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diff --git a/28636.txt b/28636.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 75ecd12..0000000 --- a/28636.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8128 +0,0 @@ -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 - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WOMAN AND OTHER TALES *** - -***** This file should be named 28636.txt or 28636.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/3/28636/ - -Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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