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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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