me another mouth to be
-fed; but Sophie had spent a year or more in entreating for permission to
-invite me, and her mother, having once consented, was too well bred not
-to give me a stately welcome.
-
-The life in Carlsruhe was very different from what it was at home. The
-hours were later, the coffee was weaker in the morning, the pottage was
-weaker, the boiled beef less relieved by other diet, the dresses finer,
-the evening engagements constant. I did not find these visits pleasant.
-We might not knit, which would have relieved the tedium a little; but we
-sat in a circle, talking together, only interrupted occasionally by a
-gentleman, who, breaking out of the knot of men who stood near the door,
-talking eagerly together, stole across the room on tiptoe, his hat under
-his arm, and, bringing his feet together in the position we called the
-first at the dancing-school, made a low bow to the lady he was going to
-address. The first time I saw these manners I could not help smiling;
-but Madame Rupprecht saw me, and spoke to me next morning rather severely,
-telling me that, of course, in my country breeding I could have seen
-nothing of court manners, or French fashions, but that that was no
-reason for my laughing at them. Of course I tried never to smile again
-in company. This visit to Carlsruhe took place in '89, just when every
-one was full of the events taking place at Paris; and yet at Carlsruhe
-French fashions were more talked of than French politics. Madame
-Rupprecht, especially, thought a great deal of all French people. And
-this again was quite different to us at home. Fritz could hardly bear
-the name of a Frenchman; and it had nearly been an obstacle to my visit
-to Sophie that her mother preferred being called Madame to her proper
-title of Frau.
-
-[Illustration p. 17: Monsieur de la Tourelle.]
-
-One night I was sitting next to Sophie, and longing for the time when we
-might have supper and go home, so as to be able to speak together, a
-thing forbidden by Madame Rupprecht's rules of etiquette, which strictly
-prohibited any but the most necessary conversation passing between
-members of the same family when in society. I was sitting, I say,
-scarcely keeping back my inclination to yawn, when two gentlemen came
-in, one of whom was evidently a stranger to the whole party, from the
-formal manner in which the host led him up, and presented him to the
-hostess. I thought I had never seen any one so handsome or so elegant.
-His hair was powdered, of course, but one could see from his complexion
-that it was fair in its natural state. His features were as delicate as
-a girl's, and set off by two little "mouches," as we called patches in
-those days, one at the left corner of his mouth, the other prolonging,
-as it were, the right eye. His dress was blue and silver. I was so lost
-in admiration of this beautiful young man, that I was as much surprised
-as if the angel Gabriel had spoken to me, when the lady of the house
-brought him forward to present him to me. She called him Monsieur de la
-Tourelle, and he began to speak to me in French; but though I understood
-him perfectly, I dared not trust myself to reply to him in that language.
-Then he tried German, speaking it with a kind of soft lisp that I
-thought charming. But, before the end of the evening, I became a little
-tired of the affected softness and effeminacy of his manners, and the
-exaggerated compliments he paid me, which had the effect of making all
-the company turn round and look at me. Madame Rupprecht was, however,
-pleased with the precise thing that displeased me. She liked either
-Sophie or me to create a sensation; of course she would have preferred
-that it should have been her daughter, but her daughter's friend was
-next best. As we went away, I heard Madame Rupprecht and Monsieur de la
-Tourelle reciprocating civil speeches with might and main, from which I
-found out that the French gentleman was coming to call on us the next
-day. I do not know whether I was more glad or frightened, for I had been
-kept upon stilts of good manners all the evening. But still I was
-flattered when Madame Rupprecht spoke as if she had invited him, because
-he had shown pleasure in my society, and even more gratified by Sophie's
-ungrudging delight at the evident interest I had excited in so fine and
-agreeable a gentleman. Yet, with all this, they had hard work to keep me
-from running out of the salon the next day, when we heard his voice
-inquiring at the gate on the stairs for Madame Rupprecht. They had made
-me put on my Sunday gown, and they themselves were dressed as for a
-reception.
-
-When he was gone away, Madame Rupprecht congratulated me on the conquest
-I had made; for, indeed, he had scarcely spoken to any one else, beyond
-what mere civility required, and had almost invited himself to come in
-the evening to bring some new song, which was all the fashion in Paris,
-he said. Madame Rupprecht had been out all morning, as she told me, to
-glean information about Monsieur de la Tourelle. He was a proprietaire,
-had a small chateau on the Vosges mountains; he owned land there, but
-had a large income from some sources quite independent of this property.
-Altogether, he was a good match, as she emphatically observed. She
-never seemed to think that I could refuse him after this account of his
-wealth, nor do I believe she would have allowed Sophie a choice, even
-had he been as old and ugly as he was young and handsome. I do not quite
-know--so many events have come to pass since then, and blurred the
-clearness of my recollections--if I loved him or not. He was very much
-devoted to me; he almost frightened me by the excess of his demonstrations
-of love. And he was very charming to everybody around me, who all spoke
-of him as the most fascinating of men, and of me as the most fortunate
-of girls. And yet I never felt quite at my ease with him. I was always
-relieved when his visits were over, although I missed his presence when
-he did not come. He prolonged his visit to the friend with whom he was
-staying at Carlsruhe, on purpose to woo me. He loaded me with presents,
-which I was unwilling to take, only Madame Rupprecht seemed to consider
-me an affected prude if I refused them. Many of these presents consisted
-of articles of valuable old jewellery, evidently belonging to his family;
-by accepting these I doubled the ties which were formed around me by
-circumstances even more than by my own consent. In those days we did not
-write letters to absent friends as frequently as is done now, and I had
-been unwilling to name him in the few letters that I wrote home. At
-length, however, I learned from Madame Rupprecht that she had written to
-my father to announce the splendid conquest I had made, and to request
-his presence at my betrothal. I started with astonishment. I had not
-realized that affairs had gone so far as this. But when she asked me, in
-a stern, offended manner, what I had meant by my conduct if I did not
-intend to marry Monsieur de la Tourelle--I had received his visits, his
-presents, all his various advances without showing any unwillingness or
-repugnance--(and it was all true; I had shown no repugnance, though I
-did not wish to be married to him,--at least, not so soon)--what could I
-do but hang my head, and silently consent to the rapid enunciation of
-the only course which now remained for me if I would not be esteemed a
-heartless coquette all the rest of my days?
-
-There was some difficulty, which I afterwards learnt that my
-sister-in-law had obviated, about my betrothal taking place from home.
-My father, and Fritz especially, were for having me return to the mill,
-and there be betrothed, and from thence be married. But the Rupprechts
-and Monsieur de la Tourelle were equally urgent on the other side; and
-Babette was unwilling to have the trouble of the commotion at the mill;
-and also, I think, a little disliked the idea of the contrast of my
-grander marriage with her own.
-
-So my father and Fritz came over to the betrothal. They were to stay
-at an inn in Carlsruhe for a fortnight, at the end of which time the
-marriage was to take place. Monsieur de la Tourelle told me he had
-business at home, which would oblige him to be absent during the
-interval between the two events; and I was very glad of it, for I
-did not think that he valued my father and my brother as I could have
-wished him to do. He was very polite to them; put on all the soft, grand
-manner, which he had rather dropped with me; and complimented us all
-round, beginning with my father and Madame Rupprecht, and ending with
-little Alwina. But he a little scoffed at the old-fashioned church
-ceremonies which my father insisted on; and I fancy Fritz must have
-taken some of his compliments as satire, for I saw certain signs of
-manner by which I knew that my future husband, for all his civil words,
-had irritated and annoyed my brother. But all the money arrangements
-were liberal in the extreme, and more than satisfied, almost surprised,
-my father. Even Fritz lifted up his eyebrows and whistled. I alone did
-not care about anything. I was bewitched,--in a dream,--a kind of
-despair. I had got into a net through my own timidity and weakness, and
-I did not see how to get out of it. I clung to my own home-people that
-fortnight as I had never done before. Their voices, their ways were all
-so pleasant and familiar to me, after the constraint in which I had
-been living. I might speak and do as I liked without being corrected
-by Madame Rupprecht, or reproved in a delicate, complimentary way by
-Monsieur de la Tourelle. One day I said to my father that I did not want
-to be married, that I would rather go back to the dear old mill; but he
-seemed to feel this speech of mine as a dereliction of duty as great as
-if I had committed perjury; as if, after the ceremony of betrothal, no
-one had any right over me but my future husband. And yet he asked me
-some solemn questions; but my answers were not such as to do me any
-good.
-
-"Dost thou know any fault or crime in this man that should prevent God's
-blessing from resting on thy marriage with him? Dost thou feel aversion
-or repugnance to him in any way?"
-
-And to all this what could I say? I could only stammer out that I
-did not think I loved him enough; and my poor old father saw in this
-reluctance only the fancy of a silly girl who did not know her own mind,
-but who had now gone too far to recede.
-
-So we were married, in the Court chapel, a privilege which Madame
-Rupprecht had used no end of efforts to obtain for us, and which she
-must have thought was to secure us all possible happiness, both at the
-time and in recollection afterwards.
-
-We were married; and after two days spent in festivity at Carlsruhe,
-among all our new fashionable friends there, I bade good-by for ever
-to my dear old father. I had begged my husband to take me by way of
-Heidelberg to his old castle in the Vosges; but I found an amount of
-determination, under that effeminate appearance and manner, for which I
-was not prepared, and he refused my first request so decidedly that I
-dared not urge it. "Henceforth, Anna," said he, "you will move in a
-different sphere of life; and though it is possible that you may have
-the power of showing favour to your relations from time to time, yet
-much or familiar intercourse will be undesirable, and is what I cannot
-allow." I felt almost afraid, after this formal speech, of asking my
-father and Fritz to come and see me; but, when the agony of bidding
-them farewell overcame all my prudence, I did beg them to pay me a visit
-ere long. But they shook their heads, and spoke of business at home,
-of different kinds of life, of my being a Frenchwoman now. Only my
-father broke out at last with a blessing, and said, "If my child is
-unhappy--which God forbid--let her remember that her father's house is
-ever open to her." I was on the point of crying out, "Oh! take me back
-then now, my father! oh, my father!" when I felt, rather than saw, my
-husband present near me. He looked on with a slightly contemptuous air;
-and, taking my hand in his, he led me weeping away, saying that short
-farewells were always the best when they were inevitable.
-
-It took us two days to reach his chateau in the Vosges, for the roads
-were bad and the way difficult to ascertain. Nothing could be more
-devoted than he was all the time of the journey. It seemed as if he
-were trying in every way to make up for the separation which every hour
-made me feel the more complete between my present and my former life.
-I seemed as if I were only now wakening up to a full sense of what
-marriage was, and I dare say I was not a cheerful companion on the
-tedious journey. At length, jealousy of my regret for my father and
-brother got the better of M. de la Tourelle, and he became so much
-displeased with me that I thought my heart would break with the sense of
-desolation. So it was in no cheerful frame of mind that we approached
-Les Rochers, and I thought that perhaps it was because I was so unhappy
-that the place looked so dreary. On one side, the chateau looked like a
-raw new building, hastily run up for some immediate purpose, without any
-growth of trees or underwood near it, only the remains of the stone used
-for building, not yet cleared away from the immediate neighbourhood,
-although weeds and lichens had been suffered to grow near and over the
-heaps of rubbish; on the other, were the great rocks from which the
-place took its name, and rising close against them, as if almost a
-natural formation, was the old castle, whose building dated many
-centuries back.
-
-It was not large nor grand, but it was strong and picturesque, and I used
-to wish that we lived in it rather than in the smart, half-furnished
-apartment in the new edifice, which had been hastily got ready for my
-reception. Incongruous as the two parts were, they were joined into a
-whole by means of intricate passages and unexpected doors, the exact
-positions of which I never fully understood. M. de la Tourelle led me to
-a suite of rooms set apart for me, and formally installed me in them, as
-in a domain of which I was sovereign. He apologised for the hasty
-preparation which was all he had been able to make for me, but promised,
-before I asked, or even thought of complaining, that they should be made
-as luxurious as heart could wish before many weeks had elapsed. But
-when, in the gloom of an autumnal evening, I caught my own face and
-figure reflected in all the mirrors, which showed only a mysterious
-background in the dim light of the many candles which failed to
-illuminate the great proportions of the half-furnished salon, I clung to
-M. de la Tourelle, and begged to be taken to the rooms he had occupied
-before his marriage, he seemed angry with me, although he affected to
-laugh, and so decidedly put aside the notion of my having any other
-rooms but these, that I trembled in silence at the fantastic figures and
-shapes which my imagination called up as peopling the background of
-those gloomy mirrors. There was my boudoir, a little less dreary--my
-bedroom, with its grand and tarnished furniture, which I commonly made
-into my sitting-room, locking up the various doors which led into the
-boudoir, the salon, the passages--all but one, through which M. de la
-Tourelle always entered from his own apartments in the older part of
-the castle. But this preference of mine for occupying my bedroom annoyed
-M. de la Tourelle, I am sure, though he did not care to express his
-displeasure. He would always allure me back into the salon, which I
-disliked more and more from its complete separation from the rest of the
-building by the long passage into which all the doors of my apartment
-opened. This passage was closed by heavy doors and portieres, through
-which I could not hear a sound from the other parts of the house, and,
-of course, the servants could not hear any movement or cry of mine
-unless expressly summoned. To a girl brought up as I had been in a
-household where every individual lived all day in the sight of every
-other member of the family, never wanted either cheerful words or the
-sense of silent companionship, this grand isolation of mine was very
-formidable; and the more so, because M. de la Tourelle, as landed
-proprietor, sportsman, and what not, was generally out of doors the
-greater part of every day, and sometimes for two or three days at a
-time. I had no pride to keep me from associating with the domestics; it
-would have been natural to me in many ways to have sought them out for
-a word of sympathy in those dreary days when I was left so entirely to
-myself, had they been like our kindly German servants. But I disliked
-them, one and all; I could not tell why. Some were civil, but there was
-a familiarity in their civility which repelled me; others were rude, and
-treated me more as if I were an intruder than their master's chosen
-wife; and yet of the two sets I liked these last the best.
-
-The principal male servant belonged to this latter class. I was very
-much afraid of him, he had such an air of suspicious surliness about him
-in all he did for me; and yet M. de la Tourelle spoke of him as most
-valuable and faithful. Indeed, it sometimes struck me that Lefebvre
-ruled his master in some things; and this I could not make out. For,
-while M. de la Tourelle behaved towards me as if I were some precious
-toy or idol, to be cherished, and fostered, and petted, and indulged, I
-soon found out how little I, or, apparently, any one else, could bend
-the terrible will of the man who had on first acquaintance appeared
-to me too effeminate and languid to exert his will in the slightest
-particular. I had learnt to know his face better now; and to see that
-some vehement depth of feeling, the cause of which I could not fathom,
-made his grey eye glitter with pale light, and his lips contract, and
-his delicate cheek whiten on certain occasions. But all had been so open
-and above board at home, that I had no experience to help me to unravel
-any mysteries among those who lived under the same roof. I understood
-that I had made what Madame Rupprecht and her set would have called a
-great marriage, because I lived in a chateau with many servants, bound
-ostensibly to obey me as a mistress. I understood that M. de la Tourelle
-was fond enough of me in his way--proud of my beauty, I dare say (for
-he often enough spoke about it to me)--but he was also jealous, and
-suspicious, and uninfluenced by my wishes, unless they tallied with his
-own. I felt at this time as if I could have been fond of him too, if he
-would have let me; but I was timid from my childhood, and before long my
-dread of his displeasure (coming down like thunder into the midst of his
-love, for such slight causes as a hesitation in reply, a wrong word, or
-a sigh for my father), conquered my humorous inclination to love one who
-was so handsome, so accomplished, so indulgent and devoted. But if I
-could not please him when indeed I loved him, you may imagine how often
-I did wrong when I was so much afraid of him as to quietly avoid his
-company for fear of his outbursts of passion. One thing I remember
-noticing, that the more M. de la Tourelle was displeased with me, the
-more Lefebvre seemed to chuckle; and when I was restored to favour,
-sometimes on as sudden an impulse as that which occasioned my disgrace,
-Lefebvre would look askance at me with his cold, malicious eyes, and
-once or twice at such times he spoke most disrespectfully to M. de la
-Tourelle.
-
-I have almost forgotten to say that, in the early days of my life at
-Les Rochers, M. de la Tourelle, in contemptuous indulgent pity at my
-weakness in disliking the dreary grandeur of the salon, wrote up to
-the milliner in Paris from whom my corbeille de mariage had come, to
-desire her to look out for me a maid of middle age, experienced in the
-toilette, and with so much refinement that she might on occasion serve
-as companion to me.
-
-
-PORTION II.
-
-A Norman woman, Amante by name, was sent to Les Rochers by the Paris
-milliner, to become my maid. She was tall and handsome, though upwards
-of forty, and somewhat gaunt. But, on first seeing her, I liked her;
-she was neither rude nor familiar in her manners, and had a pleasant
-look of straightforwardness about her that I had missed in all the
-inhabitants of the chateau, and had foolishly set down in my own mind as
-a national want. Amante was directed by M. de la Tourelle to sit in my
-boudoir, and to be always within call. He also gave her many instructions
-as to her duties in matters which, perhaps, strictly belonged to my
-department of management. But I was young and inexperienced, and thankful
-to be spared any responsibility.
-
-I daresay it was true what M. de la Tourelle said--before many weeks had
-elapsed--that, for a great lady, a lady of a castle, I became sadly too
-familiar with my Norman waiting-maid. But you know that by birth we were
-not very far apart in rank: Amante was the daughter of a Norman farmer,
-I of a German miller; and besides that, my life was so lonely! It almost
-seemed as if I could not please my husband. He had written for some one
-capable of being my companion at times, and now he was jealous of my
-free regard for her--angry because I could sometimes laugh at her original
-tunes and amusing proverbs, while when with him I was too much frightened
-to smile.
-
-From time to time families from a distance of some leagues drove through
-the bad roads in their heavy carriages to pay us a visit, and there was
-an occasional talk of our going to Paris when public affairs should be
-a little more settled. These little events and plans were the only
-variations in my life for the first twelve months, if I except the
-alternations in M. de la Tourelle's temper, his unreasonable anger, and
-his passionate fondness.
-
-Perhaps one of the reasons that made me take pleasure and comfort in
-Amante's society was, that whereas I was afraid of everybody (I do not
-think I was half as much afraid of things as of persons), Amante feared
-no one. She would quietly beard Lefebvre, and he respected her all the
-more for it; she had a knack of putting questions to M. de la Tourelle,
-which respectfully informed him that she had detected the weak point,
-but forebore to press him too closely upon it out of deference to his
-position as her master. And with all her shrewdness to others, she
-had quite tender ways with me; all the more so at this time because
-she knew, what I had not yet ventured to tell M. de la Tourelle, that
-by-and-by I might become a mother--that wonderful object of mysterious
-interest to single women, who no longer hope to enjoy such blessedness
-themselves.
-
-It was once more autumn; late in October. But I was reconciled to my
-habitation; the walls of the new part of the building no longer looked
-bare and desolate; the _debris_ had been so far cleared away by M. de la
-Tourelle's desire as to make me a little flower-garden, in which I tried
-to cultivate those plants that I remembered as growing at home. Amante
-and I had moved the furniture in the rooms, and adjusted it to our
-liking; my husband had ordered many an article from time to time that he
-thought would give me pleasure, and I was becoming tame to my apparent
-imprisonment in a certain part of the great building, the whole of which
-I had never yet explored. It was October, as I say, once more. The days
-were lovely, though short in duration, and M. de la Tourelle had
-occasion, so he said, to go to that distant estate the superintendence
-of which so frequently took him away from home. He took Lefebvre with
-him, and possibly some more of the lacqueys; he often did. And my
-spirits rose a little at the thought of his absence; and then the new
-sensation that he was the father of my unborn babe came over me, and I
-tried to invest him with this fresh character. I tried to believe that
-it was his passionate love for me that made him so jealous and
-tyrannical, imposing, as he did, restrictions on my very intercourse
-with my dear father, from whom I was so entirely separated, as far as
-personal intercourse was concerned.
-
-I had, it is true, let myself go into a sorrowful review of all the
-troubles which lay hidden beneath the seeming luxury of my life. I knew
-that no one cared for me except my husband and Amante; for it was clear
-enough to see that I, as his wife, and also as a _parvenue_, was not
-popular among the few neighbours who surrounded us; and as for the
-servants, the women were all hard and impudent-looking, treating me
-with a semblance of respect that had more of mockery than reality in
-it; while the men had a lurking kind of fierceness about them, sometimes
-displayed even to M. de la Tourelle, who on his part, it must be confessed,
-was often severe even to cruelty in his management of them. My husband
-loved me, I said to myself, but I said it almost in the form of a
-question. His love was shown fitfully, and more in ways calculated to
-please himself than to please me. I felt that for no wish of mine would
-he deviate one tittle from any predetermined course of action. I had
-learnt the inflexibility of those thin, delicate lips; I knew how anger
-would turn his fair complexion to deadly white, and bring the cruel
-light into his pale blue eyes. The love I bore to any one seemed to be
-a reason for his hating them, and so I went on pitying myself one long
-dreary afternoon during that absence of his of which I have spoken, only
-sometimes remembering to check myself in my murmurings by thinking of
-the new unseen link between us, and then crying afresh to think how
-wicked I was. Oh, how well I remember that long October evening! Amante
-came in from time to time, talking away to cheer me--talking about dress
-and Paris, and I hardly know what, but from time to time looking at me
-keenly with her friendly dark eyes, and with serious interest, too,
-though all her words were about frivolity. At length she heaped the fire
-with wood, drew the heavy silken curtains close; for I had been anxious
-hitherto to keep them open, so that I might see the pale moon mounting
-the skies, as I used to see her--the same moon--rise from behind the
-Kaiser Stuhl at Heidelberg; but the sight made me cry, so Amante shut it
-out. She dictated to me as a nurse does to a child.
-
-"Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her company," she said,
-"while I go and ask Marthon for a cup of coffee." I remember that speech,
-and the way it roused me, for I did not like Amante to think I wanted
-amusing by a kitten. It might be my petulance, but this speech--such as
-she might have made to a child--annoyed me, and I said that I had reason
-for my lowness of spirits--meaning that they were not of so imaginary
-a nature that I could be diverted from them by the gambols of a kitten.
-So, though I did not choose to tell her all, I told her a part; and as
-I spoke, I began to suspect that the good creature knew much of what I
-withheld, and that the little speech about the kitten was more thoughtfully
-kind than it had seemed at first. I said that it was so long since I had
-heard from my father; that he was an old man, and so many things might
-happen--I might never see him again--and I so seldom heard from him or
-my brother. It was a more complete and total separation than I had ever
-anticipated when I married, and something of my home and of my life
-previous to my marriage I told the good Amante; for I had not been
-brought up as a great lady, and the sympathy of any human being was
-precious to me.
-
-Amante listened with interest, and in return told me some of the events
-and sorrows of her own life. Then, remembering her purpose, she set out
-in search of the coffee, which ought to have been brought to me an hour
-before; but, in my husband's absence, my wishes were but seldom attended
-to, and I never dared to give orders.
-
-Presently she returned, bringing the coffee and a great large cake.
-
-"See!" said she, setting it down. "Look at my plunder. Madame must eat.
-Those who eat always laugh. And, besides, I have a little news that will
-please madame." Then she told me that, lying on a table in the great
-kitchen, was a bundle of letters, come by the courier from Strasburg
-that very afternoon: then, fresh from her conversation with me, she had
-hastily untied the string that bound them, but had only just traced out
-one that she thought was from Germany, when a servant-man came in, and,
-with the start he gave her, she dropped the letters, which he picked
-up, swearing at her for having untied and disarranged them. She told
-him that she believed there was a letter there for her mistress; but he
-only swore the more, saying, that if there was it was no business of
-hers, or of his either, for that he had the strictest orders always to
-take all letters that arrived during his master's absence into the
-private sitting-room of the latter--a room into which I had never
-entered, although it opened out of my husband's dressing-room.
-
-I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought me this letter. No,
-indeed, she replied, it was almost as much as her life was worth to live
-among such a set of servants: it was only a month ago that Jacques had
-stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk. Had I never missed Valentin--that
-handsome young lad who carried up the wood into my salon? Poor fellow!
-he lies dead and cold now, and they said in the village he had put an
-end to himself, but those of the household knew better. Oh! I need not
-be afraid; Jacques was gone, no one knew where; but with such people it
-was not safe to upbraid or insist. Monsieur would be at home the next
-day, and it would not be long to wait.
-
-But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day, without the
-letter. It might be to say that my father was ill, dying--he might cry
-for his daughter from his death-bed! In short, there was no end to the
-thoughts and fancies that haunted me. It was of no use for Amante to say
-that, after all, she might be mistaken--that she did not read writing
-well--that she had but a glimpse of the address; I let my coffee cool,
-my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands with impatience to
-get at the letter, and have some news of my dear ones at home. All the
-time, Amante kept her imperturbable good temper, first reasoning, then
-scolding. At last she said, as if wearied out, that if I would consent
-to make a good supper, she would see what could be done as to our going
-to monsieur's room in search of the letter, after the servants were all
-gone to bed. We agreed to go together when all was still, and look over
-the letters; there could be no harm in that; and yet, somehow, we were
-such cowards we dared not do it openly and in the face of the household.
-
-Presently my supper came up--partridges, bread, fruits, and cream. How
-well I remember that supper! We put the untouched cake away in a sort of
-buffet, and poured the cold coffee out of the window, in order that the
-servants might not take offence at the apparent fancifulness of sending
-down for food I could not eat. I was so anxious for all to be in bed,
-that I told the footman who served that he need not wait to take away
-the plates and dishes, but might go to bed. Long after I thought the
-house was quiet, Amante, in her caution, made me wait. It was past
-eleven before we set out, with cat-like steps and veiled light, along
-the passages, to go to my husband's room and steal my own letter, if it
-was indeed there; a fact about which Amante had become very uncertain in
-the progress of our discussion.
-
-To make you understand my story, I must now try to explain to you the
-plan of the chateau. It had been at one time a fortified place of some
-strength, perched on the summit of a rock, which projected from the side
-of the mountain. But additions had been made to the old building (which
-must have borne a strong resemblance to the castles overhanging the
-Rhine), and these new buildings were placed so as to command a magnificent
-view, being on the steepest side of the rock, from which the mountain
-fell away, as it were, leaving the great plain of France in full survey.
-The ground-plan was something of the shape of three sides of an oblong;
-my apartments in the modern edifice occupied the narrow end, and had
-this grand prospect. The front of the castle was old, and ran parallel
-to the road far below. In this were contained the offices and public
-rooms of various descriptions, into which I never penetrated. The back
-wing (considering the new building, in which my apartments were, as the
-centre) consisted of many rooms, of a dark and gloomy character, as the
-mountain-side shut out much of the sun, and heavy pine woods came down
-within a few yards of the windows. Yet on this side--on a projecting
-plateau of the rock--my husband had formed the flower-garden of which I
-have spoken; for he was a great cultivator of flowers in his leisure
-moments.
-
-Now my bedroom was the corner room of the new buildings on the part
-next to the mountain. Hence I could have let myself down into the
-flower-garden by my hands on the window-sill on one side, without danger
-of hurting myself; while the windows at right angles with these looked
-sheer down a descent of a hundred feet at least. Going still farther
-along this wing, you came to the old building; in fact, these two
-fragments of the ancient castle had formerly been attached by some such
-connecting apartments as my husband had rebuilt. These rooms belonged to
-M. de la Tourelle. His bedroom opened into mine, his dressing-room lay
-beyond; and that was pretty nearly all I knew, for the servants, as
-well as he himself, had a knack of turning me back, under some pretence,
-if ever they found me walking about alone, as I was inclined to do, when
-first I came, from a sort of curiosity to see the whole of the place of
-which I found myself mistress. M. de la Tourelle never encouraged me to
-go out alone, either in a carriage or for a walk, saying always that the
-roads were unsafe in those disturbed times; indeed, I have sometimes
-fancied since that the flower-garden, to which the only access from the
-castle was through his rooms, was designed in order to give me exercise
-and employment under his own eye.
-
-But to return to that night. I knew, as I have said, that M. de la
-Tourelle's private room opened out of his dressing-room, and this out
-of his bedroom, which again opened into mine, the corner-room. But there
-were other doors into all these rooms, and these doors led into a long
-gallery, lighted by windows, looking into the inner court. I do not
-remember our consulting much about it; we went through my room into
-my husband's apartment through the dressing-room, but the door of
-communication into his study was locked, so there was nothing for it
-but to turn back and go by the gallery to the other door. I recollect
-noticing one or two things in these rooms, then seen by me for the first
-time. I remember the sweet perfume that hung in the air, the scent
-bottles of silver that decked his toilet-table, and the whole apparatus
-for bathing and dressing, more luxurious even than those which he had
-provided for me. But the room itself was less splendid in its proportions
-than mine. In truth, the new buildings ended at the entrance to my
-husband's dressing-room. There were deep window recesses in walls eight
-or nine feet thick, and even the partitions between the chambers were
-three feet deep; but over all these doors or windows there fell thick,
-heavy draperies, so that I should think no one could have heard in one
-room what passed in another. We went back into my room, and out into the
-gallery. We had to shade our candle, from a fear that possessed us, I
-don't know why, lest some of the servants in the opposite wing might
-trace our progress towards the part of the castle unused by any one
-except my husband. Somehow, I had always the feeling that all the
-domestics, except Amante, were spies upon me, and that I was trammelled
-in a web of observation and unspoken limitation extending over all my
-actions.
-
-There was a light in the upper room; we paused, and Amante would have
-again retreated, but I was chafing under the delays. What was the harm
-of my seeking my father's unopened letter to me in my husband's study?
-I, generally the coward, now blamed Amante for her unusual timidity.
-But the truth was, she had far more reason for suspicion as to the
-proceedings of that terrible household than I had ever known of. I urged
-her on, I pressed on myself; we came to the door, locked, but with the
-key in it; we turned it, we entered; the letters lay on the table, their
-white oblongs catching the light in an instant, and revealing themselves
-to my eager eyes, hungering after the words of love from my peaceful,
-distant home. But just as I pressed forward to examine the letters, the
-candle which Amante held, caught in some draught, went out, and we were
-in darkness. Amante proposed that we should carry the letters back to
-my salon, collecting them as well as we could in the dark, and returning
-all but the expected one for me; but I begged her to return to my room,
-where I kept tinder and flint, and to strike a fresh light; and so she
-went, and I remained alone in the room, of which I could only just
-distinguish the size, and the principal articles of furniture: a large
-table, with a deep, overhanging cloth, in the middle, escritoires and
-other heavy articles against the walls; all this I could see as I stood
-there, my hand on the table close by the letters, my face towards the
-window, which, both from the darkness of the wood growing high up the
-mountain-side and the faint light of the declining moon, seemed only
-like an oblong of paler purpler black than the shadowy room. How much I
-remembered from my one instantaneous glance before the candle went out,
-how much I saw as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I do not
-know, but even now, in my dreams, comes up that room of horror, distinct
-in its profound shadow. Amante could hardly have been gone a minute
-before I felt an additional gloom before the window, and heard soft
-movements outside--soft, but resolute, and continued until the end was
-accomplished, and the window raised.
-
-In mortal terror of people forcing an entrance at such an hour, and in
-such a manner as to leave no doubt of their purpose, I would have turned
-to fly when first I heard the noise, only that I feared by any quick
-motion to catch their attention, as I also ran the danger of doing by
-opening the door, which was all but closed, and to whose handlings
-I was unaccustomed. Again, quick as lightning, I bethought me of the
-hiding-place between the locked door to my husband's dressing-room and
-the portiere which covered it; but I gave that up, I felt as if I could
-not reach it without screaming or fainting. So I sank down softly,
-and crept under the table, hidden, as I hoped, by the great, deep
-table-cover, with its heavy fringe. I had not recovered my swooning
-senses fully, and was trying to reassure myself as to my being in a
-place of comparative safety, for, above all things, I dreaded the
-betrayal of fainting, and struggled hard for such courage as I might
-attain by deadening myself to the danger I was in by inflicting intense
-pain on myself. You have often asked me the reason of that mark on my
-hand; it was where, in my agony, I bit out a piece of flesh with my
-relentless teeth, thankful for the pain, which helped to numb my terror.
-I say, I was but just concealed when I heard the window lifted, and one
-after another stepped over the sill, and stood by me so close that I
-could have touched their feet. Then they laughed and whispered; my brain
-swam so that I could not tell the meaning of their words, but I heard my
-husband's laughter among the rest--low, hissing, scornful--as he kicked
-something heavy that they had dragged in over the floor, and which lay
-near me; so near, that my husband's kick, in touching it, touched me
-too. I don't know why--I can't tell how--but some feeling, and not
-curiosity, prompted me to put out my hand, ever so softly, ever so
-little, and feel in the darkness for what lay spurned beside me. I
-stole my groping palm upon the clenched and chilly hand of a corpse!
-
-Strange to say, this roused me to instant vividness of thought. Till
-this moment I had almost forgotten Amante; now I planned with feverish
-rapidity how I could give her a warning not to return; or rather, I
-should say, I tried to plan, for all my projects were utterly futile, as
-I might have seen from the first. I could only hope she would hear the
-voices of those who were now busy in trying to kindle a light, swearing
-awful oaths at the mislaid articles which would have enabled them to
-strike fire. I heard her step outside coming nearer and nearer; I saw
-from my hiding-place the line of light beneath the door more and more
-distinctly; close to it her footstep paused; the men inside--at the time
-I thought they had been only two, but I found out afterwards there were
-three--paused in their endeavours, and were quite still, as breathless
-as myself, I suppose. Then she slowly pushed the door open with gentle
-motion, to save her flickering candle from being again extinguished. For
-a moment all was still. Then I heard my husband say, as he advanced
-towards her (he wore riding-boots, the shape of which I knew well, as I
-could see them in the light),--
-
-"Amante, may I ask what brings you here into my private room?"
-
-He stood between her and the dead body of a man, from which ghastly heap
-I shrank away as it almost touched me, so close were we all together. I
-could not tell whether she saw it or not; I could give her no warning,
-nor make any dumb utterance of signs to bid her what to say--if, indeed,
-I knew myself what would be best for her to say.
-
-Her voice was quite changed when she spoke; quite hoarse, and very low;
-yet it was steady enough as she said, what was the truth, that she had
-come to look for a letter which she believed had arrived for me from
-Germany. Good, brave Amante! Not a word about me. M. de la Tourelle
-answered with a grim blasphemy and a fearful threat. He would have no
-one prying into his premises; madame should have her letters, if there
-were any, when he chose to give them to her, if, indeed, he thought
-it well to give them to her at all. As for Amante, this was her first
-warning, but it was also her last; and, taking the candle out of her
-hand, he turned her out of the room, his companions discreetly making a
-screen, so as to throw the corpse into deep shadow. I heard the key turn
-in the door after her--if I had ever had any thought of escape it was
-gone now. I only hoped that whatever was to befal me might soon be over,
-for the tension of nerve was growing more than I could bear. The instant
-she could be supposed to be out of hearing, two voices began speaking
-in the most angry terms to my husband, upbraiding him for not having
-detained her, gagged her--nay, one was for killing her, saying he had
-seen her eye fall on the face of the dead man, whom he now kicked in his
-passion. Though the form of their speech was as if they were speaking
-to equals, yet in their tone there was something of fear. I am sure my
-husband was their superior, or captain, or somewhat. He replied to them
-almost as if he were scoffing at them, saying it was such an expenditure
-of labour having to do with fools; that, ten to one, the woman was
-only telling the simple truth, and that she was frightened enough by
-discovering her master in his room to be thankful to escape and return
-to her mistress, to whom he could easily explain on the morrow how he
-happened to return in the dead of night. But his companions fell to
-cursing me, and saying that since M. de la Tourelle had been married he
-was fit for nothing but to dress himself fine and scent himself with
-perfume; that, as for me, they could have got him twenty girls prettier,
-and with far more spirit in them. He quietly answered that I suited him,
-and that was enough. All this time they were doing something--I could
-not see what--to the corpse; sometimes they were too busy rifling the
-dead body, I believe, to talk; again they let it fall with a heavy,
-resistless thud, and took to quarrelling. They taunted my husband with
-angry vehemence, enraged at his scoffing and scornful replies, his
-mocking laughter. Yes, holding up his poor dead victim, the better to
-strip him of whatever he wore that was valuable, I heard my husband
-laugh just as he had done when exchanging repartees in the little salon
-of the Rupprechts at Carlsruhe. I hated and dreaded him from that moment.
-At length, as if to make an end of the subject, he said, with cool
-determination in his voice,--
-
-"Now, my good friends, what is the use of all this talking, when you
-know in your hearts that, if I suspected my wife of knowing more than I
-chose of my affairs, she would not outlive the day? Remember Victorine.
-Because she merely joked about my affairs in an imprudent manner, and
-rejected my advice to keep a prudent tongue--to see what she liked, but
-ask nothing and say nothing--she has gone a long journey--longer than to
-Paris."
-
-"But this one is different to her; we knew all that Madame Victorine
-knew, she was such a chatterbox; but this one may find out a vast deal,
-and never breathe a word about it, she is so sly. Some fine day we may
-have the country raised, and the gendarmes down upon us from Strasburg,
-and all owing to your pretty doll, with her cunning ways of coming over
-you."
-
-I think this roused M. de la Tourelle a little from his contemptuous
-indifference, for he ground an oath through his teeth, and said, "Feel!
-this dagger is sharp, Henri. If my wife breathes a word, and I am such a
-fool as not to have stopped her mouth effectually before she can bring
-down gendarmes upon us, just let that good steel find its way to my
-heart. Let her guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight suspicion
-that I am not a 'grand proprietaire,' much less imagine that I am a
-chief of Chauffeurs, and she follows Victorine on the long journey
-beyond Paris that very day."
-
-"She'll outwit you yet; or I never judged women well. Those still silent
-ones are the devil. She'll be off during some of your absences, having
-picked out some secret that will break us all on the wheel."
-
-"Bah!" said his voice; and then in a minute he added, "Let her go if she
-will. But, where she goes, I will follow; so don't cry before you're
-hurt."
-
-By this time, they had nearly stripped the body; and the conversation
-turned on what they should do with it. I learnt that the dead man was
-the Sieur de Poissy, a neighbouring gentleman, whom I had often heard of
-as hunting with my husband. I had never seen him, but they spoke as if
-he had come upon them while they were robbing some Cologne merchant,
-torturing him after the cruel practice of the Chauffeurs, by roasting
-the feet of their victims in order to compel them to reveal any hidden
-circumstances connected with their wealth, of which the Chauffeurs
-afterwards made use; and this Sieur de Poissy coming down upon them,
-and recognising M. de la Tourelle, they had killed him, and brought him
-thither after nightfall. I heard him whom I called my husband, laugh his
-little light laugh as he spoke of the way in which the dead body had
-been strapped before one of the riders, in such a way that it appeared
-to any passer-by as if, in truth, the murderer were tenderly supporting
-some sick person. He repeated some mocking reply of double meaning, which
-he himself had given to some one who made inquiry. He enjoyed the play
-upon words, softly applauding his own wit. And all the time the poor
-helpless outstretched arms of the dead lay close to his dainty boot!
-Then another stooped (my heart stopped beating), and picked up a letter
-lying on the ground--a letter that had dropped out of M. de Poissy's
-pocket--a letter from his wife, full of tender words of endearment and
-pretty babblings of love. This was read aloud, with coarse ribald
-comments on every sentence, each trying to outdo the previous speaker.
-When they came to some pretty words about a sweet Maurice, their little
-child away with its mother on some visit, they laughed at M. de la
-Tourelle, and told him that he would be hearing such woman's drivelling
-some day. Up to that moment, I think, I had only feared him, but his
-unnatural, half-ferocious reply made me hate even more than I dreaded
-him. But now they grew weary of their savage merriment; the jewels and
-watch had been apprised, the money and papers examined; and apparently
-there was some necessity for the body being interred quietly and before
-daybreak. They had not dared to leave him where he was slain for fear
-lest people should come and recognise him, and raise the hue and cry
-upon them. For they all along spoke as if it was their constant endeavour
-to keep the immediate neighbourhood of Les Rochers in the most orderly
-and tranquil condition, so as never to give cause for visits from the
-gendarmes. They disputed a little as to whether they should make their
-way into the castle larder through the gallery, and satisfy their hunger
-before the hasty interment, or afterwards. I listened with eager feverish
-interest as soon as this meaning of their speeches reached my hot and
-troubled brain, for at the time the words they uttered seemed only to
-stamp themselves with terrible force on my memory, so that I could hardly
-keep from repeating them aloud like a dull, miserable, unconscious echo;
-but my brain was numb to the sense of what they said, unless I myself
-were named, and then, I suppose, some instinct of self-preservation
-stirred within me, and quickened my sense. And how I strained my ears,
-and nerved my hands and limbs, beginning to twitch with convulsive
-movements, which I feared might betray me! I gathered every word they
-spoke, not knowing which proposal to wish for, but feeling that whatever
-was finally decided upon, my only chance of escape was drawing near. I
-once feared lest my husband should go to his bedroom before I had had
-that one chance, in which case he would most likely have perceived my
-absence. He said that his hands were soiled (I shuddered, for it might
-be with life-blood), and he would go and cleanse them; but some bitter
-jest turned his purpose, and he left the room with the other two--left
-it by the gallery door. Left me alone in the dark with the stiffening
-corpse!
-
-Now, now was my time, if ever; and yet I could not move. It was not my
-cramped and stiffened joints that crippled me, it was the sensation
-of that dead man's close presence. I almost fancied--I almost fancy
-still--I heard the arm nearest to me move; lift itself up, as if once
-more imploring, and fall in dead despair. At that fancy--if fancy it
-were--I screamed aloud in mad terror, and the sound of my own strange
-voice broke the spell. I drew myself to the side of the table farthest
-from the corpse, with as much slow caution as if I really could have
-feared the clutch of that poor dead arm, powerless for evermore. I
-softly raised myself up, and stood sick and trembling, holding by the
-table, too dizzy to know what to do next. I nearly fainted, when a
-low voice spoke--when Amante, from the outside of the door, whispered,
-"Madame!" The faithful creature had been on the watch, had heard my
-scream, and having seen the three ruffians troop along the gallery down
-the stairs, and across the court to the offices in the other wing of the
-castle, she had stolen to the door of the room in which I was. The sound
-of her voice gave me strength; I walked straight towards it, as one
-benighted on a dreary moor, suddenly perceiving the small steady light
-which tells of human dwellings, takes heart, and steers straight onward.
-Where I was, where that voice was, I knew not; but go to it I must, or
-die. The door once opened--I know not by which of us--I fell upon her
-neck, grasping her tight, till my hands ached with the tension of their
-hold. Yet she never uttered a word. Only she took me up in her vigorous
-arms, and bore me to my room, and laid me on my bed. I do not know more;
-as soon as I was placed there I lost sense; I came to myself with a
-horrible dread lest my husband was by me, with a belief that he was in
-the room, in hiding, waiting to hear my first words, watching for the
-least sign of the terrible knowledge I possessed to murder me. I dared
-not breathe quicker, I measured and timed each heavy inspiration; I did
-not speak, nor move, nor even open my eyes, for long after I was in my
-full, my miserable senses. I heard some one treading softly about the
-room, as if with a purpose, not as if for curiosity, or merely to
-beguile the time; some one passed in and out of the salon; and I still
-lay quiet, feeling as if death were inevitable, but wishing that the
-agony of death were past. Again faintness stole over me; but just as I
-was sinking into the horrible feeling of nothingness, I heard Amante's
-voice close to me, saying,--
-
-"Drink this, madame, and let us begone. All is ready."
-
-I let her put her arm under my head and raise me, and pour something
-down my throat. All the time she kept talking in a quiet, measured
-voice, unlike her own, so dry and authoritative; she told me that a suit
-of her clothes lay ready for me, that she herself was as much disguised
-as the circumstances permitted her to be, that what provisions I had
-left from my supper were stowed away in her pockets, and so she went
-on, dwelling on little details of the most commonplace description,
-but never alluding for an instant to the fearful cause why flight was
-necessary. I made no inquiry as to how she knew, or what she knew. I
-never asked her either then or afterwards, I could not bear it--we kept
-our dreadful secret close. But I suppose she must have been in the
-dressing-room adjoining, and heard all.
-
-In fact, I dared not speak even to her, as if there were anything beyond
-the most common event in life in our preparing thus to leave the house
-of blood by stealth in the dead of night. She gave me directions--short
-condensed directions, without reasons--just as you do to a child; and
-like a child I obeyed her. She went often to the door and listened; and
-often, too, she went to the window, and looked anxiously out. For me, I
-saw nothing but her, and I dared not let my eyes wander from her for a
-minute; and I heard nothing in the deep midnight silence but her soft
-movements, and the heavy beating of my own heart. At last she took my
-hand, and led me in the dark, through the salon, once more into the
-terrible gallery, where across the black darkness the windows admitted
-pale sheeted ghosts of light upon the floor. Clinging to her I went;
-unquestioning--for she was human sympathy to me after the isolation of
-my unspeakable terror. On we went, turning to the left instead of to
-the right, past my suite of sitting-rooms where the gilding was red
-with blood, into that unknown wing of the castle that fronted the main
-road lying parallel far below. She guided me along the basement passages
-to which we had now descended, until we came to a little open door,
-through which the air blew chill and cold, bringing for the first time
-a sensation of life to me. The door led into a kind of cellar, through
-which we groped our way to an opening like a window, but which, instead
-of being glazed, was only fenced with iron bars, two of which were
-loose, as Amante evidently knew, for she took them out with the ease of
-one who had performed the action often before, and then helped me to
-follow her out into the free, open air.
-
-We stole round the end of the building, and on turning the corner--she
-first--I felt her hold on me tighten for an instant, and the next step
-I, too, heard distant voices, and the blows of a spade upon the heavy
-soil, for the night was very warm and still.
-
-We had not spoken a word; we did not speak now. Touch was safer and as
-expressive. She turned down towards the high road; I followed. I did not
-know the path; we stumbled again and again, and I was much bruised; so
-doubtless was she; but bodily pain did me good. At last, we were on the
-plainer path of the high road.
-
-I had such faith in her that I did not venture to speak, even when she
-paused, as wondering to which hand she should turn. But now, for the
-first time, she spoke:--
-
-"Which way did you come when he brought you here first?"
-
-I pointed, I could not speak.
-
-We turned in the opposite direction; still going along the high road.
-In about an hour, we struck up to the mountain-side, scrambling far up
-before we even dared to rest; far up and away again before day had fully
-dawned. Then we looked about for some place of rest and concealment: and
-now we dared to speak in whispers. Amante told me that she had locked
-the door of communication between his bedroom and mine, and, as in a
-dream, I was aware that she had also locked and brought away the key of
-the door between the latter and the salon.
-
-"He will have been too busy this night to think much about you--he will
-suppose you are asleep--I shall be the first to be missed; but they will
-only just now be discovering our loss."
-
-I remember those last words of hers made me pray to go on; I felt as if
-we were losing precious time in thinking either of rest or concealment;
-but she hardly replied to me, so busy was she in seeking out some
-hiding-place. At length, giving it up in despair, we proceeded onwards a
-little way; the mountain-side sloped downwards rapidly, and in the full
-morning light we saw ourselves in a narrow valley, made by a stream
-which forced its way along it. About a mile lower down there rose the
-pale blue smoke of a village, a mill-wheel was lashing up the water
-close at hand, though out of sight. Keeping under the cover of every
-sheltering tree or bush, we worked our way down past the mill, down to a
-one-arched bridge, which doubtless formed part of the road between the
-village and the mill.
-
-"This will do," said she; and we crept under the space, and climbing a
-little way up the rough stone-work, we seated ourselves on a projecting
-ledge, and crouched in the deep damp shadow. Amante sat a little above
-me, and made me lay my head on her lap. Then she fed me, and took some
-food herself; and opening out her great dark cloak, she covered up
-every light-coloured speck about us; and thus we sat, shivering and
-shuddering, yet feeling a kind of rest through it all, simply from the
-fact that motion was no longer imperative, and that during the daylight
-our only chance of safety was to be still. But the damp shadow in which
-we were sitting was blighting, from the circumstance of the sunlight
-never penetrating there; and I dreaded lest, before night and the time
-for exertion again came on, I should feel illness creeping all over me.
-To add to our discomfort, it had rained the whole day long, and the
-stream, fed by a thousand little mountain brooklets, began to swell into
-a torrent, rushing over the stones with a perpetual and dizzying noise.
-
-Every now and then I was wakened from the painful doze into which I
-continually fell, by a sound of horses' feet over our head: sometimes
-lumbering heavily as if dragging a burden, sometimes rattling and
-galloping, and with the sharper cry of men's voices coming cutting
-through the roar of the waters. At length, day fell. We had to drop into
-the stream, which came above our knees as we waded to the bank. There we
-stood, stiff and shivering. Even Amante's courage seemed to fail.
-
-"We must pass this night in shelter, somehow," said she. For indeed the
-rain was coming down pitilessly. I said nothing. I thought that surely
-the end must be death in some shape; and I only hoped that to death
-might not be added the terror of the cruelty of men. In a minute or so
-she had resolved on her course of action. We went up the stream to the
-mill. The familiar sounds, the scent of the wheat, the flour whitening
-the walls--all reminded me of home, and it seemed to me as if I must
-struggle out of this nightmare and waken, and find myself once more a
-happy girl by the Neckar-side. They were long in unbarring the door at
-which Amante had knocked: at length, an old feeble voice inquired who
-was there, and what was sought? Amante answered shelter from the storm
-for two women; but the old woman replied, with suspicious hesitation,
-that she was sure it was a man who was asking for shelter, and that she
-could not let us in. But at length she satisfied herself, and unbarred
-the heavy door, and admitted us. She was not an unkindly woman; but her
-thoughts all travelled in one circle, and that was, that her master,
-the miller, had told her on no account to let any man into the place
-during his absence, and that she did not know if he would not think two
-women as bad; and yet that as we were not men, no one could say she had
-disobeyed him, for it was a shame to let a dog be out such a night as
-this. Amante, with ready wit, told her to let no one know that we had
-taken shelter there that night, and that then her master could not blame
-her; and while she was thus enjoining secrecy as the wisest course, with
-a view to far other people than the miller, she was hastily helping me
-to take off my wet clothes, and spreading them, as well as the brown
-mantle that had covered us both, before the great stove which warmed the
-room with the effectual heat that the old woman's failing vitality
-required. All this time the poor creature was discussing with herself as
-to whether she had disobeyed orders, in a kind of garrulous way that
-made me fear much for her capability of retaining anything secret if she
-was questioned. By-and-by, she wandered away to an unnecessary revelation
-of her master's whereabouts: gone to help in the search for his landlord,
-the Sieur de Poissy, who lived at the chateau just above, and who had not
-returned from his chase the day before; so the intendant imagined he
-might have met with some accident, and had summoned the neighbours to
-beat the forest and the hill-side. She told us much besides, giving us
-to understand that she would fain meet with a place as housekeeper where
-there were more servants and less to do, as her life here was very lonely
-and dull, especially since her master's son had gone away--gone to the
-wars. She then took her supper, which was evidently apportioned out to
-her with a sparing hand, as, even if the idea had come into her head,
-she had not enough to offer us any. Fortunately, warmth was all that
-we required, and that, thanks to Amante's cares, was returning to our
-chilled bodies. After supper, the old woman grew drowsy; but she seemed
-uncomfortable at the idea of going to sleep and leaving us still in the
-house. Indeed, she gave us pretty broad hints as to the propriety of our
-going once more out into the bleak and stormy night; but we begged to be
-allowed to stay under shelter of some kind; and, at last, a bright idea
-came over her, and she bade us mount by a ladder to a kind of loft, which
-went half over the lofty mill-kitchen in which we were sitting. We
-obeyed her--what else could we do?--and found ourselves in a spacious
-floor, without any safeguard or wall, boarding, or railing, to keep us
-from falling over into the kitchen in case we went too near the edge. It
-was, in fact, the store-room or garret for the household. There was
-bedding piled up, boxes and chests, mill sacks, the winter store of
-apples and nuts, bundles of old clothes, broken furniture, and many
-other things. No sooner were we up there, than the old woman dragged
-the ladder, by which we had ascended, away with a chuckle, as if she was
-now secure that we could do no mischief, and sat herself down again once
-more, to doze and await her master's return. We pulled out some bedding,
-and gladly laid ourselves down in our dried clothes and in some warmth,
-hoping to have the sleep we so much needed to refresh us and prepare us
-for the next day. But I could not sleep, and I was aware, from her
-breathing, that Amante was equally wakeful. We could both see through
-the crevices between the boards that formed the flooring into the
-kitchen below, very partially lighted by the common lamp that hung
-against the wall near the stove on the opposite side to that on which we
-were.
-
-
-PORTION III.
-
-Far on in the night there were voices outside reached us in our
-hiding-place; an angry knocking at the door, and we saw through the
-chinks the old woman rouse herself up to go and open it for her master,
-who came in, evidently half drunk. To my sick horror, he was followed
-by Lefebvre, apparently as sober and wily as ever. They were talking
-together as they came in, disputing about something; but the miller
-stopped the conversation to swear at the old woman for having fallen
-asleep, and, with tipsy anger, and even with blows, drove the poor
-old creature out of the kitchen to bed. Then he and Lefebvre went on
-talking--about the Sieur de Poissy's disappearance. It seemed that
-Lefebvre had been out all day, along with other of my husband's men,
-ostensibly assisting in the search; in all probability trying to blind
-the Sieur de Poissy's followers by putting them on a wrong scent, and
-also, I fancied, from one or two of Lefebvre's sly questions, combining
-the hidden purpose of discovering us.
-
-Although the miller was tenant and vassal to the Sieur de Poissy, he
-seemed to me to be much more in league with the people of M. de la
-Tourelle. He was evidently aware, in part, of the life which Lefebvre
-and the others led; although, again, I do not suppose he knew or
-imagined one-half of their crimes; and also, I think, he was seriously
-interested in discovering the fate of his master, little suspecting
-Lefebvre of murder or violence. He kept talking himself, and letting out
-all sorts of thoughts and opinions; watched by the keen eyes of Lefebvre
-gleaming out below his shaggy eyebrows. It was evidently not the cue of
-the latter to let out that his master's wife had escaped from that vile
-and terrible den; but though he never breathed a word relating to us,
-not the less was I certain he was thirsting for our blood, and lying in
-wait for us at every turn of events. Presently he got up and took his
-leave; and the miller bolted him out, and stumbled off to bed. Then we
-fell asleep, and slept sound and long.
-
-The next morning, when I awoke, I saw Amante, half raised, resting on
-one hand, and eagerly gazing, with straining eyes, into the kitchen
-below. I looked too, and both heard and saw the miller and two of his
-men eagerly and loudly talking about the old woman, who had not appeared
-as usual to make the fire in the stove, and prepare her master's
-breakfast, and who now, late on in the morning, had been found dead in
-her bed; whether from the effect of her master's blows the night before,
-or from natural causes, who can tell? The miller's conscience upbraided
-him a little, I should say, for he was eagerly declaring his value for
-his housekeeper, and repeating how often she had spoken of the happy
-life she led with him. The men might have their doubts, but they did
-not wish to offend the miller, and all agreed that the necessary steps
-should be taken for a speedy funeral. And so they went out, leaving
-us in our loft, but so much alone, that, for the first time almost,
-we ventured to speak freely, though still in a hushed voice, pausing
-to listen continually. Amante took a more cheerful view of the whole
-occurrence than I did. She said that, had the old woman lived, we should
-have had to depart that morning, and that this quiet departure would
-have been the best thing we could have had to hope for, as, in all
-probability, the housekeeper would have told her master of us and of
-our resting-place, and this fact would, sooner or later, have been
-brought to the knowledge of those from whom we most desired to keep it
-concealed; but that now we had time to rest, and a shelter to rest in,
-during the first hot pursuit, which we knew to a fatal certainty was
-being carried on. The remnants of our food, and the stored-up fruit,
-would supply us with provision; the only thing to be feared was, that
-something might be required from the loft, and the miller or some one
-else mount up in search of it. But even then, with a little arrangement
-of boxes and chests, one part might be so kept in shadow that we might
-yet escape observation. All this comforted me a little; but, I asked,
-how were we ever to escape? The ladder was taken away, which was
-our only means of descent. But Amante replied that she could make a
-sufficient ladder of the rope lying coiled among other things, to drop
-us down the ten feet or so--with the advantage of its being portable, so
-that we might carry it away, and thus avoid all betrayal of the fact
-that any one had ever been hidden in the loft.
-
-During the two days that intervened before we did escape, Amante made
-good use of her time. She looked into every box and chest during the
-man's absence at his mill; and finding in one box an old suit of man's
-clothes, which had probably belonged to the miller's absent son, she put
-them on to see if they would fit her; and, when she found that they did,
-she cut her own hair to the shortness of a man's, made me clip her black
-eyebrows as close as though they had been shaved, and by cutting up old
-corks into pieces such as would go into her cheeks, she altered both the
-shape of her face and her voice to a degree which I should not have
-believed possible.
-
-All this time I lay like one stunned; my body resting, and renewing its
-strength, but I myself in an almost idiotic state--else surely I could
-not have taken the stupid interest which I remember I did in all Amante's
-energetic preparations for disguise. I absolutely recollect once the
-feeling of a smile coming over my stiff face as some new exercise of her
-cleverness proved a success.
-
-But towards the second day, she required me, too, to exert myself; and
-then all my heavy despair returned. I let her dye my fair hair and
-complexion with the decaying shells of the stored-up walnuts, I let her
-blacken my teeth, and even voluntarily broke a front tooth the better
-to effect my disguise. But through it all I had no hope of evading my
-terrible husband. The third night the funeral was over, the drinking
-ended, the guests gone; the miller put to bed by his men, being too
-drunk to help himself. They stopped a little while in the kitchen,
-talking and laughing about the new housekeeper likely to come; and they,
-too, went off, shutting, but not locking the door. Everything favoured
-us. Amante had tried her ladder on one of the two previous nights, and
-could, by a dexterous throw from beneath, unfasten it from the hook to
-which it was fixed, when it had served its office; she made up a bundle
-of worthless old clothes in order that we might the better preserve our
-characters of a travelling pedlar and his wife; she stuffed a hump on
-her back, she thickened my figure, she left her own clothes deep down
-beneath a heap of others in the chest from which she had taken the man's
-dress which she wore; and with a few francs in her pocket--the sole
-money we had either of us had about us when we escaped--we let ourselves
-down the ladder, unhooked it, and passed into the cold darkness of night
-again.
-
-We had discussed the route which it would be well for us to take while
-we lay perdues in our loft. Amante had told me then that her reason for
-inquiring, when we first left Les Rochers, by which way I had first been
-brought to it, was to avoid the pursuit which she was sure would first
-be made in the direction of Germany; but that now she thought we might
-return to that district of country where my German fashion of speaking
-French would excite least observation. I thought that Amante herself had
-something peculiar in her accent, which I had heard M. de la Tourelle
-sneer at as Norman patois; but I said not a word beyond agreeing to her
-proposal that we should bend our steps towards Germany. Once there, we
-should, I thought, be safe. Alas! I forgot the unruly time that was
-overspreading all Europe, overturning all law, and all the protection
-which law gives.
-
-How we wandered--not daring to ask our way--how we lived, how we struggled
-through many a danger and still more terrors of danger, I shall not tell
-you now. I will only relate two of our adventures before we reached
-Frankfort. The first, although fatal to an innocent lady, was yet, I
-believe, the cause of my safety; the second I shall tell you, that you
-may understand why I did not return to my former home, as I had hoped to
-do when we lay in the miller's loft, and I first became capable of
-groping after an idea of what my future life might be. I cannot tell you
-how much in these doubtings and wanderings I became attached to Amante.
-I have sometimes feared since, lest I cared for her only because she was
-so necessary to my own safety; but, no! it was not so; or not so only,
-or principally. She said once that she was flying for her own life as
-well as for mine; but we dared not speak much on our danger, or on the
-horrors that had gone before. We planned a little what was to be our
-future course; but even for that we did not look forward long; how could
-we, when every day we scarcely knew if we should see the sun go down?
-For Amante knew or conjectured far more than I did of the atrocity of
-the gang to which M. de la Tourelle belonged; and every now and then,
-just as we seemed to be sinking into the calm of security, we fell upon
-traces of a pursuit after us in all directions. Once I remember--we must
-have been nearly three weeks wearily walking through unfrequented ways,
-day after day, not daring to make inquiry as to our whereabouts, nor
-yet to seem purposeless in our wanderings--we came to a kind of lonely
-roadside farrier's and blacksmith's. I was so tired, that Amante
-declared that, come what might, we would stay there all night; and
-accordingly she entered the house, and boldly announced herself as a
-travelling tailor, ready to do any odd jobs of work that might be
-required, for a night's lodging and food for herself and wife. She had
-adopted this plan once or twice before, and with good success; for her
-father had been a tailor in Rouen, and as a girl she had often helped
-him with his work, and knew the tailors' slang and habits, down to the
-particular whistle and cry which in France tells so much to those of a
-trade. At this blacksmith's, as at most other solitary houses far away
-from a town, there was not only a store of men's clothes laid by as
-wanting mending when the housewife could afford time, but there was a
-natural craving after news from a distance, such news as a wandering
-tailor is bound to furnish. The early November afternoon was closing
-into evening, as we sat down, she cross-legged on the great table in the
-blacksmith's kitchen, drawn close to the window, I close behind her,
-sewing at another part of the same garment, and from time to time well
-scolded by my seeming husband. All at once she turned round to speak to
-me. It was only one word, "Courage!" I had seen nothing; I sat out of
-the light; but I turned sick for an instant, and then I braced myself up
-into a strange strength of endurance to go through I knew not what.
-
-The blacksmith's forge was in a shed beside the house, and fronting the
-road. I heard the hammers stop plying their continual rhythmical beat.
-She had seen why they ceased. A rider had come up to the forge and
-dismounted, leading his horse in to be re-shod. The broad red light of
-the forge-fire had revealed the face of the rider to Amante, and she
-apprehended the consequence that really ensued.
-
-The rider, after some words with the blacksmith, was ushered in by him
-into the house-place where we sat.
-
-"Here, good wife, a cup of wine and some galette for this gentleman."
-
-"Anything, anything, madame, that I can eat and drink in my hand while
-my horse is being shod. I am in haste, and must get on to Forbach
-to-night."
-
-The blacksmith's wife lighted her lamp; Amante had asked her for it five
-minutes before. How thankful we were that she had not more speedily
-complied with our request! As it was, we sat in dusk shadow, pretending
-to stitch away, but scarcely able to see. The lamp was placed on the
-stove, near which my husband, for it was he, stood and warmed himself.
-By-and-by he turned round, and looked all over the room, taking us in
-with about the same degree of interest as the inanimate furniture.
-Amante, cross-legged, fronting him, stooped over her work, whistling
-softly all the while. He turned again to the stove, impatiently rubbing
-his hands. He had finished his wine and galette, and wanted to be off.
-
-"I am in haste, my good woman. Ask thy husband to get on more quickly. I
-will pay him double if he makes haste."
-
-The woman went out to do his bidding; and he once more turned round to
-face us. Amante went on to the second part of the tune. He took it up,
-whistled a second for an instant or so, and then the blacksmith's wife
-re-entering, he moved towards her, as if to receive her answer the more
-speedily.
-
-"One moment, monsieur--only one moment. There was a nail out of the
-off-foreshoe which my husband is replacing; it would delay monsieur
-again if that shoe also came off."
-
-"Madame is right," said he, "but my haste is urgent. If madame knew
-my reasons, she would pardon my impatience. Once a happy husband, now
-a deserted and betrayed man, I pursue a wife on whom I lavished all
-my love, but who has abused my confidence, and fled from my house,
-doubtless to some paramour; carrying off with her all the jewels and
-money on which she could lay her hands. It is possible madame may have
-heard or seen something of her; she was accompanied in her flight by
-a base, profligate woman from Paris, whom I, unhappy man, had myself
-engaged for my wife's waiting-maid, little dreaming what corruption I
-was bringing into my house!"
-
-"Is it possible?" said the good woman, throwing up her hands.
-
-Amante went on whistling a little lower, out of respect to the
-conversation.
-
-"However, I am tracing the wicked fugitives; I am on their track" (and
-the handsome, effeminate face looked as ferocious as any demon's). "They
-will not escape me; but every minute is a minute of misery to me, till I
-meet my wife. Madame has sympathy, has she not?"
-
-He drew his face into a hard, unnatural smile, and then both went out to
-the forge, as if once more to hasten the blacksmith over his work.
-
-Amante stopped her whistling for one instant.
-
-"Go on as you are, without change of an eyelid even; in a few minutes he
-will be gone, and it will be over!"
-
-It was a necessary caution, for I was on the point of giving way, and
-throwing myself weakly upon her neck. We went on; she whistling and
-stitching, I making semblance to sew. And it was well we did so; for
-almost directly he came back for his whip, which he had laid down and
-forgotten; and again I felt one of those sharp, quick-scanning glances,
-sent all round the room, and taking in all.
-
-Then we heard him ride away; and then, it had been long too dark to see
-well, I dropped my work, and gave way to my trembling and shuddering.
-The blacksmith's wife returned. She was a good creature. Amante told her
-I was cold and weary, and she insisted on my stopping my work, and going
-to sit near the stove; hastening, at the same time, her preparations for
-supper, which, in honour of us, and of monsieur's liberal payment, was
-to be a little less frugal than ordinary. It was well for me that she
-made me taste a little of the cider-soup she was preparing, or I could
-not have held up, in spite of Amante's warning look, and the remembrance
-of her frequent exhortations to act resolutely up to the characters we
-had assumed, whatever befel. To cover my agitation, Amante stopped her
-whistling, and began to talk; and, by the time the blacksmith came in,
-she and the good woman of the house were in full flow. He began at once
-upon the handsome gentleman, who had paid him so well; all his sympathy
-was with him, and both he and his wife only wished he might overtake his
-wicked wife, and punish her as she deserved. And then the conversation
-took a turn, not uncommon to those whose lives are quiet and monotonous;
-every one seemed to vie with each other in telling about some horror;
-and the savage and mysterious band of robbers called the Chauffeurs,
-who infested all the roads leading to the Rhine, with Schinderhannes at
-their head, furnished many a tale which made the very marrow of my bones
-run cold, and quenched even Amante's power of talking. Her eyes grew
-large and wild, her cheeks blanched, and for once she sought by her
-looks help from me. The new call upon me roused me. I rose and said,
-with their permission my husband and I would seek our bed, for that we
-had travelled far and were early risers. I added that we would get up
-betimes, and finish our piece of work. The blacksmith said we should
-be early birds if we rose before him; and the good wife seconded my
-proposal with kindly bustle. One other such story as those they had been
-relating, and I do believe Amante would have fainted.
-
-As it was, a night's rest set her up; we arose and finished our work
-betimes, and shared the plentiful breakfast of the family. Then we had
-to set forth again; only knowing that to Forbach we must not go, yet
-believing, as was indeed the case, that Forbach lay between us and that
-Germany to which we were directing our course. Two days more we wandered
-on, making a round, I suspect, and returning upon the road to Forbach, a
-league or two nearer to that town than the blacksmith's house. But as we
-never made inquiries I hardly knew where we were, when we came one night
-to a small town, with a good large rambling inn in the very centre of
-the principal street. We had begun to feel as if there were more safety
-in towns than in the loneliness of the country. As we had parted with a
-ring of mine not many days before to a travelling jeweller, who was too
-glad to purchase it far below its real value to make many inquiries as
-to how it came into the possession of a poor working tailor, such as
-Amante seemed to be, we resolved to stay at this inn all night, and
-gather such particulars and information as we could by which to direct
-our onward course.
-
-We took our supper in the darkest corner of the _salle-a-manger_, having
-previously bargained for a small bedroom across the court, and over the
-stables. We needed food sorely; but we hurried on our meal from dread of
-any one entering that public room who might recognize us. Just in the
-middle of our meal, the public diligence drove lumbering up under the
-_porte-cochere_, and disgorged its passengers. Most of them turned into
-the room where we sat, cowering and fearful, for the door was opposite
-to the porter's lodge, and both opened on to the wide-covered entrance
-from the street. Among the passengers came in a young, fair-haired lady,
-attended by an elderly French maid. The poor young creature tossed her
-head, and shrank away from the common room, full of evil smells and
-promiscuous company, and demanded, in German French, to be taken to
-some private apartment. We heard that she and her maid had come in the
-coupe, and, probably from pride, poor young lady! she had avoided all
-association with her fellow-passengers, thereby exciting their dislike
-and ridicule. All these little pieces of hearsay had a significance to
-us afterwards, though, at the time, the only remark made that bore upon
-the future was Amante's whisper to me that the young lady's hair was
-exactly the colour of mine, which she had cut off and burnt in the stove
-in the miller's kitchen in one of her descents from our hiding-place in
-the loft.
-
-As soon as we could, we struck round in the shadow, leaving the
-boisterous and merry fellow-passengers to their supper. We crossed the
-court, borrowed a lantern from the ostler, and scrambled up the rude
-steps to our chamber above the stable. There was no door into it; the
-entrance was the hole into which the ladder fitted. The window looked
-into the court. We were tired and soon fell asleep. I was wakened by a
-noise in the stable below. One instant of listening, and I wakened
-Amante, placing my hand on her mouth, to prevent any exclamation in her
-half-roused state. We heard my husband speaking about his horse to the
-ostler. It was his voice. I am sure of it. Amante said so too. We durst
-not move to rise and satisfy ourselves. For five minutes or so he went
-on giving directions. Then he left the stable, and, softly stealing
-to our window, we saw him cross the court and re-enter the inn. We
-consulted as to what we should do. We feared to excite remark or
-suspicion by descending and leaving our chamber, or else immediate
-escape was our strongest idea. Then the ostler left the stable, locking
-the door on the outside.
-
-"We must try and drop through the window--if, indeed, it is well to go
-at all," said Amante.
-
-With reflection came wisdom. We should excite suspicion by leaving
-without paying our bill. We were on foot, and might easily be pursued.
-So we sat on our bed's edge, talking and shivering, while from across
-the court the laughter rang merrily, and the company slowly dispersed
-one by one, their lights flitting past the windows as they went upstairs
-and settled each one to his rest.
-
-We crept into our bed, holding each other tight, and listening to every
-sound, as if we thought we were tracked, and might meet our death at any
-moment. In the dead of night, just at the profound stillness preceding
-the turn into another day, we heard a soft, cautious step crossing
-the yard. The key into the stable was turned--some one came into the
-stable--we felt rather than heard him there. A horse started a little,
-and made a restless movement with his feet, then whinnied recognition.
-He who had entered made two or three low sounds to the animal, and then
-led him into the court. Amante sprang to the window with the noiseless
-activity of a cat. She looked out, but dared not speak a word. We heard
-the great door into the street open--a pause for mounting, and the
-horse's footsteps were lost in distance.
-
-Then Amante came back to me. "It was he! he is gone!" said she, and once
-more we lay down, trembling and shaking.
-
-This time we fell sound asleep. We slept long and late. We were wakened
-by many hurrying feet, and many confused voices; all the world seemed
-awake and astir. We rose and dressed ourselves, and coming down we
-looked around among the crowd collected in the court-yard, in order to
-assure ourselves _he_ was not there before we left the shelter of the
-stable.
-
-The instant we were seen, two or three people rushed to us.
-
-"Have you heard?--Do you know?--That poor young lady--oh, come and see!"
-and so we were hurried, almost in spite of ourselves, across the court,
-and up the great open stairs of the main building of the inn, into a
-bed-chamber, where lay the beautiful young German lady, so full of
-graceful pride the night before, now white and still in death. By her
-stood the French maid, crying and gesticulating.
-
-"Oh, madame! if you had but suffered me to stay with you! Oh! the baron,
-what will he say?" and so she went on. Her state had but just been
-discovered; it had been supposed that she was fatigued, and was sleeping
-late, until a few minutes before. The surgeon of the town had been sent
-for, and the landlord of the inn was trying vainly to enforce order
-until he came, and, from time to time, drinking little cups of brandy,
-and offering them to the guests, who were all assembled there, pretty
-much as the servants were doing in the court-yard.
-
-At last the surgeon came. All fell back, and hung on the words that were
-to fall from his lips.
-
-"See!" said the landlord. "This lady came last night by the diligence
-with her maid. Doubtless a great lady, for she must have a private
-sitting-room----"
-
-"She was Madame the Baroness de Roeder," said the French maid.
-
---"And was difficult to please in the matter of supper, and a
-sleeping-room. She went to bed well, though fatigued. Her maid left
-her----"
-
-"I begged to be allowed to sleep in her room, as we were in a strange
-inn, of the character of which we knew nothing; but she would not let
-me, my mistress was such a great lady."
-
---"And slept with my servants," continued the landlord. "This morning we
-thought madame was still slumbering; but when eight, nine, ten, and near
-eleven o'clock came, I bade her maid use my pass-key, and enter her
-room----"
-
-"The door was not locked, only closed. And here she was found--dead is
-she not, monsieur?--with her face down on her pillow, and her beautiful
-hair all scattered wild; she never would let me tie it up, saying it
-made her head ache. Such hair!" said the waiting-maid, lifting up a long
-golden tress, and letting it fall again.
-
-I remembered Amante's words the night before, and crept close up to her.
-
-Meanwhile, the doctor was examining the body underneath the bed-clothes,
-which the landlord, until now, had not allowed to be disarranged. The
-surgeon drew out his hand, all bathed and stained with blood; and
-holding up a short, sharp knife, with a piece of paper fastened round
-it.
-
-"Here has been foul play," he said. "The deceased lady has been
-murdered. This dagger was aimed straight at her heart." Then, putting on
-his spectacles, he read the writing on the bloody paper, dimmed and
-horribly obscured as it was:--
-
-  NUMERO UN.
-  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
-
-
-"Let us go!" said I to Amante. "Oh, let us leave this horrible place!"
-
-"Wait a little," said she. "Only a few minutes more. It will be better."
-
-Immediately the voices of all proclaimed their suspicions of the
-cavalier who had arrived last the night before. He had, they said, made
-so many inquiries about the young lady, whose supercilious conduct all
-in the _salle-a-manger_ had been discussing on his entrance. They were
-talking about her as we left the room; he must have come in directly
-afterwards, and not until he had learnt all about her, had he spoken of
-the business which necessitated his departure at dawn of day, and made
-his arrangements with both landlord and ostler for the possession of the
-keys of the stable and _porte-cochere_. In short, there was no doubt as
-to the murderer, even before the arrival of the legal functionary who
-had been sent for by the surgeon; but the word on the paper chilled
-every one with terror. Les Chauffeurs, who were they? No one knew, some
-of the gang might even then be in the room overhearing, and noting down
-fresh objects for vengeance. In Germany, I had heard little of this
-terrible gang, and I had paid no greater heed to the stories related
-once or twice about them in Carlsruhe than one does to tales about
-ogres. But here in their very haunts, I learnt the full amount of the
-terror they inspired. No one would be legally responsible for any
-evidence criminating the murderer. The public prosecutor shrank from the
-duties of his office. What do I say? Neither Amante nor I, knowing far
-more of the actual guilt of the man who had killed that poor sleeping
-young lady, durst breathe a word. We appeared to be wholly ignorant of
-everything: we, who might have told so much. But how could we? we were
-broken down with terrific anxiety and fatigue, with the knowledge that
-we, above all, were doomed victims; and that the blood, heavily dripping
-from the bed-clothes on to the floor, was dripping thus out of the poor
-dead body, because, when living, she had been mistaken for me.
-
-At length Amante went up to the landlord, and asked permission to leave
-his inn, doing all openly and humbly, so as to excite neither ill-will
-nor suspicion. Indeed, suspicion was otherwise directed, and he willingly
-gave us leave to depart. A few days afterwards we were across the Rhine,
-in Germany, making our way towards Frankfort, but still keeping our
-disguises, and Amante still working at her trade.
-
-On the way, we met a young man, a wandering journeyman from Heidelberg.
-I knew him, although I did not choose that he should know me. I asked
-him, as carelessly as I could, how the old miller was now? He told me he
-was dead. This realization of the worst apprehensions caused by his long
-silence shocked me inexpressibly. It seemed as though every prop gave
-way from under me. I had been talking to Amante only that very day of
-the safety and comfort of the home that awaited her in my father's
-house; of the gratitude which the old man would feel towards her; and
-how there, in that peaceful dwelling, far away from the terrible land
-of France, she should find ease and security for all the rest of her
-life. All this I thought I had to promise, and even yet more had I
-looked for, for myself. I looked to the unburdening of my heart and
-conscience by telling all I knew to my best and wisest friend. I looked
-to his love as a sure guidance as well as a comforting stay, and,
-behold, he was gone away from me for ever!
-
-I had left the room hastily on hearing of this sad news from the
-Heidelberger. Presently, Amante followed:
-
-"Poor madame," said she, consoling me to the best of her ability. And
-then she told me by degrees what more she had learned respecting my
-home, about which she knew almost as much as I did, from my frequent
-talks on the subject both at Les Rochers and on the dreary, doleful road
-we had come along. She had continued the conversation after I left, by
-asking about my brother and his wife. Of course, they lived on at the
-mill, but the man said (with what truth I know not, but I believed it
-firmly at the time) that Babette had completely got the upper hand of my
-brother, who only saw through her eyes and heard with her ears. That
-there had been much Heidelberg gossip of late days about her sudden
-intimacy with a grand French gentleman who had appeared at the mill--a
-relation, by marriage--married, in fact, to the miller's sister, who,
-by all accounts, had behaved abominably and ungratefully. But that was
-no reason for Babette's extreme and sudden intimacy with him, going
-about everywhere with the French gentleman; and since he left (as the
-Heidelberger said he knew for a fact) corresponding with him constantly.
-Yet her husband saw no harm in it all, seemingly; though, to be sure, he
-was so out of spirits, what with his father's death and the news of his
-sister's infamy, that he hardly knew how to hold up his head.
-
-"Now," said Amante, "all this proves that M. de la Tourelle has
-suspected that you would go back to the nest in which you were reared,
-and that he has been there, and found that you have not yet returned;
-but probably he still imagines that you will do so, and has accordingly
-engaged your sister-in-law as a kind of informant. Madame has said that
-her sister-in-law bore her no extreme good-will; and the defamatory
-story he has got the start of us in spreading, will not tend to increase
-the favour in which your sister-in-law holds you. No doubt the assassin
-was retracing his steps when we met him near Forbach, and having heard
-of the poor German lady, with her French maid, and her pretty blonde
-complexion, he followed her. If madame will still be guided by me--and,
-my child, I beg of you still to trust me," said Amante, breaking out of
-her respectful formality into the way of talking more natural to those
-who had shared and escaped from common dangers--more natural, too, where
-the speaker was conscious of a power of protection which the other did
-not possess--"we will go on to Frankfort, and lose ourselves, for a
-time, at least, in the numbers of people who throng a great town; and
-you have told me that Frankfort is a great town. We will still be
-husband and wife; we will take a small lodging, and you shall housekeep
-and live in-doors. I, as the rougher and the more alert, will continue
-my father's trade, and seek work at the tailors' shops."
-
-I could think of no better plan, so we followed this out. In a back
-street at Frankfort we found two furnished rooms to let on a sixth
-story. The one we entered had no light from day; a dingy lamp swung
-perpetually from the ceiling, and from that, or from the open door
-leading into the bedroom beyond, came our only light. The bedroom was
-more cheerful, but very small. Such as it was, it almost exceeded our
-possible means. The money from the sale of my ring was almost exhausted,
-and Amante was a stranger in the place, speaking only French, moreover,
-and the good Germans were hating the French people right heartily.
-However, we succeeded better than our hopes, and even laid by a little
-against the time of my confinement. I never stirred abroad, and saw no
-one, and Amante's want of knowledge of German kept her in a state of
-comparative isolation.
-
-At length my child was born--my poor worse than fatherless child. It
-was a girl, as I had prayed for. I had feared lest a boy might have
-something of the tiger nature of its father, but a girl seemed all my
-own. And yet not all my own, for the faithful Amante's delight and glory
-in the babe almost exceeded mine; in outward show it certainly did.
-
-We had not been able to afford any attendance beyond what a neighbouring
-sage-femme could give, and she came frequently, bringing in with her
-a little store of gossip, and wonderful tales culled out of her own
-experience, every time. One day she began to tell me about a great lady
-in whose service her daughter had lived as scullion, or some such
-thing. Such a beautiful lady! with such a handsome husband. But grief
-comes to the palace as well as to the garret, and why or wherefore no
-one knew, but somehow the Baron de Roeder must have incurred the
-vengeance of the terrible Chauffeurs; for not many months ago, as
-madame was going to see her relations in Alsace, she was stabbed dead
-as she lay in bed at some hotel on the road. Had I not seen it in the
-_Gazette_? Had I not heard? Why, she had been told that as far off as
-Lyons there were placards offering a heavy reward on the part of the
-Baron de Roeder for information respecting the murderer of his wife. But
-no one could help him, for all who could bear evidence were in such
-terror of the Chauffeurs; there were hundreds of them she had been told,
-rich and poor, great gentlemen and peasants, all leagued together by
-most frightful oaths to hunt to the death any one who bore witness
-against them; so that even they who survived the tortures to which the
-Chauffeurs subjected many of the people whom they plundered, dared not
-to recognise them again, would not dare, even did they see them at the
-bar of a court of justice; for, if one were condemned, were there not
-hundreds sworn to avenge his death?
-
-I told all this to Amante, and we began to fear that if M. de la
-Tourelle, or Lefebvre, or any of the gang at Les Rochers, had seen these
-placards, they would know that the poor lady stabbed by the former was
-the Baroness de Roeder, and that they would set forth again in search of
-me.
-
-This fresh apprehension told on my health and impeded my recovery. We
-had so little money we could not call in a physician, at least, not one
-in established practice. But Amante found out a young doctor for whom,
-indeed, she had sometimes worked; and offering to pay him in kind, she
-brought him to see me, her sick wife. He was very gentle and thoughtful,
-though, like ourselves, very poor. But he gave much time and consideration
-to the case, saying once to Amante that he saw my constitution had
-experienced some severe shock from which it was probable that my nerves
-would never entirely recover. By-and-by I shall name this doctor, and
-then you will know, better than I can describe, his character.
-
-I grew strong in time--stronger, at least. I was able to work a little
-at home, and to sun myself and my baby at the garret-window in the roof.
-It was all the air I dared to take. I constantly wore the disguise I had
-first set out with; as constantly had I renewed the disfiguring dye
-which changed my hair and complexion. But the perpetual state of terror
-in which I had been during the whole months succeeding my escape from
-Les Rochers made me loathe the idea of ever again walking in the open
-daylight, exposed to the sight and recognition of every passer-by. In
-vain Amante reasoned--in vain the doctor urged. Docile in every other
-thing, in this I was obstinate. I would not stir out. One day Amante
-returned from her work, full of news--some of it good, some such as to
-cause us apprehension. The good news was this; the master for whom she
-worked as journeyman was going to send her with some others to a great
-house at the other side of Frankfort, where there were to be private
-theatricals, and where many new dresses and much alteration of old ones
-would be required. The tailors employed were all to stay at this house
-until the day of representation was over, as it was at some distance
-from the town, and no one could tell when their work would be ended.
-But the pay was to be proportionately good.
-
-The other thing she had to say was this: she had that day met the
-travelling jeweller to whom she and I had sold my ring. It was rather a
-peculiar one, given to me by my husband; we had felt at the time that it
-might be the means of tracing us, but we were penniless and starving,
-and what else could we do? She had seen that this Frenchman had recognised
-her at the same instant that she did him, and she thought at the same
-time that there was a gleam of more than common intelligence on his face
-as he did so. This idea had been confirmed by his following her for some
-way on the other side of the street; but she had evaded him with her
-better knowledge of the town, and the increasing darkness of the night.
-Still it was well that she was going to such a distance from our
-dwelling on the next day; and she had brought me in a stock of provisions,
-begging me to keep within doors, with a strange kind of fearful oblivion
-of the fact that I had never set foot beyond the threshold of the house
-since I had first entered it--scarce ever ventured down the stairs. But,
-although my poor, my dear, very faithful Amante was like one possessed
-that last night, she spoke continually of the dead, which is a bad
-sign for the living. She kissed you--yes! it was you, my daughter, my
-darling, whom I bore beneath my bosom away from the fearful castle of
-your father--I call him so for the first time, I must call him so once
-again before I have done--Amante kissed you, sweet baby, blessed little
-comforter, as if she never could leave off. And then she went away,
-alive.
-
-Two days, three days passed away. That third evening I was sitting
-within my bolted doors--you asleep on your pillow by my side--when a
-step came up the stair, and I knew it must be for me; for ours were the
-topmost rooms. Some one knocked; I held my very breath. But some one
-spoke, and I knew it was the good Doctor Voss. Then I crept to the door,
-and answered.
-
-"Are you alone?" asked I.
-
-"Yes," said he, in a still lower voice. "Let me in." I let him in, and
-he was as alert as I in bolting and barring the door. Then he came and
-whispered to me his doleful tale. He had come from the hospital in the
-opposite quarter of the town, the hospital which he visited; he should
-have been with me sooner, but he had feared lest he should be watched.
-He had come from Amante's death-bed. Her fears of the jeweller were
-too well founded. She had left the house where she was employed that
-morning, to transact some errand connected with her work in the town;
-she must have been followed, and dogged on her way back through solitary
-wood-paths, for some of the wood-rangers belonging to the great house
-had found her lying there, stabbed to death, but not dead; with the
-poniard again plunged through the fatal writing, once more; but this
-time with the word "un" underlined, so as to show that the assassin was
-aware of his previous mistake.
-
-  Numero _Un_.
-  Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.
-
-They had carried her to the house, and given her restoratives till she
-had recovered the feeble use of her speech. But, oh, faithful, dear
-friend and sister! even then she remembered me, and refused to tell
-(what no one else among her fellow workmen knew), where she lived or
-with whom. Life was ebbing away fast, and they had no resource but to
-carry her to the nearest hospital, where, of course, the fact of her
-sex was made known. Fortunately both for her and for me, the doctor in
-attendance was the very Doctor Voss whom we already knew. To him, while
-awaiting her confessor, she told enough to enable him to understand the
-position in which I was left; before the priest had heard half her tale
-Amante was dead.
-
-Doctor Voss told me he had made all sorts of _detours_, and waited thus,
-late at night, for fear of being watched and followed. But I do not
-think he was. At any rate, as I afterwards learnt from him, the Baron
-Roeder, on hearing of the similitude of this murder with that of his
-wife in every particular, made such a search after the assassins, that,
-although they were not discovered, they were compelled to take to flight
-for the time.
-
-I can hardly tell you now by what arguments Dr. Voss, at first merely
-my benefactor, sparing me a portion of his small modicum, at length
-persuaded me to become his wife. His wife he called it, I called it; for
-we went through the religious ceremony too much slighted at the time,
-and as we were both Lutherans, and M. de la Tourelle had pretended to be
-of the reformed religion, a divorce from the latter would have been
-easily procurable by German law both ecclesiastical and legal, could we
-have summoned so fearful a man into any court.
-
-The good doctor took me and my child by stealth to his modest dwelling;
-and there I lived in the same deep retirement, never seeing the full
-light of day, although when the dye had once passed away from my face my
-husband did not wish me to renew it. There was no need; my yellow hair
-was grey, my complexion was ashen-coloured, no creature could have
-recognized the fresh-coloured, bright-haired young woman of eighteen
-months before. The few people whom I saw knew me only as Madame Voss; a
-widow much older than himself, whom Dr. Voss had secretly married. They
-called me the Grey Woman.
-
-He made me give you his surname. Till now you have known no other
-father--while he lived you needed no father's love. Once only, only once
-more, did the old terror come upon me. For some reason which I forget,
-I broke through my usual custom, and went to the window of my room for
-some purpose, either to shut or to open it. Looking out into the street
-for an instant, I was fascinated by the sight of M. de la Tourelle, gay,
-young, elegant as ever, walking along on the opposite side of the
-street. The noise I had made with the window caused him to look up; he
-saw me, an old grey woman, and he did not recognize me! Yet it was not
-three years since we had parted, and his eyes were keen and dreadful
-like those of the lynx.
-
-I told M. Voss, on his return home, and he tried to cheer me, but the
-shock of seeing M. de la Tourelle had been too terrible for me. I was
-ill for long months afterwards.
-
-Once again I saw him. Dead. He and Lefebvre were at last caught; hunted
-down by the Baron de Roeder in some of their crimes. Dr. Voss had heard
-of their arrest; their condemnation, their death; but he never said a
-word to me, until one day he bade me show him that I loved him by my
-obedience and my trust. He took me a long carriage journey, where to I
-know not, for we never spoke of that day again; I was led through a
-prison, into a closed court-yard, where, decently draped in the last
-robes of death, concealing the marks of decapitation, lay M. de la
-Tourelle, and two or three others, whom I had known at Les Rochers.
-
-After that conviction Dr. Voss tried to persuade me to return to a more
-natural mode of life, and to go out more. But although I sometimes
-complied with his wish, yet the old terror was ever strong upon me,
-and he, seeing what an effort it was, gave up urging me at last.
-
-You know all the rest. How we both mourned bitterly the loss of that
-dear husband and father--for such I will call him ever--and as such
-you must consider him, my child, after this one revelation is over.
-
-Why has it been made, you ask. For this reason, my child. The lover,
-whom you have only known as M. Lebrun, a French artist, told me but
-yesterday his real name, dropped because the blood-thirsty republicans
-might consider it as too aristocratic. It is Maurice de Poissy.
-
-
-
-
-CURIOUS IF TRUE.
-
-(EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM RICHARD WHITTINGHAM, ESQ.)
-
-
-You were formerly so much amused at my pride in my descent from that
-sister of Calvin's, who married a Whittingham, Dean of Durham, that I
-doubt if you will be able to enter into the regard for my distinguished
-relation that has led me to France, in order to examine registers and
-archives, which, I thought, might enable me to discover collateral
-descendants of the great reformer, with whom I might call cousins. I
-shall not tell you of my troubles and adventures in this research; you
-are not worthy to hear of them; but something so curious befel me one
-evening last August, that if I had not been perfectly certain I was wide
-awake, I might have taken it for a dream.
-
-For the purpose I have named, it was necessary that I should make Tours
-my head-quarters for a time. I had traced descendants of the Calvin
-family out of Normandy into the centre of France; but I found it was
-necessary to have a kind of permission from the bishop of the diocese
-before I could see certain family papers, which had fallen into the
-possession of the Church; and, as I had several English friends at
-Tours, I awaited the answer to my request to Monseigneur de ----, at
-that town. I was ready to accept any invitation; but I received very
-few; and was sometimes a little at a loss what to do with my evenings.
-The _table d'hote_ was at five o'clock; I did not wish to go to the
-expense of a private sitting-room, disliked the dinnery atmosphere of
-the _salle a manger_, could not play either at pool or billiards, and
-the aspect of my fellow guests was unprepossessing enough to make me
-unwilling to enter into any _tete-a-tete_ gamblings with them. So I
-usually rose from table early, and tried to make the most of the
-remaining light of the August evenings in walking briskly off to explore
-the surrounding country; the middle of the day was too hot for this
-purpose, and better employed in lounging on a bench in the Boulevards,
-lazily listening to the distant band, and noticing with equal laziness
-the faces and figures of the women who passed by.
-
-One Thursday evening, the 18th of August it was, I think, I had gone
-further than usual in my walk, and I found that it was later than I
-had imagined when I paused to turn back. I fancied I could make a round;
-I had enough notion of the direction in which I was, to see that by
-turning up a narrow straight lane to my left I should shorten my way
-back to Tours. And so I believe I should have done, could I have found
-an outlet at the right place, but field-paths are almost unknown in
-that part of France, and my lane, stiff and straight as any street, and
-marked into terribly vanishing perspective by the regular row of poplars
-on each side, seemed interminable. Of course night came on, and I was
-in darkness. In England I might have had a chance of seeing a light
-in some cottage only a field or two off, and asking my way from the
-inhabitants; but here I could see no such welcome sight; indeed, I
-believe French peasants go to bed with the summer daylight, so if there
-were any habitations in the neighbourhood I never saw them. At last--I
-believe I must have walked two hours in the darkness,--I saw the dusky
-outline of a wood on one side of the weariful lane, and, impatiently
-careless of all forest laws and penalties for trespassers, I made my
-way to it, thinking that if the worst came to the worst, I could find
-some covert--some shelter where I could lie down and rest, until the
-morning light gave me a chance of finding my way back to Tours. But the
-plantation, on the outskirts of what appeared to me a dense wood, was of
-young trees, too closely planted to be more than slender stems growing
-up to a good height, with scanty foliage on their summits. On I went
-towards the thicker forest, and once there I slackened my pace, and
-began to look about me for a good lair. I was as dainty as Lochiel's
-grandchild, who made his grandsire indignant at the luxury of his pillow
-of snow: this brake was too full of brambles, that felt damp with dew;
-there was no hurry, since I had given up all hope of passing the night
-between four walls; and I went leisurely groping about, and trusting
-that there were no wolves to be poked up out of their summer drowsiness
-by my stick, when all at once I saw a chateau before me, not a quarter
-of a mile off, at the end of what seemed to be an ancient avenue (now
-overgrown and irregular), which I happened to be crossing, when I looked
-to my right, and saw the welcome sight. Large, stately, and dark was
-its outline against the dusky night-sky; there were pepper-boxes and
-tourelles and what-not fantastically going up into the dim starlight.
-And more to the purpose still, though I could not see the details of the
-building that I was now facing, it was plain enough that there were
-lights in many windows, as if some great entertainment was going on.
-
-"They are hospitable people, at any rate," thought I. "Perhaps they
-will give me a bed. I don't suppose French proprietaires have traps and
-horses quite as plentiful as English gentlemen; but they are evidently
-having a large party, and some of their guests may be from Tours, and
-will give me a cast back to the Lion d'Or. I am not proud, and I am
-dog-tired. I am not above hanging on behind, if need be."
-
-So, putting a little briskness and spirit into my walk, I went up to
-the door, which was standing open, most hospitably, and showing a large
-lighted hall, all hung round with spoils of the chase, armour, &c, the
-details of which I had not time to notice, for the instant I stood on
-the threshold a huge porter appeared, in a strange, old-fashioned dress,
-a kind of livery which well befitted the general appearance of the house.
-He asked me, in French (so curiously pronounced that I thought I had hit
-upon a new kind of _patois_), my name, and whence I came. I thought he
-would not be much the wiser, still it was but civil to give it before I
-made my request for assistance; so, in reply, I said--
-
-"My name is Whittingham--Richard Whittingham, an English gentleman,
-staying at ----." To my infinite surprise, a light of pleased intelligence
-came over the giant's face; he made me a low bow, and said (still in
-the same curious dialect) that I was welcome, that I was long expected.
-
-"Long expected!" What could the fellow mean? Had I stumbled on a nest
-of relations by John Calvin's side, who had heard of my genealogical
-inquiries, and were gratified and interested by them? But I was too
-much pleased to be under shelter for the night to think it necessary to
-account for my agreeable reception before I enjoyed it. Just as he was
-opening the great heavy _battants_ of the door that led from the hall to
-the interior, he turned round and said,--
-
-"Apparently Monsieur le Geanquilleur is not come with you."
-
-"No! I am all alone; I have lost my way,"--and I was going on with my
-explanation, when he, as if quite indifferent to it, led the way up
-a great stone staircase, as wide as many rooms, and having on each
-landing-place massive iron wickets, in a heavy framework; these the
-porter unlocked with the solemn slowness of age. Indeed, a strange,
-mysterious awe of the centuries that had passed away since this chateau
-was built, came over me as I waited for the turning of the ponderous
-keys in the ancient locks. I could almost have fancied that I heard a
-mighty rushing murmur (like the ceaseless sound of a distant sea, ebbing
-and flowing for ever and for ever), coming forth from the great vacant
-galleries that opened out on each side of the broad staircase, and were
-to be dimly perceived in the darkness above us. It was as if the voices
-of generations of men yet echoed and eddied in the silent air. It was
-strange, too, that my friend the porter going before me, ponderously
-infirm, with his feeble old hands striving in vain to keep the tall
-flambeau he held steadily before him,--strange, I say, that he was the
-only domestic I saw in the vast halls and passages, or met with on the
-grand staircase. At length we stood before the gilded doors that led
-into the saloon where the family--or it might be the company, so great
-was the buzz of voices--was assembled. I would have remonstrated when
-I found he was going to introduce me, dusty and travel-smeared, in a
-morning costume that was not even my best, into this grand _salon_, with
-nobody knew how many ladies and gentlemen assembled; but the obstinate
-old man was evidently bent upon taking me straight to his master, and
-paid no heed to my words.
-
-The doors flew open, and I was ushered into a saloon curiously full of
-pale light, which did not culminate on any spot, nor proceed from any
-centre, nor flicker with any motion of the air, but filled every nook
-and corner, making all things deliciously distinct; different from our
-light of gas or candle, as is the difference between a clear southern
-atmosphere and that of our misty England.
-
-At the first moment, my arrival excited no attention, the apartment was
-so full of people, all intent on their own conversation. But my friend
-the porter went up to a handsome lady of middle age, richly attired in
-that antique manner which fashion has brought round again of late years,
-and, waiting first in an attitude of deep respect till her attention
-fell upon him, told her my name and something about me, as far as I
-could guess from the gestures of the one and the sudden glance of the
-eye of the other.
-
-She immediately came towards me with the most friendly actions of
-greeting, even before she had advanced near enough to speak. Then,--and
-was it not strange?--her words and accent were that of the commonest
-peasant of the country. Yet she herself looked high-bred, and would have
-been dignified had she been a shade less restless, had her countenance
-worn a little less lively and inquisitive expression. I had been poking
-a good deal about the old parts of Tours, and had had to understand the
-dialect of the people who dwelt in the Marche au Vendredi and similar
-places, or I really should not have understood my handsome hostess, as
-she offered to present me to her husband, a henpecked, gentlemanly man,
-who was more quaintly attired than she in the very extreme of that style
-of dress. I thought to myself that in France, as in England, it is the
-provincials who carry fashion to such an excess as to become ridiculous.
-
-However, he spoke (still in the _patois_) of his pleasure in making my
-acquaintance, and led me to a strange uneasy easy-chair, much of a piece
-with the rest of the furniture, which might have taken its place without
-any anachronism by the side of that in the Hotel Cluny. Then again
-began the clatter of French voices, which my arrival had for an instant
-interrupted, and I had leisure to look about me. Opposite to me sat a
-very sweet-looking lady, who must have been a great beauty in her youth,
-I should think, and would be charming in old age, from the sweetness of
-her countenance. She was, however, extremely fat, and on seeing her feet
-laid up before her on a cushion, I at once perceived that they were so
-swollen as to render her incapable of walking, which probably brought on
-her excessive _embonpoint_. Her hands were plump and small, but rather
-coarse-grained in texture, not quite so clean as they might have been,
-and altogether not so aristocratic-looking as the charming face. Her
-dress was of superb black velvet, ermine-trimmed, with diamonds thrown
-all abroad over it.
-
-Not far from her stood the least little man I had ever seen; of such
-admirable proportions no one could call him a dwarf, because with
-that word we usually associate something of deformity; but yet with an
-elfin look of shrewd, hard, worldly wisdom in his face that marred the
-impression which his delicate regular little features would otherwise
-have conveyed. Indeed, I do not think he was quite of equal rank with
-the rest of the company, for his dress was inappropriate to the occasion
-(and he apparently was an invited, while I was an involuntary guest);
-and one or two of his gestures and actions were more like the tricks of
-an uneducated rustic than anything else. To explain what I mean: his
-boots had evidently seen much service, and had been re-topped, re-heeled,
-re-soled to the extent of cobbler's powers. Why should he have come in
-them if they were not his best--his only pair? And what can be more
-ungenteel than poverty? Then again he had an uneasy trick of putting his
-hand up to his throat, as if he expected to find something the matter
-with it; and he had the awkward habit--which I do not think he could
-have copied from Dr. Johnson, because most probably he had never heard
-of him--of trying always to retrace his steps on the exact boards on
-which he had trodden to arrive at any particular part of the room.
-Besides, to settle the question, I once heard him addressed as Monsieur
-Poucet, without any aristocratic "de" for a prefix; and nearly every one
-else in the room was a marquis, at any rate.
-
-I say, "nearly every one;" for some strange people had the entree;
-unless, indeed, they were, like me, benighted. One of the guests I
-should have taken for a servant, but for the extraordinary influence he
-seemed to have over the man I took for his master, and who never did
-anything without, apparently, being urged thereto by this follower. The
-master, magnificently dressed, but ill at ease in his clothes, as if
-they had been made for some one else, was a weak-looking, handsome
-man, continually sauntering about, and I almost guessed an object of
-suspicion to some of the gentlemen present, which, perhaps, drove him on
-the companionship of his follower, who was dressed something in the
-style of an ambassador's chasseur; yet it was not a chasseur's dress
-after all; it was something more thoroughly old-world; boots half way up
-his ridiculously small legs, which clattered as he walked along, as if
-they were too large for his little feet; and a great quantity of grey
-fur, as trimming to coat, court-mantle, boots, cap--everything. You know
-the way in which certain countenances remind you perpetually of some
-animal, be it bird or beast! Well, this chasseur (as I will call him
-for want of a better name) was exceedingly like the great Tom-cat that
-you have seen so often in my chambers, and laughed at almost as often
-for his uncanny gravity of demeanour. Grey whiskers has my Tom--grey
-whiskers had the chasseur: grey hair overshadows the upper lip of my
-Tom--grey mustachios hid that of the chasseur. The pupils of Tom's eyes
-dilate and contract as I had thought cats' pupils only could do, until
-I saw those of the chasseur. To be sure, canny as Tom is, the chasseur
-had the advantage in the more intelligent expression. He seemed to have
-obtained most complete sway over his master or patron, whose looks he
-watched, and whose steps he followed, with a kind of distrustful
-interest that puzzled me greatly.
-
-There were several other groups in the more distant part of the saloon,
-all of the stately old school, all grand and noble, I conjectured from
-their bearing. They seemed perfectly well acquainted with each other,
-as if they were in the habit of meeting. But I was interrupted in my
-observations by the tiny little gentleman on the opposite side of the
-room coming across to take a place beside me. It is no difficult matter
-to a Frenchman to slide into conversation, and so gracefully did my
-pigmy friend keep up the character of the nation, that we were almost
-confidential before ten minutes had elapsed.
-
-Now I was quite aware that the welcome which all had extended to me,
-from the porter up to the vivacious lady and meek lord of the castle,
-was intended for some other person. But it required either a degree
-of moral courage, of which I cannot boast, or the self-reliance and
-conversational powers of a bolder and cleverer man than I, to undeceive
-people who had fallen into so fortunate a mistake for me. Yet the little
-man by my side insinuated himself so much into my confidence, that I had
-half a mind to tell him of my exact situation, and to turn him into a
-friend and an ally.
-
-"Madame is perceptibly growing older," said he, in the midst of my
-perplexity, glancing at our hostess.
-
-"Madame is still a very fine woman," replied I.
-
-"Now, is it not strange," continued he, lowering his voice, "how women
-almost invariably praise the absent, or departed, as if they were angels
-of light, while as for the present, or the living"--here he shrugged up
-his little shoulders, and made an expressive pause. "Would you believe
-it! Madame is always praising her late husband to monsieur's face; till,
-in fact, we guests are quite perplexed how to look: for, you know, the
-late M. de Retz's character was quite notorious,--everybody has heard of
-him." All the world of Touraine, thought I, but I made an assenting
-noise.
-
-At this instant, monsieur our host came up to me, and with a civil look
-of tender interest (such as some people put on when they inquire after
-your mother, about whom they do not care one straw), asked if I had
-heard lately how my cat was? "How my cat was!" What could the man mean?
-My cat! Could he mean the tailless Tom, born in the Isle of Man, and now
-supposed to be keeping guard against the incursions of rats and mice
-into my chambers in London? Tom is, as you know, on pretty good terms
-with some of my friends, using their legs for rubbing-posts without
-scruple, and highly esteemed by them for his gravity of demeanour, and
-wise manner of winking his eyes. But could his fame have reached across
-the Channel? However, an answer must be returned to the inquiry, as
-monsieur's face was bent down to mine with a look of polite anxiety; so
-I, in my turn, assumed an expression of gratitude, and assured him that,
-to the best of my belief, my cat was in remarkably good health.
-
-"And the climate agrees with her?"
-
-"Perfectly," said I, in a maze of wonder at this deep solicitude in a
-tailless cat who had lost one foot and half an ear in some cruel trap.
-My host smiled a sweet smile, and, addressing a few words to my little
-neighbour, passed on.
-
-"How wearisome those aristocrats are!" quoth my neighbour, with a slight
-sneer. "Monsieur's conversation rarely extends to more than two sentences
-to any one. By that time his faculties are exhausted, and he needs the
-refreshment of silence. You and I, monsieur, are, at any rate, indebted
-to our own wits for our rise in the world!"
-
-Here again I was bewildered! As you know, I am rather proud of my
-descent from families which, if not noble themselves, are allied to
-nobility,--and as to my "rise in the world"--if I had risen, it would
-have been rather for balloon-like qualities than for mother-wit, to
-being unencumbered with heavy ballast either in my head or my pockets.
-However, it was my cue to agree: so I smiled again.
-
-"For my part," said he, "if a man does not stick at trifles, if he knows
-how to judiciously add to, or withhold facts, and is not sentimental in
-his parade of humanity, he is sure to do well; sure to affix a _de_ or
-_von_ to his name, and end his days in comfort. There is an example of
-what I am saying"--and he glanced furtively at the weak-looking master
-of the sharp, intelligent servant, whom I have called the chasseur.
-
-"Monsieur le Marquis would never have been anything but a miller's son,
-if it had not been for the talents of his servant. Of course you know
-his antecedents?"
-
-I was going to make some remarks on the changes in the order of the
-peerage since the days of Louis XVI.--going, in fact, to be very
-sensible and historical--when there was a slight commotion among
-the people at the other end of the room. Lacqueys in quaint liveries
-must have come in from behind the tapestry, I suppose (for I never
-saw them enter, though I sate right opposite to the doors), and were
-handing about the slight beverages and slighter viands which are
-considered sufficient refreshments, but which looked rather meagre to
-my hungry appetite. These footmen were standing solemnly opposite
-to a lady,--beautiful, splendid as the dawn, but--sound asleep in a
-magnificent settee. A gentleman who showed so much irritation at her
-ill-timed slumbers, that I think he must have been her husband, was
-trying to awaken her with actions not far removed from shakings. All in
-vain; she was quite unconscious of his annoyance, or the smiles of the
-company, or the automatic solemnity of the waiting footman, or the
-perplexed anxiety of monsieur and madame.
-
-My little friend sat down with a sneer, as if his curiosity was quenched
-in contempt.
-
-"Moralists would make an infinity of wise remarks on that scene," said
-he. "In the first place, note the ridiculous position into which their
-superstitious reverence for rank and title puts all these people. Because
-monsieur is a reigning prince over some minute principality, the exact
-situation of which no one has as yet discovered, no one must venture to
-take their glass of eau sucre till Madame la Princesse awakens; and,
-judging from past experience, those poor lacqueys may have to stand for
-a century before that happens. Next--always speaking as a moralist, you
-will observe--note how difficult it is to break off bad habits acquired
-in youth!"
-
-Just then the prince succeeded, by what means I did not see, in awaking
-the beautiful sleeper. But at first she did not remember where she was,
-and looking up at her husband with loving eyes, she smiled and said:
-
-"Is it you, my prince?"
-
-But he was too conscious of the suppressed amusement of the spectators
-and his own consequent annoyance, to be reciprocally tender, and turned
-away with some little French expression, best rendered into English by
-"Pooh, pooh, my dear!"
-
-After I had had a glass of delicious wine of some unknown quality, my
-courage was in rather better plight than before, and I told my cynical
-little neighbour--whom I must say I was beginning to dislike--that I had
-lost my way in the wood, and had arrived at the chateau quite by
-mistake.
-
-He seemed mightily amused at my story; said that the same thing had
-happened to himself more than once; and told me that I had better luck
-than he had on one of these occasions, when, from his account, he must
-have been in considerable danger of his life. He ended his story by
-making me admire his boots, which he said he still wore, patched though
-they were, and all their excellent quality lost by patching, because
-they were of such a first-rate make for long pedestrian excursions.
-"Though, indeed," he wound up by saying, "the new fashion of railroads
-would seem to supersede the necessity for this description of boots."
-
-When I consulted him as to whether I ought to make myself known to my
-host and hostess as a benighted traveller, instead of the guest whom
-they had taken me for, he exclaimed, "By no means! I hate such squeamish
-morality." And he seemed much offended by my innocent question, as if it
-seemed by implication to condemn something in himself. He was offended
-and silent; and just at this moment I caught the sweet, attractive eyes
-of the lady opposite--that lady whom I named at first as being no longer
-in the bloom of youth, but as being somewhat infirm about the feet, which
-were supported on a raised cushion before her. Her looks seemed to say,
-"Come here, and let us have some conversation together;" and, with a bow
-of silent excuse to my little companion, I went across to the lame old
-lady. She acknowledged my coming with the prettiest gesture of thanks
-possible; and, half apologetically, said, "It is a little dull to be
-unable to move about on such evenings as this; but it is a just punishment
-to me for my early vanities. My poor feet, that were by nature so small,
-are now taking their revenge for my cruelty in forcing them into such
-little slippers.... Besides, monsieur," with a pleasant smile, "I thought
-it was possible you might be weary of the malicious sayings of your
-little neighbour. He has not borne the best character in his youth, and
-such men are sure to be cynical in their old age."
-
-"Who is he?" asked I, with English abruptness.
-
-"His name is Poucet, and his father was, I believe, a wood-cutter, or
-charcoal burner, or something of the sort. They do tell sad stories
-of connivance at murder, ingratitude, and obtaining money on false
-pretences--but you will think me as bad as he if I go on with my
-slanders. Rather let us admire the lovely lady coming up towards us,
-with the roses in her hand--I never see her without roses, they are so
-closely connected with her past history, as you are doubtless aware. Ah,
-beauty!" said my companion to the lady drawing near to us, "it is like
-you to come to me, now that I can no longer go to you." Then turning to
-me, and gracefully drawing me into the conversation, she said, "You must
-know that, although we never met until we were both married, we have
-been almost like sisters ever since. There have been so many points
-of resemblance in our circumstances, and I think I may say in our
-characters. We had each two elder sisters--mine were but half-sisters,
-though--who were not so kind to us as they might have been."
-
-"But have been sorry for it since," put in the other lady.
-
-"Since we have married princes," continued the same lady, with an arch
-smile that had nothing of unkindness in it, "for we both have married
-far above our original stations in life; we are both unpunctual in our
-habits, and, in consequence of this failing of ours, we have both had to
-suffer mortification and pain."
-
-"And both are charming," said a whisper close behind me. "My lord the
-marquis, say it--say, 'And both are charming.'"
-
-"And both are charming," was spoken aloud by another voice. I turned,
-and saw the wily cat-like chasseur, prompting his master to make civil
-speeches.
-
-The ladies bowed with that kind of haughty acknowledgment which shows
-that compliments from such a source are distasteful. But our trio of
-conversation was broken up, and I was sorry for it. The marquis looked
-as if he had been stirred up to make that one speech, and hoped that he
-would not be expected to say more; while behind him stood the chasseur,
-half impertinent and half servile in his ways and attitudes. The ladies,
-who were real ladies, seemed to be sorry for the awkwardness of the
-marquis, and addressed some trifling questions to him, adapting
-themselves to the subjects on which he could have no trouble in answering.
-The chasseur, meanwhile, was talking to himself in a growling tone of
-voice. I had fallen a little into the background at this interruption in
-a conversation which promised to be so pleasant, and I could not help
-hearing his words.
-
-"Really, De Carabas grows more stupid every day. I have a great mind to
-throw off his boots, and leave him to his fate. I was intended for a
-court, and to a court I will go, and make my own fortune as I have made
-his. The emperor will appreciate my talents."
-
-And such are the habits of the French, or such his forgetfulness of good
-manners in his anger, that he spat right and left on the parquetted
-floor.
-
-Just then a very ugly, very pleasant-looking man, came towards the
-two ladies to whom I had lately been speaking, leading up to them a
-delicate, fair woman, dressed all in the softest white, as if she were
-_vouee au blanc_. I do not think there was a bit of colour about her.
-I thought I heard her making, as she came along, a little noise of
-pleasure, not exactly like the singing of a tea-kettle, nor yet like the
-cooing of a dove, but reminding me of each sound.
-
-"Madame de Mioumiou was anxious to see you," said he, addressing the
-lady with the roses, "so I have brought her across to give you a
-pleasure!" What an honest, good face! but oh! how ugly! And yet I liked
-his ugliness better than most persons' beauty. There was a look of
-pathetic acknowledgment of his ugliness, and a deprecation of your too
-hasty judgment, in his countenance that was positively winning. The
-soft, white lady kept glancing at my neighbour the chasseur, as if they
-had had some former acquaintance, which puzzled me very much, as they
-were of such different rank. However, their nerves were evidently strung
-to the same tune, for at a sound behind the tapestry, which was more
-like the scuttering of rats and mice than anything else, both Madame de
-Mioumiou and the chasseur started with the most eager look of anxiety on
-their countenances, and by their restless movements--madame's panting,
-and the fiery dilation of his eyes--one might see that commonplace
-sounds affected them both in a manner very different to the rest of the
-company. The ugly husband of the lovely lady with the roses now
-addressed himself to me.
-
-"We are much disappointed," he said, "in finding that monsieur is not
-accompanied by his countryman--le grand Jean d'Angleterre; I cannot
-pronounce his name rightly"--and he looked at me to help him out.
-
-"Le grand Jean d'Angleterre!" now who was le grand Jean d'Angleterre?
-John Bull? John Russell? John Bright?
-
-"Jean--Jean"--continued the gentleman, seeing my embarrassment. "Ah,
-these terrible English names--'Jean de Geanquilleur!'"
-
-I was as wise as ever. And yet the name struck me as familiar, but
-slightly disguised. I repeated it to myself. It was mighty like John the
-Giant-killer, only his friends always call that worthy "Jack." I said
-the name aloud.
-
-"Ah, that is it!" said he. "But why has he not accompanied you to our
-little reunion to-night?"
-
-I had been rather puzzled once or twice before, but this serious question
-added considerably to my perplexity. Jack the Giant-killer had once, it
-is true, been rather an intimate friend of mine, as far as (printer's)
-ink and paper can keep up a friendship, but I had not heard his name
-mentioned for years; and for aught I knew he lay enchanted with King
-Arthur's knights, who lie entranced until the blast of the trumpets of
-four mighty kings shall call them to help at England's need. But the
-question had been asked in serious earnest by that gentleman, whom I
-more wished to think well of me than I did any other person in the room.
-So I answered respectfully that it was long since I had heard anything
-of my countryman; but that I was sure it would have given him as much
-pleasure as it was doing myself to have been present at such an agreeable
-gathering of friends. He bowed, and then the lame lady took up the word.
-
-"To-night is the night when, of all the year, this great old forest
-surrounding the castle is said to be haunted by the phantom of a little
-peasant girl who once lived hereabouts; the tradition is that she was
-devoured by a wolf. In former days I have seen her on this night out
-of yonder window at the end of the gallery. Will you, ma belle, take
-monsieur to see the view outside by the moonlight (you may possibly see
-the phantom-child); and leave me to a little _tete-a-tete_ with your
-husband?"
-
-With a gentle movement the lady with the roses complied with the other's
-request, and we went to a great window, looking down on the forest, in
-which I had lost my way. The tops of the far-spreading and leafy trees
-lay motionless beneath us in that pale, wan light, which shows objects
-almost as distinct in form, though not in colour, as by day. We looked
-down on the countless avenues, which seemed to converge from all quarters
-to the great old castle; and suddenly across one, quite near to us,
-there passed the figure of a little girl, with the "capuchon" on, that
-takes the place of a peasant girl's bonnet in France. She had a basket
-on one arm, and by her, on the side to which her head was turned, there
-went a wolf. I could almost have said it was licking her hand, as if in
-penitent love, if either penitence or love had ever been a quality of
-wolves,--but though not of living, perhaps it may be of phantom wolves.
-
-"There, we have seen her!" exclaimed my beautiful companion. "Though so
-long dead, her simple story of household goodness and trustful simplicity
-still lingers in the hearts of all who have ever heard of her; and the
-country-people about here say that seeing that phantom-child on this
-anniversary brings good luck for the year. Let us hope that we shall
-share in the traditionary good fortune. Ah! here is Madame de Retz--she
-retains the name of her first husband, you know, as he was of higher
-rank than the present." We were joined by our hostess.
-
-"If monsieur is fond of the beauties of nature and art," said she,
-perceiving that I had been looking at the view from the great window,
-"he will perhaps take pleasure in seeing the picture." Here she sighed,
-with a little affectation of grief. "You know the picture I allude to,"
-addressing my companion, who bowed assent, and smiled a little
-maliciously, as I followed the lead of madame.
-
-I went after her to the other end of the saloon, noting by the way with
-what keen curiosity she caught up what was passing either in word or
-action on each side of her. When we stood opposite to the end wall, I
-perceived a full-length picture of a handsome, peculiar-looking man,
-with--in spite of his good looks--a very fierce and scowling expression.
-My hostess clasped her hands together as her arms hung down in front,
-and sighed once more. Then, half in soliloquy, she said--
-
-"He was the love of my youth; his stern yet manly character first
-touched this heart of mine. When--when shall I cease to deplore his
-loss!"
-
-Not being acquainted with her enough to answer this question (if,
-indeed, it were not sufficiently answered by the fact of her second
-marriage), I felt awkward; and, by way of saying something, I
-remarked,--
-
-"The countenance strikes me as resembling something I have seen
-before--in an engraving from an historical picture, I think; only, it is
-there the principal figure in a group: he is holding a lady by her hair,
-and threatening her with his scimitar, while two cavaliers are rushing
-up the stairs, apparently only just in time to save her life."
-
-"Alas, alas!" said she, "you too accurately describe a miserable passage
-in my life, which has often been represented in a false light. The best
-of husbands"--here she sobbed, and became slightly inarticulate with her
-grief--"will sometimes be displeased. I was young and curious, he was
-justly angry with my disobedience--my brothers were too hasty--the
-consequence is, I became a widow!"
-
-After due respect for her tears, I ventured to suggest some commonplace
-consolation. She turned round sharply:--
-
-"No, monsieur: my only comfort is that I have never forgiven the brothers
-who interfered so cruelly, in such an uncalled-for manner, between my
-dear husband and myself. To quote my friend Monsieur Sganarelle--'Ce
-sont petites choses qui sont de temps en temps necessaires dans l'amitie;
-et cinq ou six coups d'epee entre gens qui s'aiment ne font que
-ragaillardir l'affection.' You observe the colouring is not quite what
-it should be?"
-
-"In this light the beard is of rather a peculiar tint," said I.
-
-"Yes: the painter did not do it justice. It was most lovely, and gave
-him such a distinguished air, quite different from the common herd.
-Stay, I will show you the exact colour, if you will come near this
-flambeau!" And going near the light, she took off a bracelet of hair,
-with a magnificent clasp of pearls. It was peculiar, certainly. I did
-not know what to say. "His precious lovely beard!" said she. "And the
-pearls go so well with the delicate blue!"
-
-Her husband, who had come up to us, and waited till her eye fell upon
-him before venturing to speak, now said, "It is strange Monsieur Ogre is
-not yet arrived!"
-
-"Not at all strange," said she, tartly. "He was always very stupid, and
-constantly falls into mistakes, in which he comes worse off; and it is
-very well he does, for he is a credulous and cowardly fellow. Not at all
-strange! If you will"--turning to her husband, so that I hardly heard
-her words, until I caught--"Then everybody would have their rights, and
-we should have no more trouble. Is it not, monsieur?" addressing me.
-
-"If I were in England, I should imagine madame was speaking of the
-reform bill, or the millennium,--but I am in ignorance."
-
-And just as I spoke, the great folding-doors were thrown open wide, and
-every one started to their feet to greet a little old lady, leaning on a
-thin black wand--and--
-
-"Madame la Feemarraine," was announced by a chorus of sweet shrill
-voices.
-
-And in a moment I was lying in the grass close by a hollow oak-tree,
-with the slanting glory of the dawning day shining full in my face, and
-thousands of little birds and delicate insects piping and warbling out
-their welcome to the ruddy splendour.
-
-
-
-
-SIX WEEKS AT HEPPENHEIM.
-
-
-After I left Oxford, I determined to spend some months in travel before
-settling down in life. My father had left me a few thousands, the income
-arising from which would be enough to provide for all the necessary
-requirements of a lawyer's education; such as lodgings in a quiet part
-of London, fees and payment to the distinguished barrister with whom I
-was to read; but there would be small surplus left over for luxuries or
-amusements; and as I was rather in debt on leaving college, since I had
-forestalled my income, and the expenses of my travelling would have to
-be defrayed out of my capital, I determined that they should not exceed
-fifty pounds. As long as that sum would last me I would remain abroad;
-when it was spent my holiday should be over, and I would return and
-settle down somewhere in the neighbourhood of Russell Square, in order
-to be near Mr. ----'s chambers in Lincoln's-inn. I had to wait in London
-for one day while my passport was being made out, and I went to examine
-the streets in which I purposed to live; I had picked them out, from
-studying a map, as desirable; and so they were, if judged entirely by
-my reason; but their aspect was very depressing to one country-bred, and
-just fresh from the beautiful street-architecture of Oxford. The thought
-of living in such a monotonous gray district for years made me all the
-more anxious to prolong my holiday by all the economy which could eke
-out my fifty pounds. I thought I could make it last for one hundred days
-at least. I was a good walker, and had no very luxurious tastes in the
-matter of accommodation or food; I had as fair a knowledge of German and
-French as any untravelled Englishman can have; and I resolved to avoid
-expensive hotels such as my own countrymen frequented.
-
-I have stated this much about myself to explain how I fell in with the
-little story that I am going to record, but with which I had not much
-to do,--my part in it being little more than that of a sympathizing
-spectator. I had been through France into Switzerland, where I had gone
-beyond my strength in the way of walking, and I was on my way home, when
-one evening I came to the village of Heppenheim, on the Berg-Strasse. I
-had strolled about the dirty town of Worms all morning, and dined in a
-filthy hotel; and after that I had crossed the Rhine, and walked through
-Lorsch to Heppenheim. I was unnaturally tired and languid as I dragged
-myself up the rough-paved and irregular village street to the inn
-recommended to me. It was a large building, with a green court before
-it. A cross-looking but scrupulously clean hostess received me, and
-showed me into a large room with a dinner-table in it, which, though it
-might have accommodated thirty or forty guests, only stretched down half
-the length of the eating-room. There were windows at each end of the
-room; two looked to the front of the house, on which the evening shadows
-had already fallen; the opposite two were partly doors, opening into a
-large garden full of trained fruit-trees and beds of vegetables, amongst
-which rose-bushes and other flowers seemed to grow by permission, not by
-original intention. There was a stove at each end of the room, which, I
-suspect, had originally been divided into two. The door by which I had
-entered was exactly in the middle, and opposite to it was another,
-leading to a great bed-chamber, which my hostess showed me as my
-sleeping quarters for the night.
-
-If the place had been much less clean and inviting, I should have
-remained there; I was almost surprised myself at my vis inertiae; once
-seated in the last warm rays of the slanting sun by the garden window,
-I was disinclined to move, or even to speak. My hostess had taken my
-orders as to my evening meal, and had left me. The sun went down, and I
-grew shivery. The vast room looked cold and bare; the darkness brought
-out shadows that perplexed me, because I could not fully make out the
-objects that produced them after dazzling my eyes by gazing out into the
-crimson light.
-
-Some one came in; it was the maiden to prepare for my supper. She began
-to lay the cloth at one end of the large table. There was a smaller one
-close by me. I mustered up my voice, which seemed a little as if it was
-getting beyond my control, and called to her,--
-
-"Will you let me have my supper here on this table?"
-
-She came near; the light fell on her while I was in shadow. She was a
-tall young woman, with a fine strong figure, a pleasant face, expressive
-of goodness and sense, and with a good deal of comeliness about it, too,
-although the fair complexion was bronzed and reddened by weather, so as
-to have lost much of its delicacy, and the features, as I had afterwards
-opportunity enough of observing, were anything but regular. She had white
-teeth, however, and well-opened blue eyes--grave-looking eyes which had
-shed tears for past sorrow--plenty of light-brown hair, rather elaborately
-plaited, and fastened up by two great silver pins. That was all--perhaps
-more than all--I noticed that first night. She began to lay the cloth
-where I had directed. A shiver passed over me: she looked at me, and
-then said,--
-
-"The gentleman is cold: shall I light the stove?"
-
-Something vexed me--I am not usually so impatient: it was the coming-on
-of serious illness--I did not like to be noticed so closely; I believed
-that food would restore me, and I did not want to have my meal delayed,
-as I feared it might be by the lighting of the stove; and most of all I
-was feverishly annoyed by movement. I answered sharply and abruptly,--
-
-"No; bring supper quickly; that is all I want."
-
-Her quiet, sad eyes met mine for a moment; but I saw no change in their
-expression, as if I had vexed her by my rudeness: her countenance did
-not for an instant lose its look of patient sense, and that is pretty
-nearly all I can remember of Thekla that first evening at Heppenheim.
-
-I suppose I ate my supper, or tried to do so, at any rate; and I must
-have gone to bed, for days after I became conscious of lying there,
-weak as a new-born babe, and with a sense of past pain in all my weary
-limbs. As is the case in recovering from fever, one does not care to
-connect facts, much less to reason upon them; so how I came to be lying
-in that strange bed, in that large, half-furnished room; in what house
-that room was; in what town, in what country, I did not take the trouble
-to recal. It was of much more consequence to me then to discover what
-was the well-known herb that gave the scent to the clean, coarse sheets
-in which I lay. Gradually I extended my observations, always confining
-myself to the present. I must have been well cared-for by some one, and
-that lately, too, for the window was shaded, so as to prevent the
-morning sun from coming in upon the bed; there was the crackling of
-fresh wood in the great white china stove, which must have been newly
-replenished within a short time.
-
-By-and-by the door opened slowly. I cannot tell why, but my impulse was
-to shut my eyes as if I were still asleep. But I could see through my
-apparently closed eyelids. In came, walking on tip-toe, with a slow care
-that defeated its object, two men. The first was aged from thirty to
-forty, in the dress of a Black Forest peasant,--old-fashioned coat and
-knee-breeches of strong blue cloth, but of a thoroughly good quality; he
-was followed by an older man, whose dress, of more pretension as to cut
-and colour (it was all black), was, nevertheless, as I had often the
-opportunity of observing afterwards, worn threadbare.
-
-Their first sentences, in whispered German, told me who they were: the
-landlord of the inn where I was lying a helpless log, and the village
-doctor who had been called in. The latter felt my pulse, and nodded his
-head repeatedly in approbation. I had instinctively known that I was
-getting better, and hardly cared for this confirmation; but it seemed
-to give the truest pleasure to the landlord, who shook the hand of the
-doctor, in a pantomime expressive of as much thankfulness as if I had
-been his brother. Some low-spoken remarks were made, and then some
-question was asked, to which, apparently, my host was unable to reply.
-He left the room, and in a minute or two returned, followed by Thekla,
-who was questioned by the doctor, and replied with a quiet clearness,
-showing how carefully the details of my illness had been observed by
-her. Then she left the room, and, as if every minute had served to
-restore to my brain its power of combining facts, I was suddenly prompted
-to open my eyes, and ask in the best German I could muster what day of
-the month it was; not that I clearly remembered the date of my arrival
-at Heppenheim, but I knew it was about the beginning of September.
-
-Again the doctor conveyed his sense of extreme satisfaction in a series
-of rapid pantomimic nods, and then replied in deliberate but tolerable
-English, to my great surprise,--
-
-"It is the 29th of September, my dear sir. You must thank the dear God.
-Your fever has made its course of twenty-one days. Now patience and care
-must be practised. The good host and his household will have the care;
-you must have the patience. If you have relations in England, I will do
-my endeavours to tell them the state of your health."
-
-"I have no near relations," said I, beginning in my weakness to cry, as
-I remembered, as if it had been a dream, the days when I had father,
-mother, sister.
-
-"Chut, chut!" said he; then, turning to the landlord, he told him in
-German to make Thekla bring me one of her good bouillons; after which
-I was to have certain medicines, and to sleep as undisturbedly as
-possible. For days, he went on, I should require constant watching and
-careful feeding; every twenty minutes I was to have something, either
-wine or soup, in small quantities.
-
-A dim notion came into my hazy mind that my previous husbandry of my
-fifty pounds, by taking long walks and scanty diet, would prove in the
-end very bad economy; but I sank into dozing unconsciousness before I
-could quite follow out my idea. I was roused by the touch of a spoon on
-my lips; it was Thekla feeding me. Her sweet, grave face had something
-approaching to a mother's look of tenderness upon it, as she gave me
-spoonful after spoonful with gentle patience and dainty care: and then I
-fell asleep once more. When next I wakened it was night; the stove was
-lighted, and the burning wood made a pleasant crackle, though I could
-only see the outlines and edges of red flame through the crevices of
-the small iron door. The uncurtained window on my left looked into the
-purple, solemn night. Turning a little, I saw Thekla sitting near a table,
-sewing diligently at some great white piece of household work. Every now
-and then she stopped to snuff the candle; sometimes she began to ply her
-needle again immediately; but once or twice she let her busy hands lie
-idly in her lap, and looked into the darkness, and thought deeply for a
-moment or two; these pauses always ended in a kind of sobbing sigh, the
-sound of which seemed to restore her to self-consciousness, and she took
-to her sewing even more diligently than before. Watching her had a sort
-of dreamy interest for me; this diligence of hers was a pleasant contrast
-to my repose; it seemed to enhance the flavour of my rest. I was too
-much of an animal just then to have my sympathy, or even my curiosity,
-strongly excited by her look of sad remembrance, or by her sighs.
-
-After a while she gave a little start, looked at a watch lying by her
-on the table, and came, shading the candle by her hand, softly to my
-bedside. When she saw my open eyes she went to a porringer placed at the
-top of the stove, and fed me with soup. She did not speak while doing
-this. I was half aware that she had done it many times since the doctor's
-visit, although this seemed to be the first time that I was fully awake.
-She passed her arm under the pillow on which my head rested, and raised
-me a very little; her support was as firm as a man's could have been.
-Again back to her work, and I to my slumbers, without a word being
-exchanged.
-
-It was broad daylight when I wakened again; I could see the sunny
-atmosphere of the garden outside stealing in through the nicks at the
-side of the shawl hung up to darken the room--a shawl which I was sure
-had not been there when I had observed the window in the night. How
-gently my nurse must have moved about while doing her thoughtful act!
-
-My breakfast was brought me by the hostess; she who had received me on
-my first arrival at this hospitable inn. She meant to do everything
-kindly, I am sure; but a sick room was not her place; by a thousand
-little mal-adroitnesses she fidgeted me past bearing; her shoes
-creaked, her dress rustled; she asked me questions about myself which
-it irritated me to answer; she congratulated me on being so much better,
-while I was faint for want of the food which she delayed giving me in
-order to talk. My host had more sense in him when he came in, although
-his shoes creaked as well as hers. By this time I was somewhat revived,
-and could talk a little; besides, it seemed churlish to be longer
-without acknowledging so much kindness received.
-
-"I am afraid I have been a great trouble," said I. "I can only say that
-I am truly grateful."
-
-His good broad face reddened, and he moved a little uneasily.
-
-"I don't see how I could have done otherwise than I----than we, did,"
-replied he, in the soft German of the district. "We were all glad enough
-to do what we could; I don't say it was a pleasure, because it is our
-busiest time of year,--but then," said he, laughing a little awkwardly,
-as if he feared his expression might have been misunderstood, "I don't
-suppose it has been a pleasure to you either, sir, to be laid up so far
-from home."
-
-"No, indeed."
-
-"I may as well tell you now, sir, that we had to look over your papers
-and clothes. In the first place, when you were so ill I would fain have
-let your kinsfolk know, if I could have found a clue; and besides, you
-needed linen."
-
-"I am wearing a shirt of yours though," said I, touching my sleeve.
-
-"Yes, sir!" said he again, reddening a little. "I told Thekla to take
-the finest out of the chest; but I am afraid you find it coarser than
-your own."
-
-For all answer I could only lay my weak hand on the great brown paw
-resting on the bed-side. He gave me a sudden squeeze in return that I
-thought would have crushed my bones.
-
-"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, misinterpreting the sudden look of
-pain which I could not repress; "but watching a man come out of the
-shadow of death into life makes one feel very friendly towards him."
-
-"No old or true friend that I have had could have done more for me than
-you, and your wife, and Thekla, and the good doctor."
-
-"I am a widower," said he, turning round the great wedding-ring that
-decked his third finger. "My sister keeps house for me, and takes care
-of the children,--that is to say, she does it with the help of Thekla,
-the house-maiden. But I have other servants," he continued. "I am well
-to do, the good God be thanked! I have land, and cattle, and vineyards.
-It will soon be our vintage-time, and then you must go and see my
-grapes as they come into the village. I have a '_chasse_,' too, in the
-Odenwald; perhaps one day you will be strong enough to go and shoot the
-'_chevreuil_' with me."
-
-His good, true heart was trying to make me feel like a welcome guest.
-Some time afterwards I learnt from the doctor that--my poor fifty pounds
-being nearly all expended--my host and he had been brought to believe in
-my poverty, as the necessary examination of my clothes and papers showed
-so little evidence of wealth. But I myself have but little to do with
-my story; I only name these things, and repeat these conversations, to
-show what a true, kind, honest man my host was. By the way, I may as
-well call him by his name henceforward, Fritz Mueller. The doctor's name,
-Wiedermann.
-
-I was tired enough with this interview with Fritz Mueller; but when Dr.
-Wiedermann came he pronounced me to be much better; and through the
-day much the same course was pursued as on the previous one: being
-fed, lying still, and sleeping, were my passive and active occupations.
-It was a hot, sunshiny day, and I craved for air. Fresh air does not
-enter into the pharmacopoeia of a German doctor; but somehow I obtained
-my wish. During the morning hours the window through which the sun
-streamed--the window looking on to the front court--was opened a little;
-and through it I heard the sounds of active life, which gave me pleasure
-and interest enough. The hen's cackle, the cock's exultant call when he
-had found the treasure of a grain of corn,--the movements of a tethered
-donkey, and the cooing and whirring of the pigeons which lighted on the
-window-sill, gave me just subjects enough for interest. Now and then
-a cart or carriage drove up,--I could hear them ascending the rough
-village street long before they stopped at the "Halbmond," the village
-inn. Then there came a sound of running and haste in the house; and
-Thekla was always called for in sharp, imperative tones. I heard little
-children's footsteps, too, from time to time; and once there must have
-been some childish accident or hurt, for a shrill, plaintive little
-voice kept calling out, "Thekla, Thekla, liebe Thekla." Yet, after the
-first early morning hours, when my hostess attended on my wants, it was
-always Thekla who came to give me my food or my medicine; who redded
-up my room; who arranged the degree of light, shifting the temporary
-curtain with the shifting sun; and always as quietly and deliberately
-as though her attendance upon me were her sole work. Once or twice my
-hostess came into the large eating-room (out of which my room opened),
-and called Thekla away from whatever was her occupation in my room at
-the time, in a sharp, injured, imperative whisper. Once I remember it
-was to say that sheets were wanted for some stranger's bed, and to
-ask where she, the speaker, could have put the keys, in a tone of
-irritation, as though Thekla were responsible for Fraeulein Mueller's
-own forgetfulness.
-
-Night came on; the sounds of daily life died away into silence; the
-children's voices were no more heard; the poultry were all gone to
-roost; the beasts of burden to their stables; and travellers were
-housed. Then Thekla came in softly and quietly, and took up her
-appointed place, after she had done all in her power for my comfort.
-I felt that I was in no state to be left all those weary hours which
-intervened between sunset and sunrise; but I did feel ashamed that this
-young woman, who had watched by me all the previous night, and for aught
-I knew, for many before, and had worked hard, been run off her legs, as
-English servants would say, all day long, should come and take up her
-care of me again; and it was with a feeling of relief that I saw her
-head bend forwards, and finally rest on her arms, which had fallen on
-the white piece of sewing spread before her on the table. She slept; and
-I slept. When I wakened dawn was stealing into the room, and making pale
-the lamplight. Thekla was standing by the stove, where she had been
-preparing the bouillon I should require on wakening. But she did not
-notice my half-open eyes, although her face was turned towards the bed.
-She was reading a letter slowly, as if its words were familiar to her,
-yet as though she were trying afresh to extract some fuller or some
-different meaning from their construction. She folded it up softly and
-slowly, and replaced it in her pocket with the quiet movement habitual
-to her. Then she looked before her, not at me, but at vacancy filled up
-by memories; and as the enchanter brought up the scenes and people
-which she saw, but I could not, her eyes filled with tears--tears that
-gathered almost imperceptibly to herself as it would seem--for when one
-large drop fell on her hands (held slightly together before her as she
-stood) she started a little, and brushed her eyes with the back of her
-hand, and then came towards the bed to see if I was awake. If I had not
-witnessed her previous emotion, I could never have guessed that she had
-any hidden sorrow or pain from her manner; tranquil, self-restrained as
-usual. The thought of this letter haunted me, especially as more than
-once I, wakeful or watchful during the ensuing nights, either saw it in
-her hands, or suspected that she had been recurring to it from noticing
-the same sorrowful, dreamy look upon her face when she thought herself
-unobserved. Most likely every one has noticed how inconsistently out of
-proportion some ideas become when one is shut up in any place without
-change of scene or thought. I really grew quite irritated about this
-letter. If I did not see it, I suspected it lay _perdu_ in her pocket.
-What was in it? Of course it was a love-letter; but if so, what was
-going wrong in the course of her love? I became like a spoilt child in
-my recovery; every one whom I saw for the time being was thinking only of
-me, so it was perhaps no wonder that I became my sole object of thought;
-and at last the gratification of my curiosity about this letter seemed
-to me a duty that I owed to myself. As long as my fidgety inquisitiveness
-remained ungratified, I felt as if I could not get well. But to do
-myself justice, it was more than inquisitiveness. Thekla had tended me
-with the gentle, thoughtful care of a sister, in the midst of her busy
-life. I could often hear the Fraeulein's sharp voice outside blaming her
-for something that had gone wrong; but I never heard much from Thekla in
-reply. Her name was called in various tones by different people, more
-frequently than I could count, as if her services were in perpetual
-requisition, yet I was never neglected, or even long uncared-for. The
-doctor was kind and attentive; my host friendly and really generous; his
-sister subdued her acerbity of manner when in my room, but Thekla was
-the one of all to whom I owed my comforts, if not my life. If I could do
-anything to smooth her path (and a little money goes a great way in
-these primitive parts of Germany), how willingly would I give it? So one
-night I began--she was no longer needed to watch by my bedside, but she
-was arranging my room before leaving me for the night--
-
-"Thekla," said I, "you don't belong to Heppenheim, do you?"
-
-She looked at me, and reddened a little.
-
-"No. Why do you ask?"
-
-"You have been so good to me that I cannot help wanting to know more
-about you. I must needs feel interested in one who has been by my side
-through my illness as you have. Where do your friends live? Are your
-parents alive?"
-
-All this time I was driving at the letter.
-
-"I was born at Altenahr. My father is an innkeeper there. He owns the
-'Golden Stag.' My mother is dead, and he has married again, and has many
-children."
-
-"And your stepmother is unkind to you," said I, jumping to a conclusion.
-
-"Who said so?" asked she, with a shade of indignation in her tone. "She
-is a right good woman, and makes my father a good wife."
-
-"Then why are you here living so far from home?"
-
-Now the look came back to her face which I had seen upon it during the
-night hours when I had watched her by stealth; a dimming of the grave
-frankness of her eyes, a light quiver at the corners of her mouth. But
-all she said was, "It was better."
-
-Somehow, I persisted with the wilfulness of an invalid. I am half
-ashamed of it now.
-
-"But why better, Thekla? Was there----" How should I put it? I stopped a
-little, and then rushed blindfold at my object: "Has not that letter
-which you read so often something to do with your being here?"
-
-She fixed me with her serious eyes till I believe I reddened far more
-than she; and I hastened to pour out, incoherently enough, my conviction
-that she had some secret care, and my desire to help her if she was in
-any trouble.
-
-"You cannot help me," said she, a little softened by my explanation,
-though some shade of resentment at having been thus surreptitiously
-watched yet lingered in her manner. "It is an old story; a sorrow gone
-by, past, at least it ought to be, only sometimes I am foolish"--her
-tones were softening now--"and it is punishment enough that you have
-seen my folly."
-
-"If you had a brother here, Thekla, you would let him give you his
-sympathy if he could not give you his help, and you would not blame
-yourself if you had shown him your sorrow, should you? I tell you again,
-let me be as a brother to you."
-
-"In the first place, sir"--this "sir" was to mark the distinction
-between me and the imaginary brother--"I should have been ashamed to
-have shown even a brother my sorrow, which is also my reproach and my
-disgrace." These were strong words; and I suppose my face showed that I
-attributed to them a still stronger meaning than they warranted; but
-_honi soit qui mal y pense_--for she went on dropping her eyes and
-speaking hurriedly.
-
-"My shame and my reproach is this: I have loved a man who has not loved
-me"--she grasped her hands together till the fingers made deep white
-dents in the rosy flesh--"and I can't make out whether he ever did, or
-whether he did once and is changed now; if only he did once love me, I
-could forgive myself."
-
-With hasty, trembling hands she began to rearrange the tisane and
-medicines for the night on the little table at my bed-side. But, having
-got thus far, I was determined to persevere.
-
-"Thekla," said I, "tell me all about it, as you would to your mother, if
-she were alive. There are often misunderstandings which, never set to
-rights, make the misery and desolation of a life-time."
-
-She did not speak at first. Then she pulled out the letter, and said, in
-a quiet, hopeless tone of voice:--
-
-"You can read German writing? Read that, and see if I have any reason
-for misunderstanding."
-
-The letter was signed "Franz Weber," and dated from some small town in
-Switzerland--I forget what--about a month previous to the time when I
-read it. It began with acknowledging the receipt of some money which had
-evidently been requested by the writer, and for which the thanks were
-almost fulsome; and then, by the quietest transition in the world, he
-went on to consult her as to the desirability of his marrying some girl
-in the place from which he wrote, saying that this Anna Somebody was
-only eighteen and very pretty, and her father a well-to-do shopkeeper,
-and adding, with coarse coxcombry, his belief that he was not indifferent
-to the maiden herself. He wound up by saying that, if this marriage did
-take place, he should certainly repay the various sums of money which
-Thekla had lent him at different times.
-
-I was some time in making out all this. Thekla held the candle for me to
-read it; held it patiently and steadily, not speaking a word till I had
-folded up the letter again, and given it back to her. Then our eyes met.
-
-"There is no misunderstanding possible, is there, sir?" asked she, with
-a faint smile.
-
-"No," I replied; "but you are well rid of such a fellow."
-
-She shook her head a little. "It shows his bad side, sir. We have all
-our bad sides. You must not judge him harshly; at least, I cannot. But
-then we were brought up together."
-
-"At Altenahr?"
-
-"Yes; his father kept the other inn, and our parents, instead of being
-rivals, were great friends. Franz is a little younger than I, and was a
-delicate child. I had to take him to school, and I used to be so proud
-of it and of my charge. Then he grew strong, and was the handsomest lad
-in the village. Our fathers used to sit and smoke together, and talk of
-our marriage, and Franz must have heard as much as I. Whenever he was in
-trouble, he would come to me for what advice I could give him; and he
-danced twice as often with me as with any other girl at all the dances,
-and always brought his nosegay to me. Then his father wished him to
-travel, and learn the ways at the great hotels on the Rhine before he
-settled down in Altenahr. You know that is the custom in Germany, sir.
-They go from town to town as journeymen, learning something fresh
-everywhere, they say."
-
-"I knew that was done in trades," I replied.
-
-"Oh, yes; and among inn-keepers, too," she said. "Most of the waiters
-at the great hotels in Frankfort, and Heidelberg, and Mayence, and, I
-daresay, at all the other places, are the sons of innkeepers in small
-towns, who go out into the world to learn new ways, and perhaps to pick
-up a little English and French; otherwise, they say, they should never
-get on. Franz went off from Altenahr on his journeyings four years ago
-next May-day; and before he went, he brought me back a ring from Bonn,
-where he bought his new clothes. I don't wear it now; but I have got it
-upstairs, and it comforts me to see something that shows me it was not
-all my silly fancy. I suppose he fell among bad people, for he soon
-began to play for money,--and then he lost more than he could always
-pay--and sometimes I could help him a little, for we wrote to each other
-from time to time, as we knew each other's addresses; for the little
-ones grew around my father's hearth, and I thought that I, too, would go
-forth into the world and earn my own living, so that----well, I will
-tell the truth--I thought that by going into service, I could lay by
-enough for buying a handsome stock of household linen, and plenty of
-pans and kettles against--against what will never come to pass now."
-
-"Do the German women buy the pots and kettles, as you call them, when
-they are married?" asked I, awkwardly, laying hold of a trivial question
-to conceal the indignant sympathy with her wrongs which I did not like
-to express.
-
-"Oh, yes; the bride furnishes all that is wanted in the kitchen, and all
-the store of house-linen. If my mother had lived, it would have been
-laid by for me, as she could have afforded to buy it, but my stepmother
-will have hard enough work to provide for her own four little girls.
-However," she continued, brightening up, "I can help her, for now I
-shall never marry; and my master here is just and liberal, and pays me
-sixty florins a year, which is high wages." (Sixty florins are about
-five pounds sterling.) "And now, good-night, sir. This cup to the left
-holds the tisane, that to the right the acorn-tea." She shaded the
-candle, and was leaving the room. I raised myself on my elbow, and
-called her back.
-
-"Don't go on thinking about this man," said I. "He was not good enough
-for you. You are much better unmarried."
-
-"Perhaps so," she answered gravely. "But you cannot do him justice; you
-do not know him."
-
-A few minutes after, I heard her soft and cautious return; she had taken
-her shoes off, and came in her stockinged feet up to my bedside, shading
-the light with her hand. When she saw that my eyes were open, she laid
-down two letters on the table, close by my night-lamp.
-
-"Perhaps, some time, sir, you would take the trouble to read these
-letters; you would then see how noble and clever Franz really is. It is
-I who ought to be blamed, not he."
-
-No more was said that night.
-
-Some time the next morning I read the letters. They were filled with
-vague, inflated, sentimental descriptions of his inner life and feelings;
-entirely egotistical, and intermixed with quotations from second-rate
-philosophers and poets. There was, it must be said, nothing in them
-offensive to good principle or good feeling, however much they might be
-opposed to good taste. I was to go into the next room that afternoon for
-the first time of leaving my sick chamber. All morning I lay and
-ruminated. From time to time I thought of Thekla and Franz Weber. She
-was the strong, good, helpful character, he the weak and vain; how
-strange it seemed that she should have cared for one so dissimilar;
-and then I remembered the various happy marriages when to an outsider
-it seemed as if one was so inferior to the other that their union
-would have appeared a subject for despair if it had been looked at
-prospectively. My host came in, in the midst of these meditations,
-bringing a great flowered dressing-gown, lined with flannel, and the
-embroidered smoking-cap which he evidently considered as belonging to
-this Indian-looking robe. They had been his father's, he told me; and
-as he helped me to dress, he went on with his communications on small
-family matters. His inn was flourishing; the numbers increased every
-year of those who came to see the church at Heppenheim: the church which
-was the pride of the place, but which I had never yet seen. It was built
-by the great Kaiser Karl. And there was the Castle of Starkenburg, too,
-which the Abbots of Lorsch had often defended, stalwart churchmen as
-they were, against the temporal power of the emperors. And Melibocus was
-not beyond a walk either. In fact, it was the work of one person to
-superintend the inn alone; but he had his farm and his vineyards beyond,
-which of themselves gave him enough to do. And his sister was oppressed
-with the perpetual calls made upon her patience and her nerves in an
-inn; and would rather go back and live at Worms. And his children wanted
-so much looking after. By the time he had placed himself in a condition
-for requiring my full sympathy, I had finished my slow toilette; and I
-had to interrupt his confidences, and accept the help of his good strong
-arm to lead me into the great eating-room, out of which my chamber opened.
-I had a dreamy recollection of the vast apartment. But how pleasantly it
-was changed! There was the bare half of the room, it is true, looking as
-it had done on that first afternoon, sunless and cheerless, with the
-long, unoccupied table, and the necessary chairs for the possible
-visitors; but round the windows that opened on the garden a part of the
-room was enclosed by the household clothes'-horses hung with great
-pieces of the blue homespun cloth of which the dress of the Black Forest
-peasant is made. This shut-in space was warmed by the lighted stove, as
-well as by the lowering rays of the October sun. There was a little
-round walnut table with some flowers upon it, and a great cushioned
-armchair placed so as to look out upon the garden and the hills beyond.
-I felt sure that this was all Thekla's arrangement; I had rather wondered
-that I had seen so little of her this day. She had come once or twice on
-necessary errands into my room in the morning, but had appeared to be in
-great haste, and had avoided meeting my eye. Even when I had returned
-the letters, which she had entrusted to me with so evident a purpose of
-placing the writer in my good opinion, she had never inquired as to how
-far they had answered her design; she had merely taken them with some
-low word of thanks, and put them hurriedly into her pocket. I suppose
-she shrank from remembering how fully she had given me her confidence
-the night before, now that daylight and actual life pressed close around
-her. Besides, there surely never was anyone in such constant request as
-Thekla. I did not like this estrangement, though it was the natural
-consequence of my improved health, which would daily make me less and
-less require services which seemed so urgently claimed by others. And,
-moreover, after my host left me--I fear I had cut him a little short
-in the recapitulation of his domestic difficulties, but he was too
-thorough and good-hearted a man to bear malice--I wanted to be amused or
-interested. So I rang my little hand-bell, hoping that Thekla would
-answer it, when I could have fallen into conversation with her, without
-specifying any decided want. Instead of Thekla the Fraeulein came, and
-I had to invent a wish; for I could not act as a baby, and say that I
-wanted my nurse. However, the Fraeulein was better than no one, so I
-asked her if I could have some grapes, which had been provided for me on
-every day but this, and which were especially grateful to my feverish
-palate. She was a good, kind woman, although, perhaps, her temper was
-not the best in the world; and she expressed the sincerest regret as she
-told me that there were no more in the house. Like an invalid I fretted
-at my wish not being granted, and spoke out.
-
-"But Thekla told me the vintage was not till the fourteenth; and you
-have a vineyard close beyond the garden on the slope of the hill out
-there, have you not?"
-
-"Yes; and grapes for the gathering. But perhaps the gentleman does not
-know our laws. Until the vintage--(the day of beginning the vintage is
-fixed by the Grand Duke, and advertised in the public papers)--until
-the vintage, all owners of vineyards may only go on two appointed days
-in every week to gather their grapes; on those two days (Tuesdays and
-Fridays this year) they must gather enough for the wants of their
-families; and if they do not reckon rightly, and gather short measure,
-why they have to go without. And these two last days the Half-Moon has
-been besieged with visitors, all of whom have asked for grapes. But
-to-morrow the gentleman can have as many as he will; it is the day for
-gathering them."
-
-"What a strange kind of paternal law," I grumbled out. "Why is it so
-ordained? Is it to secure the owners against pilfering from their
-unfenced vineyards?"
-
-"I am sure I cannot tell," she replied. "Country people in these
-villages have strange customs in many ways, as I daresay the English
-gentleman has perceived. If he would come to Worms he would see a
-different kind of life."
-
-"But not a view like this," I replied, caught by a sudden change of
-light--some cloud passing away from the sun, or something. Right outside
-of the windows was, as I have so often said, the garden. Trained
-plum-trees with golden leaves, great bushes of purple, Michaelmas daisy,
-late flowering roses, apple-trees partly stripped of their rosy fruit,
-but still with enough left on their boughs to require the props set to
-support the luxuriant burden; to the left an arbour covered over with
-honeysuckle and other sweet-smelling creepers--all bounded by a low gray
-stone wall which opened out upon the steep vineyard, that stretched up
-the hill beyond, one hill of a series rising higher and higher into the
-purple distance. "Why is there a rope with a bunch of straw tied in it
-stretched across the opening of the garden into the vineyard?" I
-inquired, as my eye suddenly caught upon the object.
-
-"It is the country way of showing that no one must pass along that path.
-To-morrow the gentleman will see it removed; and then he shall have the
-grapes. Now I will go and prepare his coffee." With a curtsey, after
-the fashion of Worms gentility, she withdrew. But an under-servant
-brought me my coffee; and with her I could not exchange a word: she
-spoke in such an execrable patois. I went to bed early, weary, and
-depressed. I must have fallen asleep immediately, for I never heard any
-one come to arrange my bed-side table; yet in the morning I found that
-every usual want or wish of mine had been attended to.
-
-I was wakened by a tap at my door, and a pretty piping child's voice
-asking, in broken German, to come in. On giving the usual permission,
-Thekla entered, carrying a great lovely boy of two years old, or
-thereabouts, who had only his little night-shirt on, and was all flushed
-with sleep. He held tight in his hands a great cluster of muscatel and
-noble grapes. He seemed like a little Bacchus, as she carried him
-towards me with an expression of pretty loving pride upon her face as
-she looked at him. But when he came close to me--the grim, wasted,
-unshorn--he turned quick away, and hid his face in her neck, still
-grasping tight his bunch of grapes. She spoke to him rapidly and softly,
-coaxing him as I could tell full well, although I could not follow her
-words; and in a minute or two the little fellow obeyed her, and turned
-and stretched himself almost to overbalancing out of her arms, and
-half-dropped the fruit on the bed by me. Then he clutched at her again,
-burying his face in her kerchief, and fastening his little fists in her
-luxuriant hair.
-
-[Illustration p. 129: He seemed like a little Bacchus.]
-
-"It is my master's only boy," said she, disentangling his fingers with
-quiet patience, only to have them grasp her braids afresh. "He is my
-little Max, my heart's delight, only he must not pull so hard. Say his
-'to-meet-again,' and kiss his hand lovingly, and we will go." The
-promise of a speedy departure from my dusky room proved irresistible;
-he babbled out his Aufwiedersehen, and kissing his chubby hand, he was
-borne away joyful and chattering fast in his infantile half-language. I
-did not see Thekla again until late afternoon, when she brought me in
-my coffee. She was not like the same creature as the blooming, cheerful
-maiden whom I had seen in the morning; she looked wan and careworn,
-older by several years.
-
-"What is the matter, Thekla?" said I, with true anxiety as to what might
-have befallen my good, faithful nurse.
-
-She looked round before answering. "I have seen him," she said. "He has
-been here, and the Fraeulein has been so angry! She says she will tell my
-master. Oh, it has been such a day!" The poor young woman, who was
-usually so composed and self-restrained, was on the point of bursting
-into tears; but by a strong effort she checked herself, and tried to
-busy herself with rearranging the white china cup, so as to place it
-more conveniently to my hand.
-
-"Come, Thekla," said I, "tell me all about it. I have heard loud voices
-talking, and I fancied something had put the Fraeulein out; and Lottchen
-looked flurried when she brought me my dinner. Is Franz here? How has he
-found you out?"
-
-"He is here. Yes, I am sure it is he; but four years makes such a
-difference in a man; his whole look and manner seemed so strange to me;
-but he knew me at once, and called me all the old names which we used to
-call each other when we were children; and he must needs tell me how it
-had come to pass that he had not married that Swiss Anna. He said he had
-never loved her; and that now he was going home to settle, and he hoped
-that I would come too, and----" There she stopped short.
-
-"And marry him, and live at the inn at Altenahr," said I, smiling, to
-reassure her, though I felt rather disappointed about the whole affair.
-
-"No," she replied. "Old Weber, his father, is dead; he died in debt, and
-Franz will have no money. And he was always one that needed money. Some
-are, you know; and while I was thinking, and he was standing near me,
-the Fraeulein came in; and--and--I don't wonder--for poor Franz is not
-a pleasant-looking man now-a-days--she was very angry, and called me
-a bold, bad girl, and said she could have no such goings on at the
-'Halbmond,' but would tell my master when he came home from the forest."
-
-"But you could have told her that you were old friends." I hesitated,
-before saying the word lovers, but, after a pause, out it came.
-
-"Franz might have said so," she replied, a little stiffly. "I could not;
-but he went off as soon as she bade him. He went to the 'Adler' over the
-way, only saying he would come for my answer to-morrow morning. I think
-it was he that should have told her what we were--neighbours' children
-and early friends--not have left it all to me. Oh," said she, clasping
-her hands tight together, "she will make such a story of it to my
-master."
-
-"Never mind," said I, "tell the master I want to see him, as soon as he
-comes in from the forest, and trust me to set him right before the
-Fraeulein has the chance to set him wrong."
-
-She looked up at me gratefully, and went away without any more words.
-Presently the fine burly figure of my host stood at the opening to my
-enclosed sitting-room. He was there, three-cornered hat in hand, looking
-tired and heated as a man does after a hard day's work, but as kindly
-and genial as ever, which is not what every man is who is called to
-business after such a day, before he has had the necessary food and
-rest.
-
-I had been reflecting a good deal on Thekla's story; I could not quite
-interpret her manner to-day to my full satisfaction; but yet the love
-which had grown with her growth, must assuredly have been called forth
-by her lover's sudden reappearance; and I was inclined to give him some
-credit for having broken off an engagement to Swiss Anna, which had
-promised so many worldly advantages; and, again, I had considered that
-if he was a little weak and sentimental, it was Thekla, who would marry
-him by her own free will, and perhaps she had sense and quiet resolution
-enough for both. So I gave the heads of the little history I have
-told you to my good friend and host, adding that I should like to
-have a man's opinion of this man; but that if he were not an absolute
-good-for-nothing, and if Thekla still loved him, as I believed, I would
-try and advance them the requisite money towards establishing themselves
-in the hereditary inn at Altenahr.
-
-Such was the romantic ending to Thekla's sorrows, I had been planning
-and brooding over for the last hour. As I narrated my tale, and hinted
-at the possible happy conclusion that might be in store, my host's
-face changed. The ruddy colour faded, and his look became almost
-stern--certainly very grave in expression. It was so unsympathetic, that
-I instinctively cut my words short. When I had done, he paused a little,
-and then said: "You would wish me to learn all I can respecting this
-stranger now at the 'Adler,' and give you the impression I receive of
-the fellow."
-
-"Exactly so," said I; "I want to learn all I can about him for Thekla's
-sake."
-
-"For Thekla's sake I will do it," he gravely repeated.
-
-"And come to me to-night, even if I am gone to bed?"
-
-"Not so," he replied. "You must give me all the time you can in a matter
-like this."
-
-"But he will come for Thekla's answer in the morning."
-
-"Before he comes you shall know all I can learn."
-
-I was resting during the fatigues of dressing the next day, when my host
-tapped at my door. He looked graver and sterner than I had ever seen him
-do before; he sat down almost before I had begged him to do so.
-
-"He is not worthy of her," he said. "He drinks brandy right hard; he
-boasts of his success at play, and"--here he set his teeth hard--"he
-boasts of the women who have loved him. In a village like this, sir,
-there are always those who spend their evenings in the gardens of the
-inns; and this man, after he had drank his fill, made no secrets; it
-needed no spying to find out what he was, else I should not have been
-the one to do it."
-
-"Thekla must be told of this," said I. "She is not the woman to love any
-one whom she cannot respect."
-
-Herr Mueller laughed a low bitter laugh, quite unlike himself. Then he
-replied,--
-
-"As for that matter, sir, you are young; you have had no great experience
-of women. From what my sister tells me there can be little doubt of
-Thekla's feeling towards him. She found them standing together by the
-window; his arm round Thekla's waist, and whispering in her ear--and to
-do the maiden justice she is not the one to suffer such familiarities
-from every one. No"--continued he, still in the same contemptuous
-tone--"you'll find she will make excuses for his faults and vices; or
-else, which is perhaps more likely, she will not believe your story,
-though I who tell it you can vouch for the truth of every word I say."
-He turned short away and left the room. Presently I saw his stalwart
-figure in the hill-side vineyard, before my windows, scaling the steep
-ascent with long regular steps, going to the forest beyond. I was
-otherwise occupied than in watching his progress during the next hour;
-at the end of that time he re-entered my room, looking heated and
-slightly tired, as if he had been walking fast, or labouring hard; but
-with the cloud off his brows, and the kindly light shining once again
-out of his honest eyes.
-
-"I ask your pardon, sir," he began, "for troubling you afresh. I believe
-I was possessed by the devil this morning. I have been thinking it over.
-One has perhaps no right to rule for another person's happiness. To have
-such a"--here the honest fellow choked a little--"such a woman as Thekla
-to love him ought to raise any man. Besides, I am no judge for him or
-for her. I have found out this morning that I love her myself, and so the
-end of it is, that if you, sir, who are so kind as to interest yourself
-in the matter, and if you think it is really her heart's desire to marry
-this man--which ought to be his salvation both for earth and heaven--I
-shall be very glad to go halves with you in any place for setting them
-up in the inn at Altenahr; only allow me to see that whatever money we
-advance is well and legally tied up, so that it is secured to her. And
-be so kind as to take no notice of what I have said about my having
-found out that I have loved her; I named it as a kind of apology for my
-hard words this morning, and as a reason why I was not a fit judge of
-what was best." He had hurried on, so that I could not have stopped his
-eager speaking even had I wished to do so; but I was too much interested
-in the revelation of what was passing in his brave tender heart to
-desire to stop him. Now, however, his rapid words tripped each other up,
-and his speech ended in an unconscious sigh.
-
-"But," I said, "since you were here Thekla has come to me, and we have
-had a long talk. She speaks now as openly to me as she would if I were
-her brother; with sensible frankness, where frankness is wise, with
-modest reticence, where confidence would be unbecoming. She came to
-ask me, if I thought it her duty to marry this fellow, whose very
-appearance, changed for the worse, as she says it is, since she last
-saw him four years ago, seemed to have repelled her."
-
-"She could let him put his arm round her waist yesterday," said Herr
-Mueller, with a return of his morning's surliness.
-
-"And she would marry him now if she could believe it to be her duty.
-For some reason of his own, this Franz Weber has tried to work upon this
-feeling of hers. He says it would be the saving of him."
-
-"As if a man had not strength enough in him--a man who is good for
-aught--to save himself, but needed a woman to pull him through life!"
-
-"Nay," I replied, hardly able to keep from smiling. "You yourself said,
-not five minutes ago, that her marrying him might be his salvation both
-for earth and heaven."
-
-"That was when I thought she loved the fellow," he answered quick.
-"Now----but what did you say to her, sir?"
-
-"I told her, what I believe to be as true as gospel, that as she owned
-she did not love him any longer now his real self had come to displace
-his remembrance, that she would be sinning in marrying him; doing evil
-that possible good might come. I was clear myself on this point, though
-I should have been perplexed how to advise, if her love had still
-continued."
-
-"And what answer did she make?"
-
-"She went over the history of their lives; she was pleading against her
-wishes to satisfy her conscience. She said that all along through their
-childhood she had been his strength; that while under her personal
-influence he had been negatively good; away from her, he had fallen into
-mischief--"
-
-"Not to say vice," put in Herr Mueller.
-
-"And now he came to her penitent, in sorrow, desirous of amendment,
-asking her for the love she seems to have considered as tacitly plighted
-to him in years gone by--"
-
-"And which he has slighted and insulted. I hope you told her of his
-words and conduct last night in the 'Adler' gardens?"
-
-"No. I kept myself to the general principle, which, I am sure, is a
-true one. I repeated it in different forms; for the idea of the duty
-of self-sacrifice had taken strong possession of her fancy. Perhaps,
-if I had failed in setting her notion of her duty in the right aspect,
-I might have had recourse to the statement of facts, which would have
-pained her severely, but would have proved to her how little his words
-of penitence and promises of amendment were to be trusted to."
-
-"And it ended?"
-
-"Ended by her being quite convinced that she would be doing wrong
-instead of right if she married a man whom she had entirely ceased to
-love, and that no real good could come from a course of action based on
-wrong-doing."
-
-"That is right and true," he replied, his face broadening into happiness
-again.
-
-"But she says she must leave your service, and go elsewhere."
-
-"Leave my service she shall; go elsewhere she shall not."
-
-"I cannot tell what you may have the power of inducing her to do; but
-she seems to me very resolute."
-
-"Why?" said he, firing round at me, as if I had made her resolute.
-
-"She says your sister spoke to her before the maids of the household,
-and before some of the townspeople, in a way that she could not stand;
-and that you yourself by your manner to her last night showed how she
-had lost your respect. She added, with her face of pure maidenly truth,
-that he had come into such close contact with her only the instant
-before your sister had entered the room."
-
-"With your leave, sir," said Herr Mueller, turning towards the door, "I
-will go and set all that right at once."
-
-It was easier said than done. When I next saw Thekla, her eyes were
-swollen up with crying, but she was silent, almost defiant towards
-me. A look of resolute determination had settled down upon her face. I
-learnt afterwards that parts of my conversation with Herr Mueller had been
-injudiciously quoted by him in the talk he had had with her. I thought I
-would leave her to herself, and wait till she unburdened herself of the
-feeling of unjust resentment towards me. But it was days before she
-spoke to me with anything like her former frankness. I had heard all
-about it from my host long before.
-
-He had gone to her straight on leaving me; and like a foolish, impetuous
-lover, had spoken out his mind and his wishes to her in the presence of
-his sister, who, it must be remembered, had heard no explanation of the
-conduct which had given her propriety so great a shock the day before.
-Herr Mueller thought to re-instate Thekla in his sister's good opinion by
-giving her in the Fraeulein's very presence the highest possible mark of
-his own love and esteem. And there in the kitchen, where the Fraeulein
-was deeply engaged in the hot work of making some delicate preserve
-on the stove, and ordering Thekla about with short, sharp displeasure
-in her tones, the master had come in, and possessing himself of the
-maiden's hand, had, to her infinite surprise--to his sister's infinite
-indignation--made her the offer of his heart, his wealth, his life; had
-begged of her to marry him. I could gather from his account that she had
-been in a state of trembling discomfiture at first; she had not spoken,
-but had twisted her hand out of his, and had covered her face with her
-apron. And then the Fraeulein had burst forth--"accursed words" he called
-her speech. Thekla uncovered her face to listen; to listen to the end;
-to listen to the passionate recrimination between the brother and the
-sister. And then she went up, close up to the angry Fraeulein, and had
-said quite quietly, but with a manner of final determination which had
-evidently sunk deep into her suitor's heart, and depressed him into
-hopelessness, that the Fraeulein had no need to disturb herself; that on
-this very day she had been thinking of marrying another man, and that
-her heart was not like a room to let, into which as one tenant went out
-another might enter. Nevertheless, she felt the master's goodness. He
-had always treated her well from the time when she had entered the house
-as his servant. And she should be sorry to leave him; sorry to leave the
-children; very sorry to leave little Max: yes, she should even be sorry
-to leave the Fraeulein, who was a good woman, only a little too apt
-to be hard on other women. But she had already been that very day and
-deposited her warning at the police office; the busy time would be soon
-over, and she should be glad to leave their service on All Saints' Day.
-Then (he thought) she had felt inclined to cry, for she suddenly braced
-herself up, and said, yes, she should be very glad; for somehow, though
-they had been kind to her, she had been very unhappy at Heppenheim; and
-she would go back to her home for a time, and see her old father and
-kind stepmother, and her nursling half-sister Ida, and be among her own
-people again.
-
-I could see it was this last part that most of all rankled in Herr
-Mueller's mind. In all probability Franz Weber was making his way back to
-Heppenheim too; and the bad suspicion would keep welling up that some
-lingering feeling for her old lover and disgraced playmate was making
-her so resolute to leave and return to Altenahr.
-
-For some days after this I was the confidant of the whole household,
-excepting Thekla. She, poor creature, looked miserable enough; but the
-hardy, defiant expression was always on her face. Lottchen spoke out
-freely enough; the place would not be worth having if Thekla left it; it
-was she who had the head for everything, the patience for everything;
-who stood between all the under-servants and the Fraeulein's tempers. As
-for the children, poor motherless children! Lottchen was sure that the
-master did not know what he was doing when he allowed his sister to turn
-Thekla away--and all for what? for having a lover, as every girl had who
-could get one. Why, the little boy Max slept in the room which Lottchen
-shared with Thekla; and she heard him in the night as quickly as if she
-was his mother; when she had been sitting up with me, when I was so ill,
-Lottchen had had to attend to him; and it was weary work after a hard
-day to have to get up and soothe a teething child; she knew she had been
-cross enough sometimes; but Thekla was always good and gentle with him,
-however tired he was. And as Lottchen left the room I could hear her
-repeating that she thought she should leave when Thekla went, for that
-her place would not be worth having.
-
-Even the Fraeulein had her word of regret--regret mingled with
-self-justification. She thought she had been quite right in speaking to
-Thekla for allowing such familiarities; how was she to know that the man
-was an old friend and playmate? He looked like a right profligate
-good-for-nothing. And to have a servant take up her scolding as an
-unpardonable offence, and persist in quitting her place, just when she
-had learnt all her work, and was so useful in the household--so
-useful that the Fraeulein could never put up with any fresh, stupid
-house-maiden, but, sooner than take the trouble of teaching the new
-servant where everything was, and how to give out the stores if she was
-busy, she would go back to Worms. For, after all, housekeeping for a
-brother was thankless work; there was no satisfying men; and Heppenheim
-was but a poor ignorant village compared to Worms.
-
-She must have spoken to her brother about her intention of leaving him,
-and returning to her former home; indeed a feeling of coolness had
-evidently grown up between the brother and sister during these latter
-days. When one evening Herr Mueller brought in his pipe, and, as his
-custom had sometimes been, sat down by my stove to smoke, he looked
-gloomy and annoyed. I let him puff away, and take his own time. At
-length he began,--
-
-"I have rid the village of him at last. I could not bear to have him
-here disgracing Thekla with speaking to her whenever she went to the
-vineyard or the fountain. I don't believe she likes him a bit."
-
-"No more do I," I said. He turned on me.
-
-"Then why did she speak to him at all? Why cannot she like an honest man
-who likes her? Why is she so bent on going home to Altenahr?"
-
-"She speaks to him because she has known him from a child, and has a
-faithful pity for one whom she has known so innocent, and who is now so
-lost in all good men's regard. As for not liking an honest man--(though
-I may have my own opinion about that)--liking goes by fancy, as we say
-in English; and Altenahr is her home; her father's house is at Altenahr,
-as you know."
-
-"I wonder if he will go there," quoth Herr Mueller, after two or three
-more puffs. "He was fast at the 'Adler;' he could not pay his score, so
-he kept on staying here, saying that he should receive a letter from a
-friend with money in a day or two; lying in wait, too, for Thekla, who
-is well-known and respected all through Heppenheim: so his being an old
-friend of hers made him have a kind of standing. I went in this morning
-and paid his score, on condition that he left the place this day; and he
-left the village as merrily as a cricket, caring no more for Thekla than
-for the Kaiser who built our church: for he never looked back at the
-'Halbmond,' but went whistling down the road."
-
-"That is a good riddance," said I.
-
-"Yes. But my sister says she must return to Worms. And Lottchen has
-given notice; she says the place will not be worth having when Thekla
-leaves. I wish I could give notice too."
-
-"Try Thekla again."
-
-"Not I," said he, reddening. "It would seem now as if I only wanted her
-for a housekeeper. Besides, she avoids me at every turn, and will not
-even look at me. I am sure she bears me some ill-will about that
-ne'er-do-well."
-
-There was silence between us for some time, which he at length broke.
-
-"The pastor has a good and comely daughter. Her mother is a famous
-housewife. They often have asked me to come to the parsonage and smoke a
-pipe. When the vintage is over, and I am less busy, I think I will go
-there, and look about me."
-
-"When is the vintage?" asked I. "I hope it will take place soon, for I
-am growing so well and strong I fear I must leave you shortly; but I
-should like to see the vintage first."
-
-"Oh, never fear! you must not travel yet awhile; and Government has
-fixed the grape-gathering to begin on the fourteenth."
-
-"What a paternal Government! How does it know when the grapes will be
-ripe? Why cannot every man fix his own time for gathering his own
-grapes?"
-
-"That has never been our way in Germany. There are people employed by
-the Government to examine the vines, and report when the grapes are
-ripe. It is necessary to make laws about it; for, as you must have seen,
-there is nothing but the fear of the law to protect our vineyards and
-fruit-trees; there are no enclosures along the Berg-Strasse, as you tell
-me you have in England; but, as people are only allowed to go into the
-vineyards on stated days, no one, under pretence of gathering his own
-produce, can stray into his neighbour's grounds and help himself,
-without some of the duke's foresters seeing him."
-
-"Well," said I, "to each country its own laws."
-
-I think it was on that very evening that Thekla came in for something.
-She stopped arranging the tablecloth and the flowers, as if she had
-something to say, yet did not know how to begin. At length I found that
-her sore, hot heart, wanted some sympathy; her hand was against every
-one's, and she fancied every one had turned against her. She looked up
-at me, and said, a little abruptly,--
-
-"Does the gentleman know that I go on the fifteenth?"
-
-"So soon?" said I, with surprise. "I thought you were to remain here
-till All Saints' Day."
-
-"So I should have done--so I must have done--if the Fraeulein had not
-kindly given me leave to accept of a place--a very good place too--of
-housekeeper to a widow lady at Frankfort. It is just the sort of
-situation I have always wished for. I expect I shall be so happy and
-comfortable there."
-
-"Methinks the lady doth profess too much," came into my mind. I saw she
-expected me to doubt the probability of her happiness, and was in a
-defiant mood.
-
-"Of course," said I, "you would hardly have wished to leave Heppenheim
-if you had been happy here; and every new place always promises fair,
-whatever its performance may be. But wherever you go, remember you have
-always a friend in me."
-
-"Yes," she replied, "I think you are to be trusted. Though, from my
-experience, I should say that of very few men."
-
-"You have been unfortunate," I answered; "many men would say the same of
-women."
-
-She thought a moment, and then said, in a changed tone of voice, "The
-Fraeulein here has been much more friendly and helpful of these late
-days than her brother; yet I have served him faithfully, and have cared
-for his little Max as though he were my own brother. But this morning he
-spoke to me for the first time for many days,--he met me in the passage,
-and, suddenly stopping, he said he was glad I had met with so comfortable
-a place, and that I was at full liberty to go whenever I liked: and then
-he went quickly on, never waiting for my answer."
-
-"And what was wrong in that? It seems to me he was trying to make you
-feel entirely at your ease, to do as you thought best, without regard to
-his own interests."
-
-"Perhaps so. It is silly, I know," she continued, turning full on me her
-grave, innocent eyes; "but one's vanity suffers a little when every one
-is so willing to part with one."
-
-"Thekla! I owe you a great debt--let me speak to you openly. I know
-that your master wanted to marry you, and that you refused him. Do not
-deceive yourself. You are sorry for that refusal now?"
-
-She kept her serious look fixed upon me; but her face and throat
-reddened all over.
-
-"No," said she, at length; "I am not sorry. What can you think I am
-made of; having loved one man ever since I was a little child until a
-fortnight ago, and now just as ready to love another? I know you do not
-rightly consider what you say, or I should take it as an insult."
-
-"You loved an ideal man; he disappointed you, and you clung to your
-remembrance of him. He came, and the reality dispelled all illusions."
-
-"I do not understand philosophy," said she. "I only know that I think
-that Herr Mueller had lost all respect for me from what his sister had
-told him; and I know that I am going away; and I trust I shall be
-happier in Frankfort than I have been here of late days." So saying, she
-left the room.
-
-I was wakened up on the morning of the fourteenth by the merry ringing
-of church bells, and the perpetual firing and popping off of guns and
-pistols. But all this was over by the time I was up and dressed, and
-seated at breakfast in my partitioned room. It was a perfect October
-day; the dew not yet off the blades of grass, glistening on the delicate
-gossamer webs, which stretched from flower to flower in the garden,
-lying in the morning shadow of the house. But beyond the garden, on
-the sunny hill-side, men, women, and children were clambering up the
-vineyards like ants,--busy, irregular in movement, clustering together,
-spreading wide apart,--I could hear the shrill merry voices as I
-sat,--and all along the valley, as far as I could see, it was much the
-same; for every one filled his house for the day of the vintage, that
-great annual festival. Lottchen, who had brought in my breakfast, was
-all in her Sunday best, having risen early to get her work done and go
-abroad to gather grapes. Bright colours seemed to abound; I could see
-dots of scarlet, and crimson, and orange through the fading leaves; it
-was not a day to languish in the house; and I was on the point of going
-out by myself, when Herr Mueller came in to offer me his sturdy arm, and
-help me in walking to the vineyard. We crept through the garden scented
-with late flowers and sunny fruit,--we passed through the gate I had so
-often gazed at from the easy-chair, and were in the busy vineyard; great
-baskets lay on the grass already piled nearly full of purple and yellow
-grapes. The wine made from these was far from pleasant to my taste; for
-the best Rhine wine is made from a smaller grape, growing in closer,
-harder clusters; but the larger and less profitable grape is by far the
-most picturesque in its mode of growth, and far the best to eat into the
-bargain. Wherever we trod, it was on fragrant, crushed vine-leaves;
-every one we saw had his hands and face stained with the purple juice.
-Presently I sat down on a sunny bit of grass, and my host left me to go
-farther afield, to look after the more distant vineyards. I watched his
-progress. After he left me, he took off coat and waistcoat, displaying
-his snowy shirt and gaily-worked braces; and presently he was as busy
-as any one. I looked down on the village; the gray and orange and
-crimson roofs lay glowing in the noonday sun. I could see down into the
-streets; but they were all empty--even the old people came toiling up
-the hill-side to share in the general festivity. Lottchen had brought up
-cold dinners for a regiment of men; every one came and helped himself.
-Thekla was there, leading the little Karoline, and helping the toddling
-steps of Max; but she kept aloof from me; for I knew, or suspected, or
-had probed too much. She alone looked sad and grave, and spoke so
-little, even to her friends, that it was evident to see that she was
-trying to wean herself finally from the place. But I could see that she
-had lost her short, defiant manner. What she did say was kindly and
-gently spoken. The Fraeulein came out late in the morning, dressed, I
-suppose, in the latest Worms fashion--quite different to anything I had
-ever seen before. She came up to me, and talked very graciously to me
-for some time.
-
-"Here comes the proprietor (squire) and his lady, and their dear
-children. See, the vintagers have tied bunches of the finest grapes on
-to a stick, heavier than the children or even the lady can carry. Look!
-look! how he bows!--one can tell he has been an _attache_ at Vienna.
-That is the court way of bowing there--holding the hat right down before
-them, and bending the back at right angles. How graceful! And here is
-the doctor! I thought he would spare time to come up here. Well, doctor,
-you will go all the more cheerfully to your next patient for having been
-up into the vineyards. Nonsense, about grapes making other patients for
-you. Ah, here is the pastor and his wife, and the Fraeulein Anna. Now,
-where is my brother, I wonder? Up in the far vineyard, I make no doubt.
-Mr. Pastor, the view up above is far finer than what it is here, and the
-best grapes grow there; shall I accompany you and madame, and the dear
-Fraeulein? The gentleman will excuse me."
-
-I was left alone. Presently I thought I would walk a little farther,
-or at any rate change my position. I rounded a corner in the pathway,
-and there I found Thekla, watching by little sleeping Max. He lay on
-her shawl; and over his head she had made an arching canopy of broken
-vine-branches, so that the great leaves threw their cool, flickering
-shadows on his face. He was smeared all over with grape-juice, his
-sturdy fingers grasped a half-eaten bunch even in his sleep. Thekla was
-keeping Lina quiet by teaching her how to weave a garland for her head
-out of field-flowers and autumn-tinted leaves. The maiden sat on the
-ground, with her back to the valley beyond, the child kneeling by her,
-watching the busy fingers with eager intentness. Both looked up as I
-drew near, and we exchanged a few words.
-
-"Where is the master?" I asked. "I promised to await his return; he
-wished to give me his arm down the wooden steps; but I do not see him."
-
-"He is in the higher vineyard," said Thekla, quietly, but not looking
-round in that direction. "He will be some time there, I should think.
-He went with the pastor and his wife; he will have to speak to his
-labourers and his friends. My arm is strong, and I can leave Max in
-Lina's care for five minutes. If you are tired, and want to go back, let
-me help you down the steps; they are steep and slippery."
-
-I had turned to look up the valley. Three or four hundred yards off,
-in the higher vineyard, walked the dignified pastor, and his homely,
-decorous wife. Behind came the Fraeulein Anna, in her short-sleeved
-Sunday gown, daintily holding a parasol over her luxuriant brown
-hair. Close behind her came Herr Mueller, stopping now to speak to his
-men,--again, to cull out a bunch of grapes to tie on to the Fraeulein's
-stick; and by my feet sate the proud serving-maid in her country dress,
-waiting for my answer, with serious, up-turned eyes, and sad, composed
-face.
-
-"No, I am much obliged to you, Thekla; and if I did not feel so strong I
-would have thankfully taken your arm. But I only wanted to leave a
-message for the master, just to say that I have gone home."
-
-"Lina will give it to the father when he comes down," said Thekla.
-
-I went slowly down into the garden. The great labour of the day was
-over, and the younger part of the population had returned to the
-village, and were preparing the fireworks and pistol-shootings for the
-evening. Already one or two of those well-known German carts (in the
-shape of a V) were standing near the vineyard gates, the patient oxen
-meekly waiting while basketful after basketful of grapes were being
-emptied into the leaf-lined receptacle.
-
-As I sat down in my easy-chair close to the open window through which I
-had entered, I could see the men and women on the hill-side drawing to a
-centre, and all stand round the pastor, bareheaded, for a minute or so.
-I guessed that some words of holy thanksgiving were being said, and I
-wished that I had stayed to hear them, and mark my especial gratitude
-for having been spared to see that day. Then I heard the distant
-voices, the deep tones of the men, the shriller pipes of women and
-children, join in the German harvest-hymn, which is generally sung on
-such occasions;[1] then silence, while I concluded that a blessing was
-spoken by the pastor, with outstretched arms; and then they once more
-dispersed, some to the village, some to finish their labours for the day
-among the vines. I saw Thekla coming through the garden with Max in her
-arms, and Lina clinging to her woollen skirts. Thekla made for my open
-window; it was rather a shorter passage into the house than round by the
-door. "I may come through, may I not?" she asked, softly. "I fear Max is
-not well; I cannot understand his look, and he wakened up so strange!"
-She paused to let me see the child's face; it was flushed almost to a
-crimson look of heat, and his breathing was laboured and uneasy, his
-eyes half-open and filmy.
-
-"Something is wrong, I am sure," said I. "I don't know anything about
-children, but he is not in the least like himself."
-
-She bent down and kissed the cheek so tenderly that she would not have
-bruised the petal of a rose. "Heart's darling," she murmured. He
-quivered all over at her touch, working his fingers in an unnatural kind
-of way, and ending with a convulsive twitching all over his body. Lina
-began to cry at the grave, anxious look on our faces.
-
-"You had better call the Fraeulein to look at him," said I. "I feel sure
-he ought to have a doctor; I should say he was going to have a fit."
-
-"The Fraeulein and the master are gone to the pastor's for coffee, and
-Lottchen is in the higher vineyard, taking the men their bread and beer.
-Could you find the kitchen girl, or old Karl? he will be in the stables,
-I think. I must lose no time." Almost without waiting for my reply, she
-had passed through the room, and in the empty house I could hear her
-firm, careful footsteps going up the stair; Lina's pattering beside her;
-and the one voice wailing, the other speaking low comfort.
-
-I was tired enough, but this good family had treated me too much like
-one of their own for me not to do what I could in such a case as this. I
-made my way out into the street, for the first time since I had come to
-the house on that memorable evening six weeks ago. I bribed the first
-person I met to guide me to the doctor's, and send him straight down to
-the "Halbmond," not staying to listen to the thorough scolding he fell
-to giving me; then on to the parsonage, to tell the master and the
-Fraeulein of the state of things at home.
-
-I was sorry to be the bearer of bad news into such a festive chamber
-as the pastor's. There they sat, resting after heat and fatigue, each
-in their best gala dress, the table spread with "Dicker-milch,"
-potato-salad, cakes of various shapes and kinds--all the dainty cates
-dear to the German palate. The pastor was talking to Herr Mueller,
-who stood near the pretty young Fraeulein Anna, in her fresh white
-chemisette, with her round white arms, and her youthful coquettish airs,
-as she prepared to pour out the coffee; our Fraeulein was talking busily
-to the Frau Mama; the younger boys and girls of the family filling up
-the room. A ghost would have startled the assembled party less than I
-did, and would probably have been more welcome, considering the news I
-brought. As he listened, the master caught up his hat and went forth,
-without apology or farewell. Our Fraeulein made up for both, and
-questioned me fully; but now she, I could see, was in haste to go,
-although restrained by her manners, and the kind-hearted Frau Pastorin
-soon set her at liberty to follow her inclination. As for me I was
-dead-beat, and only too glad to avail myself of the hospitable couple's
-pressing request that I would stop and share their meal. Other magnates
-of the village came in presently, and relieved me of the strain of
-keeping up a German conversation about nothing at all with entire
-strangers. The pretty Fraeulein's face had clouded over a little at Herr
-Mueller's sudden departure; but she was soon as bright as could be,
-giving private chase and sudden little scoldings to her brothers, as
-they made raids upon the dainties under her charge. After I was duly
-rested and refreshed, I took my leave; for I, too, had my quieter
-anxieties about the sorrow in the Mueller family.
-
-The only person I could see at the "Halbmond" was Lottchen; every one
-else was busy about the poor little Max, who was passing from one fit
-into another. I told Lottchen to ask the doctor to come in and see me
-before he took his leave for the night, and tired as I was, I kept up
-till after his visit, though it was very late before he came; I could
-see from his face how anxious he was. He would give me no opinion as to
-the child's chances of recovery, from which I guessed that he had not
-much hope. But when I expressed my fear he cut me very short.
-
-"The truth is, you know nothing about it; no more do I, for that matter.
-It is enough to try any man, much less a father, to hear his perpetual
-moans--not that he is conscious of pain, poor little worm; but if she
-stops for a moment in her perpetual carrying him backwards and forwards,
-he plains so piteously it is enough to--enough to make a man bless the
-Lord who never led him into the pit of matrimony. To see the father up
-there, following her as she walks up and down the room, the child's head
-over her shoulder, and Mueller trying to make the heavy eyes recognize
-the old familiar ways of play, and the chirruping sounds which he can
-scarce make for crying----I shall be here to-morrow early, though before
-that either life or death will have come without the old doctor's help."
-
-All night long I dreamt my feverish dream--of the vineyard--the carts,
-which held little coffins instead of baskets of grapes--of the pastor's
-daughter, who would pull the dying child out of Thekla's arms; it was
-a bad, weary night! I slept long into the morning; the broad daylight
-filled my room, and yet no one had been near to waken me! Did that mean
-life or death? I got up and dressed as fast as I could; for I was aching
-all over with the fatigue of the day before. Out into the sitting-room;
-the table was laid for breakfast, but no one was there. I passed into
-the house beyond, up the stairs, blindly seeking for the room where I
-might know whether it was life or death. At the door of a room I found
-Lottchen crying; at the sight of me in that unwonted place she started,
-and began some kind of apology, broken both by tears and smiles, as she
-told me that the doctor said the danger was over--past, and that Max was
-sleeping a gentle peaceful slumber in Thekla's arms--arms that had held
-him all through the livelong night.
-
-"Look at him, sir; only go in softly; it is a pleasure to see the child
-to-day; tread softly, sir."
-
-She opened the chamber-door. I could see Thekla sitting, propped up by
-cushions and stools, holding her heavy burden, and bending over him with
-a look of tenderest love. Not far off stood the Fraeulein, all disordered
-and tearful, stirring or seasoning some hot soup, while the master stood
-by her impatient. As soon as it was cooled or seasoned enough he took
-the basin and went to Thekla, and said something very low; she lifted up
-her head, and I could see her face; pale, weary with watching, but with
-a soft peaceful look upon it, which it had not worn for weeks. Fritz
-Mueller began to feed her, for her hands were occupied in holding his
-child; I could not help remembering Mrs. Inchbald's pretty description
-of Dorriforth's anxiety in feeding Miss Milner; she compares it, if I
-remember rightly, to that of a tender-hearted boy, caring for his
-darling bird, the loss of which would embitter all the joys of his
-holidays. We closed the door without noise, so as not to waken the
-sleeping child. Lottchen brought me my coffee and bread; she was ready
-either to laugh or to weep on the slightest occasion. I could not tell
-if it was in innocence or mischief. She asked me the following
-question,--
-
-"Do you think Thekla will leave to-day, sir?"
-
-In the afternoon I heard Thekla's step behind my extemporary screen. I
-knew it quite well. She stopped for a moment before emerging into my
-view.
-
-She was trying to look as composed as usual, but, perhaps because her
-steady nerves had been shaken by her night's watching, she could not
-help faint touches of dimples at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes
-were veiled from any inquisitive look by their drooping lids.
-
-"I thought you would like to know that the doctor says Max is quite out
-of danger now. He will only require care."
-
-"Thank you, Thekla; Doctor ---- has been in already this afternoon to
-tell me so, and I am truly glad."
-
-She went to the window, and looked out for a moment. Many people were in
-the vineyards again to-day; although we, in our household anxiety, had
-paid them but little heed. Suddenly she turned round into the room, and
-I saw that her face was crimson with blushes. In another instant Herr
-Mueller entered by the window.
-
-"Has she told you, sir?" said he, possessing himself of her hand, and
-looking all a-glow with happiness. "Hast thou told our good friend?"
-addressing her.
-
-"No. I was going to tell him, but I did not know how to begin."
-
-"Then I will prompt thee. Say after me--'I have been a wilful, foolish
-woman----'"
-
-She wrenched her hand out of his, half-laughing--"I am a foolish woman,
-for I have promised to marry him. But he is a still more foolish man,
-for he wishes to marry me. That is what I say."
-
-"And I have sent Babette to Frankfort with the pastor. He is going
-there, and will explain all to Frau v. Schmidt; and Babette will serve
-her for a time. When Max is well enough to have the change of air the
-doctor prescribes for him, thou shalt take him to Altenahr, and thither
-will I also go; and become known to thy people and thy father. And
-before Christmas the gentleman here shall dance at our wedding."
-
-"I must go home to England, dear friends, before many days are over.
-Perhaps we may travel together as far as Remagen. Another year I will
-come back to Heppenheim and see you."
-
-As I planned it, so it was. We left Heppenheim all together on a lovely
-All-Saints' Day. The day before--the day of All-Souls--I had watched
-Fritz and Thekla lead little Lina up to the Acre of God, the Field of
-Rest, to hang the wreath of immortelles on her mother's grave. Peace be
-with the dead and the living.
-
-
-
-
-LIBBIE MARSH'S THREE ERAS.
-
-ERA I.
-
-VALENTINE'S DAY.
-
-
-Last November but one, there was a flitting in our neighbourhood; hardly
-a flitting, after all, for it was only a single person changing her
-place of abode from one lodging to another; and instead of a cartload of
-drawers and baskets, dressers and beds, with old king clock at the top
-of all, it was only one large wooden chest to be carried after the girl,
-who moved slowly and heavily along the streets, listless and depressed,
-more from the state of her mind than of her body. It was Libbie Marsh,
-who had been obliged to quit her room in Dean Street, because the
-acquaintances whom she had been living with were leaving Manchester. She
-tried to think herself fortunate in having met with lodgings rather more
-out of the town, and with those who were known to be respectable; she
-did indeed try to be contented, but in spite of her reason, the old
-feeling of desolation came over her, as she was now about to be thrown
-again entirely among strangers.
-
-No. 2, ---- Court, Albemarle Street, was reached at last, and the pace,
-slow as it was, slackened as she drew near the spot where she was to be
-left by the man who carried her box, for, trivial as her acquaintance
-with him was, he was not quite a stranger, as every one else was,
-peering out of their open doors, and satisfying themselves it was only
-"Dixon's new lodger."
-
-Dixon's house was the last on the left-hand side of the court. A high
-dead brick wall connected it with its opposite neighbour. All the
-dwellings were of the same monotonous pattern, and one side of the court
-looked at its exact likeness opposite, as if it were seeing itself in a
-looking-glass.
-
-Dixon's house was shut up, and the key left next door; but the woman in
-whose charge it was left knew that Libbie was expected, and came forward
-to say a few explanatory words, to unlock the door, and stir the dull
-grey ashes that were lazily burning in the grate: and then she returned
-to her own house, leaving poor Libbie standing alone with the great big
-chest in the middle of the house-place floor, with no one to say a word
-to (even a common-place remark would have been better than this dull
-silence), that could help her to repel the fast-coming tears.
-
-Dixon and his wife, and their eldest girl, worked in factories, and were
-absent all day from the house: the youngest child, also a little girl,
-was boarded out on the week-days at the neighbour's where the door-key
-was deposited, but although busy making dirt-pies, at the entrance to
-the court, when Libbie came in, she was too young to care much about her
-parents' new lodger. Libbie knew that she was to sleep with the elder
-girl in the front bedroom, but, as you may fancy, it seemed a liberty
-even to go upstairs to take off her things, when no one was at home to
-marshal the way up the ladder-like steps. So she could only take off her
-bonnet, and sit down, and gaze at the now blazing fire, and think
-sadly on the past, and on the lonely creature she was in this wide
-world--father and mother gone, her little brother long since dead--he
-would have been more than nineteen had he been alive, but she only thought of
-him as the darling baby; her only friends (to call friends) living far
-away at their new house; her employers, kind enough people in their way,
-but too rapidly twirling round on this bustling earth to have leisure to
-think of the little work-woman, excepting when they wanted gowns turned,
-carpets mended, or household linen darned; and hardly even the natural
-though hidden hope of a young girl's heart, to cheer her on with the
-bright visions of a home of her own at some future day, where, loving
-and beloved, she might fulfil a woman's dearest duties.
-
-For Libbie was very plain, as she had known so long that the consciousness
-of it had ceased to mortify her. You can hardly live in Manchester
-without having some idea of your personal appearance: the factory lads
-and lasses take good care of that; and if you meet them at the hours
-when they are pouring out of the mills, you are sure to hear a good
-number of truths, some of them combined with such a spirit of impudent
-fun, that you can scarcely keep from laughing, even at the joke against
-yourself. Libbie had often and often been greeted by such questions
-as--"How long is it since you were a beauty?"--"What would you take a
-day to stand in the fields to scare away the birds?" &c., for her to
-linger under any impression as to her looks.
-
-While she was thus musing, and quietly crying, under the pictures her
-fancy had conjured up, the Dixons came dropping in, and surprised her
-with her wet cheeks and quivering lips.
-
-She almost wished to have the stillness again that had so oppressed her
-an hour ago, they talked and laughed so loudly and so much, and bustled
-about so noisily over everything they did. Dixon took hold of one
-iron handle of her box, and helped her to bump it upstairs, while his
-daughter Anne followed to see the unpacking, and what sort of clothes
-"little sewing body had gotten." Mrs. Dixon rattled out her tea-things,
-and put the kettle on, fetched home her youngest child, which added to
-the commotion. Then she called Anne downstairs, and sent her for this
-thing and that: eggs to put to the cream, it was so thin; ham, to give a
-relish to the bread and butter; some new bread, hot, if she could get
-it. Libbie heard all these orders, given at full pitch of Mrs. Dixon's
-voice, and wondered at their extravagance, so different from the habits
-of the place where she had last lodged. But they were fine spinners, in
-the receipt of good wages; and confined all day in an atmosphere ranging
-from seventy-five to eighty degrees. They had lost all natural, healthy
-appetite for simple food, and, having no higher tastes, found their
-greatest enjoyment in their luxurious meals.
-
-When tea was ready, Libbie was called downstairs, with a rough but
-hearty invitation, to share their meal; she sat mutely at the corner of
-the tea-table, while they went on with their own conversation about
-people and things she knew nothing about, till at length she ventured
-to ask for a candle, to go and finish her unpacking before bedtime, as
-she had to go out sewing for several succeeding days. But once in
-the comparative peace of her bedroom, her energy failed her, and she
-contented herself with locking her Noah's ark of a chest, and put out
-her candle, and went to sit by the window, and gaze out at the bright
-heavens; for ever and ever "the blue sky, that bends over all," sheds
-down a feeling of sympathy with the sorrowful at the solemn hours when
-the ceaseless stars are seen to pace its depths.
-
-By-and-by her eye fell down to gazing at the corresponding window to her
-own, on the opposite side of the court. It was lighted, but the blind
-was drawn down: upon the blind she saw, first unconsciously, the constant
-weary motion of a little spectral shadow, a child's hand and arm--no
-more; long, thin fingers hanging down from the wrist, while the arm
-moved up and down, as if keeping time to the heavy pulses of dull pain.
-She could not help hoping that sleep would soon come to still that
-incessant, feeble motion: and now and then it did cease, as if the
-little creature had dropped into a slumber from very weariness; but
-presently the arm jerked up with the fingers clenched, as if with a
-sudden start of agony. When Anne came up to bed, Libbie was still
-sitting, watching the shadow, and she directly asked to whom it
-belonged.
-
-"It will be Margaret Hall's lad. Last summer, when it was so hot, there
-was no biding with the window shut at night, and theirs was open too:
-and many's the time he has waked me with his moans; they say he's been
-better sin' cold weather came."
-
-"Is he always in bed? Whatten ails him?" asked Libbie.
-
-"Summat's amiss wi' his backbone, folks say; he's better and worse,
-like. He's a nice little chap enough, and his mother's not that bad
-either; only my mother and her had words, so now we don't speak."
-
-Libbie went on watching, and when she next spoke, to ask who and what
-his mother was, Anne Dixon was fast asleep.
-
-Time passed away, and as usual unveiled the hidden things. Libbie
-found out that Margaret Hall was a widow, who earned her living as a
-washerwoman; that the little suffering lad was her only child, her
-dearly beloved. That while she scolded, pretty nearly, everybody else,
-"till her name was up" in the neighbourhood for a termagant, to him she
-was evidently most tender and gentle. He lay alone on his little bed,
-near the window, through the day, while she was away toiling for a
-livelihood. But when Libbie had plain sewing to do at her lodgings,
-instead of going out to sew, she used to watch from her bedroom window
-for the time when the shadows opposite, by their mute gestures, told
-that the mother had returned to bend over her child, to smooth his
-pillow, to alter his position, to get him his nightly cup of tea. And
-often in the night Libbie could not help rising gently from bed, to see
-if the little arm was waving up and down, as was his accustomed habit
-when sleepless from pain.
-
-Libbie had a good deal of sewing to do at home that winter, and whenever
-it was not so cold as to benumb her fingers, she took it upstairs, in
-order to watch the little lad in her few odd moments of pause. On his
-better days he could sit up enough to peep out of his window, and she
-found he liked to look at her. Presently she ventured to nod to him
-across the court; and his faint smile, and ready nod back again, showed
-that this gave him pleasure. I think she would have been encouraged by
-this smile to have proceeded to a speaking acquaintance, if it had not
-been for his terrible mother, to whom it seemed to be irritation enough
-to know that Libbie was a lodger at the Dixons' for her to talk at her
-whenever they encountered each other, and to live evidently in wait for
-some good opportunity of abuse.
-
-With her constant interest in him, Libbie soon discovered his great want
-of an object on which to occupy his thoughts, and which might distract
-his attention, when alone through the long day, from the pain he endured.
-He was very fond of flowers. It was November when she had first removed
-to her lodgings, but it had been very mild weather, and a few flowers
-yet lingered in the gardens, which the country people gathered into
-nosegays, and brought on market-days into Manchester. His mother had
-brought him a bunch of Michaelmas daisies the very day Libbie had become
-a neighbour, and she watched their history. He put them first in an old
-teapot, of which the spout was broken off and the lid lost; and he daily
-replenished the teapot from the jug of water his mother left near him to
-quench his feverish thirst. By-and-by, one or two of the constellation
-of lilac stars faded, and then the time he had hitherto spent in
-admiring, almost caressing them, was devoted to cutting off those
-flowers whose decay marred the beauty of the nosegay. It took him half
-the morning, with his feeble, languid motions, and his cumbrous old
-scissors, to trim up his diminished darlings. Then at last he seemed to
-think he had better preserve the few that remained by drying them; so
-they were carefully put between the leaves of the old Bible; and then,
-whenever a better day came, when he had strength enough to lift the
-ponderous book, he used to open the pages to look at his flower friends.
-In winter he could have no more living flowers to tend.
-
-Libbie thought and thought, till at last an idea flashed upon her mind,
-that often made a happy smile steal over her face as she stitched away,
-and that cheered her through the solitary winter--for solitary it
-continued to be, though the Dixons were very good sort of people, never
-pressed her for payment, if she had had but little work to do that week;
-never grudged her a share of their extravagant meals, which were far
-more luxurious than she could have met with anywhere else, for her
-previously agreed payment in case of working at home; and they would
-fain have taught her to drink rum in her tea, assuring her that she
-should have it for nothing and welcome. But they were too touchy, too
-prosperous, too much absorbed in themselves, to take off Libbie's
-feeling of solitariness; not half as much as the little face by day, and
-the shadow by night, of him with whom she had never yet exchanged a
-word.
-
-Her idea was this: her mother came from the east of England, where, as
-perhaps you know, they have the pretty custom of sending presents on St.
-Valentine's day, with the donor's name unknown, and, of course, the
-mystery constitutes half the enjoyment. The fourteenth of February was
-Libbie's birthday too, and many a year, in the happy days of old, had
-her mother delighted to surprise her with some little gift, of which
-she more than half-guessed the giver, although each Valentine's day the
-manner of its arrival was varied. Since then the fourteenth of February
-had been the dreariest of all the year, because the most haunted by
-memory of departed happiness. But now, this year, if she could not have
-the old gladness of heart herself, she would try and brighten the life
-of another. She would save, and she would screw, but she would buy a
-canary and a cage for that poor little laddie opposite, who wore out his
-monotonous life with so few pleasures, and so much pain.
-
-I doubt I may not tell you here of the anxieties and the fears, of the
-hopes and the self-sacrifices--all, perhaps small in the tangible effect
-as the widow's mite, yet not the less marked by the viewless angels who
-go about continually among us--which varied Libbie's life before she
-accomplished her purpose. It is enough to say it was accomplished. The
-very day before the fourteenth she found time to go with her half-guinea
-to a barber's who lived near Albemarle Street, and who was famous for
-his stock of singing-birds. There are enthusiasts about all sorts of
-things, both good and bad, and many of the weavers in Manchester know
-and care more about birds than any one would easily credit. Stubborn,
-silent, reserved men on many things, you have only to touch on the
-subject of birds to light up their faces with brightness. They will tell
-you who won the prizes at the last canary show, where the prize birds
-may be seen, and give you all the details of those funny, but pretty and
-interesting mimicries of great people's cattle shows. Among these
-amateurs, Emanuel Morris the barber was an oracle.
-
-He took Libbie into his little back room, used for private shaving of
-modest men, who did not care to be exhibited in the front shop decked
-out in the full glories of lather; and which was hung round with birds
-in rude wicker cages, with the exception of those who had won prizes,
-and were consequently honoured with gilt-wire prisons. The longer and
-thinner the body of the bird was, the more admiration it received, as
-far as external beauty went; and when, in addition to this, the colour
-was deep and clear, and its notes strong and varied, the more did Emanuel
-dwell upon its perfections. But these were all prize birds; and, on
-inquiry, Libbie heard, with some little sinking at heart, that their
-price ran from one to two guineas.
-
-"I'm not over-particular as to shape and colour," said she, "I should
-like a good singer, that's all!"
-
-She dropped a little in Emanuel's estimation. However, he showed her his
-good singers, but all were above Libbie's means.
-
-"After all, I don't think I care so much about the singing very loud;
-it's but a noise after all, and sometimes noise fidgets folks."
-
-"They must be nesh folks as is put out with the singing o' birds,"
-replied Emanuel, rather affronted.
-
-"It's for one who is poorly," said Libbie, deprecatingly.
-
-"Well," said he, as if considering the matter, "folk that are cranky,
-often take more to them as shows 'em love, than to them as is clever
-and gifted. Happen yo'd rather have this'n," opening a cage-door,
-and calling to a dull-coloured bird, sitting moped up in a corner,
-"Here--Jupiter, Jupiter!"
-
-The bird smoothed its feathers in an instant, and, uttering a little
-note of delight, flew to Emanuel, putting his beak to his lips, as if
-kissing him, and then, perching on his head, it began a gurgling warble
-of pleasure, not by any means so varied or so clear as the song of the
-others, but which pleased Libbie more; for she was always one to find
-out she liked the gooseberries that were accessible, better than the
-grapes that were beyond her reach. The price too was just right, so
-she gladly took possession of the cage, and hid it under her cloak,
-preparatory to carrying it home. Emanuel meanwhile was giving her
-directions as to its food, with all the minuteness of one loving his
-subject.
-
-"Will it soon get to know any one?" asked she.
-
-"Give him two days only, and you and he'll be as thick as him and me are
-now. You've only to open his door, and call him, and he'll follow you
-round the room; but he'll first kiss you, and then perch on your head.
-He only wants larning, which I've no time to give him, to do many
-another accomplishment."
-
-"What's his name? I did not rightly catch it."
-
-"Jupiter,--it's not common; but the town's o'errun with Bobbies and
-Dickies, and as my birds are thought a bit out o' the way, I like to
-have better names for 'em, so I just picked a few out o' my lad's school
-books. It's just as ready, when you're used to it, to say Jupiter as
-Dicky."
-
-"I could bring my tongue round to Peter better; would he answer to
-Peter?" asked Libbie, now on the point of departing.
-
-"Happen he might; but I think he'd come readier to the three syllables."
-
-On Valentine's day, Jupiter's cage was decked round with ivy leaves,
-making quite a pretty wreath on the wicker work; and to one of them was
-pinned a slip of paper, with these words, written in Libbie's best round
-hand:--
-
-"From your faithful Valentine. Please take notice his name is Peter, and
-he'll come if you call him, after a bit."
-
-But little work did Libbie do that afternoon, she was so engaged in
-watching for the messenger who was to bear her present to her little
-valentine, and run away as soon as he had delivered up the canary, and
-explained to whom it was sent.
-
-At last he came; then there was a pause before the woman of the house
-was at liberty to take it upstairs. Then Libbie saw the little face
-flush up into a bright colour, the feeble hands tremble with delighted
-eagerness, the head bent down to try and make out the writing (beyond
-his power, poor lad, to read), the rapturous turning round of the cage
-in order to see the canary in every point of view, head, tail, wings,
-and feet; an intention in which Jupiter, in his uneasiness at being
-again among strangers, did not second, for he hopped round so, as
-continually to present a full front to the boy. It was a source of never
-wearying delight to the little fellow, till daylight closed in; he
-evidently forgot to wonder who had sent it him, in his gladness at
-his possession of such a treasure; and when the shadow of his mother
-darkened on the blind, and the bird had been exhibited, Libbie saw her
-do what, with all her tenderness, seemed rarely to have entered into her
-thoughts--she bent down and kissed her boy, in a mother's sympathy with
-the joy of her child.
-
-The canary was placed for the night between the little bed and window;
-and when Libbie rose once, to take her accustomed peep, she saw the
-little arm put fondly round the cage, as if embracing his new treasure
-even in his sleep. How Jupiter slept this first night is quite another
-thing.
-
-So ended the first day in Libbie's three eras in last year.
-
-
-ERA II.
-
-WHITSUNTIDE.
-
-The brightest, fullest daylight poured down into No. 2, ---- Court,
-Albemarle Street, and the heat, even at the early hour of five, as at
-the noontide on the June days of many years past.
-
-The court seemed alive, and merry with voices and laughter. The bedroom
-windows were open wide, and had been so all night, on account of
-the heat; and every now and then you might see a head and a pair of
-shoulders, simply encased in shirt sleeves, popped out, and you might
-hear the inquiry passed from one to the other,--"Well, Jack, and where
-art thee bound for?"
-
-"Dunham!"
-
-"Why, what an old-fashioned chap thou be'st. Thy grandad afore thee went
-to Dunham: but thou wert always a slow coach. I'm off to Alderley,--me
-and my missis."
-
-"Ay, that's because there's only thee and thy missis. Wait till thou
-hast gotten four childer, like me, and thou'lt be glad enough to take
-'em to Dunham, oud-fashioned way, for fourpence apiece."
-
-"I'd still go to Alderley; I'd not be bothered with my children; they
-should keep house at home."
-
-A pair of hands, the person to whom they belonged invisible, boxed his
-ears on this last speech, in a very spirited, though playful, manner,
-and the neighbours all laughed at the surprised look of the speaker, at
-this assault from an unseen foe. The man who had been holding
-conversation with him cried out,--
-
-"Sarved him right, Mrs. Slater: he knows nought about it yet; but
-when he gets them he'll be as loth to leave the babbies at home on a
-Whitsuntide as any on us. We shall live to see him in Dunham Park yet,
-wi' twins in his arms, and another pair on 'em clutching at daddy's
-coat-tails, let alone your share of youngsters, missis."
-
-At this moment our friend Libbie appeared at her window, and Mrs.
-Slater, who had taken her discomfited husband's place, called out,--
-
-"Elizabeth Marsh, where are Dixons and you bound to?"
-
-"Dixons are not up yet; he said last night he'd take his holiday out in
-lying in bed. I'm going to the old-fashioned place, Dunham."
-
-"Thou art never going by thyself, moping!"
-
-"No. I'm going with Margaret Hall and her lad," replied Libbie, hastily
-withdrawing from the window, in order to avoid hearing any remarks on
-the associates she had chosen for her day of pleasure--the scold of the
-neighbourhood, and her sickly, ailing child!
-
-But Jupiter might have been a dove, and his ivy leaves an olive branch,
-for the peace he had brought, the happiness he had caused, to three
-individuals at least. For of course it could not long be a mystery who
-had sent little Frank Hall his valentine; nor could his mother long
-entertain her hard manner towards one who had given her child a new
-pleasure. She was shy, and she was proud, and for some time she struggled
-against the natural desire of manifesting her gratitude; but one evening,
-when Libbie was returning home, with a bundle of work half as large as
-herself, as she dragged herself along through the heated streets, she
-was overtaken by Margaret Hall, her burden gently pulled from her, and
-her way home shortened, and her weary spirits soothed and cheered, by
-the outpourings of Margaret's heart; for the barrier of reserve once
-broken down, she had much to say, to thank her for days of amusement and
-happy employment for her lad, to speak of his gratitude, to tell of her
-hopes and fears,--the hopes and fears that made up the dates of her
-life. From that time, Libbie lost her awe of the termagant in interest
-for the mother, whose all was ventured in so frail a bark. From this
-time, Libbie was a fast friend with both mother and son, planning
-mitigations for the sorrowful days of the latter as eagerly as poor
-Margaret Hall, and with far more success. His life had flickered up
-under the charm and excitement of the last few months. He even seemed
-strong enough to undertake the journey to Dunham, which Libbie had
-arranged as a Whitsuntide treat, and for which she and his mother had
-been hoarding up for several weeks. The canal boat left Knott-mill at
-six, and it was now past five; so Libbie let herself out very gently,
-and went across to her friends. She knocked at the door of their
-lodging-room, and, without waiting for an answer, entered.
-
-Franky's face was flushed, and he was trembling with excitement,--partly
-with pleasure, but partly with some eager wish not yet granted.
-
-"He wants sore to take Peter with him," said his mother to Libbie, as if
-referring the matter to her. The boy looked imploringly at her.
-
-"He would like it, I know; for one thing, he'd miss me sadly, and
-chirrup for me all day long, he'd be so lonely. I could not be half so
-happy a-thinking on him, left alone here by himself. Then, Libbie, he's
-just like a Christian, so fond of flowers and green leaves, and them
-sort of things. He chirrups to me so when mother brings me a pennyworth
-of wall-flowers to put round his cage. He would talk if he could, you
-know; but I can tell what he means quite as one as if he spoke. Do let
-Peter go, Libbie; I'll carry him in my own arms."
-
-So Jupiter was allowed to be of the party. Now Libbie had overcome the
-great difficulty of conveying Franky to the boat, by offering to "slay"
-for a coach, and the shouts and exclamations of the neighbours told
-them that their conveyance awaited them at the bottom of the court. His
-mother carried Franky, light in weight, though heavy in helplessness,
-and he would hold the cage, believing that he was thus redeeming his
-pledge, that Peter should be a trouble to no one. Libbie proceeded to
-arrange the bundle containing their dinner, as a support in the corner
-of the coach. The neighbours came out with many blunt speeches, and more
-kindly wishes, and one or two of them would have relieved Margaret of
-her burden, if she would have allowed it. The presence of that little
-crippled fellow seemed to obliterate all the angry feelings which had
-existed between his mother and her neighbours, and which had formed the
-politics of that little court for many a day.
-
-And now they were fairly off! Franky bit his lips in attempted endurance
-of the pain the motion caused him; he winced and shrank, until they
-were fairly on a Macadamized thoroughfare, when he closed his eyes, and
-seemed desirous of a few minutes' rest. Libbie felt very shy, and very
-much afraid of being seen by her employers, "set up in a coach!" and
-so she hid herself in a corner, and made herself as small as possible;
-while Mrs. Hall had exactly the opposite feeling, and was delighted to
-stand up, stretching out of the window, and nodding to pretty nearly
-every one they met or passed on the foot-paths; and they were not a few,
-for the streets were quite gay, even at that early hour, with parties
-going to this or that railway station, or to the boats which crowded the
-canals on this bright holiday week; and almost every one they met seemed
-to enter into Mrs. Hall's exhilaration of feeling, and had a smile or
-nod in return. At last she plumped down by Libbie, and exclaimed, "I
-never was in a coach but once afore, and that was when I was a-going to
-be married. It's like heaven; and all done over with such beautiful
-gimp, too!" continued she, admiring the lining of the vehicle. Jupiter
-did not enjoy it so much.
-
-As if the holiday time, the lovely weather, and the "sweet hour of
-prime" had a genial influence, as no doubt they have, everybody's heart
-seemed softened towards poor Franky. The driver lifted him out with the
-tenderness of strength, and bore him carefully down to the boat; the
-people then made way, and gave him the best seat in their power,--or
-rather I should call it a couch, for they saw he was weary, and insisted
-on his lying down,--an attitude he would have been ashamed to assume
-without the protection of his mother and Libbie, who now appeared,
-bearing their baskets and carrying Peter.
-
-Away the boat went, to make room for others, for every conveyance,
-both by land and water, is in requisition in Whitsun-week, to give
-the hard-worked crowds the opportunity of enjoying the charms of the
-country. Even every standing-place in the canal packets was occupied,
-and as they glided along, the banks were lined with people, who seemed
-to find it object enough to watch the boats go by, packed close and full
-with happy beings brimming with anticipations of a day's pleasure. The
-country through which they passed is as uninteresting as can well be
-imagined; but still it is the country: and the screams of delight from
-the children, and the low laughs of pleasure from the parents, at every
-blossoming tree that trailed its wreath against some cottage wall, or
-at the tufts of late primroses which lingered in the cool depths of
-grass along the canal banks, the thorough relish of everything, as
-if dreading to let the least circumstance of this happy day pass over
-without its due appreciation, made the time seem all too short, although
-it took two hours to arrive at a place only eight miles from Manchester.
-Even Franky, with all his impatience to see Dunham woods (which I think
-he confused with London, believing both to be paved with gold), enjoyed
-the easy motion of the boat so much, floating along, while pictures
-moved before him, that he regretted when the time came for landing among
-the soft, green meadows, that came sloping down to the dancing water's
-brim. His fellow-passengers carried him to the park, and refused all
-payment, although his mother had laid by sixpence on purpose, as a
-recompense for this service.
-
-"Oh, Libbie, how beautiful! Oh, mother, mother! is the whole world out
-of Manchester as beautiful as this? I did not know trees were like this!
-Such green homes for birds! Look, Peter! would not you like to be there,
-up among those boughs? But I can't let you go, you know, because you're
-my little bird brother, and I should be quite lost without you."
-
-They spread a shawl upon the fine mossy turf, at the root of a
-beech-tree, which made a sort of natural couch, and there they laid him,
-and bade him rest, in spite of the delight which made him believe
-himself capable of any exertion. Where he lay,--always holding Jupiter's
-cage, and often talking to him as to a playfellow,--he was on the verge
-of a green area, shut in by magnificent trees, in all the glory of their
-early foliage, before the summer heats had deepened their verdure into
-one rich, monotonous tint. And hither came party after party; old men
-and maidens, young men and children,--whole families trooped along after
-the guiding fathers, who bore the youngest in their arms, or astride
-upon their backs, while they turned round occasionally to the wives,
-with whom they shared some fond local remembrance. For years has Dunham
-Park been the favourite resort of the Manchester work-people; for more
-years than I can tell; probably ever since "the Duke," by his canals,
-opened out the system of cheap travelling. Its scenery, too, which
-presents such a complete contrast to the whirl and turmoil of Manchester;
-so thoroughly woodland, with its ancestral trees (here and there
-lightning blanched); its "verdurous walls;" its grassy walks, leading
-far away into some glade, where you start at the rabbit rustling among
-the last year's fern, and where the wood-pigeon's call seems the only
-fitting and accordant sound. Depend upon it, this complete sylvan
-repose, this accessible quiet, this lapping the soul in green images of
-the country, forms the most complete contrast to a town's-person, and
-consequently has over such the greatest power to charm.
-
-Presently Libbie found out she was very hungry. Now they were but
-provided with dinner, which was, of course, to be eaten as near twelve
-o'clock as might be; and Margaret Hall, in her prudence, asked a
-working-man near to tell her what o'clock it was.
-
-"Nay," said he, "I'll ne'er look at clock or watch to-day. I'll not
-spoil my pleasure by finding out how fast it's going away. If thou'rt
-hungry, eat. I make my own dinner hour, and I have eaten mine an hour
-ago."
-
-So they had their veal pies, and then found out it was only about
-half-past ten o'clock; by so many pleasurable events had that morning
-been marked. But such was their buoyancy of spirits, that they only
-enjoyed their mistake, and joined in the general laugh against the man
-who had eaten his dinner somewhere about nine. He laughed most heartily
-of all, till, suddenly stopping, he said,--
-
-"I must not go on at this rate; laughing gives one such an appetite."
-
-"Oh! if that's all," said a merry-looking man, lying at full length, and
-brushing the fresh scent out of the grass, while two or three little
-children tumbled over him, and crept about him, as kittens or puppies
-frolic with their parents, "if that's all, we'll have a subscription of
-eatables for them improvident folk as have eaten their dinner for their
-breakfast. Here's a sausage pasty and a handful of nuts for my share.
-Bring round a hat, Bob, and see what the company will give."
-
-Bob carried out the joke, much to little Franky's amusement; and no one
-was so churlish as to refuse, although the contributions varied from a
-peppermint drop up to a veal pie and a sausage pasty.
-
-"It's a thriving trade," said Bob, as he emptied his hatful of
-provisions on the grass by Libbie's side. "Besides, it's tiptop, too, to
-live on the public. Hark! what is that?"
-
-The laughter and the chat were suddenly hushed, and mothers told their
-little ones to listen,--as, far away in the distance, now sinking and
-falling, now swelling and clear, came a ringing peal of children's
-voices, blended together in one of those psalm tunes which we are all
-of us familiar with, and which bring to mind the old, old days, when we,
-as wondering children, were first led to worship "Our Father," by those
-beloved ones who have since gone to the more perfect worship. Holy was
-that distant choral praise, even to the most thoughtless; and when it,
-in fact, was ended, in the instant's pause, during which the ear awaits
-the repetition of the air, they caught the noontide hum and buzz of the
-myriads of insects who danced away their lives in the glorious day; they
-heard the swaying of the mighty woods in the soft but resistless breeze,
-and then again once more burst forth the merry jests and the shouts of
-childhood; and again the elder ones resumed their happy talk, as they
-lay or sat "under the greenwood tree." Fresh parties came dropping in;
-some laden with wild flowers--almost with branches of hawthorn, indeed;
-while one or two had made prizes of the earliest dog-roses, and had cast
-away campion, stitchwort, ragged robin, all to keep the lady of the
-hedges from being obscured or hidden by the community.
-
-One after another drew near to Franky, and looked on with interest as he
-lay sorting the flowers given to him. Happy parents stood by, with their
-household bands around them, in health and comeliness, and felt the
-sad prophecy of those shrivelled limbs, those wasted fingers, those
-lamp-like eyes, with their bright, dark lustre. His mother was too
-eagerly watching his happiness to read the meaning of those grave looks,
-but Libbie saw them and understood them; and a chill shudder went
-through her, even on that day, as she thought on the future.
-
-"Ay! I thought we should give you a start!"
-
-A start they did give, with their terrible slap on Libbie's back, as she
-sat idly grouping flowers, and following out her sorrowful thoughts. It
-was the Dixons. Instead of keeping their holiday by lying in bed, they
-and their children had roused themselves, and had come by the omnibus to
-the nearest point. For an instant the meeting was an awkward one, on
-account of the feud between Margaret Hall and Mrs. Dixon, but there was
-no long resisting of kindly mother Nature's soothings, at that holiday
-time, and in that lonely tranquil spot; or if they could have been
-unheeded, the sight of Franky would have awed every angry feeling
-into rest, so changed was he since the Dixons had last seen him; and
-since he had been the Puck or Robin Goodfellow of the neighbourhood,
-whose marbles were always rolling under other people's feet, and whose
-top-strings were always hanging in nooses to catch the unwary. Yes, he,
-the feeble, mild, almost girlish-looking lad, had once been a merry,
-happy rogue, and as such often cuffed by Mrs. Dixon, the very Mrs. Dixon
-who now stood gazing with the tears in her eyes. Could she, in sight of
-him, the changed, the fading, keep up a quarrel with his mother?
-
-"How long hast thou been here?" asked Dixon.
-
-"Welly on for all day," answered Libbie.
-
-"Hast never been to see the deer, or the king and queen oaks? Lord, how
-stupid."
-
-His wife pinched his arm, to remind him of Franky's helpless condition,
-which of course tethered the otherwise willing feet. But Dixon had a
-remedy. He called Bob, and one or two others, and each taking a corner
-of the strong plaid shawl, they slung Franky as in a hammock, and thus
-carried him merrily along, down the wood paths, over the smooth, grassy
-turf, while the glimmering shine and shadow fell on his upturned face.
-The women walked behind, talking, loitering along, always in sight of
-the hammock; now picking up some green treasure from the ground, now
-catching at the low hanging branches of the horse-chestnut. The soul
-grew much on this day, and in these woods, and all unconsciously, as
-souls do grow. They followed Franky's hammock-bearers up a grassy knoll,
-on the top of which stood a group of pine trees, whose stems looked like
-dark red gold in the sunbeams. They had taken Franky there to show him
-Manchester, far away in the blue plain, against which the woodland
-foreground cut with a soft clear line. Far, far away in the distance on
-that flat plain, you might see the motionless cloud of smoke hanging
-over a great town, and that was Manchester,--ugly, smoky Manchester,
-dear, busy, earnest, noble-working Manchester; where their children had
-been born, and where, perhaps, some lay buried; where their homes were,
-and where God had cast their lives, and told them to work out their
-destiny.
-
-"Hurrah! for oud smoke-jack!" cried Bob, putting Franky softly down on
-the grass, before he whirled his hat round, preparatory to a shout.
-"Hurrah! hurrah!" from all the men. "There's the rim of my hat lying
-like a quoit yonder," observed Bob quietly, as he replaced his brimless
-hat on his head with the gravity of a judge.
-
-"Here's the Sunday-school children a-coming to sit on this shady side,
-and have their buns and milk. Hark! they're singing the infant-school
-grace."
-
-They sat close at hand, so that Franky could hear the words they sang,
-in rings of children, making, in their gay summer prints, newly donned
-for that week, garlands of little faces, all happy and bright upon that
-green hill-side. One little "Dot" of a girl came shily behind Franky,
-whom she had long been watching, and threw her half-bun at his side, and
-then ran away and hid herself, in very shame at the boldness of her own
-sweet impulse. She kept peeping from her screen at Franky all the time;
-and he meanwhile was almost too much pleased and happy to eat; the world
-was so beautiful, and men, women, and children all so tender and kind;
-so softened, in fact, by the beauty of this earth, so unconsciously
-touched by the spirit of love, which was the Creator of this lovely
-earth. But the day drew to an end; the heat declined; the birds once
-more began their warblings; the fresh scents again hung about plant,
-and tree, and grass, betokening the fragrant presence of the reviving
-dew, and--the boat time was near. As they trod the meadow-path once
-more, they were joined by many a party they had encountered during
-the day, all abounding in happiness, all full of the day's adventures.
-Long-cherished quarrels had been forgotten, new friendships formed.
-Fresh tastes and higher delights had been imparted that day. We have all
-of us our look, now and then, called up by some noble or loving thought
-(our highest on earth), which will be our likeness in heaven. I can
-catch the glance on many a face, the glancing light of the cloud of
-glory from heaven, "which is our home." That look was present on many a
-hard-worked, wrinkled countenance, as they turned backwards to catch a
-longing, lingering look at Dunham woods, fast deepening into blackness
-of night, but whose memory was to haunt, in greenness and freshness,
-many a loom, and workshop, and factory, with images of peace and beauty.
-
-That night, as Libbie lay awake, revolving the incidents of the day, she
-caught Franky's voice through the open windows. Instead of the frequent
-moan of pain, he was trying to recall the burden of one of the
-children's hymns,--
-
-  Here we suffer grief and pain,
-  Here we meet to part again;
-    In Heaven we part no more.
-          Oh! that will be joyful, &c.
-
-She recalled his question, the whispered question, to her, in the
-happiest part of the day. He asked Libbie, "Is Dunham like heaven? the
-people here are as kind as angels, and I don't want heaven to be more
-beautiful than this place. If you and mother would but die with me, I
-should like to die, and live always there!" She had checked him, for
-she feared he was impious; but now the young child's craving for some
-definite idea of the land to which his inner wisdom told him he was
-hastening, had nothing in it wrong, or even sorrowful, for--
-
-  In Heaven we part no more.
-
-
-ERA III.
-
-MICHAELMAS.
-
-The church clocks had struck three; the crowds of gentlemen returning to
-business, after their early dinners, had disappeared within offices and
-warehouses; the streets were clear and quiet, and ladies were venturing
-to sally forth for their afternoon shoppings and their afternoon calls.
-
-Slowly, slowly, along the streets, elbowed by life at every turn, a
-little funeral wound its quiet way. Four men bore along a child's
-coffin; two women with bowed heads followed meekly.
-
-I need not tell you whose coffin it was, or who were those two
-mourners. All was now over with little Frank Hall: his romps, his games,
-his sickening, his suffering, his death. All was now over, but the
-Resurrection and the Life.
-
-His mother walked as in a stupor. Could it be that he was dead! If he
-had been less of an object of her thoughts, less of a motive for her
-labours, she could sooner have realized it. As it was, she followed
-his poor, cast-off, worn-out body as if she were borne along by some
-oppressive dream. If he were really dead, how could she be still alive?
-
-Libbie's mind was far less stunned, and consequently far more active,
-than Margaret Hall's. Visions, as in a phantasmagoria, came rapidly
-passing before her--recollections of the time (which seemed now so
-long ago) when the shadow of the feebly-waving arm first caught her
-attention; of the bright, strangely isolated day at Dunham Park, where
-the world had seemed so full of enjoyment, and beauty, and life; of
-the long-continued heat, through which poor Franky had panted away his
-strength in the little close room, where there was no escaping the hot
-rays of the afternoon sun; of the long nights when his mother and she
-had watched by his side, as he moaned continually, whether awake or
-asleep; of the fevered moaning slumber of exhaustion; of the pitiful
-little self-upbraidings for his own impatience of suffering, only
-impatient in his own eyes--most true and holy patience in the sight
-of others; and then the fading away of life, the loss of power, the
-increased unconsciousness, the lovely look of angelic peace, which
-followed the dark shadow on the countenance, where was he--what was he
-now?
-
-And so they laid him in his grave, and heard the solemn funeral words;
-but far off in the distance, as if not addressed to them.
-
-Margaret Hall bent over the grave to catch one last glance--she had
-not spoken, nor sobbed, nor done aught but shiver now and then, since
-the morning; but now her weight bore more heavily on Libbie's arm,
-and without sigh or sound she fell an unconscious heap on the piled-up
-gravel. They helped Libbie to bring her round; but long after her
-half-opened eyes and altered breathing showed that her senses were
-restored, she lay, speechless and motionless, without attempting to rise
-from her strange bed, as if the earth contained nothing worth even that
-trifling exertion.
-
-At last Libbie and she left that holy, consecrated spot, and bent
-their steps back to the only place more consecrated still; where he had
-rendered up his spirit; and where memories of him haunted each common,
-rude piece of furniture that their eyes fell upon. As the woman of the
-house opened the door, she pulled Libbie on one side, and said--
-
-"Anne Dixon has been across to see you; she wants to have a word with
-you."
-
-"I cannot go now," replied Libbie, as she pushed hastily along, in order
-to enter the room (_his_ room), at the same time with the childless
-mother: for, as she had anticipated, the sight of that empty spot, the
-glance at the uncurtained open window, letting in the fresh air, and the
-broad, rejoicing light of day, where all had so long been darkened and
-subdued, unlocked the waters of the fountain, and long and shrill were
-the cries for her boy that the poor woman uttered.
-
-"Oh! dear Mrs. Hall," said Libbie, herself drenched in tears, "do not
-take on so badly; I'm sure it would grieve _him_ sore if he were alive,
-and you know he is--Bible tells us so; and may be he's here watching how
-we go on without him, and hoping we don't fret over much."
-
-Mrs. Hall's sobs grew worse and more hysterical.
-
-"Oh! listen," said Libbie, once more struggling against her own increasing
-agitation. "Listen! there's Peter chirping as he always does when he's
-put about, frightened like; and you know he that's gone could never
-abide to hear the canary chirp in that shrill way."
-
-Margaret Hall did check herself, and curb her expressions of agony,
-in order not to frighten the little creature he had loved; and as her
-outward grief subsided, Libbie took up the large old Bible, which fell
-open at the never-failing comfort of the fourteenth chapter of St.
-John's Gospel.
-
-How often these large family Bibles do open at that chapter! as if,
-unused in more joyous and prosperous times, the soul went home to its
-words of loving sympathy when weary and sorrowful, just as the little
-child seeks the tender comfort of its mother in all its griefs and
-cares.
-
-And Margaret put back her wet, ruffled, grey hair from her heated,
-tear-stained, woeful face, and listened with such earnest eyes, trying
-to form some idea of the "Father's house," where her boy had gone to
-dwell.
-
-They were interrupted by a low tap at the door. Libbie went. "Anne Dixon
-has watched you home, and wants to have a word with you," said the woman
-of the house, in a whisper. Libbie went back and closed the book, with a
-word of explanation to Margaret Hall, and then ran downstairs, to learn
-the reason of Anne's anxiety to see her.
-
-"Oh, Libbie!" she burst out with, and then, checking herself with the
-remembrance of Libbie's last solemn duty, "how's Margaret Hall? But,
-of course, poor thing, she'll fret a bit at first; she'll be some time
-coming round, mother says, seeing it's as well that poor lad is taken;
-for he'd always ha' been a cripple, and a trouble to her--he was a fine
-lad once, too."
-
-She had come full of another and a different subject; but the sight of
-Libbie's sad, weeping face, and the quiet, subdued tone of her manner,
-made her feel it awkward to begin on any other theme than the one which
-filled up her companion's mind. To her last speech Libbie answered
-sorrowfully--
-
-"No doubt, Anne, it's ordered for the best; but oh! don't call him,
-don't think he could ever ha' been, a trouble to his mother, though he
-were a cripple. She loved him all the more for each thing she had to do
-for him--I am sure I did." Libbie cried a little behind her apron. Anne
-Dixon felt still more awkward in introducing the discordant subject.
-
-"Well! 'flesh is grass,' Bible says," and having fulfilled the etiquette
-of quoting a text if possible, if not of making a moral observation on
-the fleeting nature of earthly things, she thought she was at liberty to
-pass on to her real errand.
-
-"You must not go on moping yourself, Libbie Marsh. What I wanted special
-for to see you this afternoon, was to tell you, you must come to my
-wedding to-morrow. Nanny Dawson has fallen sick, and there's none as I
-should like to have bridesmaid in her place as well as you."
-
-"To-morrow! Oh, I cannot!--indeed I cannot!"
-
-"Why not?"
-
-Libbie did not answer, and Anne Dixon grew impatient.
-
-"Surely, in the name o' goodness, you're never going to baulk yourself
-of a day's pleasure for the sake of yon little cripple that's dead and
-gone!"
-
-"No,--it's not baulking myself of--don't be angry, Anne Dixon, with him,
-please; but I don't think it would be a pleasure to me,--I don't feel as
-if I could enjoy it; thank you all the same. But I did love that little
-lad very dearly--I did," sobbing a little, "and I can't forget him and
-make merry so soon."
-
-"Well--I never!" exclaimed Anne, almost angrily.
-
-"Indeed, Anne, I feel your kindness, and you and Bob have my best
-wishes,--that's what you have; but even if I went, I should be thinking
-all day of him, and of his poor, poor mother, and they say it's bad to
-think very much on them that's dead, at a wedding."
-
-"Nonsense," said Anne, "I'll take the risk of the ill-luck. After all,
-what is marrying? Just a spree, Bob says. He often says he does not
-think I shall make him a good wife, for I know nought about house
-matters, wi' working in a factory; but he says he'd rather be uneasy wi'
-me than easy wi' anybody else. There's love for you! And I tell him I'd
-rather have him tipsy than any one else sober."
-
-"Oh! Anne Dixon, hush! you don't know yet what it is to have a drunken
-husband. I have seen something of it: father used to get fuddled, and,
-in the long run, it killed mother, let alone--oh! Anne, God above only
-knows what the wife of a drunken man has to bear. Don't tell," said she,
-lowering her voice, "but father killed our little baby in one of his
-bouts; mother never looked up again, nor father either, for that matter,
-only his was in a different way. Mother will have gotten to little
-Jemmie now, and they'll be so happy together,--and perhaps Franky too.
-Oh!" said she, recovering herself from her train of thought, "never say
-aught lightly of the wife's lot whose husband is given to drink!"
-
-"Dear, what a preachment. I tell you what, Libbie, you're as born an
-old maid as ever I saw. You'll never be married to either drunken or
-sober."
-
-Libbie's face went rather red, but without losing its meek expression.
-
-"I know that as well as you can tell me; and more reason, therefore, as
-God has seen fit to keep me out of woman's natural work, I should try
-and find work for myself. I mean," seeing Anne Dixon's puzzled look,
-"that as I know I'm never likely to have a home of my own, or a husband
-that would look to me to make all straight, or children to watch over or
-care for, all which I take to be woman's natural work, I must not lose
-time in fretting and fidgetting after marriage, but just look about me
-for somewhat else to do. I can see many a one misses it in this. They
-will hanker after what is ne'er likely to be theirs, instead of facing
-it out, and settling down to be old maids; and, as old maids, just
-looking round for the odd jobs God leaves in the world for such as old
-maids to do. There's plenty of such work, and there's the blessing of
-God on them as does it." Libbie was almost out of breath at this
-outpouring of what had long been her inner thoughts.
-
-"That's all very true, I make no doubt, for them as is to be old maids;
-but as I'm not, please God to-morrow comes, you might have spared your
-breath to cool your porridge. What I want to know is, whether you'll be
-bridesmaid to-morrow or not. Come, now do; it will do you good, after
-all your working, and watching, and slaving yourself for that poor
-Franky Hall."
-
-"It was one of my odd jobs," said Libbie, smiling, though her eyes were
-brimming over with tears; "but, dear Anne," said she, recovering
-itself, "I could not do it to-morrow, indeed I could not."
-
-"And I can't wait," said Anne Dixon, almost sulkily, "Bob and I put it
-off from to-day, because of the funeral, and Bob had set his heart on
-its being on Michaelmas-day; and mother says the goose won't keep beyond
-to-morrow. Do come: father finds eatables, and Bob finds drink, and we
-shall be so jolly! and after we've been to church, we're to walk round
-the town in pairs, white satin ribbon in our bonnets, and refreshments
-at any public-house we like, Bob says. And after dinner there's to be a
-dance. Don't be a fool; you can do no good by staying. Margaret Hall
-will have to go out washing, I'll be bound."
-
-"Yes, she must go to Mrs. Wilkinson's, and, for that matter, I must go
-working too. Mrs. Williams has been after me to make her girl's winter
-things ready; only I could not leave Franky, he clung so to me."
-
-"Then you won't be bridesmaid! is that your last word?"
-
-"It is; you must not be angry with me, Anne Dixon," said Libbie,
-deprecatingly.
-
-But Anne was gone without a reply.
-
-With a heavy heart Libbie mounted the little staircase, for she felt
-how ungracious her refusal of Anne's kindness must appear, to one who
-understood so little the feelings which rendered her acceptance of it a
-moral impossibility.
-
-On opening the door she saw Margaret Hall, with the Bible open on the
-table before her. For she had puzzled out the place where Libbie was
-reading, and, with her finger under the line, was spelling out the words
-of consolation, piecing the syllables together aloud, with the earnest
-anxiety of comprehension with which a child first learns to read. So
-Libbie took the stool by her side, before she was aware that any one had
-entered the room.
-
-"What did she want you for?" asked Margaret. "But I can guess; she
-wanted you to be at th' wedding that is to come off this week, they say.
-Ay, they'll marry, and laugh, and dance, all as one as if my boy was
-alive," said she, bitterly. "Well, he was neither kith nor kin of yours,
-so I maun try and be thankful for what you've done for him, and not
-wonder at your forgetting him afore he's well settled in his grave."
-
-"I never can forget him, and I'm not going to the wedding," said Libbie,
-quietly, for she understood the mother's jealousy of her dead child's
-claims.
-
-"I must go work at Mrs. Williams' to-morrow," she said, in explanation,
-for she was unwilling to boast of her tender, fond regret, which had
-been her principal motive for declining Anne's invitation.
-
-"And I mun go washing, just as if nothing had happened," sighed forth
-Mrs. Hall, "and I mun come home at night, and find his place empty, and
-all still where I used to be sure of hearing his voice ere ever I got
-up the stair: no one will ever call me mother again." She fell crying
-pitifully, and Libbie could not speak for her own emotion for some time.
-But during this silence she put the keystone in the arch of thoughts she
-had been building up for many days; and when Margaret was again calm in
-her sorrow, Libbie said, "Mrs. Hall, I should like--would you like me to
-come for to live here altogether?"
-
-Margaret Hall looked up with a sudden light in her countenance, which
-encouraged Libbie to go on.
-
-"I could sleep with you, and pay half, you know; and we should be together
-in the evenings; and her as was home first would watch for the other,
-and" (dropping her voice) "we could talk of him at nights, you know."
-
-She was going on, but Mrs. Hall interrupted her.
-
-"Oh, Libbie Marsh! and can you really think of coming to live wi' me. I
-should like it above--but no! it must not be; you've no notion on what a
-creature I am, at times; more like a mad one when I'm in a rage, and I
-cannot keep it down. I seem to get out of bed wrong side in the morning,
-and I must have my passion out with the first person I meet. Why, Libbie,"
-said she, with a doleful look of agony on her face, "I even used to fly
-out on him, poor sick lad as he was, and you may judge how little you
-can keep it down frae that. No, you must not come. I must live alone
-now," sinking her voice into the low tones of despair.
-
-But Libbie's resolution was brave and strong. "I'm not afraid," said
-she, smiling. "I know you better than you know yourself, Mrs. Hall. I've
-seen you try of late to keep it down, when you've been boiling over, and
-I think you'll go on a-doing so. And at any rate, when you've had your
-fit out, you're very kind, and I can forget if you've been a bit put
-out. But I'll try not to put you out. Do let me come: I think _he_ would
-like us to keep together. I'll do my very best to make you comfortable."
-
-"It's me! it's me as will be making your life miserable with my temper;
-or else, God knows, how my heart clings to you. You and me is folk
-alone in the world, for we both loved one who is dead, and who had none
-else to love him. If you will live with me, Libbie, I'll try as I never
-did afore to be gentle and quiet-tempered. Oh! will you try me, Libbie
-Marsh?" So out of the little grave there sprang a hope and a resolution,
-which made life an object to each of the two.
-
-
-When Elizabeth Marsh returned home the next evening from her day's
-labours, Anne (Dixon no longer) crossed over, all in her bridal finery,
-to endeavour to induce her to join the dance going on in her father's
-house.
-
-"Dear Anne, this is good of you, a-thinking of me to-night," said
-Libbie, kissing her, "and though I cannot come,--I've promised Mrs. Hall
-to be with her,--I shall think on you, and I trust you'll be happy. I
-have got a little needle-case I have looked out for you; stay, here it
-is,--I wish it were more--only----"
-
-"Only, I know what. You've been a-spending all your money in nice
-things for poor Franky. Thou'rt a real good un, Libbie, and I'll keep
-your needle-book to my dying day, that I will." Seeing Anne in such a
-friendly mood, emboldened Libbie to tell her of her change of place; of
-her intention of lodging henceforward with Margaret Hall.
-
-"Thou never will! Why father and mother are as fond of thee as can be;
-they'll lower thy rent if that's what it is--and thou knowst they never
-grudge thee bit or drop. And Margaret Hall, of all folk, to lodge wi'!
-She's such a Tartar! Sooner than not have a quarrel, she'd fight right
-hand against left. Thou'lt have no peace of thy life. What on earth can
-make you think of such a thing, Libbie Marsh?"
-
-"She'll be so lonely without me," pleaded Libbie. "I'm sure I could make
-her happier, even if she did scold me a bit now and then, than she'd be
-a living alone, and I'm not afraid of her; and I mean to do my best not
-to vex her: and it will ease her heart, maybe, to talk to me at times
-about Franky. I shall often see your father and mother, and I shall
-always thank them for their kindness to me. But they have you and little
-Mary, and poor Mrs. Hall has no one."
-
-Anne could only repeat, "Well, I never!" and hurry off to tell the news
-at home.
-
-But Libbie was right. Margaret Hall is a different woman to the scold
-of the neighbourhood she once was; touched and softened by the two
-purifying angels, Sorrow and Love. And it is beautiful to see her
-affection, her reverence, for Libbie Marsh. Her dead mother could hardly
-have cared for her more tenderly than does the hard-hearted washerwoman,
-not long ago so fierce and unwomanly. Libbie, herself, has such peace
-shining on her countenance, as almost makes it beautiful, as she tenders
-the services of a daughter to Franky's mother, no longer the desolate
-lonely orphan, a stranger on the earth.
-
-
-Do you ever read the moral, concluding sentence of a story? I never do,
-but I once (in the year 1811, I think) heard of a deaf old lady, living
-by herself, who did; and as she may have left some descendants with
-the same amiable peculiarity, I will put in, for their benefit, what I
-believe to be the secret of Libbie's peace of mind, the real reason why
-she no longer feels oppressed at her own loneliness in the world,--
-
-
-She has a purpose in life; and that purpose is a holy one.
-
-
-
-
-CHRISTMAS STORMS AND SUNSHINE.
-
-
-In the town of ---- (no matter where) there circulated two local
-newspapers (no matter when). Now the _Flying Post_ was long established
-and respectable--alias bigoted and Tory; the _Examiner_ was spirited
-and intelligent--alias new-fangled and democratic. Every week these
-newspapers contained articles abusing each other; as cross and peppery
-as articles could be, and evidently the production of irritated minds,
-although they seemed to have one stereotyped commencement,--"Though
-the article appearing in last week's _Post_ (or _Examiner_) is below
-contempt, yet we have been induced," &c., &c., and every Saturday the
-Radical shopkeepers shook hands together, and agreed that the _Post_ was
-done for, by the slashing, clever _Examiner_; while the more dignified
-Tories began by regretting that Johnson should think that low paper,
-only read by a few of the vulgar, worth wasting his wit upon; however
-the _Examiner_ was at its last gasp.
-
-It was not though. It lived and flourished; at least it paid its way, as
-one of the heroes of my story could tell. He was chief compositor, or
-whatever title may be given to the head-man of the mechanical part of a
-newspaper. He hardly confined himself to that department. Once or twice,
-unknown to the editor, when the manuscript had fallen short, he had
-filled up the vacant space by compositions of his own; announcements of
-a forthcoming crop of green peas in December; a grey thrush having been
-seen, or a white hare, or such interesting phenomena; invented for the
-occasion, I must confess; but what of that? His wife always knew when to
-expect a little specimen of her husband's literary talent by a peculiar
-cough, which served as prelude; and, judging from this encouraging sign,
-and the high-pitched and emphatic voice in which he read them, she was
-inclined to think, that an "Ode to an early Rose-bud," in the corner
-devoted to original poetry, and a letter in the correspondence department,
-signed "Pro Bono Publico," were her husband's writing, and to hold up
-her head accordingly.
-
-I never could find out what it was that occasioned the Hodgsons to lodge
-in the same house as the Jenkinses. Jenkins held the same office in
-the Tory paper as Hodgson did in the _Examiner_, and, as I said before,
-I leave you to give it a name. But Jenkins had a proper sense of his
-position, and a proper reverence for all in authority, from the king
-down to the editor and sub-editor. He would as soon have thought of
-borrowing the king's crown for a nightcap, or the king's sceptre for a
-walking-stick, as he would have thought of filling up any spare corner
-with any production of his own; and I think it would have even added
-to his contempt of Hodgson (if that were possible), had he known of
-the "productions of his brain," as the latter fondly alluded to the
-paragraphs he inserted, when speaking to his wife.
-
-Jenkins had his wife too. Wives were wanting to finish the completeness
-of the quarrel, which existed one memorable Christmas week, some dozen
-years ago, between the two neighbours, the two compositors. And with
-wives, it was a very pretty, a very complete quarrel. To make the
-opposing parties still more equal, still more well-matched, if the
-Hodgsons had a baby ("such a baby!--a poor, puny little thing"), Mrs.
-Jenkins had a cat ("such a cat! a great, nasty, miowling tom-cat, that
-was always stealing the milk put by for little Angel's supper"). And
-now, having matched Greek with Greek, I must proceed to the tug of war.
-It was the day before Christmas; such a cold east wind! such an inky
-sky! such a blue-black look in people's faces, as they were driven out
-more than usual, to complete their purchases for the next day's
-festival.
-
-Before leaving home that morning, Jenkins had given some money to his
-wife to buy the next day's dinner.
-
-"My dear, I wish for turkey and sausages. It may be a weakness, but I
-own I am partial to sausages. My deceased mother was. Such tastes are
-hereditary. As to the sweets--whether plum-pudding or mince-pies--I
-leave such considerations to you; I only beg you not to mind expense.
-Christmas comes but once a year."
-
-And again he had called out from the bottom of the first flight of
-stairs, just close to the Hodgsons' door ("such ostentatiousness," as
-Mrs. Hodgson observed), "You will not forget the sausages, my dear?"
-
-"I should have liked to have had something above common, Mary," said
-Hodgson, as they too made their plans for the next day, "but I think
-roast beef must do for us. You see, love, we've a family."
-
-"Only one, Jem! I don't want more than roast beef, though, I'm sure.
-Before I went to service, mother and me would have thought roast beef
-a very fine dinner."
-
-"Well, let's settle it then, roast beef and a plum-pudding; and now,
-good-by. Mind and take care of little Tom. I thought he was a bit hoarse
-this morning."
-
-And off he went to his work.
-
-Now, it was a good while since Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Hodgson had spoken
-to each other, although they were quite as much in possession of the
-knowledge of events and opinions as though they did. Mary knew that Mrs.
-Jenkins despised her for not having a real lace cap, which Mrs. Jenkins
-had; and for having been a servant, which Mrs. Jenkins had not; and the
-little occasional pinchings which the Hodgsons were obliged to resort
-to, to make both ends meet, would have been very patiently endured by
-Mary, if she had not winced under Mrs. Jenkins's knowledge of such
-economy. But she had her revenge. She had a child, and Mrs. Jenkins had
-none. To have had a child, even such a puny baby as little Tom, Mrs.
-Jenkins would have worn commonest caps, and cleaned grates, and drudged
-her fingers to the bone. The great unspoken disappointment of her life
-soured her temper, and turned her thoughts inward, and made her morbid
-and selfish.
-
-"Hang that cat! he's been stealing again! he's gnawed the cold mutton in
-his nasty mouth till it's not fit to set before a Christian; and I've
-nothing else for Jem's dinner. But I'll give it him now I've caught him,
-that I will!"
-
-So saying, Mary Hodgson caught up her husband's Sunday cane, and despite
-pussy's cries and scratches, she gave him such a beating as she hoped
-might cure him of his thievish propensities; when lo! and behold, Mrs.
-Jenkins stood at the door with a face of bitter wrath.
-
-"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, ma'am, to abuse a poor dumb animal,
-ma'am, as knows no better than to take food when he sees it, ma'am? He
-only follows the nature which God has given, ma'am; and it's a pity your
-nature, ma'am, which I've heard, is of the stingy saving species, does
-not make you shut your cupboard-door a little closer. There is such a
-thing as law for brute animals. I'll ask Mr. Jenkins, but I don't think
-them Radicals has done away with that law yet, for all their Reform
-Bill, ma'am. My poor precious love of a Tommy, is he hurt? and is his
-leg broke for taking a mouthful of scraps, as most people would give
-away to a beggar,--if he'd take 'em?" wound up Mrs. Jenkins, casting a
-contemptuous look on the remnant of a scrag end of mutton.
-
-Mary felt very angry and very guilty. For she really pitied the poor
-limping animal as he crept up to his mistress, and there lay down to
-bemoan himself; she wished she had not beaten him so hard, for it
-certainly was her own careless way of never shutting the cupboard-door
-that had tempted him to his fault. But the sneer at her little bit of
-mutton turned her penitence to fresh wrath, and she shut the door in
-Mrs. Jenkins's face, as she stood caressing her cat in the lobby, with
-such a bang, that it wakened little Tom, and he began to cry.
-
-Everything was to go wrong with Mary to-day. Now baby was awake, who was
-to take her husband's dinner to the office? She took the child in her
-arms, and tried to hush him off to sleep again, and as she sung she
-cried, she could hardly tell why,--a sort of reaction from her violent
-angry feelings. She wished she had never beaten the poor cat; she wondered
-if his leg was really broken. What would her mother say if she knew how
-cross and cruel her little Mary was getting? If she should live to beat
-her child in one of her angry fits?
-
-It was of no use lullabying while she sobbed so; it must be given up,
-and she must just carry her baby in her arms, and take him with her to
-the office, for it was long past dinner-time. So she pared the mutton
-carefully, although by so doing she reduced the meat to an infinitesimal
-quantity, and taking the baked potatoes out of the oven, she popped them
-piping hot into her basket with the et-caeteras of plate, butter, salt,
-and knife and fork.
-
-It was, indeed, a bitter wind. She bent against it as she ran, and the
-flakes of snow were sharp and cutting as ice. Baby cried all the way,
-though she cuddled him up in her shawl. Then her husband had made his
-appetite up for a potato pie, and (literary man as he was) his body got
-so much the better of his mind, that he looked rather black at the cold
-mutton. Mary had no appetite for her own dinner when she arrived at
-home again. So, after she had tried to feed baby, and he had fretfully
-refused to take his bread and milk, she laid him down as usual on his
-quilt, surrounded by playthings, while she sided away, and chopped
-suet for the next day's pudding. Early in the afternoon a parcel came,
-done up first in brown paper, then in such a white, grass-bleached,
-sweet-smelling towel, and a note from her dear, dear mother; in which
-quaint writing she endeavoured to tell her daughter that she was not
-forgotten at Christmas time; but that learning that Farmer Burton was
-killing his pig, she had made interest for some of his famous pork, out
-of which she had manufactured some sausages, and flavoured them just as
-Mary used to like when she lived at home.
-
-"Dear, dear mother!" said Mary to herself. "There never was any one like
-her for remembering other folk. What rare sausages she used to make!
-Home things have a smack with 'em, no bought things can ever have. Set
-them up with their sausages! I've a notion if Mrs. Jenkins had ever
-tasted mother's she'd have no fancy for them town-made things Fanny took
-in just now."
-
-And so she went on thinking about home, till the smiles and the dimples
-came out again at the remembrance of that pretty cottage, which would
-look green even now in the depth of winter, with its pyracanthus, and
-its holly-bushes, and the great Portugal laurel that was her mother's
-pride. And the back path through the orchard to Farmer Burton's; how
-well she remembered it. The bushels of unripe apples she had picked up
-there, and distributed among his pigs, till he had scolded her for
-giving them so much green trash.
-
-She was interrupted--her baby (I call him a baby, because his father and
-mother did, and because he was so little of his age, but I rather think
-he was eighteen months old,) had fallen asleep some time before among
-his playthings; an uneasy, restless sleep; but of which Mary had been
-thankful, as his morning's nap had been too short, and as she was so
-busy. But now he began to make such a strange crowing noise, just like
-a chair drawn heavily and gratingly along a kitchen-floor! His eyes was
-open, but expressive of nothing but pain.
-
-"Mother's darling!" said Mary, in terror, lifting him up. "Baby, try not
-to make that noise. Hush, hush, darling; what hurts him?" But the noise
-came worse and worse.
-
-"Fanny! Fanny!" Mary called in mortal fright, for her baby was almost
-black with his gasping breath, and she had no one to ask for aid
-or sympathy but her landlady's daughter, a little girl of twelve or
-thirteen, who attended to the house in her mother's absence, as daily
-cook in gentlemen's families. Fanny was more especially considered the
-attendant of the upstairs lodgers (who paid for the use of the kitchin,
-"for Jenkins could not abide the smell of meat cooking"), but just now
-she was fortunately sitting at her afternoon's work of darning
-stockings, and hearing Mrs. Hodgson's cry of terror, she ran to her
-sitting-room, and understood the case at a glance.
-
-"He's got the croup! Oh, Mrs. Hodgson, he'll die as sure as fate. Little
-brother had it, and he died in no time. The doctor said he could do
-nothing for him--it had gone too far. He said if we'd put him in a warm
-bath at first, it might have saved him; but, bless you! he was never
-half so bad as your baby." Unconsciously there mingled in her statement
-some of a child's love of producing an effect; but the increasing
-danger was clear enough.
-
-"Oh, my baby! my baby! Oh, love, love! don't look so ill; I cannot
-bear it. And my fire so low! There, I was thinking of home, and picking
-currants, and never minding the fire. Oh, Fanny! what is the fire like
-in the kitchen? Speak."
-
-"Mother told me to screw it up, and throw some slack on as soon as Mrs.
-Jenkins had done with it, and so I did. It's very low and black. But,
-oh, Mrs. Hodgson! let me run for the doctor--I cannot abear to hear him,
-it's so like little brother."
-
-Through her streaming tears Mary motioned her to go; and trembling,
-sinking, sick at heart, she laid her boy in his cradle, and ran to fill
-her kettle.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins, having cooked her husband's snug little dinner, to which
-he came home; having told him her story of pussy's beating, at which he
-was justly and dignifiedly indignant, saying it was all of a piece with
-that abusive _Examiner_; having received the sausages, and turkey, and
-mince pies, which her husband had ordered; and cleaned up the room, and
-prepared everything for tea, and coaxed and duly bemoaned her cat (who
-had pretty nearly forgotten his beating, but very much enjoyed the
-petting), having done all these and many other things, Mrs. Jenkins sate
-down to get up the real lace cap. Every thread was pulled out
-separately, and carefully stretched: when, what was that? Outside, in
-the street, a chorus of piping children's voices sang the old carol she
-had heard a hundred times in the days of her youth:--
-
-  "As Joseph was a walking he heard an angel sing,
-  'This night shall be born our heavenly King.
-  He neither shall be born in housen nor in hall,
-  Nor in the place of Paradise, but in an ox's stall.
-  He neither shall be clothed in purple nor in pall,
-  But all in fair linen, as were babies all:
-  He neither shall be rocked in silver nor in gold,
-  But in a wooden cradle that rocks on the mould,'" &c.
-
-She got up and went to the window. There, below, stood the group of grey
-black little figures, relieved against the snow, which now enveloped
-everything. "For old sake's sake," as she phrased it, she counted out a
-halfpenny apiece for the singers, out of the copper bag, and threw them
-down below.
-
-The room had become chilly while she had been counting out and throwing
-down her money, so she stirred her already glowing fire, and sat down
-right before it--but not to stretch her lace; like Mary Hodgson, she
-began to think over long-past days, on softening remembrances of the
-dead and gone, on words long forgotten, on holy stories heard at her
-mother's knee.
-
-"I cannot think what's come over me to-night," said she, half aloud,
-recovering herself by the sound of her own voice from her train of
-thought--"My head goes wandering on them old times. I'm sure more texts
-have come into my head with thinking on my mother within this last half
-hour, than I've thought on for years and years. I hope I'm not going to
-die. Folks say, thinking too much on the dead betokens we're going to
-join 'em; I should be loth to go just yet--such a fine turkey as we've
-got for dinner to-morrow, too!"
-
-Knock, knock, knock, at the door, as fast as knuckles could go. And
-then, as if the comer could not wait, the door was opened, and Mary
-Hodgson stood there as white as death.
-
-"Mrs. Jenkins!--oh, your kettle is boiling, thank God! Let me have the
-water for my baby, for the love of God! He's got croup, and is dying!"
-
-Mrs. Jenkins turned on her chair with a wooden inflexible look on her
-face, that (between ourselves) her husband knew and dreaded for all his
-pompous dignity.
-
-"I'm sorry I can't oblige you, ma'am; my kettle is wanted for my
-husband's tea. Don't be afeared, Tommy, Mrs. Hodgson won't venture to
-intrude herself where she's not desired. You'd better send for the
-doctor, ma'am, instead of wasting your time in wringing your hands,
-ma'am--my kettle is engaged."
-
-Mary clasped her hands together with passionate force, but spoke no word
-of entreaty to that wooden face--that sharp, determined voice; but, as
-she turned away, she prayed for strength to bear the coming trial, and
-strength to forgive Mrs. Jenkins.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins watched her go away meekly, as one who has no hope, and
-then she turned upon herself as sharply as she ever did on any one else.
-
-"What a brute I am, Lord forgive me! What's my husband's tea to a baby's
-life? In croup, too, where time is everything. You crabbed old vixen,
-you!--any one may know you never had a child!"
-
-She was down stairs (kettle in hand) before she had finished her
-self-upbraiding; and when in Mrs. Hodgson's room, she rejected all
-thanks (Mary had not the voice for many words), saying, stiffly, "I do
-it for the poor babby's sake, ma'am, hoping he may live to have mercy
-to poor dumb beasts, if he does forget to lock his cupboards."
-
-But she did everything, and more than Mary, with her young inexperience,
-could have thought of. She prepared the warm bath, and tried it with her
-husband's own thermometer (Mr. Jenkins was as punctual as clockwork in
-noting down the temperature of every day). She let his mother place her
-baby in the tub, still preserving the same rigid, affronted aspect, and
-then she went upstairs without a word. Mary longed to ask her to stay,
-but dared not; though, when she left the room, the tears chased each
-other down her cheeks faster than ever. Poor young mother! how she
-counted the minutes till the doctor should come. But, before he came,
-down again stalked Mrs. Jenkins, with something in her hand.
-
-"I've seen many of these croup-fits, which, I take it, you've not, ma'am.
-Mustard plaisters is very sovereign, put on the throat; I've been up and
-made one, ma'am, and, by your leave, I'll put it on the poor little
-fellow."
-
-Mary could not speak, but she signed her grateful assent.
-
-It began to smart while they still kept silence; and he looked up to his
-mother as if seeking courage from her looks to bear the stinging pain;
-but she was softly crying, to see him suffer, and her want of courage
-reacted upon him, and he began to sob aloud. Instantly Mrs. Jenkins's
-apron was up, hiding her face: "Peep-bo, baby," said she, as merrily
-as she could. His little face brightened, and his mother having once
-got the cue, the two women kept the little fellow amused, until his
-plaister had taken effect.
-
-"He's better,--oh, Mrs. Jenkins, look at his eyes! how different! And he
-breathes quite softly----"
-
-As Mary spoke thus, the doctor entered. He examined his patient. Baby
-was really better.
-
-"It has been a sharp attack, but the remedies you have applied have been
-worth all the Pharmacopoeia an hour later.--I shall send a powder," &c.
-&c.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins stayed to hear this opinion; and (her heart wonderfully
-more easy) was going to leave the room, when Mary seized her hand and
-kissed it; she could not speak her gratitude.
-
-Mrs. Jenkins looked affronted and awkward, and as if she must go
-upstairs and wash her hand directly.
-
-But, in spite of these sour looks, she came softly down an hour or so
-afterwards to see how baby was.
-
-The little gentleman slept well after the fright he had given his
-friends; and on Christmas morning, when Mary awoke and looked at the
-sweet little pale face lying on her arm, she could hardly realize the
-danger he had been in.
-
-When she came down (later than usual), she found the household in a
-commotion. What do you think had happened? Why, pussy had been a traitor
-to his best friend, and eaten up some of Mr. Jenkins's own especial
-sausages; and gnawed and tumbled the rest so, that they were not fit to
-be eaten! There were no bounds to that cat's appetite! he would have
-eaten his own father if he had been tender enough. And now Mrs. Jenkins
-stormed and cried--"Hang the cat!"
-
-Christmas Day, too! and all the shops shut! "What was turkey without
-sausages?" gruffly asked Mr. Jenkins.
-
-"Oh, Jem!" whispered Mary, "hearken what a piece of work he's making
-about sausages,--I should like to take Mrs. Jenkins up some of mother's;
-they're twice as good as bought sausages."
-
-"I see no objection, my dear. Sausages do not involve intimacies, else
-his politics are what I can no ways respect."
-
-"But, oh, Jem, if you had seen her last night about baby! I'm sure
-she may scold me for ever, and I'll not answer. I'd even make her cat
-welcome to the sausages." The tears gathered to Mary's eyes as she
-kissed her boy.
-
-"Better take 'em upstairs, my dear, and give them to the cat's
-mistress." And Jem chuckled at his saying.
-
-Mary put them on a plate, but still she loitered.
-
-"What must I say, Jem? I never know."
-
-"Say--I hope you'll accept of these sausages, as my mother--no, that's
-not grammar;--say what comes uppermost, Mary, it will be sure to be
-right."
-
-So Mary carried them upstairs and knocked at the door; and when told to
-"come in," she looked very red, but went up to Mrs. Jenkins, saying,
-"Please take these. Mother made them." And was away before an answer
-could be given.
-
-Just as Hodgson was ready to go to church, Mrs. Jenkins came downstairs,
-and called Fanny. In a minute, the latter entered the Hodgsons' room,
-and delivered Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins's compliments, and they would be
-particular glad if Mr. and Mrs. Hodgson would eat their dinner with
-them.
-
-"And carry baby upstairs in a shawl, be sure," added Mrs. Jenkins's
-voice in the passage, close to the door, whither she had followed her
-messenger. There was no discussing the matter, with the certainty of
-every word being overheard.
-
-Mary looked anxiously at her husband. She remembered his saying he did
-not approve of Mr. Jenkins's politics.
-
-"Do you think it would do for baby?" asked he.
-
-"Oh, yes," answered she, eagerly; "I would wrap him up so warm."
-
-"And I've got our room up to sixty-five already, for all it's so
-frosty," added the voice outside.
-
-Now, how do you think they settled the matter? The very best way in the
-world. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins came down into the Hodgsons' room, and dined
-there. Turkey at the top, roast beef at the bottom, sausages at one side,
-potatoes at the other. Second course, plum-pudding at the top, and mince
-pies at the bottom.
-
-And after dinner, Mrs. Jenkins would have baby on her knee; and he
-seemed quite to take to her; she declared he was admiring the real lace
-on her cap, but Mary thought (though she did not say so) that he was
-pleased by her kind looks and coaxing words. Then he was wrapped up and
-carried carefully upstairs to tea, in Mrs. Jenkins's room. And after
-tea, Mrs. Jenkins, and Mary, and her husband, found out each other's
-mutual liking for music, and sat singing old glees and catches, till I
-don't know what o'clock, without one word of politics or newspapers.
-
-Before they parted, Mary had coaxed pussy on to her knee; for Mrs.
-Jenkins would not part with baby, who was sleeping on her lap.
-
-"When you're busy, bring him to me. Do, now, it will be a real favour. I
-know you must have a deal to do, with another coming; let him come up to
-me. I'll take the greatest of cares of him; pretty darling, how sweet he
-looks when he's asleep!"
-
-When the couples were once more alone, the husbands unburdened their
-minds to their wives.
-
-Mr. Jenkins said to his--"Do you know, Burgess tried to make me believe
-Hodgson was such a fool as to put paragraphs into the _Examiner_ now and
-then; but I see he knows his place, and has got too much sense to do any
-such thing."
-
-Hodgson said--"Mary, love, I almost fancy from Jenkins's way of speaking
-(so much civiler than I expected), he guesses I wrote that 'Pro Bono'
-and the 'Rose-bud,'--at any rate, I've no objection to your naming it,
-if the subject should come uppermost; I should like him to know I'm a
-literary man."
-
-Well! I've ended my tale; I hope you don't think it too long; but, before
-I go, just let me say one thing.
-
-If any of you have any quarrels, or misunderstandings, or coolnesses, or
-cold shoulders, or shynesses, or tiffs, or miffs, or huffs, with any one
-else, just make friends before Christmas,--you will be so much merrier
-if you do.
-
-I ask it of you for the sake of that old angelic song, heard so many
-years ago by the shepherds, keeping watch by night, on Bethlehem
-Heights.
-
-
-
-
-HAND AND HEART.
-
-
-"Mother, I should so like to have a great deal of money," said little
-Tom Fletcher one evening, as he sat on a low stool by his mother's knee.
-His mother was knitting busily by the firelight, and they had both been
-silent for some time.
-
-"What would you do with a great deal of money if you had it?"
-
-"Oh! I don't know--I would do a great many things. But should not you
-like to have a great deal of money, mother?" persisted he.
-
-"Perhaps I should," answered Mrs. Fletcher. "I am like you sometimes,
-dear, and think that I should be very glad of a little more money. But
-then I don't think I am like you in one thing, for I have always some
-little plan in my mind, for which I should want the money. I never wish
-for it just for its own sake."
-
-"Why, mother! there are so many things we could do if we had but
-money;--real good, wise things I mean."
-
-"And if we have real good, wise things in our head to do, which cannot
-be done without money, I can quite enter into the wish for money. But
-you know, my little boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise
-thing."
-
-"No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise things just then, but
-only how much I should like money to do what I liked," answered little
-Tom ingenuously, looking up in his mother's face. She smiled down upon
-him, and stroked his head. He knew she was pleased with him for having
-told her openly what was passing in his mind. Presently he began again.
-
-"Mother, if you wanted to do something very good and wise, and if you
-could not do it without money, what should you do?"
-
-"There are two ways of obtaining money for such wants; one is by earning;
-and the other is by saving. Now both are good, because both imply
-self-denial. Do you understand me, Tom? If you have to earn money, you
-must steadily go on doing what you do not like perhaps; such as working
-when you would like to be playing, or in bed, or sitting talking with me
-over the fire. You deny yourself these little pleasures; and that is
-a good habit in itself, to say nothing of the industry and energy you
-have to exert in working. If you save money, you can easily see how you
-exercise self-denial. You do without something you wish for in order to
-possess the money it would have cost. Inasmuch as self-denial, energy,
-and industry are all good things, you do well either to earn or to save.
-But you see the purpose for which you want the money must be taken into
-consideration. You say, for 'something wise and good.' Either earning or
-saving becomes holy in this case. I must then think which will be most
-consistent with my other duties, before I decide whether I will earn or
-save money."
-
-"I don't quite know what you mean, mother."
-
-"I will try and explain myself. You know I have to keep a little shop,
-and to try and get employment in knitting stockings, and to clean my
-house, and to mend our clothes, and many other things. Now, do you think
-I should be doing my duty if I left you in the evenings, when you come
-home from school, to go out as a waiter at ladies' parties? I could earn
-a good deal of money by it, and I could spend it well among those who
-are poorer than I am (such as lame Harry), but then I should be leaving
-you alone in the little time that we have to be together; I do not think
-I should be doing right even for our 'good and wise purpose' to earn
-money, if it took me away from you at nights: do you, Tom?"
-
-"No, indeed; you never mean to do it, do you, mother?"
-
-"No," said she, smiling; "at any rate not till you are older. You see at
-present then, I cannot _earn_ money, if I want a little more than usual
-to help a sick neighbour. I must then try and _save_ money. Nearly every
-one can do that."
-
-"Can _we_, mother? We are so careful of everything. Ned Dixon calls us
-stingy: what could _we save_?"
-
-"Oh, many and many a little thing. We use many things which are
-luxuries; which we do not want, but only use them for pleasure. Tea and
-sugar--butter--our Sunday's dinner of bacon or meat--the grey ribbon I
-bought for my bonnet, because you thought it prettier than the black,
-which was cheaper; all these are luxuries. We use very little tea or
-sugar, it is true; but we might do without any."
-
-"You did do without any, mother, for a long, long time, you know, to
-help widow Black; it was only for your bad head-aches."
-
-"Well! but you see we can save money; a penny, a halfpenny a day, or
-even a penny a week, would in time make a little store ready to be
-applied to the 'good and wise' purpose, when the time comes. But do you
-know, my little boy, I think we may be considering money too much as the
-only thing required if we want to do a kindness."
-
-"If it is not the only thing, it is the chief thing, at any rate."
-
-"No, love, it is not the chief thing. I should think very poorly of that
-beggar who liked sixpence given with a curse (as I have sometimes heard
-it), better than the kind and gentle words some people use in refusing
-to give. The curse sinks deep into the heart; or if it does not, it
-is a proof that the poor creature has been made hard before by harsh
-treatment. And mere money can do little to cheer a sore heart. It is
-kindness only that can do this. Now we have all of us kindness in our
-power. The little child of two years old, who can only just totter
-about, can show kindness?"
-
-"Can I, mother?"
-
-"To be sure, dear; and you often do, only perhaps not quite so often as
-you might do. Neither do I. But instead of wishing for money (of which I
-don't think either you or I are ever likely to have much), suppose you
-try to-morrow how you can make people happier, by thinking of little
-loving actions of help. Let us try and take for our text, 'Silver and
-gold I have none, but such as I have give I unto thee.'"
-
-"Ay, mother, we will."
-
-Must I tell you about little Tom's "to-morrow."
-
-I do not know if little Tom dreamed of what his mother and he had been
-talking about, but I do know that the first thing he thought about, when
-he awoke in the morning, was his mother's saying that he might try how
-many kind actions he could do that day without money; and he was so
-impatient to begin, that he jumped up and dressed himself, although
-it was more than an hour before his usual time of getting up. All the
-time he kept wondering what a little boy like him, only eight years old,
-could do for other people; till at last he grew so puzzled with inventing
-occasions for showing kindness, that he very wisely determined to think
-no more about it, but learn his lessons very perfectly; that was the
-first thing he had to do; and then he would try, without too much planning
-beforehand, to keep himself ready to lend a helping hand, or to give
-a kind word, when the right time came. So he screwed himself into a
-corner, out of the way of his mother's sweeping and dusting, and tucked
-his feet up on the rail of the chair, turned his face to the wall, and
-in about half an hour's time, he could turn round with a light heart,
-feeling he had learnt his lesson well, and might employ his time as he
-liked till breakfast was ready. He looked round the room; his mother
-had arranged all neatly, and was now gone to the bedroom; but the
-coal-scuttle and the can for water were empty, and Tom ran away to fill
-them; and as he came back with the latter from the pump, he saw Ann
-Jones (the scold of the neighbourhood) hanging out her clothes on a line
-stretched across from side to side of the little court, and speaking
-very angrily and loudly to her little girl, who was getting into some
-mischief in the house-place, as her mother perceived through the open
-door.
-
-"There never were such plagues as my children are, to be sure," said Ann
-Jones, as she went into her house, looking very red and passionate.
-Directly after, Tom heard the sound of a slap, and then a little child's
-cry of pain.
-
-"I wonder," thought he, "if I durst go and offer to nurse and play with
-little Hester. Ann Jones is fearful cross, and just as likely to take me
-wrong as right; but she won't box me for mother's sake; mother nursed
-Jemmy many a day through the fever, so she won't slap me, I think. Any
-rate, I'll try." But it was with a beating heart he said to the
-fierce-looking Mrs. Jones, "Please, may I go and play with Hester. May
-be I could keep her quiet while you're busy hanging out clothes."
-
-"What! and let you go slopping about, I suppose, just when I'd made
-all ready for my master's breakfast. Thank you, but my own children's
-mischief is as much as I reckon on; I'll have none of strange lads in my
-house."
-
-"I did not mean to do mischief or slop," said Tom, a little sadly at
-being misunderstood in his good intentions. "I only wanted to help."
-
-"If you want to help, lift me up those clothes' pegs, and save me
-stooping; my back's broken with it."
-
-Tom would much rather have gone to play with and amuse little Hester;
-but it was true enough that giving Mrs. Jones the clothes' pegs as she
-wanted them would help her as much; and perhaps keep her from being so
-cross with her children if they did anything to hinder her. Besides,
-little Hester's cry had died away, and she was evidently occupied in
-some new pursuit (Tom could only hope that it was not in mischief this
-time); so he began to give Ann the pegs as she wanted them, and she,
-soothed by his kind help, opened her heart a little to him.
-
-"I wonder how it is your mother has trained you up to be so handy, Tom;
-you're as good as a girl--better than many a girl. I don't think Hester
-in three years' time will be as thoughtful as you. There!" (as a fresh
-scream reached them from the little ones inside the house), "they are at
-some mischief again; but I'll teach 'em," said she, getting down from
-her stool in a fresh access of passion.
-
-"Let me go," said Tom, in a begging voice, for he dreaded the cruel
-sound of another slap. "I'll lift the basket of pegs on to a stool, so
-that you need not stoop; and I'll keep the little ones safe out of
-mischief till you're done. Do let me go, missus."
-
-With some grumblings at losing his help, she let him go into the
-house-place. He found Hester, a little girl of five, and two younger ones.
-They had been fighting for a knife, and in the struggle, the second,
-Johnnie, had cut his finger--not very badly, but he was frightened at
-the sight of the blood; and Hester, who might have helped, and who was
-really sorry, stood sullenly aloof, dreading the scolding her mother
-always gave her if either of the little ones hurt themselves while under
-her care.
-
-"Hester," said Tom, "will you get me some cold water, please? it will
-stop the bleeding better than anything. I daresay you can find me a
-basin to hold it."
-
-Hester trotted off, pleased at Tom's confidence in her power. When the
-bleeding was partly stopped, he asked her to find him a bit of rag, and
-she scrambled under the dresser for a little piece she had hidden there
-the day before. Meanwhile, Johnny ceased crying, he was so interested in
-all the preparation for dressing his little wound, and so much pleased
-to find himself an object of so much attention and consequence. The
-baby, too, sat on the floor, gravely wondering at the commotion; and
-thus busily occupied, they were quiet and out of mischief till Ann Jones
-came in, and, having hung out her clothes, and finished that morning's
-piece of work, she was ready to attend to her children in her rough,
-hasty kind of way.
-
-[Illustration p. 220: The Cut Finger.]
-
-"Well! I'm sure, Tom, you've tied it up as neatly as I could have done.
-I wish I'd always such an one as you to see after the children; but you
-must run off now, lad, your mother was calling you as I came in, and I
-said I'd send you--good-by, and thank you."
-
-As Tom was going away, the baby, sitting in square gravity on the floor,
-but somehow conscious of Tom's gentle helpful ways, put up her mouth to
-be kissed; and he stooped down in answer to the little gesture, feeling
-very happy, and very full of love and kindliness.
-
-After breakfast, his mother told him it was school time, and he must set
-off, as she did not like him to run in out of breath and flurried, just
-when the schoolmaster was going to begin; but she wished him to come in
-decently and in order, with quiet decorum, and thoughtfulness as to what
-he was going to do. So Tom got his cap and his bag, and went off with
-a light heart, which I suppose made his footsteps light, for he found
-himself above half way to school while it wanted yet a quarter to the
-time. So he slackened his pace, and looked about him a little more than
-he had been doing. There was a little girl on the other side of the
-street carrying a great big basket, and lugging along a little child
-just able to walk; but who, I suppose, was tired, for he was crying
-pitifully, and sitting down every two or three steps. Tom ran across the
-street, for, as perhaps you have found out, he was very fond of babies,
-and could not bear to hear them cry.
-
-"Little girl, what is he crying about? Does he want to be carried? I'll
-take him up, and carry him as far as I go alongside of you."
-
-So saying, Tom was going to suit the action to the word; but the baby
-did not choose that any one should carry him but his sister, and refused
-Tom's kindness. Still he could carry the heavy basket of potatoes for
-the little girl, which he did as far as their road lay together, when
-she thanked him, and bade him good-by, and said she could manage very
-well now, her home was so near. So Tom went into school very happy and
-peaceful; and had a good character to take home to his mother for that
-morning's lesson.
-
-It happened that this very day was the weekly half-holiday, so that Tom
-had many hours unoccupied that afternoon. Of course, his first
-employment after dinner was to learn his lessons for the next day; and
-then, when he had put his books away, he began to wonder what he should
-do next.
-
-He stood lounging against the door wishing all manner of idle wishes;
-a habit he was apt to fall into. He wished he were the little boy
-who lived opposite, who had three brothers ready to play with him on
-half-holidays; he wished he were Sam Harrison, whose father had taken
-him one day a trip by the railroad; he wished he were the little boy who
-always went with the omnibuses,--it must be so pleasant to go riding
-about on the step, and to see so many people; he wished he were a
-sailor, to sail away to the countries where grapes grew wild, and
-monkeys and parrots were to be had for the catching. Just as he was
-wishing himself the little Prince of Wales, to drive about in a
-goat-carriage, and wondering if he should not feel very shy with the
-three great ostrich-feathers always niddle-noddling on his head, for
-people to know him by, his mother came from washing up the dishes, and
-saw him deep in the reveries little boys and girls are apt to fall into
-when they are the only children in a house.
-
-"My dear Tom," said she, "why don't you go out, and make the most of
-this fine afternoon?"
-
-"Oh, mother," answered he (suddenly recalled to the fact that he was
-little Tom Fletcher, instead of the Prince of Wales, and consequently
-feeling a little bit flat), "it is so dull going out by myself. I have
-no one to play with. Can't you go with me, mother--just this once, into
-the fields?"
-
-Poor Mrs. Fletcher heartily wished she could gratify this very natural
-desire of her little boy; but she had the shop to mind, and many a
-little thing besides to do; it was impossible. But however much she
-might regret a thing, she was too faithful to repine. So, after a
-moment's thought, she said, cheerfully, "Go into the fields for a walk,
-and see how many wild flowers you can bring me home, and I'll get down
-father's jug for you to put them in when you come back."
-
-"But, mother, there are so few pretty flowers near a town," said Tom, a
-little unwillingly, for it was a coming down from being Prince of Wales,
-and he was not yet quite reconciled to it.
-
-"Oh dear! there are a great many if you'll only look for them. I dare
-say you'll make me up as many as twenty different kinds."
-
-"Will you reckon daisies, mother?"
-
-"To be sure; they are just as pretty as any."
-
-"Oh, if you'll reckon such as them, I dare say I can bring you more than
-twenty."
-
-So off he ran; his mother watching him till he was out of sight, and
-then she returned to her work. In about two hours he came back, his pale
-cheeks looking quite rosy, and his eyes quite bright. His country walk,
-taken with cheerful spirits, had done him all the good his mother
-desired, and had restored his usually even, happy temper.
-
-"Look, mother! here are three-and-twenty different kinds; you said I
-might count all, so I have even counted this thing like a nettle with
-lilac flowers, and this little common blue thing."
-
-"Robin-run-in-the-hedge is its name," said his mother. "It's very pretty
-if you look at it close. One, two, three"--she counted them all over,
-and there really were three-and-twenty. She went to reach down the best
-jug.
-
-"Mother," said little Tom, "do you like them very much?"
-
-"Yes, very much," said she, not understanding his meaning. He was
-silent, and gave a little sigh. "Why, my dear?"
-
-"Oh, only--it does not signify if you like them very much; but I thought
-how nice it would be to take them to lame Harry, who can never walk so
-far as the fields, and can hardly know what summer is like, I think."
-
-"Oh, that will be very nice; I am glad you thought of it."
-
-Lame Harry was sitting by himself, very patiently, in a neighbouring
-cellar. He was supported by his daughter's earnings; but as she worked
-in a factory, he was much alone.
-
-If the bunch of flowers had looked pretty in the fields, they looked
-ten times as pretty in the cellar to which they were now carried. Lame
-Harry's eyes brightened up with pleasure at the sight; and he began to
-talk of the times long ago, when he was a little boy in the country, and
-had a corner of his father's garden to call his own, and grow lad's-love
-and wall-flower in. Little Tom put them in water for him, and put the
-jug on the table by him; on which his daughter had placed the old Bible,
-worn with much reading, although treated with careful reverence. It was
-lying open, with Harry's horn spectacles put in to mark the place.
-
-"I reckon my spectacles are getting worn out; they are not so clear as
-they used to be; they are dim-like before my eyes, and it hurts me to
-read long together," said Harry. "It's a sad miss to me. I never thought
-the time long when I could read; but now I keep wearying for the day to
-be over, though the nights, when I cannot sleep for my legs paining me,
-are almost as bad. However, it's the Lord's will."
-
-"Would you like me--I cannot read very well aloud, but I'd do my best,
-if you'd like me to read a bit to you. I'll just run home and get my
-tea, and be back directly." And off Tom ran.
-
-He found it very pleasant reading aloud to lame Harry, for the old man
-had so much to say that was worth listening to, and was so glad of a
-listener, that I think there was as much talking as reading done that
-evening. But the Bible served as a text-book to their conversation;
-for in a long life old Harry had seen and heard so much, which he
-had connected with events, or promises, or precepts contained in the
-Scriptures, that it was quite curious to find how everything was brought
-in and dove-tailed, as an illustration of what they were reading.
-
-When Tom got up to go away, lame Harry gave him many thanks, and told
-him he would not sleep the worse for having made an old man's evening
-so pleasant. Tom came home in high self-satisfaction. "Mother," said
-he, "it's all very true what you said about the good that may be done
-without money: I've done many pieces of good to-day without a farthing.
-First," said he, taking hold of his little finger, "I helped Ann Jones
-with hanging out her clothes when she was"--
-
-His mother had been listening while she turned over the pages of the New
-Testament which lay by her, and now having found what she wanted, she
-put her arm gently round his waist, and drew him fondly towards her. He
-saw her finger put under one passage, and read,--
-
-"Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth."
-
-He was silent in a moment.
-
-Then his mother spoke in her soft low voice:--"Dearest Tom, though I
-don't want us to talk about it, as if you had been doing more than just
-what you ought, I am glad you have seen the truth of what I said; how
-far more may be done by the loving heart than by mere money-giving; and
-every one may have the loving heart."
-
-I have told you of one day of little Tom's life, when he was eight years
-old, and lived with his mother. I must now pass over a year, and tell
-you of a very different kind of life he had then to lead. His mother had
-never been very strong, and had had a good deal of anxiety; at last she
-was taken ill, and soon felt that there was no hope for her recovery.
-For a long time the thought of leaving her little boy was a great distress
-to her, and a great trial to her faith. But God strengthened her, and
-sent his peace into her soul, and before her death she was content to
-leave her precious child in his hands, who is a Father to the
-fatherless, and defendeth the cause of the widow.
-
-When she felt that she had not many more days to live, she sent for her
-husband's brother, who lived in a town not many miles off; and gave her
-little Tom in charge to him to bring up.
-
-"There are a few pounds in the savings-bank--I don't know how many
-exactly--and the furniture and bit of stock in the shop; perhaps they
-would be enough to bring him up to be a joiner, like his father before
-him."
-
-She spoke feebly, and with many pauses. Her brother-in-law, though a
-rough kind of man, wished to do all he could to make her feel easy in
-her last moments, and touched with the reference to his dead brother,
-promised all she required.
-
-"I'll take him back with me after"--the funeral, he was going to say,
-but he stopped. She smiled gently, fully understanding his meaning.
-
-"We shall, may be, not be so tender with him as you've been; but I'll
-see he comes to no harm. It will be a good thing for him to rough it a
-bit with other children,--he's too nesh for a boy; but I'll pay them if
-they aren't kind to him in the long run, never fear."
-
-Though this speech was not exactly what she liked, there was quite
-enough of good feeling in it to make her thankful for such a protector
-and friend for her boy. And so, thankful for the joys she had had, and
-thankful for the sorrows which had taught her meekness, thankful for
-life, and thankful for death, she died.
-
-Her brother-in-law arranged all as she had wished. After the quiet
-simple funeral was over, he took Tom by the hand, and set off on the
-six-mile walk to his home. Tom had cried till he could cry no more, but
-sobs came quivering up from his heart every now and then, as he passed
-some well-remembered cottage, or thorn-bush, or tree on the road. His
-uncle was very sorry for him, but did not know what to say, or how to
-comfort him.
-
-"Now mind, lad, thou com'st to me if thy cousins are o'er hard upon
-thee. Let me hear if they misuse thee, and I'll give it them."
-
-Tom shrunk from the idea that this gave him of the cousins, whose
-companionship he had, until then, been looking forward to as a pleasure.
-He was not reassured when, after threading several streets and by-ways,
-they came into a court of dingy-looking houses, and his uncle opened the
-door of one, from which the noise of loud, if not angry voices was
-heard.
-
-A tall large woman was whirling one child out of her way with a rough
-movement of her arm; while she was scolding a boy a little older than
-Tom, who stood listening sullenly to her angry words.
-
-"I'll tell father of thee, I will," said she; and turning to uncle John,
-she began to pour out her complaints against Jack, without taking any
-notice of little Tom, who clung to his uncle's hand as to a protector in
-the scene of violence into which he had entered.
-
-"Well, well, wife!--I'll leather Jack the next time I catch him letting
-the water out of the pipe; but now get this lad and me some tea, for
-we're weary and tired."
-
-His aunt seemed to wish Jack might be leathered now, and to be angry
-with her husband for not revenging her injuries; for an injury it was
-that the boy had done her in letting the water all run off, and that on
-the very eve of the washing day. The mother grumbled as she left off
-mopping the wet floor, and went to the fire to stir it up ready for the
-kettle, without a word of greeting to her little nephew, or of welcome
-to her husband. On the contrary, she complained of the trouble of getting
-tea ready afresh, just when she had put slack on the fire, and had no
-water in the house to fill the kettle with. Her husband grew angry, and
-Tom was frightened to hear his uncle speaking sharply.
-
-"If I can't have a cup of tea in my own house without all this ado, I'll
-go to the Spread Eagle, and take Tom with me. They've a bright fire
-there at all times, choose how they manage it; and no scolding wives.
-Come, Tom, let's be off."
-
-Jack had been trying to scrape acquaintance with his cousin by winks and
-grimaces behind his mother's back, and now made a sign of drinking out
-of an imaginary glass. But Tom clung to his uncle, and softly pulled him
-down again on his chair, from which he had risen to go to the
-public-house.
-
-"If you please, ma'am," said he, sadly frightened of his aunt, "I think
-I could find the pump, if you'd let me try."
-
-She muttered something like an acquiescence; so Tom took up the kettle,
-and, tired as he was, went out to the pump. Jack, who had done nothing
-but mischief all day, stood amazed, but at last settled that his cousin
-was a "softy."
-
-When Tom came back, he tried to blow the fire with the broken bellows,
-and at last the water boiled, and the tea was made. "Thou'rt a rare lad,
-Tom," said his uncle. "I wonder when our Jack will be of as much use."
-
-This comparison did not please either Jack or his mother, who liked to
-keep to herself the privilege of directing their father's dissatisfaction
-with his children. Tom felt their want of kindliness towards him; and
-now that he had nothing to do but rest and eat, he began to feel very
-sad, and his eyes kept filling with tears, which he brushed away with
-the back of his hand, not wishing to have them seen. But his uncle
-noticed him.
-
-"Thou had'st better have had a glass at the Spread Eagle," said he,
-compassionately.
-
-"No; I only am rather tired. May I go to bed?" said he, longing for a
-good cry unobserved under the bed-clothes.
-
-"Where's he to sleep?" asked the husband of the wife.
-
-"Nay," said she, still offended on Jack's account, "that's thy look-out.
-He's thy flesh and blood, not mine."
-
-"Come, wife," said uncle John, "he's an orphan, poor chap. An orphan is
-kin to every one."
-
-She was softened directly, for she had much kindness in her, although
-this evening she had been so much put out.
-
-"There's no place for him but with Jack and Dick. We've the baby, and
-the other three are packed close enough."
-
-She took Tom up to the little back room, and stopped to talk with him
-for a minute or two, for her husband's words had smitten her heart, and
-she was sorry for the ungracious reception she had given Tom at first.
-
-"Jack and Dick are never in bed till we come, and it's work enough to
-catch them then on fine evenings," said she, as she took the candle
-away.
-
-Tom tried to speak to God as his mother had taught him, out of the
-fulness of his little heart, which was heavy enough that night. He tried
-to think how she would have wished him to speak and to do, and when he
-felt puzzled with the remembrance of the scene of disorder and anger
-which he had seen, he earnestly prayed God would make and keep clear his
-path before him. And then he fell asleep.
-
-He had had a long dream of other and happier days, and had thought he
-was once more taking a Sunday evening walk with his mother, when he was
-roughly wakened up by his cousins.
-
-"I say, lad, you're lying right across the bed. You must get up, and let
-Dick and me come in, and then creep into the space that's left."
-
-Tom got up dizzy and half awake. His cousins got into bed, and then
-squabbled about the largest share. It ended in a kicking match, during
-which Tom stood shivering by the bedside.
-
-"I'm sure we're pinched enough as it is," said Dick at last. "And why
-they've put Tom in with us I can't think. But I'll not stand it. Tom
-shan't sleep with us. He may lie on the floor, if he likes. I'll not
-hinder him."
-
-He expected an opposition from Tom, and was rather surprised when he
-heard the little fellow quietly lie down, and cover himself as well as
-he could with his clothes. After some more quarrelling, Jack and Dick
-fell asleep. But in the middle of the night Dick awoke, and heard by
-Tom's breathing that he was still awake, and was crying gently.
-
-"What! molly-coddle, crying for a softer bed?" asked Dick.
-
-"Oh, no--I don't care for that--if--oh! if mother were but alive,"
-little Tom sobbed aloud.
-
-"I say," said Dick, after a pause. "There's room at my back, if you'll
-creep in. There! don't be afraid--why, how cold you are, lad."
-
-Dick was sorry for his cousin's loss, but could not speak about it.
-However, his kind tone sank into Tom's heart, and he fell asleep once
-more.
-
-The three boys all got up at the same time in the morning, but were
-not inclined to talk. Jack and Dick put on their clothes as fast as
-possible, and ran downstairs; but this was quite a different way of
-going on to what Tom had been accustomed. He looked about for some kind
-of basin or mug to wash in; there was none--not even a jug of water in
-the room. He slipped on a few necessary clothes, and went downstairs,
-found a pitcher, and went off to the pump. His cousins, who were playing
-in the court, laughed at him, and would not tell him where the soap was
-kept: he had to look some minutes before he could find it. Then he went
-back to the bedroom; but on entering it from the fresh air, the smell
-was so oppressive that he could not endure it. Three people had been
-breathing the air all night, and had used up every particle many times
-over and over again; and each time that it had been sent out from the
-lungs, it was less fit than before to be breathed again. They had not
-felt how poisonous it was while they stayed in it; they had only felt
-tired and unrefreshed, with a dull headache; but now that Tom came back
-again into it, he could not mistake its oppressive nature. He went to
-the window to try and open it. It was what people call a "Yorkshire
-light," where you know one-half has to be pushed on one side. It was
-very stiff, for it had not been opened for a long time. Tom pushed
-against it with all his might; at length it gave way with a jerk; and
-the shake sent out a cracked pane, which fell on the floor in a hundred
-little bits. Tom was sadly frightened when he saw what he had done. He
-would have been sorry to have done mischief at any time, but he had seen
-enough of his aunt the evening before to find out that she was sharp,
-and hasty, and cross; and it was hard to have to begin the first day in
-his new home by getting into a scrape. He sat down on the bedside, and
-began to cry. But the morning air blowing in upon him, refreshed him,
-and made him feel stronger. He grew braver as he washed himself in the
-pure, cold water. "She can't be cross with me longer than a day; by
-to-night it will be all over; I can bear it for a day."
-
-Dick came running upstairs for something he had forgotten.
-
-"My word, Tom! but you'll catch it!" exclaimed he, when he saw the
-broken window. He was half pleased at the event, and half sorry for Tom.
-"Mother did so beat Jack last week for throwing a stone right through
-the window downstairs. He kept out of the way till night, but she was on
-the look-out for him, and as soon as she saw him, she caught hold of him
-and gave it him. Eh! Tom, I would not be you for a deal!"
-
-Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt's anger; Dick became
-more and more sorry for him.
-
-"I'll tell thee what; we'll go down and say it was a lad in yon
-back-yard throwing stones, and that one went smack through the window.
-I've got one in my pocket that will just do to show."
-
-"No," said Tom, suddenly stopping crying. "I dare not do that."
-
-"Daren't! Why you'll have to dare much more if you go down and face
-mother without some such story."
-
-"No! I shan't. I shan't have to dare God's anger. Mother taught me to
-fear that; she said I need never be really afraid of aught else. Just be
-quiet, Dick, while I say my prayers."
-
-Dick watched his little cousin kneel down by the bed, and bury his face
-in the clothes; he did not say any set prayer (which Dick was accustomed
-to think was the only way of praying), but Tom seemed, by the low murmuring
-which Dick heard, to be talking to a dear friend; and though at first he
-sobbed and cried, as he asked for help and strength, yet when he got up,
-his face looked calm and bright, and he spoke quietly as he said to
-Dick, "Now I'm ready to go and tell aunt."
-
-"Aunt" meanwhile had missed her pitcher and her soap, and was in no
-good-tempered mood when Tom came to make his confession. She had been
-hindered in her morning's work by his taking her things away; and now he
-was come to tell her of the pane being broken and that it must be
-mended, and money must go all for a child's nonsense.
-
-She gave him (as he had been led to expect) one or two very sharp blows.
-Jack and Dick looked on with curiosity, to see how he would take it;
-Jack, at any rate, expecting a hearty crying from "softy" (Jack himself
-had cried loudly at his last beating), but Tom never shed a tear, though
-his face did go very red, and his mouth did grow set with the pain. But
-what struck the boys more even than his being "hard" in bearing such
-blows, was his quietness afterwards. He did not grumble loudly, as Jack
-would have done, nor did he turn sullen, as was Dick's custom; but the
-minute afterwards he was ready to run an errand for his aunt; nor did he
-make any mention of the hard blows, when his uncle came in to breakfast,
-as his aunt had rather expected he would. She was glad he did not, for
-she knew her husband would have been displeased to know how early she
-had begun to beat his orphan nephew. So she almost felt grateful to Tom
-for his silence, and certainly began to be sorry she had struck him so
-hard.
-
-Poor Tom! he did not know that his cousins were beginning to respect
-him, nor that his aunt was learning to like him; and he felt very lonely
-and desolate that first morning. He had nothing to do. Jack went to work
-at the factory; and Dick went grumbling to school. Tom wondered if he
-was to go to school again, but he did not like to ask. He sat on a
-little stool, as much out of his terrible aunt's way as he could. She
-had her youngest child, a little girl of about a year and a half old,
-crawling about on the floor. Tom longed to play with her; but he was not
-sure how far his aunt would like it. But he kept smiling at her, and
-doing every little thing he could to attract her attention and make her
-come to him. At last she was coaxed to come upon his knee. His aunt saw
-it, and though she did not speak, she did not look displeased. He did
-everything he could think of to amuse little Annie; and her mother was
-very glad to have her attended to. When Annie grew sleepy, she still
-kept fast hold of one of Tom's fingers in her little, round, soft hand,
-and he began to know the happy feeling of loving somebody again. Only
-the night before, when his cousins had made him get out of bed, he had
-wondered if he should live to be an old man, and never have anybody to
-love all that long time; but now his heart felt quite warm to the little
-thing that lay on his lap.
-
-"She'll tire you, Tom," said her mother, "you'd better let me put her
-down in the cot."
-
-"Oh, no!" said he, "please don't! I like so much to have her here." He
-never moved, though she lay very heavy on his arm, for fear of wakening
-her.
-
-When she did rouse up, his aunt said, "Thank you, Tom. I've got my work
-done rarely with you for a nurse. Now take a run in the yard, and play
-yourself a bit."
-
-His aunt was learning something, and Tom was teaching, though they would
-both have been very much surprised to hear it. Whenever, in a family,
-every one is selfish, and (as it is called) "stands up for his own
-rights," there are no feelings of gratitude; the gracefulness of "thanks"
-is never called for; nor can there be any occasion for thoughtfulness
-for others when those others are sure to get the start in thinking for
-themselves, and taking care of number one. Tom's aunt had never had to
-remind Jack or Dick to go out to play. They were ready enough to see
-after their own pleasures.
-
-Well! dinner-time came, and all the family gathered to the meal. It
-seemed to be a scramble who should be helped first, and cry out for the
-best pieces. Tom looked very red. His aunt in her new-born liking for
-him, helped him early to what she thought he would like. But he did not
-begin to eat. It had been his mother's custom to teach her little son
-to say a simple "grace" with her before they began their dinner. He
-expected his uncle to follow the same observance; and waited. Then he
-felt very hot and shy; but, thinking that it was right to say it, he
-put away his shyness, and very quietly, but very solemnly said the old
-accustomed sentence of thanksgiving. Jack burst out laughing when he had
-done; for which Jack's father gave him a sharp rap and a sharp word,
-which made him silent through the rest of the dinner. But, excepting
-Jack, who was angry, I think all the family were the happier for having
-listened reverently (if with some surprise) to Tom's thanksgiving. They
-were not an ill-disposed set of people, but wanted thoughtfulness in
-their every-day life; that sort of thoughtfulness which gives order to a
-home, and makes a wise and holy spirit of love the groundwork of order.
-
-From that first day Tom never went back in the regard he began then to
-win. He was useful to his aunt, and patiently bore her hasty ways, until
-for very shame she left off being hasty with one who was always so meek
-and mild. His uncle sometimes said he was more like a girl than a boy,
-as was to be looked for from being brought up for so many years by a
-woman; but that was the greatest fault he ever had to find with him; and
-in spite of it, he really respected him for the very qualities which are
-most truly "manly;" for the courage with which he dared to do what was
-right, and the quiet firmness with which he bore many kinds of pain. As
-for little Annie, her friendship and favour and love were the delight of
-Tom's heart. He did not know how much the others were growing to like
-him, but Annie showed it in every way, and he loved her in return most
-dearly. Dick soon found out how useful Tom could be to him in his
-lessons; for though older than his cousin, Master Dick was a regular
-dunce, and had never even wished to learn till Tom came; and long before
-Jack could be brought to acknowledge it, Dick maintained that "Tom had a
-great deal of pluck in him, though it was not of Jack's kind."
-
-Now I shall jump another year, and tell you a very little about the
-household twelve months after Tom had entered it. I said above that his
-aunt had learned to speak less crossly to one who was always gentle
-after her scoldings. By-and-by her ways to all became less hasty and
-passionate, for she grew ashamed of speaking to any one in an angry way
-before Tom; he always looked so sad and sorry to hear her. She has also
-spoken to him sometimes about his mother; at first because she thought
-he would like it; but latterly because she became really interested to
-hear of her ways; and Tom being an only child, and his mother's friend
-and companion, has been able to tell her of many household arts of
-comfort, which coming quite unconscious of any purpose, from the lips of
-a child, have taught her many things which she would have been too proud
-to learn from an older person. Her husband is softened by the additional
-cleanliness and peace of his home. He does not now occasionally take
-refuge in a public-house, to get out of the way of noisy children, an
-unswept hearth, and a scolding wife. Once when Tom was ill for a day or
-two, his uncle missed the accustomed grace, and began to say it himself.
-He is now the person to say "Silence, boys;" and then to ask the blessing
-on the meal. It makes them gather round the table, instead of sitting
-down here and there in the comfortless, unsociable way they used to do.
-Tom and Dick go to school together now, and Dick is getting on famously,
-and will soon be able to help his next brother over his lessons, as Tom
-has helped him.
-
-Even Jack has been heard to acknowledge that Tom has "pluck" in him; and
-as "pluck" in Jack's mind is a short way of summing up all the virtues,
-he has lately become very fond of his cousin. Tom does not think about
-happiness, but is happy; and I think we may hope that he, and the
-household among whom he is adopted, will go "from strength to strength."
-
-Now do you not see how much happier this family are from the one
-circumstance of a little child's coming among them? Could money have
-made one-tenth part of this real and increasing happiness? I think you
-will all say no. And yet Tom was no powerful person; he was not clever;
-he was very friendless at first; but he was loving and good; and on
-those two qualities, which any of us may have if we try, the blessing of
-God lies in rich abundance.
-
-
-
-
-BESSY'S TROUBLES AT HOME.
-
-
-"Well, mother, I've got you a Southport ticket," said Bessy Lee, as she
-burst into a room where a pale, sick woman lay dressed on the outside of
-a bed. "Aren't you glad?" asked she, as her mother moved uneasily, but
-did not speak.
-
-"Yes, dear, I'm very thankful to you; but your sudden coming in has made
-my heart flutter so, I'm ready to choke."
-
-Poor Bessy's eyes filled with tears: but, it must be owned, they were
-tears half of anger. She had taken such pains, ever since the doctor
-said that Southport was the only thing for her mother, to get her an
-order from some subscriber to the charity; and she had rushed to her, in
-the full glow of success, and now her mother seemed more put out by the
-noise she had made on coming in, than glad to receive the news she had
-brought.
-
-Mrs. Lee took her hand and tried to speak, but, as she said, she was
-almost choked with the palpitation at her heart.
-
-"You think it very silly in me, dear, to be so easily startled; but it
-is not altogether silliness; it is I am so weak that every little noise
-gives me quite a fright. I shall be better, love, please God, when I
-come back from Southport. I am so glad you've got the order, for you've
-taken a deal of pains about it." Mrs. Lee sighed.
-
-"Don't you want to go?" asked Bessy, rather sadly. "You always seem so
-sorrowful and anxious when we talk about it."
-
-"It's partly my being ailing that makes me anxious, I know," said Mrs.
-Lee. "But it seems as if so many things might happen while I was away."
-
-Bessy felt a little impatient. Young people in strong health can hardly
-understand the fears that beset invalids. Bessy was a kind-hearted girl,
-but rather headstrong, and just now a little disappointed. She forgot
-that her mother had had to struggle hard with many cares ever since she
-had been left a widow, and that her illness now had made her nervous.
-
-"What nonsense, mother! What can happen? I can take care of the house
-and the little ones, and Tom and Jem can take care of themselves. What
-is to happen?"
-
-"Jenny may fall into the fire," murmured Mrs. Lee, who found little
-comfort in being talked to in this way. "Or your father's watch may be
-stolen while you are in, talking with the neighbours, or----"
-
-"Now come, mother, you know I've had the charge of Jenny ever since
-father died, and you began to go out washing--and I'll lock father's
-watch up in the box in our room."
-
-"Then Tom and Jem won't know at what time to go to the factory. Besides,
-Bessy," said she, raising herself up, "they're are but young lads, and
-there's a deal of temptation to take them away from their homes, if
-their homes are not comfortable and pleasant to them. It's that, more
-than anything, I've been fretting about all the time I've been
-ill,--that I've lost the power of making this house the cleanest and
-brightest place they know. But it's no use fretting," said she, falling
-back weakly upon the bed and sighing. "I must leave it in God's hands.
-He raiseth up and He bringeth low."
-
-Bessy stood silent for a minute or two. Then she said, "Well, mother, I
-will try to make home comfortable for the lads, if you'll but keep your
-mind easy, and go off to Southport quiet and cheerful."
-
-"I'll try," said Mrs. Lee, taking hold of Bessy's hand, and looking up
-thankfully in her face.
-
-The next Wednesday she set off, leaving home with a heavy heart, which,
-however, she struggled against, and tried to make more faithful. But she
-wished her three weeks at Southport were over.
-
-Tom and Jem were both older than Bessy, and she was fifteen. Then came
-Bill and Mary and little Jenny. They were all good children, and all had
-faults. Tom and Jem helped to support the family by their earnings at
-the factory, and gave up their wages very cheerfully for this purpose,
-to their mother, who, however, insisted on a little being put by every
-week in the savings' bank. It was one of her griefs now that, when the
-doctor ordered her some expensive delicacy in the way of diet during her
-illness (a thing which she persisted in thinking she could have done
-without), her boys had gone and taken their money out in order to
-procure it for her. The article in question did not cost one quarter
-of the amount of their savings, but they had put off returning the
-remainder into the bank, saying the doctor's bill had yet to be paid,
-and that it seemed so silly to be always taking money in and out. But
-meanwhile Mrs. Lee feared lest it should be spent, and begged them to
-restore it to the savings' bank. This had not been done when she left
-for Southport. Bill and Mary went to school. Little Jenny was the
-darling of all, and toddled about at home, having been her sister
-Bessy's especial charge when all went on well, and the mother used to
-go out to wash.
-
-Mrs. Lee, however, had always made a point of giving all her children
-who were at home a comfortable breakfast at seven, before she set out
-to her day's work; and she prepared the boys' dinner ready for Bessy
-to warm for them. At night, too, she was anxious to be at home as soon
-after her boys as she could; and many of her employers respected her
-wish, and, finding her hard-working and conscientious, took care to set
-her at liberty early in the evening.
-
-Bessy felt very proud and womanly when she returned home from seeing
-her mother off by the railway. She looked round the house with a new
-feeling of proprietorship, and then went to claim little Jenny from the
-neighbour's where she had been left while Bessy had gone to the station.
-They asked her to stay and have a bit of chat; but she replied that she
-could not, for that it was near dinner-time, and she refused the
-invitation that was then given her to go in some evening. She was full
-of good plans and resolutions.
-
-That afternoon she took Jenny and went to her teacher's to borrow a
-book, which she meant to ask one of her brothers to read to her in the
-evenings while she worked. She knew that it was a book which Jem would
-like, for though she had never read it, one of her school-fellows had
-told her it was all about the sea, and desert islands, and cocoanut-trees,
-just the things that Jem liked to hear about. How happy they would all
-be this evening.
-
-She hurried Jenny off to bed before her brothers came home; Jenny did
-not like to go so early, and had to be bribed and coaxed to give up the
-pleasure of sitting on brother Tom's knee; and when she was in bed, she
-could not go to sleep, and kept up a little whimper of distress. Bessy
-kept calling out to her, now in gentle, now in sharp tones, as she made
-the hearth clean and bright against her brothers' return, as she settled
-Bill and Mary to their next day's lessons, and got her work ready for a
-happy evening.
-
-Presently the elder boys came in.
-
-"Where's Jenny?" asked Tom, the first thing.
-
-"I've put her to bed," said Bessy. "I've borrowed a book for you to read
-to me while I darn the stockings; and it was time for Jenny to go."
-
-"Mother never puts her to bed so soon," said Tom, dissatisfied.
-
-"But she'd be so in the way of any quietness over our reading," said
-Bessy.
-
-"I don't want to read," said Tom; "I want Jenny to sit on my knee, as
-she always does, while I eat my supper."
-
-"Tom, Tom, dear Tom!" called out little Jenny, who had heard his voice,
-and, perhaps, a little of the conversation.
-
-Tom made but two steps upstairs, and re-appeared with Jenny in his arms,
-in her night-clothes. The little girl looked at Bessy half triumphant
-and half afraid. Bessy did not speak, but she was evidently very much
-displeased. Tom began to eat his porridge with Jenny on his knee. Bessy
-sat in sullen silence; she was vexed with Tom, vexed with Jenny, and
-vexed with Jem, to gratify whose taste for reading travels she had
-especially borrowed this book, which he seemed to care so little about.
-She brooded over her fancied wrongs, ready to fall upon the first person
-who might give the slightest occasion for anger. It happened to be poor
-little Jenny, who, by some awkward movement, knocked over the jug of
-milk, and made a great splash on Bessy's clean white floor.
-
-"Never mind!" said Tom, as Jenny began to cry. "I like my porridge as
-well without milk as with it."
-
-"Oh, never mind!" said Bessy, her colour rising, and her breath growing
-shorter. "Never mind dirtying anything, Jenny; it's only giving trouble
-to Bessy! But I'll make you mind," continued she, as she caught a glance
-of intelligence peep from Jem's eyes to Tom; and she slapped Jenny's
-head. The moment she had done it she was sorry for it; she could have
-beaten herself now with the greatest pleasure for having given way to
-passion; for she loved little Jenny dearly, and she saw that she really
-had hurt her. But Jem, with his loud, deep, "For shame, Bessy!" and Tom,
-with his excess of sympathy with his little sister's wrongs, checked
-back any expression which Bessy might have uttered of sorrow and regret.
-She sat there ten times more unhappy than she had been before the
-accident, hardening her heart to the reproaches of her conscience, yet
-feeling most keenly that she had been acting wrongly. No one seemed to
-notice her; this was the evening she had planned and arranged for so
-busily; and the others, who never thought about it at all, were all
-quiet and happy, at least in outward appearance, while she was so
-wretched. By-and-by, she felt the touch of a little soft hand stealing
-into her own. She looked to see who it was; it was Mary, who till now
-had been busy learning her lessons, but uncomfortably conscious of the
-discordant spirit prevailing in the room; and who had at last ventured
-up to Bessy, as the one who looked the most unhappy, to express, in her
-own little gentle way, her sympathy in sorrow. Mary was not a quick
-child; she was plain and awkward in her ways, and did not seem to have
-many words in which to tell her feelings, but she was very tender and
-loving, and submitted meekly and humbly to the little slights and
-rebuffs she often met with for her stupidity.
-
-"Dear Bessy! good night!" said she, kissing her sister; and, at the soft
-kiss, Bessy's eyes filled with tears, and her heart began to melt.
-
-"Jenny," continued Mary, going to the little spoilt, wilful girl, "will
-you come to bed with me, and I'll tell you stories about school, and
-sing you my songs as I undress? Come, little one!" said she, holding out
-her arms. Jenny was tempted by this speech, and went off to bed in a
-more reasonable frame of mind than any one had dared to hope.
-
-And now all seemed clear and open for the reading, but each was too
-proud to propose it. Jem, indeed, seemed to have forgotten the book
-altogether, he was so busy whittling away at a piece of wood. At last
-Tom, by a strong effort, said, "Bessy, mayn't we have the book now?"
-
-"No!" said Jem, "don't begin reading, for I must go out and try and make
-Ned Bates give me a piece of ash-wood--deal is just good for nothing."
-
-"Oh!" said Bessy, "I don't want any one to read this book who does not
-like it. But I know mother would be better pleased if you were stopping
-at home quiet, rather than rambling to Ned Bates's at this time of
-night."
-
-"I know what mother would like as well as you, and I'm not going to be
-preached to by a girl," said Jem, taking up his cap and going out. Tom
-yawned and went up to bed. Bessy sat brooding over the evening.
-
-"So much as I thought and I planned! I'm sure I tried to do what was
-right, and make the boys happy at home. And yet nothing has happened
-as I wanted it to do. Every one has been so cross and contrary. Tom
-would take Jenny up when she ought to have been in bed. Jem did not
-care a straw for this book that I borrowed on purpose for him, but sat
-laughing. I saw, though he did not think I did, when all was going
-provoking and vexatious. Mary--no! Mary was a help and a comfort, as she
-always is, I think, though she is so stupid over her book. Mary always
-contrives to get people right, and to have her own way somehow; and yet
-I'm sure she does not take half the trouble I do to please people."
-
-Jem came back soon, disappointed because Ned Bates was out, and could
-not give him any ash-wood. Bessy said it served him right for going at
-that time of night, and the brother and sister spoke angrily to each
-other all the way upstairs, and parted without even saying good-night.
-Jenny was asleep when Bessy entered the bedroom which she shared with
-her sisters and her mother; but she saw Mary's wakeful eyes looking at
-her as she came in.
-
-"Oh, Mary," said she, "I wish mother was back. The lads would mind her,
-and now I see they'll just go and get into mischief to spite and plague
-me."
-
-"I don't think it's for that," said Mary, softly. "Jem did want that
-ash-wood, I know, for he told me in the morning he didn't think that
-deal would do. He wants to make a wedge to keep the window from rattling
-so on windy nights; you know how that fidgets mother."
-
-The next day, little Mary, on her way to school, went round by Ned
-Bates's to beg a piece of wood for her brother Jem; she brought it home
-to him at dinner-time, and asked him to be so good as to have everything
-ready for a quiet whittling at night, while Tom or Bessy read aloud. She
-told Jenny she would make haste with her lessons, so as to be ready to
-come to bed early, and talk to her about school (a grand, wonderful
-place, in Jenny's eyes), and thus Mary quietly and gently prepared for a
-happy evening, by attending to the kind of happiness for which every one
-wished.
-
-While Mary had thus been busy preparing for a happy evening, Bessy had
-been spending part of the afternoon at a Mrs. Foster's, a neighbour of
-her mother's, and a very tidy, industrious old widow. Mrs. Foster earned
-part of her livelihood by working for the shops where knitted work of
-all kinds is to be sold; and Bessy's attention was caught, almost as
-soon as she went in, by a very gay piece of wool-knitting, in a new
-stitch, that was to be used as a warm covering for the feet. After
-admiring its pretty looks, Bessy thought how useful it might be to her
-mother; and when Mrs. Foster heard this, she offered to teach Bessy how
-to do it. But where were the wools to come from? Those which Mrs. Foster
-used were provided her by the shop; and she was a very poor woman--too
-poor to make presents, though rich enough (as we all are) to give help
-of many other kinds, and willing too to do what she could (which some of
-us are not).
-
-The two sat perplexed. "How much did you say it would cost?" said Bessy
-at last; as if the article was likely to have become cheaper, since she
-asked the question before.
-
-"Well! it's sure to be more than two shillings if it's German wool. You
-might get it for eighteenpence if you could be content with English."
-
-"But I've not got eighteenpence," said Bessy, gloomily.
-
-"I could lend it you," said Mrs. Foster, "if I was sure of having it
-back before Monday. But it's part of my rent-money. Could you make sure,
-do you think?"
-
-"Oh, yes!" said Bessy, eagerly. "At least I'd try. But perhaps I had
-better not take it, for after all I don't know where I could get it.
-What Tom and Jem earn is little enough for the house, now that mother's
-washing is cut off."
-
-"They are good, dutiful lads, to give it to their mother," said Mrs.
-Foster, sighing: for she thought of her own boys, that had left her in
-her old age to toil on, with faded eyesight and weakened strength.
-
-"Oh! but mother makes them each keep a shilling out of it for
-themselves," said Bessy, in a complaining tone, for she wanted money,
-and was inclined to envy any one who possessed it.
-
-"That's right enough," said Mrs. Foster. "They that earn it should have
-some of the power over it."
-
-"But about this wool; this eighteenpence! I wish I was a boy and could
-earn money. I wish mother would have let me go to work in the factory."
-
-"Come now, Bessy, I can have none of that nonsense. Thy mother knows
-what's best for thee; and I'm not going to hear thee complain of what
-she has thought right. But may be, I can help you to a way of gaining
-eighteenpence. Mrs. Scott at the worsted shop told me that she should
-want some one to clean on Saturday; now you're a good strong girl, and
-can do a woman's work if you've a mind. Shall I say you will go? and
-then I don't mind if I lend you my eighteenpence. You'll pay me before I
-want my rent on Monday."
-
-"Oh! thank you, dear Mrs. Foster," said Bessy. "I can scour as well as
-any woman, mother often says so; and I'll do my best on Saturday; they
-shan't blame you for having spoken up for me."
-
-"No, Bessy, they won't, I'm sure, if you do your best. You're a good
-sharp girl for your years."
-
-Bessy lingered for some time, hoping that Mrs. Foster would remember her
-offer of lending her the money; but finding that she had quite forgotten
-it, she ventured to remind the kind old woman. That it was nothing but
-forgetfulness, was evident from the haste with which Mrs. Foster bustled
-up to her tea-pot and took from it the money required.
-
-"You're as welcome to it as can be, Bessy, as long as I'm sure of its
-being repaid by Monday. But you're in a mighty hurry about this coverlet,"
-continued she, as she saw Bessy put on her bonnet and prepare to go out.
-"Stay, you must take patterns, and go to the right shop in St. Mary's
-Gate. Why, your mother won't be back this three weeks, child."
-
-"No. But I can't abide waiting, and I want to set to it before it is
-dark; and you'll teach me the stitch, won't you, when I come back with
-the wools? I won't be half an hour away."
-
-But Mary and Bill had to "abide waiting" that afternoon; for though the
-neighbour at whose house the key was left could let them into the house,
-there was no supper ready for them on their return from school; even
-Jenny was away spending the afternoon with a playfellow; the fire was
-nearly out, the milk had been left at a neighbour's; altogether home was
-very comfortless to the poor tired children, and Bill grumbled terribly;
-Mary's head ached, and the very tones of her brother's voice, as he
-complained, gave her pain; and for a minute she felt inclined to sit
-down and cry. But then she thought of many little sayings which she had
-heard from her teacher--such as "Never complain of what you can cure,"
-"Bear and forbear," and several other short sentences of a similar
-description. So she began to make up the fire, and asked Bill to fetch
-some chips; and when he gave her the gruff answer, that he did not see
-any use in making a fire when there was nothing to cook by it, she went
-herself and brought the wood without a word of complaint.
-
-Presently Bill said, "Here! you lend me those bellows; you're not
-blowing it in the right way; girls never do!" He found out that Mary was
-wise in making a bright fire ready; for before the blowing was ended,
-the neighbour with whom the milk had been left brought it in, and little
-handy Mary prepared the porridge as well as the mother herself could
-have done. They had just ended when Bessy came in almost breathless; for
-she had suddenly remembered, in the middle of her knitting-lesson, that
-Bill and Mary must be at home from school.
-
-"Oh!" she said, "that's right. I have so hurried myself! I was afraid
-the fire would be out. Where's Jenny? You were to have called for her,
-you know, as you came from school. Dear! how stupid you are, Mary. I am
-sure I told you over and over again. Now don't cry, silly child. The
-best thing you can do is to run off back again for her."
-
-"But my lessons, Bessy. They are so bad to learn. It's tables day
-to-morrow," pleaded Mary.
-
-"Nonsense; tables are as easy as can be. I can say up to sixteen times
-sixteen in no time."
-
-"But you know, Bessy, I'm very stupid, and my head aches so to-night!"
-
-"Well! the air will do it good. Really, Mary, I would go myself, only
-I'm so busy; and you know Bill is too careless, mother says, to fetch
-Jenny through the streets; and besides they would quarrel, and you can
-always manage Jenny."
-
-Mary sighed, and went away to bring her sister home. Bessy sat down to
-her knitting. Presently Bill came up to her with some question about his
-lesson. She told him the answer without looking at the book; it was all
-wrong, and made nonsense; but Bill did not care to understand what he
-learnt, and went on saying, "Twelve inches make one shilling," as
-contentedly as if it were right.
-
-Mary brought Jenny home quite safely. Indeed, Mary always did succeed in
-everything, except learning her lessons well; and sometimes, if the
-teacher could have known how many tasks fell upon the willing, gentle
-girl at home, she would not have thought that poor Mary was slow or a
-dunce; and such thoughts would come into the teacher's mind sometimes,
-although she fully appreciated Mary's sweetness and humility of
-disposition.
-
-To-night she tried hard at her tables, and all to no use. Her head
-ached so, she could not remember them, do what she would. She longed to
-go to her mother, whose cool hands around her forehead always seemed to
-do her so much good, and whose soft, loving words were such a help
-to her when she had to bear pain. She had arranged so many plans for
-to-night, and now all were deranged by Bessy's new fancy for knitting.
-But Mary did not see this in the plain, clear light in which I have put
-it before you. She only was sorry that she could not make haste with her
-lessons, as she had promised Jenny, who was now upbraiding her with the
-non-fulfilment of her words. Jenny was still up when Tom and Jem came
-in. They spoke sharply to Bessy for not having their porridge ready; and
-while she was defending herself, Mary, even at the risk of imperfect
-lessons, began to prepare the supper for her brothers. She did it all
-so quietly, that, almost before they were aware, it was ready for them;
-and Bessy, suddenly ashamed of herself, and touched by Mary's quiet
-helpfulness, bent down and kissed her, as once more she settled to the
-never-ending difficulty of her lesson.
-
-Mary threw her arms round Bessy's neck, and began to cry, for this little
-mark of affection went to her heart; she had been so longing for a word
-or a sign of love in her suffering.
-
-"Come, Molly," said Jem, "don't cry like a baby;" but he spoke very
-kindly. "What's the matter? the old headache come back? Never mind. Go
-to bed, and it will be better in the morning."
-
-"But I can't go to bed. I don't know my lesson!" Mary looked happier,
-though the tears were in her eyes.
-
-"I know mine," said Bill, triumphantly.
-
-"Come here," said Jem. "There! I've time enough to whittle away at this
-before mother comes back. Now let's see this difficult lesson."
-
-Jem's help soon enabled Mary to conquer her lesson; but, meanwhile, Jenny
-and Bill had taken to quarrelling in spite of Bessy's scolding,
-administered in small sharp doses, as she looked up from her
-all-absorbing knitting.
-
-"Well," said Tom, "with this riot on one side, and this dull lesson on
-the other, and Bessy as cross as can be in the midst, I can understand
-what makes a man go out to spend his evenings from home."
-
-Bessy looked up, suddenly wakened up to a sense of the danger which her
-mother had dreaded.
-
-Bessy thought it was very fortunate that it fell on a Saturday, of
-all days in the week, that Mrs. Scott wanted her; for Mary would be at
-home, who could attend to the household wants of everybody; and so she
-satisfied her conscience at leaving the post of duty that her mother had
-assigned to her, and that she had promised to fulfil. She was so eager
-about her own plans that she did not consider this; she did not consider
-at all, or else I think she would have seen many things to which she
-seemed to be blind now. When were Mary's lessons for Monday to be
-learnt? Bessy knew as well as we do, that lesson-learning was hard work
-to Mary. If Mary worked as hard as she could after morning school she
-could hardly get the house cleaned up bright and comfortable before
-her brothers came home from the factory, which "loosed" early on the
-Saturday afternoon; and if pails of water, chairs heaped up one on
-the other, and tables put topsy-turvy on the dresser, were the most
-prominent objects in the house-place, there would be no temptation for
-the lads to stay at home; besides which, Mary, tired and weary (however
-gentle she might be), would not be able to give the life to the evening
-that Bessy, a clever, spirited girl, near their own age, could easily
-do, if she chose to be interested and sympathising in what they had to
-tell. But Bessy did not think of all this. What she did think about was
-the pleasant surprise she should give her mother by the warm and pretty
-covering for her feet, which she hoped to present her with on her return
-home. And if she had done the duties she was pledged to on her mother's
-departure first, if they had been compatible with her plan of being a
-whole day absent from home, in order to earn the money for the wools,
-the project of the surprise would have been innocent and praiseworthy.
-
-Bessy prepared everything for dinner before she left home that Saturday
-morning. She made a potato-pie all ready for putting in the oven; she
-was very particular in telling Mary what was to be cleaned, and how it
-was all to be cleaned; and then she kissed the children, and ran off to
-Mrs. Scott's. Mary was rather afraid of the responsibility thrust upon
-her; but still she was pleased that Bessy could trust her to do so much.
-She took Jenny to the ever-useful neighbour, as she and Bill went to
-school; but she was rather frightened when Mrs. Jones began to grumble
-about these frequent visits of the child.
-
-"I was ready enough to take care of the wench when thy mother was ill;
-there was reason for that. And the child is a nice child enough, when
-she is not cross; but still there are some folks, it seems, who, if you
-give them an inch, will take an ell. Where's Bessy, that she can't mind
-her own sister?"
-
-"Gone out charing," said Mary, clasping the little hand in hers tighter,
-for she was afraid of Mrs. Jones's anger.
-
-"I could go out charing every day in the week if I'd the face to trouble
-other folks with my children," said Mrs. Jones, in a surly tone.
-
-"Shall I take her back, ma'am?" said Mary, timidly, though she knew this
-would involve her staying away from school, and being blamed by the dear
-teacher. But Mrs. Jones growled worse than she bit, this time at least.
-
-"No," said she, "you may leave her with me. I suppose she's had her
-breakfast?"
-
-"Yes; and I'll fetch her away as soon as ever I can after twelve."
-
-If Mary had been one to consider the hardships of her little lot, she
-might have felt this morning's occurrence as one;--that she, who dreaded
-giving trouble to anybody, and was painfully averse from asking any
-little favour for herself, should be the very one on whom it fell to
-presume upon another person's kindness. But Mary never did think of any
-hardships; they seemed the natural events of life, and as if it was
-fitting and proper that she, who managed things badly, and was such a
-dunce, should be blamed. Still she was rather flurried by Mrs. Jones's
-scolding; and almost wished that she had taken Jenny home again. Her
-lessons were not well said, owing to the distraction of her mind.
-
-When she went for Jenny she found that Mrs. Jones, repenting of her
-sharp words, had given the little girl bread and treacle, and made her
-very comfortable; so much so that Jenny was not all at once ready to
-leave her little playmates, and when once she had set out on the road,
-she was in no humour to make haste. Mary thought of the potato-pie and
-her brothers, and could almost have cried, as Jenny, heedless of her
-sister's entreaties, would linger at the picture-shops.
-
-"I shall be obliged to go and leave you, Jenny! I must get dinner
-ready."
-
-"I don't care," said Jenny. "I don't want any dinner, and I can come
-home quite well by myself."
-
-Mary half longed to give her a fright, it was so provoking. But she
-thought of her mother, who was so anxious always about Jenny, and she
-did not do it. She kept patiently trying to attract her onwards, and
-at last they were at home. Mary stirred up the fire, which was to all
-appearance quite black; it blazed up, but the oven was cold. She put the
-pie in, and blew the fire; but the paste was quite white and soft when
-her brothers came home, eager and hungry.
-
-"Oh! Mary, what a manager you are!" said Tom. "Any one else would have
-remembered and put the pie in in time."
-
-Mary's eyes filled full of tears; but she did not try to justify
-herself. She went on blowing, till Jem took the bellows, and kindly
-told her to take off her bonnet, and lay the cloth. Jem was always kind.
-He gave Tom the best baked side of the pie, and quietly took the side
-himself where the paste was little better than dough, and the potatoes
-quite hard; and when he caught Mary's little anxious face watching him,
-as he had to leave part of his dinner untasted, he said, "Mary, I should
-like this pie warmed up for supper; there is nothing so good as
-potato-pie made hot the second time."
-
-Tom went off saying, "Mary, I would not have you for a wife on any
-account. Why, my dinner would never be ready, and your sad face would
-take away my appetite if it were."
-
-But Jem kissed her and said, "Never mind, Mary! you and I will live
-together, old maid and old bachelor."
-
-So she could set to with spirit to her cleaning, thinking there never
-was such a good brother as Jem; and as she dwelt upon his perfections,
-she thought who it was who had given her such a good, kind brother, and
-felt her heart full of gratitude to Him. She scoured and cleaned in
-right-down earnest. Jenny helped her for some time, delighted to be
-allowed to touch and lift things. But then she grew tired; and Bill was
-out of doors; so Mary had to do all by herself, and grew very nervous
-and frightened, lest all should not be finished and tidy against Tom
-came home. And the more frightened she grew, the worse she got on. Her
-hands trembled, and things slipped out of them; and she shook so, she
-could not lift heavy pieces of furniture quickly and sharply; and in
-the middle the clock struck the hour for her brothers' return, when all
-ought to have been tidy and ready for tea. She gave it up in despair,
-and began to cry.
-
-"Oh, Bessy, Bessy! why did you go away? I have tried hard, and I cannot
-do it," said she aloud, as if Bessy could hear.
-
-"Dear Mary, don't cry," said Jenny, suddenly coming away from her play.
-"I'll help you. I am very strong. I can do anything. I can lift that pan
-off the fire."
-
-The pan was full of boiling water, ready for Mary. Jenny took hold of
-the handle, and dragged it along the bar over the fire. Mary sprung
-forwards in terror to stop the little girl. She never knew how it was,
-but the next moment her arm and side were full of burning pain, which
-turned her sick and dizzy, and Jenny was crying passionately beside her.
-
-"Oh, Mary! Mary! Mary! my hand is so scalded. What shall I do? I cannot
-bear it. It's all about my feet on the ground." She kept shaking her
-hand to cool it by the action of the air. Mary thought that she herself
-was dying, so acute and terrible was the pain; she could hardly keep
-from screaming out aloud; but she felt that if she once began she could
-not stop herself, so she sat still, moaning, and the tears running down
-her face like rain. "Go, Jenny," said she, "and tell some one to come."
-
-"I can't, I can't, my hand hurts so," said Jenny. But she flew wildly
-out of the house the next minute, crying out, "Mary is dead. Come, come,
-come!" For Mary could bear it no longer; but had fainted away, and looked,
-indeed, like one that was dead. Neighbours flocked in; and one ran for
-a doctor. In five minutes Tom and Jem came home. What a home it seems!
-People they hardly knew standing in the house-place, which looked as if
-it had never been cleaned--all was so wet, and in such disorder, and
-dirty with the trampling of many feet; Jenny still crying passionately,
-but half comforted at being at present the only authority as to how the
-affair happened; and faint moans from the room upstairs, where some women
-were cutting the clothes off poor Mary, preparatory for the doctor's
-inspection. Jem said directly, "Some one go straight to Mrs. Scott's,
-and fetch our Bessy. Her place is here, with Mary."
-
-And then he civilly, but quietly, dismissed all the unnecessary and
-useless people, feeling sure that in case of any kind of illness, quiet
-was the best thing. Then he went upstairs.
-
-Mary's face was scarlet now with violent pain; but she smiled a little
-through her tears at seeing Jem. As for him, he cried outright.
-
-"I don't think it was anybody's fault, Jem," said she, softly. "It was
-very heavy to lift."
-
-"Are you in great pain, dear?" asked Jem, in a whisper.
-
-"I think I'm killed, Jem. I do think I am. And I did so want to see
-mother again."
-
-"Nonsense!" said the woman who had been helping Mary. For, as she said
-afterwards, whether Mary died or lived, crying was a bad thing for her;
-and she saw the girl was ready to cry when she thought of her mother,
-though she had borne up bravely all the time the clothes were cut off.
-
-Bessy's face, which had been red with hard running, faded to a dead
-white when she saw Mary; she looked so shocked and ill that Jem had not
-the heart to blame her, although the minute before she came in, he had
-been feeling very angry with her. Bessy stood quite still at the foot of
-Mary's bed, never speaking a word, while the doctor examined her side
-and felt her pulse; only great round tears gathered in her eyes, and
-rolled down her cheeks, as she saw Mary quiver with pain. Jem followed
-the doctor downstairs. Then Bessy went and knelt beside Mary, and wiped
-away the tears that were trickling down the little face.
-
-"Is it very bad, Mary?" asked Bessy.
-
-"Oh yes! yes! if I speak, I shall scream."
-
-Then Bessy covered her head in the bed-clothes and cried outright.
-
-"I was not cross, was I? I did not mean to be--but I hardly know what I
-am saying," moaned out little Mary. "Please forgive me, Bessy, if I was
-cross."
-
-"God forgive me!" said Bessy, very low. They were the first words she
-had spoken since she came home. But there could be no more talking
-between the sisters, for now the woman returned who had at first been
-assisting Mary. Presently Jem came to the door, and beckoned. Bessy rose
-up, and went with, him below. Jem looked very grave, yet not so sad as
-he had done before the doctor came. "He says she must go into the
-infirmary. He will see about getting her in."
-
-"Oh, Jem! I did so want to nurse her myself!" said Bessy, imploringly.
-"It was all my own fault," (she choked with crying); "and I thought I
-might do that for her, to make up."
-
-"My dear Bessy,"--before he had seen Bessy, he had thought he could
-never call her "dear" again, but now he began--"My dear Bessy, we both
-want Mary to get better, don't we? I am sure we do. And we want to take
-the best way of making her so, whatever that is; well, then, I think we
-must not be considering what we should like best just for ourselves, but
-what people, who know as well as doctors do, say is the right way. I
-can't remember all that he said; but I'm clear that he told me, all
-wounds on the skin required more and better air to heal in than Mary
-could have here: and there the doctor will see her twice a day, if need
-be."
-
-Bessy shook her head, but could not speak at first. At last she said,
-"Jem, I did so want to do something for her. No one could nurse her as I
-should."
-
-Jem was silent. At last he took Bessy's hand, for he wanted to say
-something to her that he was afraid might vex her, and yet that he
-thought he ought to say.
-
-"Bessy!" said he, "when mother went away, you planned to do all things
-right at home, and to make us all happy. I know you did. Now may I tell
-you how I think you went wrong? Don't be angry, Bessy."
-
-"I think I shall never have spirit enough in me to be angry again," said
-Bessy, humbly and sadly.
-
-"So much the better, dear. But don't over-fret about Mary. The doctor
-has good hopes of her, if he can get her into the infirmary. Now, I'm
-going on to tell you how I think you got wrong after mother left. You
-see, Bessy, you wanted to make us all happy your way--as you liked; just
-as you are wanting now to nurse Mary in your way, and as you like. Now,
-as far as I can make out, those folks who make home the happiest, are
-people who try and find out how others think they could be happy, and
-then, if it's not wrong, help them on with their wishes as far as they
-can. You know, you wanted us all to listen to your book; and very kind
-it was in you to think of it; only, you see, one wanted to whittle, and
-another wanted to do this or that, and then you were vexed with us all.
-I don't say but what I should have been if I had been in your place, and
-planned such a deal for others; only lookers-on always see a deal; and I
-saw that if you'd done what poor little Mary did next day, we should all
-have been far happier. She thought how she could forward us in our
-plans, instead of trying to force a plan of her own on us. She got me my
-right sort of wood for whittling, and arranged all nicely to get the
-little ones off to bed, so as to get the house quiet, if you wanted some
-reading, as she thought you did. And that's the way, I notice, some
-folks have of making a happy home. Others may mean just as well, but
-they don't hit the thing."
-
-"I dare say it's true," said Bessy. "But sometimes you all hang about as
-if you did not know what to do. And I thought reading travels would just
-please you all."
-
-Jem was touched by Bessy's humble way of speaking, so different from her
-usual cheerful, self-confident manner. He answered, "I know you did,
-dear. And many a time we should have been glad enough of it, when we had
-nothing to do, as you say."
-
-"I had promised mother to try and make you all happy, and this is the
-end of it!" said Bessy, beginning to cry afresh.
-
-"But, Bessy! I think you were not thinking of your promise, when you
-fixed to go out and char."
-
-"I thought of earning money."
-
-"Earning money would not make us happy. We have enough, with care and
-management. If you were to have made us happy, you should have been at
-home, with a bright face, ready to welcome us; don't you think so, dear
-Bessy?"
-
-"I did not want the money for home. I wanted to make mother a present of
-such a pretty thing!"
-
-"Poor mother! I am afraid we must send for her home now. And she has
-only been three days at Southport!"
-
-"Oh!" said Bessy, startled by this notion of Jem's; "don't, don't send
-for mother. The doctor did say so much about her going to Southport
-being the only thing for her, and I did so try to get her an order! It
-will kill her, Jem! indeed it will; you don't know how weak and
-frightened she is,--oh, Jem, Jem!"
-
-Jem felt the truth of what his sister was saying. At last, he resolved
-to leave the matter for the doctor to decide, as he had attended his
-mother, and now knew exactly how much danger there was about Mary. He
-proposed to Bessy that they should go and relieve the kind neighbour who
-had charge of Mary.
-
-"But you won't send for mother," pleaded Bessy; "if it's the best thing
-for Mary, I'll wash up her things to-night, all ready for her to go
-into the infirmary. I won't think of myself, Jem."
-
-"Well! I must speak to the doctor," said Jem. "I must not try and fix
-any way just because we wish it, but because it is right."
-
-All night long, Bessy washed and ironed, and yet was always ready to
-attend to Mary when Jem called her. She took Jenny's scalded hand in
-charge as well, and bathed it with the lotion the doctor sent; and all
-was done so meekly and patiently that even Tom was struck with it, and
-admired the change. The doctor came very early. He had prepared
-everything for Mary's admission into the infirmary. And Jem consulted
-him about sending for his mother home. Bessy sat trembling, awaiting his
-answer.
-
-"I am very unwilling to sanction any concealment. And yet, as you say,
-your mother is in a very delicate state. It might do her serious harm
-if she had any shock. Well! suppose for this once, I take it on myself.
-If Mary goes on as I hope, why--well! well! we'll see. Mind that your
-mother is told all when she comes home. And if our poor Mary grows
-worse--but I'm not afraid of that, with infirmary care and nursing--but
-if she does, I'll write to your mother myself, and arrange with a kind
-friend I have at Southport all about sending her home. And now," said
-he, turning suddenly to Bessy, "tell me what you were doing from home
-when this happened. Did not your mother leave you in charge of all at
-home?"
-
-"Yes, sir!" said Bessy, trembling. "But, sir, I thought I could earn
-money to make mother a present!"
-
-"Thought! fiddle-de-dee. I'll tell you what; never you neglect the work
-clearly laid out for you by either God or man, to go making work for
-yourself, according to your own fancies. God knows what you are most fit
-for. Do that. And then wait; if you don't see your next duty clearly.
-You will not long be idle in this world, if you are ready for a summons.
-Now let me see that you send Mary all clean and tidy to the infirmary."
-
-Jem was holding Bessy's hand. "She has washed everything and made it fit
-for a queen. Our Bessy worked all night long, and was content to let me
-be with Mary (where she wished sore to be), because I could lift her
-better, being the stronger."
-
-"That's right. Even when you want to be of service to others, don't
-think how to please yourself."
-
-I have not much more to tell you about Bessy. This sad accident of
-Mary's did her a great deal of good, although it cost her so much sorrow
-at first. It taught her several lessons, which it is good for every
-woman to learn, whether she is called upon, as daughter, sister, wife,
-or mother, to contribute to the happiness of a home. And Mary herself
-was hardly more thoughtful and careful to make others happy in their own
-way, provided that way was innocent, than was Bessy hereafter. It was a
-struggle between her and Mary which could be the least selfish, and do
-the duties nearest to them with the most faithfulness and zeal. The
-mother stayed at Southport her full time, and came home well and strong.
-Then Bessy put her arms round her mother's neck, and told her all--and
-far more severely against herself than either the doctor or Jem did,
-when they related the same story afterwards.
-
-
-
-
-DISAPPEARANCES.
-
-
-I am not in the habit of seeing the _Household Words_ regularly; but a
-friend, who lately sent me some of the back numbers, recommended me to
-read "all the papers relating to the Detective and Protective Police,"
-which I accordingly did--not as the generality of readers have done, as
-they appeared week by week, or with pauses between, but consecutively,
-as a popular history of the Metropolitan Police; and, as I suppose it
-may also be considered, a history of the police force in every large
-town in England. When I had ended these papers, I did not feel disposed
-to read any others at that time, but preferred falling into a train of
-reverie and recollection.
-
-First of all I remembered, with a smile, the unexpected manner in which
-a relation of mine was discovered by an acquaintance, who had mislaid or
-forgotten Mr. B.'s address. Now my dear cousin, Mr. B., charming as he
-is in many points, has the little peculiarity of liking to change his
-lodgings once every three months on an average, which occasions some
-bewilderment to his country friends, who have no sooner learnt the 19,
-Belle Vue Road, Hampstead, than they have to take pains to forget that
-address, and to remember the 271/2, Upper Brown Street, Camberwell;
-and so on, till I would rather learn a page of _Walker's Pronouncing
-Dictionary_, than try to remember the variety of directions which I have
-had to put on my letters to Mr. B. during the last three years. Last
-summer it pleased him to remove to a beautiful village not ten miles out
-of London, where there is a railway station. Thither his friend sought
-him. (I do not now speak of the following scent there had been through
-three or four different lodgings, where Mr. B. had been residing, before
-his country friend ascertained that he was now lodging at R----.) He
-spent the morning in making inquiries as to Mr. B.'s whereabouts in
-the village; but many gentlemen were lodging there for the summer, and
-neither butcher nor baker could inform him where Mr. B. was staying; his
-letters were unknown at the post-office, which was accounted for by the
-circumstance of their always being directed to his office in town. At
-last the country friend sauntered back to the railway-office, and while
-he waited for the train he made inquiry, as a last resource, of the
-book-keeper at the station. "No, sir, I cannot tell you where Mr. B.
-lodges--so many gentlemen go by the trains; but I have no doubt but
-that the person standing by that pillar can inform you." The individual
-to whom he directed the inquirer's attention had the appearance of a
-tradesman--respectable enough, yet with no pretensions to "gentility,"
-and had, apparently, no more urgent employment than lazily watching the
-passengers who came dropping in to the station. However, when he was
-spoken to, he answered civilly and promptly. "Mr. B.? tall gentleman,
-with light hair? Yes, sir, I know Mr. B. He lodges at No. 8, Morton
-Villas--has done these three weeks or more; but you'll not find him
-there, sir, now. He went to town by the eleven o'clock train, and does
-not usually return until the half-past four train."
-
-The country friend had no time to lose in returning to the village, to
-ascertain the truth of this statement. He thanked his informant, and
-said he would call on Mr. B. at his office in town; but before he left
-R----station, he asked the book-keeper who the person was to whom he had
-referred him for information as to his friend's place of residence. "One
-of the Detective Police, sir," was the answer. I need hardly say that
-Mr. B., not without a little surprise, confirmed the accuracy of the
-policeman's report in every particular.
-
-When I heard this anecdote of my cousin and his friend, I thought that
-there could be no more romances written on the same kind of plot as
-Caleb Williams; the principal interest of which, to the superficial
-reader, consists in the alternation of hope and fear, that the hero may,
-or may not, escape his pursuer. It is long since I have read the story,
-and I forget the name of the offended and injured gentleman, whose
-privacy Caleb has invaded; but I know that his pursuit of Caleb--his
-detection of the various hiding-places of the latter--his following up
-of slight clues--all, in fact, depended upon his own energy, sagacity,
-and perseverance. The interest was caused by the struggle of man against
-man; and the uncertainty as to which would ultimately be successful in
-his object; the unrelenting pursuer, or the ingenious Caleb, who seeks
-by every device to conceal himself. Now, in 1851, the offended master
-would set the Detective Police to work; there would be no doubt as to
-their success; the only question would be as to the time that would
-elapse before the hiding-place could be detected, and that could not be
-a question long. It is no longer a struggle between man and man, but
-between a vast organized machinery, and a weak, solitary individual; we
-have no hopes, no fears--only certainty. But if the materials of pursuit
-and evasion, as long as the chase is confined to England, are taken away
-from the store-house of the romancer, at any rate we can no more be
-haunted by the idea of the possibility of mysterious disappearances; and
-any one who has associated much with those who were alive at the end of
-the last century, can testify that there was some reason for such fears.
-
-When I was a child, I was sometimes permitted to accompany a relation
-to drink tea with a very clever old lady, of one hundred and twenty--or,
-so I thought then; I now think she, perhaps, was only about seventy.
-She was lively, and intelligent, and had seen and known much that was
-worth narrating. She was a cousin of the Sneyds, the family whence Mr.
-Edgeworth took two of his wives; had known Major Andre; had mixed in the
-Old Whig Society that the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire and "Buff and
-Blue Mrs. Crewe" gathered round them; her father had been one of the
-early patrons of the lovely Miss Linley. I name these facts to show that
-she was too intelligent and cultivated by association, as well as by
-natural powers, to lend an over-easy credence to the marvellous; and
-yet I have heard her relate stories of disappearances which haunted
-my imagination longer than any tale of wonder. One of her stories was
-this:--Her father's estate lay in Shropshire, and his park-gates opened
-right on to a scattered village of which he was landlord. The houses
-formed a straggling irregular street--here a garden, next a gable-end of
-a farm, there a row of cottages, and so on. Now, at the end house or
-cottage lived a very respectable man and his wife. They were well known
-in the village, and were esteemed for the patient attention which they
-paid to the husband's father, a paralytic old man. In winter, his chair
-was near the fire; in summer, they carried him out into the open space
-in front of the house to bask in the sunshine, and to receive what
-placid amusement he could from watching the little passings to and fro
-of the villagers. He could not move from his bed to his chair without
-help. One hot and sultry June day, all the village turned out to the
-hay-fields. Only the very old and the very young remained.
-
-The old father of whom I have spoken was carried out to bask in the
-sunshine that afternoon as usual, and his son and daughter-in-law went
-to the hay-making. But when they came home in the early evening, their
-paralysed father had disappeared--was gone! and from that day forwards,
-nothing more was ever heard of him. The old lady, who told this story,
-said with the quietness that always marked the simplicity of her
-narration, that every inquiry which her father could make was made, and
-that it could never be accounted for. No one had observed any stranger
-in the village; no small household robbery, to which the old man might
-have been supposed an obstacle, had been committed in his son's dwelling
-that afternoon. The son and daughter-in-law (noted too for their
-attention to the helpless father) had been a-field among all the
-neighbours the whole of the time. In short, it never was accounted for;
-and left a painful impression on many minds.
-
-I will answer for it, the Detective Police would have ascertained every
-fact relating to it in a week.
-
-This story from its mystery was painful, but had no consequences to make
-it tragical. The next which I shall tell (and although traditionary,
-these anecdotes of disappearances which I relate in this paper are
-correctly repeated, and were believed by my informants to be strictly
-true), had consequences, and melancholy ones too. The scene of it is in
-a little country-town, surrounded by the estates of several gentlemen of
-large property. About a hundred years ago there lived in this small town
-an attorney, with his mother and sister. He was agent for one of the
-squires near, and received rents for him on stated days, which of course
-were well known. He went at these times to a small public-house, perhaps
-five miles from ----, where the tenants met him, paid their rents, and
-were entertained at dinner afterwards. One night he did not return from
-this festivity. He never returned. The gentleman whose agent he was,
-employed the Dogberrys of the time to find him, and the missing cash;
-the mother, whose support and comfort he was, sought him with all the
-perseverance of faithful love. But he never returned; and by-and-by the
-rumour spread that he must have gone abroad with the money; his mother
-heard the whispers all around her, and could not disprove it; and so her
-heart broke, and she died. Years after, I think as many as fifty, the
-well-to-do butcher and grazier of ---- died; but, before his death, he
-confessed that he had waylaid Mr. ---- on the heath close to the town,
-almost within call of his own house, intending only to rob him, but
-meeting with more resistance than he anticipated, had been provoked to
-stab him; and had buried him that very night deep under the loose sand
-of the heath. There his skeleton was found; but too late for his poor
-mother to know that his fame was cleared. His sister, too, was dead,
-unmarried, for no one liked the possibilities which might arise from
-being connected with the family. None cared if he was guilty or innocent
-now.
-
-If our Detective Police had only been in existence!
-
-This last is hardly a story of unaccounted-for disappearance. It is only
-unaccounted for in one generation. But disappearances never to be
-accounted for on any supposition are not uncommon, among the traditions
-of the last century. I have heard (and I think I have read it in one of
-the earlier numbers of _Chambers's Journal_), of a marriage which took
-place in Lincolnshire about the year 1750. It was not then _de rigueur_
-that the happy couple should set out on a wedding journey; but instead,
-they and their friends had a merry jovial dinner at the house of either
-bride or groom; and in this instance the whole party adjourned to the
-bridegroom's residence, and dispersed, some to ramble in the garden,
-some to rest in the house until the dinner-hour. The bridegroom, it is
-to be supposed, was with his bride, when he was suddenly summoned away
-by a domestic, who said that a stranger wished to speak to him; and
-henceforward he was never seen more. The same tradition hangs about
-an old deserted Welsh Hall standing in a wood near Festiniog; there,
-too, the bridegroom was sent for to give audience to a stranger on his
-wedding-day, and disappeared from the face of the earth from that time;
-but there, they tell in addition, that the bride lived long,--that she
-passed her three-score years and ten, but that daily during all those
-years, while there was light of sun or moon to lighten the earth, she
-sat watching,--watching at one particular window which commanded a view
-of the approach to the house. Her whole faculties, her whole mental
-powers, became absorbed in that weary watching; long before she died,
-she was childish, and only conscious of one wish--to sit in that long
-high window, and watch the road, along which he might come. She was as
-faithful as Evangeline, if pensive and inglorious.
-
-That these two similar stories of disappearance on a wedding-day
-"obtained," as the French say, shows us that anything which adds to
-our facility of communication, and organization of means, adds to our
-security of life. Only let a bridegroom try to disappear from an untamed
-_Katherine_ of a bride, and he will soon be brought home, like a
-recreant coward, overtaken by the electric telegraph, and clutched back
-to his fate by a detective policeman.
-
-Two more stories of disappearance, and I have done. I will give you the
-last in date first, because it is the most melancholy; and we will wind
-up cheerfully (after a fashion). Some time between 1820 and 1830, there
-lived in North Shields a respectable old woman, and her son, who was
-trying to struggle into sufficient knowledge of medicine, to go out as
-ship-surgeon in a Baltic vessel, and perhaps in this manner to earn
-money enough to spend a session in Edinburgh. He was furthered in all
-his plans by the late benevolent Dr. G----, of that town. I believe the
-usual premium was not required in his case; the young man did many
-useful errands and offices which a finer young gentleman would have
-considered beneath him; and he resided with his mother in one of the
-alleys (or "chares,") which lead down from the main street of North
-Shields to the river. Dr. G----had been with a patient all night, and
-left her very early on a winter's morning to return home to bed; but
-first he stepped down to his apprentice's home, and bade him get up, and
-follow him to his own house, where some medicine was to be mixed, and
-then taken to the lady. Accordingly the poor lad came, prepared the
-dose, and set off with it some time between five and six on a winter's
-morning. He was never seen again. Dr. G---- waited, thinking he was at
-his mother's house; she waited, considering that he had gone to his
-day's work. And meanwhile, as people remembered afterwards, the small
-vessel bound to Edinburgh sailed out of port. The mother expected
-him back her whole life long; but some years afterwards occurred the
-discoveries of the Hare and Burke horrors, and people seemed to gain
-a dark glimpse at his fate; but I never heard that it was fully
-ascertained, or indeed more than surmised. I ought to add that all
-who knew him spoke emphatically as to his steadiness of purpose, and
-conduct, so as to render it improbable in the highest degree that he
-had run off to sea, or suddenly changed his plan of life in any way.
-
-My last story is one of a disappearance which was accounted for after
-many years. There is a considerable street in Manchester leading from
-the centre of the town to some of the suburbs. This street is called at
-one part Garratt, and afterwards, where it emerges into gentility and,
-comparatively, country, Brook Street. It derives its former name from an
-old black-and-white hall of the time of Richard the Third, or thereabouts,
-to judge from the style of building; they have closed in what is left
-of the old hall now; but a few years since this old house was visible
-from the main road; it stood low on some vacant ground, and appeared to
-be half in ruins. I believe it was occupied by several poor families who
-rented tenements in the tumble-down dwelling. But formerly it was Gerard
-Hall, (what a difference between Gerard and Garratt!) and was surrounded
-by a park with a clear brook running through it, with pleasant fish-ponds,
-(the name of these was preserved until very lately, on a street near,)
-orchards, dovecotes, and similar appurtenances to the manor-houses of
-former days. I am almost sure that the family to whom it belonged were
-Mosleys, probably a branch of the tree of the lord of the Manor of
-Manchester. Any topographical work of the last century relating to their
-district would give the name of the last proprietor of the old stock,
-and it is to him that my story refers.
-
-Many years ago there lived in Manchester two old maiden ladies, of high
-respectability. All their lives had been spent in the town, and they
-were fond of relating the changes which had taken place within their
-recollection, which extended back to seventy or eighty years from the
-present time. They knew much of its traditionary history from their
-father, as well; who, with his father before him, had been respectable
-attorneys in Manchester, during the greater part of the last century:
-they were, also, agents for several of the county families, who, driven
-from their old possessions by the enlargement of the town, found
-some compensation in the increased value of any land which they might
-choose to sell. Consequently the Messrs. S----, father and son, were
-conveyancers in good repute, and acquainted with several secret pieces
-of family history, one of which related to Garratt Hall.
-
-The owner of this estate, some time in the first half of the last
-century, married young; he and his wife had several children, and lived
-together in a quiet state of happiness for many years. At last, business
-of some kind took the husband up to London; a week's journey in those
-days. He wrote and announced his arrival; I do not think he ever wrote
-again. He seemed to be swallowed up in the abyss of the metropolis,
-for no friend (and the lady had many and powerful friends) could ever
-ascertain for her what had become of him; the prevalent idea was that
-he had been attacked by some of the street-robbers who prowled about
-in those days, that he had resisted, and had been murdered. His wife
-gradually gave up all hopes of seeing him again, and devoted herself
-to the care of her children; and so they went on, tranquilly enough,
-until the heir came of age, when certain deeds were necessary before he
-could legally take possession of the property. These deeds Mr. S----
-(the family lawyer) stated had been given up by him into the missing
-gentleman's keeping just before the last mysterious journey to London,
-with which I think they were in some way concerned. It was possible that
-they were still in existence; some one in London might have them in
-possession, and be either conscious or unconscious of their importance.
-At any rate, Mr. S----'s advice to his client was that he should put an
-advertisement in the London papers, worded so skilfully that any one
-who might hold the important documents should understand to what it
-referred, and no one else. This was accordingly done; and although
-repeated at intervals for some time, it met with no success. But at
-last a mysterious answer was sent; to the effect that the deeds were in
-existence, and should be given up; but only on certain conditions, and
-to the heir himself. The young man, in consequence, went up to London,
-and adjourned, according to directions, to an old house in Barbican,
-where he was told by a man, apparently awaiting him, that he must submit
-to be blindfolded, and must follow his guidance. He was taken through
-several long passages before he left the house; at the termination of
-one of these he was put into a sedan-chair, and carried about for an
-hour or more; he always reported that there were many turnings, and that
-he imagined he was set down finally not very far from his starting
-point.
-
-When his eyes were unbandaged, he was in a decent sitting-room, with
-tokens of family occupation lying about. A middle-aged gentleman
-entered, and told him that, until a certain time had elapsed (which
-should be indicated to him in a particular way, but of which the length
-was not then named), he must swear to secrecy as to the means by which
-he obtained possession of the deeds. This oath was taken; and then the
-gentleman, not without some emotion, acknowledged himself to be the
-missing father of the heir. It seems that he had fallen in love with a
-damsel, a friend of the person with whom he lodged. To this young woman
-he had represented himself as unmarried; she listened willingly to his
-wooing, and her father, who was a shopkeeper in the City, was not averse
-to the match, as the Lancashire squire had a goodly presence, and many
-similar qualities, which the shopkeeper thought might be acceptable to
-his customers. The bargain was struck; the descendant of a knightly race
-married the only daughter of the City shopkeeper, and became a junior
-partner in the business. He told his son that he had never repented
-the step he had taken; that his lowly-born wife was sweet, docile, and
-affectionate; that his family by her was large; and that he and they
-were thriving and happy. He inquired after his first (or rather, I
-should say, his true) wife with friendly affection; approved of what she
-had done with regard to his estate, and the education of his children;
-but said that he considered he was dead to her, as she was to him. When
-he really died he promised that a particular message, the nature of
-which he specified, should be sent to his son at Garrett; until then
-they would not hear more of each other; for it was of no use attempting
-to trace him under his incognito, even if the oath did not render such
-an attempt forbidden. I dare say the youth had no great desire to trace
-out the father, who had been one in name only. He returned to Lancashire;
-took possession of the property at Manchester; and many years elapsed
-before he received the mysterious intimation of his father's real death.
-After that, he named the particulars connected with the recovery of the
-title-deeds to Mr. S., and one or two intimate friends. When the family
-became extinct, or removed from Garratt, it became no longer any very
-closely kept secret, and I was told the tale of the disappearance by
-Miss S., the aged daughter of the family agent.
-
-Once more, let me say I am thankful I live in the days of the Detective
-Police; if I am murdered, or commit bigamy, at any rate my friends will
-have the comfort of knowing all about it.
-
-A correspondent has favoured us with the sequel of the disappearance
-of the pupil of Dr. G., who vanished from North Shields, in charge
-of certain potions he was entrusted with, very early one morning, to
-convey to a patient:--"Dr. G.'s son married my sister, and the young
-man who disappeared was a pupil in the house. When he went out with the
-medicine, he was hardly dressed, having merely thrown on some clothes;
-and he went in slippers--which incidents induced the belief that he was
-made away with. After some months his family put on mourning; and the
-G.'s (_very_ timid people) were so sure that he was murdered, that
-they wrote verses to his memory, and became sadly worn by terror. But,
-after a long time (I fancy, but am not sure, about a year and a half),
-came a letter from the young man, who was doing well in America. His
-explanation was, that a vessel was lying at the wharf about to sail in
-the morning, and the youth, who had long meditated evasion, thought it a
-good opportunity, and stepped on board, after leaving the medicine at
-the proper door. I spent some weeks at Dr. G.'s after the occurrence;
-and very doleful we used to be about it. But the next time I went they
-were, naturally, very angry with the inconsiderate young man."
-
-
-London: Printed by SMITH, ELDER & Co., 151/2, Old Bailey, E.C.
-
-
-
-
-FOOTNOTES
-
-1.  Wir pfluegen und wir streuen
-    Den Saamen auf das Land;
-    Das Wachsen und Gedeihen
-    Steht in des hoechsten Hand.
-    Er sendet Thau und Regen,
-    Und Sonn und Mondesschein;
-    Von Ihm kommt aller Segen,
-    Von unserm Gott allein:
-    Alle gute Gabe kommt her
-    Von Gott dem Herrn,
-    Drum dankt und hofft auf Ihn.
-
-
-
-
-TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
-
-Contemporary spellings have been retained even when inconsistent. A
-small number of obvious typographical errors have been corrected, and
-missing punctuation has been silently added.
-
-The following additional changes have been made:
-
- re-inter the inn                re-enter the inn
-
- borne at Altenahr               born at Altenahr
-
- hofft auf Ihm                   hofft auf Ihn
-
- Libbie fell very shy            Libbie felt very shy
-
- shut the door in                shut the door in
- Mr. Jenkins's face              Mrs. Jenkins's face
-
- his eyes was open               his eyes were open
-
- count-out and throwing          counting out and throwing
- down her money                  down her money
-
- altered breathings              altered breathing
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Woman and other Tales, by
-Mrs. (Elizabeth) Gaskell
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