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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b500ac3 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69642 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69642) diff --git a/old/69642-0.txt b/old/69642-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3856eed..0000000 --- a/old/69642-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5209 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Woodburn Grange, vol. 2 of 3, by -William Howitt - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Woodburn Grange, vol. 2 of 3 - A story of English country life - -Author: William Howitt - -Release Date: December 26, 2022 [eBook #69642] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Sonya Schermann, Bob Taylor and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODBURN GRANGE, VOL. 2 OF -3 *** - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note -Italic text displayed as: _italic_ - - - - - WOODBURN GRANGE. - - - - - WOODBURN GRANGE. - - A Story of English Country Life. - - BY - - WILLIAM HOWITT. - - IN THREE VOLUMES. - - VOL. II. - - LONDON: - - CHARLES W. WOOD, 13, TAVISTOCK ST., STRAND. - - 1867. - - [_Right of Translation reserved._] - - - - - LONDON: - - BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I.—THE CLAVERINGS AND HERITAGES 1 - - II.—A WILD GALLOP 21 - - III.—AN ADVENT AND AN EXIT 50 - - IV.—LETTY’S WEDDING 77 - - V.—MILLICENT HERITAGE AT THE YEARLY MEETING 106 - - VI.—WHAT CAME OF MILLICENT’S VISIT 144 - - VII.—THORSBY’S FALL AND CONVERSION 182 - - VIII.—WORSE AND WORSE WITH HARRY THORSBY 219 - - IX.—ALL WRONG AT WOODBURN 255 - - X.—WOODBURN AND ROCKVILLE AT WAR 291 - - - - - WOODBURN GRANGE. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - THE CLAVERINGS AND HERITAGES. - - -On the morning after the frolic on the island, as the young friends -called it, when the breakfast was over, where the merriment of the -affair, and the return of Henry Clavering had been discussed, and the -ladies were left to themselves, topics were introduced which belonged -only to the initiated, that is, to the womenkind. - -“How well Mr. Clavering looks,” said Mrs. Woodburn, “and how kind and -amiable he is. What a joy it is to George to have him back again, and -you, Ann?” - -“Oh! I am very glad indeed that he is come back; poor Sir Emanuel -must have been so lonely by himself up in that great house.” - -“True,” said Mrs. Woodburn. “But you, Ann? Has he altered his -opinions at all?” - -Ann shook her head, the tears started to her eyes, and she said, “No, -dear mother, he is just the same; it is very sad.” - -“It is sad,” said Mrs. Woodburn; “but let us wait God’s time, my dear -child; I will still hope that so excellent a young man, with such -sense and such a heart, must come right at last.” - -Ann again shook her head, and said, sorrowfully, “I don’t know; pray -God it may be so,” and went on with her sewing. - -As a conversation between Mr. Clavering and Miss Woodburn happened -to come to my ear, as it does so often come, by means of the -little bird which carries so many arcana to authorly ears, I may -throw a little light on the mysterious words of Mrs. Woodburn and -her daughter. For a long time there had been a strong and tender -attachment betwixt Henry Clavering and Ann Woodburn. Mr. Clavering, -George’s old schoolfellow, and almost constant companion since, had -been most intimate at Woodburn Grange. The whole family loved and -admired him, for his sound sense, high moral feeling, and unassuming -kindly disposition. The attachment betwixt Ann and him had grown -up almost insensibly. He made a direct offer to Ann, and this was -warmly seconded by every one of her family. Independently of the -splendid fortune and title which Mr. Clavering would inherit, and the -fortunate nearness of his abode, no woman could expect to find in a -husband a more agreeable person, a more rich possessor of moral and -intellectual endowments and qualities. What, then, stood in the way? -There was an obstacle, to Ann’s religious and conscientious nature, -which in her opinion was insurmountable. Mr. Clavering had no faith -in Christianity: he had but a doubtful one in the existence of man -after death. - -Sir Emanuel Clavering, as we have seen, was accredited in the mind -of the common people round with the practice of the black art. For -that, of course, there was no foundation; but as there cannot well be -smoke where there is no fire, there was a certain foundation for this -notion. Sir Emanuel, in the ardent pursuit of astronomical science, -had acquired the most profound idea of the wondrous construction and -illimitable extent of the universe. That it was produced and upheld -in such beautiful order by some great invisible power co-extensive -with itself, he could not doubt; but he felt an invincible difficulty -in imagining that this could be any living being. He believed -it rather to be an intelligent principle or force producing all -things—the soul, as it were, of all visible creation. In a word, -he was what we understand by a Pantheist. If there were a God, he -conceived it must be a sentient principle rather than a concentrated -mind, inhabiting some localised vehicle perceptible even to spiritual -beings, if there were such. It was to him something illimitable, -unapproachable, incomprehensible: the infinite, impossible to be -conceived of, or perceived by the finite. For these reasons, he -disbelieved the whole narrative of God taking a human form and coming -down and dying for mankind. - -Mrs. Heritage, deeply grieved at such notions in a man otherwise -excellent and so agreeable, had felt herself drawn to meet him, and -reason with him on this head. Admitting that the infinite must be -incomprehensible to the finite, she asked him if he could understand -his own existence? Yet he did exist, and so did God. Had no such -scheme as this earth, and of human beings living in so complicated a -machine of flesh, blood, nerves, and their sensations, supported by -vegetables converted by digestive process into this flesh and blood; -of the growth of all animals, and of man himself; of all vegetables, -of the mightiest trees, with all their varied and delicious fruits -and essences—not been exhibited to intellectual beings capable of -observing it, she urged that such beings could by no possibility have -conceived the idea of so marvellous a creation. - -Sir Emanuel admitted the force of her arguments, and thanked her -most warmly for presenting them to his mind, but he could by no -means bring himself to believe, amidst the myriads of worlds which -the telescope revealed to the eye—far as its powers could open up -the inconceivable distances of the heavens—that God could condescend -to come down to this one little planet, and take upon himself the -weaknesses and inconveniences of humanity, and be insulted and killed -by his own creatures. It revolted, he said, the totality of his -reason. - -Mrs. Heritage reminded him that he had just admitted that everything -around him was beyond the grasp of reason, and he ought to content -himself with the unquestionable facts of a thoroughly authenticated -history. - -Sir Emanuel smiled, and said that he must think of that part of the -subject, and concluded the conversation by thanking Mrs. Heritage, -and asking her to go and look at some American deer that he had just -received from the United States. Mrs. Heritage often afterwards -renewed the conversation with Sir Emanuel, and he had always received -her remarks in the kindest and most courteous manner, but remained -apparently as fixed in his old views as ever. In these views Henry -Clavering, his only son, had grown up. They had never been expressly -taught him by his father, but he had listened to conversations on -these topics so often, and had such respect for the talents and -honourable nature of his father, whilst his mother had been lost to -him when very young, that these ideas were to him as part of his -mental constitution. - -It was this knowledge that had been Ann Woodburn’s stumbling-block -and most painful trial. Loving Mr. Clavering with all the strength of -her deeply-feeling nature, she could not bring herself to contemplate -an alliance with a man who was not a Christian, whatever else he -might be. Oh, many a long and deep struggle it had occasioned her; -many a restless and sleepless night; many a sorrowful, miserable -day. Sometimes her agony rose to such desperation that she had -locked herself in her bedroom and flung herself on the floor, and -rolled there in a frenzy of grief. All her eloquence had been used -to induce Henry Clavering to read works of our great divines on the -subject; all the arguments with which they had furnished her she had -zealously urged on him; but without any effect but that of making him -as wretched as herself. He told her that most gladly would he be -convinced, most earnestly he wished that he could think as she did; -but he could not, and would not conceal from her the truth. After -long endeavours and waitings on the part of Ann, and a state of mind -most wearing to Mr. Clavering himself, Ann had told him that she felt -that she never could consent to a union whilst their opinion on so -vital a point remained as they were and though to her it was like -dividing soul and body, she would not remain a tie upon him; she left -him free as the winds to choose some more fortunate and, as he might -think, more reasonable woman. - -To this proposal Henry Clavering would not listen. “No,” said he, “my -dearest Ann, I cannot change my heart and soul at pleasure. With you -or with no one must I unite my life. I feel the greatness of your -self-sacrifice, but it is not in your power to set me free. I am what -I am, and must be. My love for you is rooted into the deepest region -of my heart—neither you nor I can tear it out at will. I will wait -for you as long as you like—and you or I may change.” - -Sir Emanuel Clavering had seconded the proposal of his son with the -most zealous advocacy. He said he rejoiced at the idea of seeing -Cotmanhaye Manor lit up and warmed and graced by such a mistress. He -told Ann that she must not make herself and Henry wretched by silly -scruples. They were both as good as they could be, and they might -well leave all the rest to the winding-up of time. But then Sir -Emanuel let slip a word which would have spoiled all had there been -any chance of Ann’s acquiescence. - -“Come,” said he, “dismiss any more girlish fancies; let me see you my -dear daughter-in-law, and at Cotmanhaye we will make you as pretty a -little infidel as can be wished.” - -“God forbid!” said Ann, shuddering; and these words sunk deep into -her soul. She travelled on in thought to the time when she might be -the mother of precious children, and the idea of their growing up in -such an atmosphere of infidelity made her resolve irrevocable. In -vain had Henry Clavering assured her that in the event of a family, -she should indoctrinate the children as she pleased. Not a word from -him, and he thought he might answer for his father, should ever be -let fall to mar her maternal counsels. - -“But,” said Ann, “you would not even say one word which should accord -with my teachings, and what a predicament for the quick sagacity of -childhood!” - -Such was the state of things which had induced Henry Clavering to go -abroad, and had made him a wanderer through far countries for two -years. It was this which had made Ann Woodburn, however outwardly -calm and occasionally smiling, inwardly sad and anxious, and had -deepened with a proportionate force her religious feelings. As the -party of young people walked home in the evening of yesterday through -the woods, Mr. Clavering had gradually fallen behind with Ann, -and, taking her hand affectionately, had said, with a tone full of -feeling:— - -“What news, my dear Ann? Have your scruples vanished? May we hope for -better days?” - -“No, dear Henry,” replied Ann, sorrowfully. “My scruples, as you call -them, can never leave me; and I fear from your question that your -views have undergone no change.” - -“I must confess,” said Mr. Clavering, “that they have not.” - -“Then,” said Ann, after a long silence, “let us not renew that -subject. Let us leave it to God. But I say again, Henry, why should -you waste your existence in useless regrets and unrequited affections -for such a simple country maiden as me, when a brilliant world is -open to you, and so many fitter and livelier companions within the -scope of your choice? I do not say, forget me—let us be friends; but, -be free from all thought of me.” - -Henry Clavering held affectionately her hand, and they walked on in -silence; but he felt that hand quiver, and saw that she trembled -violently. - -“Well, let us leave this topic,” he said, “at least for the present. -I shall not make you miserable. We will still look onward, and hope.” - -Ann Woodburn gave him a look of most loving thankfulness, wiped her -tears from her face, and they went on, hand in hand, in silence -till they came up with their companions. Let us now return to the -conversation of the mother and daughters at the Grange. - -“I think,” said Letty, looking rather knowingly, “that ‘the course of -true love’ really seldom does run smooth.” - -“Yours, Letty, I think, runs smooth enough,” said Ann, brightening -up. “Really, it is not for you to say that, with Mr. Thorsby’s -declaration and your worthy parents’ consent given but yesterday.” - -“Oh!” said Letty, blushing and looking very happy, “I was not -thinking of myself, but of Millicent Heritage.” - -“Of Millicent Heritage!” exclaimed her mother and sister; “why, what -of her?” - -“I am sure,” continued Ann, “Dr. Leroy is over head and ears in love -with her. Never did I see a young man’s eyes always resting with -such affectionate expression on any one as his do on Miss Heritage; -and really she seems very fond of him; and a most accomplished and -amiable man he is.” - -“True, all true,” said Letty, taking a folded paper from her pocket. -“I told you I would read you a bit of Miss Heritage’s poetry; and -when you have heard it—well, then you can judge. This poem was given -to Miss Drury by Millicent, and she has allowed me to copy it.” - -“Oh, let us have it!” said both the ladies, “we never heard a line of -Quaker poetry—not even that Mr. Moon’s you mentioned.” - -“Moon James,” said Letty; “but now—” she began— - - - COME TO ME. - -Come to me, loved one, from thy heaven descending, - Come to me softly, with the falling dews; -Come when the shadows and the lights are blending, - And the heart fondly all its past renews. - Come to me, loved one, - As I sit and muse. - -Come to me in the hushed, dark midnight hour, - Fall with thy spirit gladness on my heart, -Let me embrace thee in the deathless power - Of that which once cemented cannot part. - Come to me, loved one,— - Spirit though thou art. - -Come to me, loved one, when the breeze is sighing, - And the far sky shines with a lonely light; -Where loving lips to loving words replying, - Make even this cloudy world divinely light. - Come to me, loved one, - Let our souls unite! - -For I would live, and love, and ever be - A part of that, and those, the sacred few, -With whom my heart has grown in such degree - Of deep endearment as the heavens renew. - Come to me, loved one, - Say—the dead are true. - -Come, when the days are dark, the storms are raving, - When friends are passing, and the heart is low, -Come, when the soul is sick, and inly craving - For what it hopes and dreams and fain would know. - Come to me, loved one, - In thy star-like glow. - -Come in God’s freedom of the souls set free; - No startling touch, no vision dread be mine— -Enfold me in thy presence—let me be - Soul of thy soul in all its life divine. - Come to me, loved one, - Whisper—thine, still thine! - -“Is that Miss Heritage’s?” asked Mrs. Woodburn. “Is it really? I did -not think so much was in her. It is rather lugubrious; but for so -young a girl, there is stuff in it.” - -“But you know, father says these Quakers are extraordinary people,” -said Letty. “You don’t know all at once what is in them.” - -“It is very good,” said Ann. “I should like a copy of it. It is much -better, I undertake to say, than that Mr. Moon’s.” - -“Moon James,” reiterated Letty, “but, as mother says, a little -lugubrious, and reminds me of that ‘sentimental’ Miss Bailey, who -says she does so love melancholy subjects.” - -“And who,” asked Mrs. Woodburn, “can this apostrophised beloved one -be? A mere girl’s fancy, I expect.” - -“No,” said Letty; “Miss Drury says it was some young fellow of a -cousin who got drowned in the Trent when he was about eighteen, -bathing. I wonder what Dr. Leroy would say to this poem?” - -“He would not mind,” said Mrs. Woodburn. “Miss Heritage is not -likely to pine in reality after a youth drowned years ago, with such -a good-looking and clever lover as Dr. Frank Leroy. Perhaps it was -a good thing the lad did get drowned. These Friends make too many -cousin-marriages.” - -“Dear mother!” exclaimed both the daughters, “would you drown off the -young Friends who were in danger of marrying cousins?” - -“No, no,” replied Mrs. Woodburn, laughing, “not so bad as that; I -would only send such mischievous young fellows to Botany Bay.” - -With a burst of good-natured merriment at Mrs. Woodburn’s proposal -for curing Quaker cousin-marriages, the conversation ended, Mrs. -Woodburn going away to her household duties, and Letty to copy her -poem. - -We have now given a pretty full picture of the life at Woodburn -Grange, and a few glimpses into Friend life, as it was then. The -reader, no doubt, thinks with us, that it is about time that our -story marched at something more than a goose-step, with which I -fully accord, and shall set forward with it accordingly after one -more observation. Many readers, accustomed only to the measured -manners betwixt masters and mistresses and domestic servants of -to-day, and especially in towns, will probably think the free and -often very personal speech of Betty Trapps out of nature, or, at -least, out of place. Those who lived then in the country, perhaps -some living there now, will recollect female servants who were -quite as free-spoken and as brusquely-unflattering as Betty Trapps, -and who, nevertheless, lived their twenty and thirty years in a -family. Their industry, fidelity, and attachment to the family -which they served, made a grand set-off against their unceremonious -freedom. Such servants were not only tolerated but greatly valued, -and it would have been a severe trial to part with them. A sort of -relationship, approaching to kinship, seemed to grow up with such -long and free service, and many of the old servants came to be -called by the name of the family they lived in. Very probably Betty -Trapps was often called in the village and neighbourhood, Betty at -Woodburns’, and, at length, Betty Woodburn. One such Betty I knew, -who used to hunt us children up, wash us, and pack us off to the -village school. I should never forget her, were it only for rubbing -my nose so hardly and crumplingly with the napkin after washing me. -But I remember her still more for many a kind office, many a token -of affection, many an absorbing story as we sate round the great -blazing wood fire in the house-place of a winter’s evening, and Betty -travelled back amongst the days and acquaintance of her youth, and -found things that were to her still “very cutting,” and which we yet -called for again and again. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - A WILD GALLOP. - - -Whilst these things were transpiring, and a pleasant intercourse of -friendship was progressing in and about Woodburn, things and feelings -of a very different character were laying the foundations of future -complications in the same, as yet, happy neighbourhood. - -Mr. Degge had taken and furnished a cottage in Hillmartin, very -near his own house, for his mother. The yet hale and cheerful woman -of fifty, was much fonder of a house more resembling in size and -furnishing her former humble habitation by the Castleborough meadows, -than the large house of her son called Hillmartin Hall. She could -not here work and get up linen, but she could spin and look after -a little garden. She must have some employment: and Simon Degge -knew that his mother would feel much more happy in a house of her -own than in a great house, even though her son and daughter-in-law -showed her every honour and all affection. She could come in and -out as she pleased, and yet have a house to return to where she was -mistress, and felt that everything was her own. She had one little -maid-servant, and her cottage was as cheerful and pleasant as plenty -and a love of neatness and order could make it. She had her little -garden, and cultivated flowers, especially the old English flowers, -pinks, double-daisies, daffodils, wall-flowers, polyanthuses, and the -like. The roses and honeysuckles that covered her garden porch and -peeped in at her windows, saw the balm-of-Gilead and egg plants and -geraniums looking out at them and seeming to say, “we are all happy.” - -Old Mrs. Degge, if old she could be called, had her cat and her -great green-baize covered bible, and she could do with such company -much better than some people can with whole crowds. Mrs. Degge—we -shall distinguish her daughter-in-law as Mrs. Simon Degge—had beyond -these things a source of satisfaction which, next to the happiness -and prosperity of her son and his family, was the grand satisfaction -of her life. Mrs. Degge was a Methodist, and was a most notable -acquisition to the society at Hillmartin. There were a considerable -number of Methodists in the village, but chiefly amongst the poorer -class. There was no appointed preacher at the chapel, but local -preachers, often working men at Castleborough, officiated there. -Sometimes there came a greater gun—a round-preacher, as he was -called—one appointed by Conference to preach at different places -within a certain round, or district. Besides these, there were -occasional amateur preachers—gentlemen, who felt it a duty to assist -in preaching the gospel. - -To these different labourers in the great field, there had wanted a -comfortable hostel, as it were, or house where they could receive -such rest and refreshment as the outer man requires, however strong -and unwearied the inner man might be. Exactly such a pleasant, -home-like domicile could Mrs. Degge now offer them. There the -preachers could go direct, with the feeling of a welcome as sincere -as it was acceptable. The poor servant of the gospel who had to -foot it from the town, up the long hill, often in sweltering hot -weather, often amid the snow and storms of winter, there found always -a cheerful hearth, a ready cushioned arm-chair, a smiling, pious -face, and a heart always ready to give the sure tokens of welcome -and comfort. There they could dine and rest betwixt the morning and -evening services: there they could take tea, and enjoy the company -of one or other of the esteemed brethren who dropped in. There was -a chamber, clean, snug, and quiet, if there were need of stopping -the night. The richer brother who came on horseback knew that his -horse was as welcome and would be ministered to as cordially in the -stable of Mr. Degge, as he himself would be at his mother’s. Mr. -Degge had assured them himself of this, and often stepped in and had -a friendly chat with these apostles of the people. He told his mother -that she was not to spare any expense in making her house a resort -most agreeable to her friends; and Mrs. Degge, knowing that this -was as genuinely said as she herself could say it, made her house -the pleasant resort of the prophets of her community as much as the -Shunamite woman of old did her little room on the wall to Elisha. - -A class met at Mrs. Degge’s house; and at any cottage in the village -where any members of the society lived, Mrs. Degge was a most -welcome visitor, always ready to carry help and comfort wherever -there was need, or sickness, or want of counsel. Mr. Degge not only -enabled her to do all that “she found in her heart to do,” but he -paid off an old debt on the chapel, for at that time of day, few -country chapels of the Wesleyans were without such a debt, whatever -they may now be; and he frequently contributed liberally, as well as -enabling his mother to contribute liberally, to the subscriptions -ever and anon called for. - -But these favours to the religious friends of his mother were -fresh aggravations of his offences against the fixed prejudices -of the neighbouring squirearchy. Sir Roger Rockville had driven -the Methodists with a high hand out of his village and beyond -his domains, and here was this odious money-bag of Castleborough -fostering them to the utmost of his and his old washer-woman -mothers’ ability in Hillmartin almost under his nose. Every -neighbouring squire sympathised with Sir Roger, and afresh denounced -Simon Degge as a nuisance. - -Of this feeling he had very soon a proof. In the churchyard at -Hillmartin was a large brick vault, which had belonged to the family -who had been years ago the owners of the house and land now purchased -by Simon Degge. As this family had long been extinct, and there was -ample space unoccupied in the vault, Mr. Degge proferred to purchase -this vault of the vicar. This gentleman did not reside at Hillmartin -but at Gotham, and preached once a week, that is, on the Sunday -afternoons, at Hillmartin. Mr. Degge made his proposal for the vault, -intending to arrange the leaden coffins of the old family at one end, -and build a wall across in front of them, so as to leave his portion -a complete vault of itself. The clergyman appeared quite willing, and -said he would consider what would be a fair price. But time went on, -and Mr. Degge received no answer. He applied again and again, but -the vicar had not come to a decision. At length he said, on being -pressed, that he was very agreeable to make over the vault to Mr. -Degge, but that he found there was a little difficulty in the matter. -This difficulty he did not explain, and the delay went on again for a -long time. When pressed as to where this difficulty lay, he said it -lay with the bishop. - -Mr. Degge at once wrote to the bishop, begging for an explanation -of the difficulty, and received a note from the bishop saying that -he was himself quite favourable to his desire, but that there lay a -little difficulty elsewhere. Mr. Degge pressed to know where, and -at length learned from the bishop that it lay with the vicar. This -opened his eyes; and he ceased any further application, saying he was -very foolish for entering into negotiation for a vault while mother -earth was ready in a most friendly manner to receive the remains of -himself or of any one belonging to him. His friend, Thomas Clavering, -however, on hearing of this piece of poor equivocation, told him -he might build a vault, as large as he liked, in the churchyard at -Cotmanhaye any day. - -Another circumstance greatly embittered the minds of the squires -against Mr. Degge. The difficulty which he found in procuring -the conviction of a person for any offence against his property, -or of defending any of his work-people or the villagers against -vexatious warrants issued by one or other of these gentlemen on the -suggestions of their bailiffs or keepers, induced him to desire to -be made a magistrate of the county as well as the town, which he -was. Sir Emanuel Clavering was willing at all times to give him -his support, but then he was only one opposed to half a-dozen, or, -if they chose to carry the matter to the sessions, many more. Sir -Emanuel strongly recommended this step, as although it would leave -him in a very slender minority, there were cases which they could -deal with on their united warrants, and their influence would be felt -altogether more effectual. This object was accomplished through the -intervention of Lord Netherland, the Recorder of Castleborough, but -to the infinite disgust of the squirearchy, of the stamp described, -all round. The epithets of “pauper” and “upstart” were heard once -more in every cadence of indignation. Here was this tradesman, this -unabashed, irrepressible plebeian, now not only planting himself -down in the very midst of them, but usurping their honourable -magisterial functions, and mounting the very bench hallowed by their -time-honoured dulnesses. Sir Roger Rockville was in a condition of -the most deplorable effervescence. - -Scarcely had this odious apparition started up amongst them, -and desecrated the arena of their justiciary operations, when -a circumstance occurred which startled them with a proof of the -inconveniences which they had to apprehend. - -A labourer and his son, a boy about ten years of age, was returning -from the fields towards Hillmartin village, and were following the -footpath through a copse, when the lad saw a thrush’s nest on one of -the lowest boughs of a spruce-fir, temptingly nestled close to the -stem, not more than a yard from the ground. Away he ran towards it, -his father stopping for him on the path. Arrived near the tree, the -lad as he ran struck his foot against something and fell, but jumping -up, said, - -“Oh father, here is a great chain!” - -He was stooping to lift it up, when the father cried out, - -“Let it alone! let it alone! it is a man-trap!” - -The boy stood terrified at the dreaded name of a man-trap. The -father advanced carefully, poking the ground, which was covered with -dead leaves, with a long pole which he picked up. When he came to the -spot where the boy stood, he saw part of a strong chain laid bare, -and lifting it up, discovered close to his feet a stout iron pin, -which was driven into the ground and thus confined the chain. Telling -the boy not to move, he gradually lifted the chain till he felt it -again fast. - -“There,” he said, “is the trap.” - -He looked round, and discovering a large stone, he fetched it, and -discharged it into the place where he supposed the centre of the -trap to be. At once with a horrid snap and clang, the jaws of the -huge trap sprung out of the concealing leaves and clashed together -with a direful shock. Father and son stood rooted fast with terror. -There was revealed the great iron engine in a half circle of at least -half a yard high, with its hideous iron teeth closed and grinning -terribly. - -“There!” said the father—“take care, Tom, how you goon a bird-nesting -into woods. If this had caught you, it would have snapped you in the -very middle of your body, and these devil’s teeth would have a’most -met in your flesh. Nobody but the wretch of a keeper as set it could -have got you out, and if you had bin by yersen you mun ha’ died afore -anybody had fun ye.” - -The man immediately, on reaching the village, asked permission to see -Mr. Degge, who heard the account with great indignation, and taking -another strong man with him, went to the place to see this truly -“infernal machine.” He found it within five yards of the footpath -through the copse, and expressing his astonishment and abhorrence of -an act then become as illegal as it was monstrous, he ordered the men -to take it and carry it to the village. There they deposited it by -the public stocks, and chained it, and made it fast by a padlock to -it,—fitting companions. The exhibition, and the place in which this -horrid engine was found, created a most indignant sensation against -Sir Roger Rockville and his keeper. Such were the diabolical machines -that used to be set in our game preserves half a century ago or more, -almost as commonly as the lesser trap is yet set for lesser animals. -Such is the wonderful effect of custom and of selfish interests, -that these dire engines of a demoniac cruelty could be planted -here and there in English woods, and which might catch and hold in -their hideous fangs human creatures, and keep them in inexpressible -tortures for perhaps twelve hours or more; whilst all the time the -gentlemen and the ladies on those estates were sleeping comfortably -in their beds. Such was the force of these man-traps, that they -required a man with an iron winch to open them by a mechanism -attached for the purpose. - -These barbarous machines had now been made illegal by act of -parliament, yet Sir Roger and others continued to use them, as I -know, for I myself had long after this period a narrow escape, when -botanizing, of being caught in one in the woods of Strelley, near -Nottingham; and that within a few yards of a foot-road! - -There was a great running from all parts of the village to see this -monument of the tender mercies of Sir Roger Rockville, and many were -the inverted blessings showered on his head. Very soon, however, -the keeper came in hot haste to reclaim his trap, and Mr. Degge -immediately apprehended him by warrant, and committed him to the -house of correction and hard labour for six months. - -The sensation with which the news of this event was received by Sir -Roger, and amongst his confreres of the woods and the bench, it -would be impossible to describe. The audacity of Simon Degge had -reached a pitch which surpassed all their bounds of conception. Why, -he was daring to treat them as they had treated the humble villagers -for centuries. At first there was a great talk of Mr. Degge having -committed a robbery, of having carried off Sir Roger’s property from -his own ground. But soon his cautious clerk advised him that Mr. -Degge, as a magistrate, could seize an unlawful instrument anywhere. -The man-trap was accordingly secured to the public stocks by strong -rivets, and there it remained for many years. Whilst the event was -fresh, many gentlemen and ladies drove or rode to Hillmartin to have -a look at this relic of ancient savagery. On the Sunday following, -hundreds of the working people, men, women, and children, flocked -thither to see it, and as they returned by Rockville Hall gave very -hearty groans for Sir Roger. - -There was a mighty consulting amongst this little group of the worst -kind of country squires; and it was resolved to sign unanimously, -of course, short of Mr. Degge and Sir Emanuel Clavering, an order -for the release of the keeper—but the cautious clerk of the bench -again advised against this. He represented that the man was legally -committed for a legal offence, and such was the spirit of Mr. Degge, -who was also now Mayor of Castleborough, that he would compel them -by mandamus to show cause for such release, and this would make the -affair still more widely commented upon. As it was, the liberal -newspapers far and wide had published the account, and made most -cutting criticisms upon it. They even called for the seizure of Sir -Roger by warrant, and his committal to the treadmill. Nothing for a -long time had excited such a paroxysm of public indignation. - -The breach betwixt the Rockville, Bullockshed and Tenterhook class -and that of Woodburn, Hillmartin and Cotmanhaye was enormously -widened. Simon Degge, Mayor of Castleborough, and county magistrate -of Hillmartin, was regarded as a pestilent demagogue of the first -rank: and all those who fraternized with him, as the Claverings, -Woodburns, Heritages, and indeed many of the more enlightened county -families, and the whole of the Castleborough population, were looked -on as a crooked generation, hostile to all the ancient institutions -of the country. In woods and kennels, and in several country halls, -Simon Degge and his friends were cursed before all the gods of -the game-laws; in town and village everywhere Simon Degge was the -hero of the people. All looked to him as their friend and powerful -protector. “One of ourselves,” they said, “he does not desert us, he -remains one of ourselves.” Whoever saw him, saw a man as little like -a restless mischievous demagogue as it was possible to conceive. For -a great part of the day he was in town, partly attending to his own -mercantile affairs, partly to the affairs of his office. When he got -to Hillmartin, he might be seen riding quietly over his farm, or at -home happy and gay as possible amidst three or four children, now -enlivening his house: or he was taking a quiet drive with his mother -and wife, as if he had no care on him, and no desire in him to do -battle with any one. Of the feeling abroad amongst the Nimrod class -and their followers, a circumstance soon occurred to make him more -deeply sensible. - -On a fine summer evening, George and Letty Woodburn had ridden to -Hillmartin, and Simon Degge had mounted his horse and accompanied -them a few miles further on the road beyond Gotham. Letty was mounted -on a handsome light bay mare, which had been newly purchased for her. -She was delighted with it, and praised the easy paces of the creature. - -“She is very handsome,” said Simon Degge, “but there is occasionally -a rather vicious look in her eye that I don’t like. I would advise -you to ride her with a martingale, and a curb-bit rather than with -that snaffle.” - -“Do you think so?” said Letty, “she is very fresh, certainly, but I -think quite gentle and amiable,” and she patted her on the neck. - -“She does sometimes cast side-glances with her eyes,” said George, -“that are a little suspicious, and she is rather hard-mouthed. I -shall adopt your advice, Mr. Degge, as safest.” - -At this moment Letty found it rather hard work to hold her in. She -had a short, dancing, impatient action, and seemed to long to be off -at a smart rate. All at once there was a blow on the high hawthorn -hedge on the left hand of the road, and off went the mare. She took -the bit between her teeth, stretched out her neck as straight as a -dart, laid back her ears, and away! George and Mr. Degge endeavoured -to spring on before her and seize her by the bridle-rein, but this -only set her off more impetuously than before. In vain Letty pulled -her in with all her power, and endeavoured to pluck, by a sudden -jerk, the bit out of her teeth. She held it as fast as if in a vice, -and went off, spite of her efforts, at a furious rate. George and -Mr. Degge were in the utmost alarm. Any attempt to pursue her only -made the frantic animal dash on more madly. One thing appeared in -Letty’s favour; there was a long, ascending, though not very steep -hill, and her friends trusted that the mare would wind herself before -she got to the top, and so allow herself to be pulled in. George, -without daring to gallop after her at full speed, yet kept on at a -smart pace, taking the grassy borders of the road, so as not to let -the flying animal hear him more than he could help. Mr. Degge, who -stopped a moment to look over a gate into the field, to see whence -the alarm had come, was now galloping rapidly after. Letty kept her -seat like a capital horsewoman as she was; and George felt confident -that unless something caused the mare to start aside or to fall, she -would go on safely home with her. But there might be people coming -who might attempt to stop the mare, and cause her to swerve suddenly -aside, or she might dash madly against one of the two turnpike gates -and kill both herself and rider. The speed at which she flew on was -frightful. God’s providence could alone prevent some fatal disaster. -In one place there was a broken spot in the middle of the road, over -which she sprang with a tremendous leap, but Letty sate securely, and -away! away! they went like the wind: the two gentlemen in breathless -terror following as near as they dare approach. - -Anon, the flying maniac steed came to a steep and considerable -descent. “If Letty keeps her seat there,” said or rather thought -George, “it will all be well.” He gazed with fixed eyes and suspended -breath as he himself sped along, expecting to see his sister lose in -that rapid, shaking descent, her equilibrium, and perhaps fly over -the horse’s head, but no,—unmoved, undaunted, as it would appear by -her steady figure and attitude, on she flew, a cloud of dust coming -driving thickly behind her. - -Again she dashed up another ascent, and now was on a long level -road—there! one of the toll-bars, but standing wide open. Through -dashed the horse and rider. Out rushed a woman—threw her arms aloft -over her head, and stood, as the two gentlemen rushed past, like -a picture of ghastly and petrified terror. On, away! away! the -next toll-bar, but this time the gate shut. George was all horror, -expecting, in chill desperation, a terrible tragedy. On went the -mare, without stop or stay, dashed against the gate, which flew -aside, and on they went, more frightfully than ever. “God send,” -said George in his soul, “that no waggon may be coming this way—the -furious beast would dash right upon it, and——” - -But now the race was nearly at an end. Four miles were they distant -when the mare started off, and now they were flying down the sandy -road under the cliff towards Woodburn Grange. As their horses made -little noise in the deep sand of the road, George and Mr. Degge -spurred on, and saw, as they turned the bend of the road, the mare -dash right up to the gates of the stable-yard, and stop in an -instant. George expected to see Letty pitched right over the yard -gates, which were not higher than the horse’s shoulder. She was -thrown only on its neck, and there lay a moment as if stunned. By the -time George rode up, she had recovered herself, and had sprung to -the ground, where she stood, pale, still, and as in a dream. George -sprung from his horse, and catching her in his arms, said, “Thank God -that all is well.” - -Letty made no answer, but broke into loud hysterical laughter, and -then fainted. Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn and the servants had all rushed -out as they saw the mare coming at mad speed, covered with foam and -dust, and Letty riding as if she had no fear, for she was silent, -and made no gesture of alarm. It was the courage of desperation; -one moment’s loss of self-control, and her destruction would have -been instant. Such had been the speed of that wild ride, that it had -occupied but a few minutes. George carried Letty in amid frantic -exclamations from the women that she was dead, was killed. But he -told them she was not hurt, and bade them be quiet. He laid her on -the sofa, and amid the bustle and the terror around her, there she -lay as in a trance, pale, fair, and beautiful as a spirit. - -In awhile she revived, and said, smilingly, that by God’s blessing, -she was quite well, but as she attempted to rise, she exclaimed, -“Oh! my head! my head! how dizzy! all is swimming—going round!” -and she lay down again. This dizziness returned at any attempt to -lift her head. Mr. Degge had already ridden off for Dr. Leroy, and -soon came gallopping back with him. He had brought such remedies as -suggested themselves to him, and proceeded to bathe her temples and -forehead with ether, which Letty found delightfully cool. He gave -her some anodyne or other, and requested her to lie as quiet and as -tranquilly in mind as possible. He said that the violent strain on -the nervous system, and excitement of the brain, would show their -effects for some time; and so it proved. The dizziness continued -still on any motion, and during the night she awoke repeatedly in -great alarm, and with piercing cries, dreaming she was again riding -that fearful race, though during it she had shown nothing but the -most calm courage. For some weeks she continued to feel the effects -of the great terror and effort through which she had gone. In all the -rushing fury of the flight, she said she had only prayed for a clear -course, and that the horse might keep its footing. - -The praises of her courageous bearing, and the indignation of -every one at the dastardly fellow who had occasioned the frightful -occurrence, were pretty equal. Mr. Degge, who had ridden to the place -immediately after and traced out the man, said he was a keeper of Mr. -Sheepshanks, and that he had no doubt the thing was purposely done; -though the fellow said he was only trying to start a rabbit, that -had gone into the hedge there. It was not long, however, before a -Hillmartin labourer, who had met the fellow in a public-house, heard -him say, that he thought it had been Mrs. Degge, and he had rather it -had been. As for that Miss Woodburn, however, he was glad she came -to no harm, for there was no woman in that county or the next that -could stick in a saddle like her. Mr. Degge and every member of the -Woodburn, and of hundreds of other families except Letty herself, -longed to be able to fix the charge of purposed mischief on him, but -it could not be done. - -By the time that Letty was all right again, George had, by repeated -trials with a curb bridle and martingale, ascertained that the -mare was perfectly manageable. It was clear that so long as she -was prevented getting the full stretch of her neck and head, she -would make no attempt at running away with her rider. George rode -her daily, and tried her in all ways, and pronounced her safe as a -rocking-horse, or a rocking-chair. Letty ere long mounted her again, -though amid much nervous terror of all the women at the Grange, and -found her most obedient to the hand, and became much attached to her. -The incidents of this chapter had, however, shown that the feeling -of antagonism in the Rockville party to our friends of Hillmartin, -Woodburn, and one or two other houses, had intensified itself to a -dangerous degree. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - AN ADVENT AND AN EXIT. - - -The visit of Elizabeth Drury at Woodburn Grange was a short time -of mutual endearment—one in which true souls and genial natures -recognise and draw near to each other. It would be difficult to say -which of the family came to love her most, or which of them she -came to love most; yet, if there was a deeper, more sympathetic -feeling, it was betwixt their guest and George and Ann. George -Woodburn looked on Elizabeth Drury as the perfect ideal of womanhood. -Her graceful and cheerful form, her bright and enjoying nature, -her clear intelligence and sunny spirits, were his increasing -admiration. Betwixt Ann and Miss Drury close and confidential -conversations revealed the kinship of their tastes, and their deep -aspirations after the same intellectual and sacred objects. They -made discoveries of thought and feeling which created in them a -sisterhood. But scarcely less did Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn and Letty -affectionately estimate their guest, or she them—the warm-heartedness -of Mrs. Woodburn, the sterling character of Mr. Woodburn, the joyous -impulsiveness of Letty. - -Miss Drury pressed the two young ladies to pay her a visit of some -weeks in Yorkshire; and as soon as the corn-harvest was got in they -took their flight thither. Their reception was as glowingly kind as -it was possible to be. Elizabeth Drury and her father met them at the -next town, and drove them to Garnside Farm, their home, in one of the -beautiful dales for which that part of Yorkshire is famous. The house -was old but spacious, handsomely furnished, and surrounded by a large -garden. A great extent of barns and out-buildings near it, presented -almost the aspect of a village. A wide prospect along a broad valley, -through which ran a rapid and clear stream, and, over the valley, -of dark woods bounded by long azure hills or fells, was a constant -charm for the eye from the windows. Mr. Trant Drury was a tall, -gentlemanly, rather sparely-built man of middle age, always clad in -a blue lapelled coat with gilt buttons, a pale yellow kerseymere -striped waistcoat, cord small-clothes, and handsome top-boots. He was -energetic and somewhat impetuous in his manner, whilst Mrs. Drury, -a tall, slight woman, had something timid and over-gentle in hers. -Miss Drury was the same natural and loveable person as they had seen -her on her visit. She seemed to form a free and unconstrained medium -betwixt father and mother, where otherwise the mother might have sunk -into a mere automaton, obeying with a certain dread the dominant -temperament of her husband. - -Mr. Drury was evidently a man full of the science and business of -his life. His bookcase displayed all the chief works on agriculture -and bucolics, from Virgil and Columella down to Tull, Kames, Arthur -Young, Sinclair, and the rest of the great georgic writers. His sheds -and waggon yards displayed all the varieties of modern machines -for facilitating the operations of rural culture. His barns and -cattle-houses, his stables, with their drainage and ventilations, -his threshing and winnowing, and chaff and turnip-cutting, his oat -and furze-bruising engines, his riding and team horses, herds of -Holderness cattle, and his flocks of mixed Cheviot and Merino sheep, -were all objects of a pride and interest that knew no bounds. The -Misses Woodburn, as the daughters of a gentleman farmer, must turn -out with him and visit them all. He very soon had them on foot all -over his farm, and pointed out his corn and grass lands, the evident -effects of his drainings on his higher lands and sluicings on his -meadows, his already-springing wheat, his exquisitely neat ploughing, -his turnips and beet-root. Elizabeth, ever at their side, endeavoured -to enliven their agricultural survey by, ever and anon, pointing out -some beauty of the landscape, or relating some amusing story of the -country people living around. - -She proposed in a few days to make excursions to the celebrated -ruins and lovely scenery of Riveaux and Fountains Abbey; but in -these excursions Mr. Drury gave them his company, and was so zealous -in pointing out all the beauties or curiosities of the place, -that Elizabeth had repeatedly to remind her father that they were -ladies whom he was ciceroning, and could not follow him across -water-meadows, or through rough dingles without wet feet or torn -garments. But Mr. Drury was deaf to all such remonstrances. He -pooh-poohed the idea of people coming to see places of interest and -not seeing them. “Come along, girls,” he would say, seizing each -by an arm, “you must see this,” or “you must see that,” and he bore -them away rapidly over rocks or across brooks, or through meadows up -to the knees in wet grass. Miss Drury protested that he would give -his friends their deaths, and the young ladies themselves, finding -hesitation useless, made the best of the situation, followed, full -of laughter, and glowing with warmth, and on the principle of Walter -Scott, that— - - “A summer night in greenwood spent - Is but to-morrow’s merriment.” - -Elizabeth Drury had, before starting, however, warned them to take -with them dry stockings and shoes, and on returning to their inn they -found the wisdom of the precaution. - -Time flew happily away at Garnside, and our young friends, at the -end of three weeks, returned to Woodburn, in raptures with their -Yorkshire visit; with redoubled attachment to Elizabeth Drury, and -with many amusing anecdotes of the _empressé_ temperament of Mr. -Drury, who was a high authority in the West Riding in all branches -of agricultural life and stock. He attended all meetings on such -topics, made speeches which were received with great respect, and -was consulted by gentlemen and noblemen on all questions of rural -economy. Yet, said they, his lease was on the point of expiring, -and Elizabeth had expressed a zealous wish that he might find a -farm somewhere in Nottinghamshire, not far from her new but beloved -friends. Mr. Drury had fallen in readily with the idea. He liked -the account of the country, as Elizabeth had given it to him, of -the people, and liked the idea of trying his skill on a new kind of -ground, and, perhaps, of introducing some proofs of it amongst a -fresh class and in a fresh field. - -“That,” said Mr. Woodburn, “is a thing not so easy of accomplishment. -Farms in a fertile and pleasant neighbourhood like this, are not -easily picked up. There are generally ten candidates for any one farm -that falls out.” - -The girls said thoughtfully that this was true. - -“Well,” said George, who had listened markedly to this conversation, -“I don’t know that such a project is impracticable. I have been told -by Barrowclouch of Bilts’ Farm, that he would not object to dispose -of his lease to a responsible man who could pay the whole money down.” - -“Did he say that?” asked Mr. Woodburn. - -“He did,” said George, “for he has another farm in Leicestershire, -which he prefers; and he had no doubt that his landlady, who lives in -London, would accept a good responsible tenant of his recommendation -as direct holder of the lease, so that he might be himself freed from -all responsibility, without which he could not give up the farm.” - -“Well, that is a chance, indeed,” said Mr. Woodburn. “I should not -have dreamed of such a thing.” - -The ladies were in raptures at the prospect of having Elizabeth Drury -so near them. They proposed to write off at once to her, and tell her -of this opening. - -“Not so fast,” said George, “let me see Barrowclouch, and know -whether he remains in the same mind. Men often talk of things when -they are not very definite or near, which they draw out of when the -thing is put nakedly before them.” - -George rode up to Bilts’ Farm, made the inquiry, and returned, -saying that Barrowclouch stuck to his expressed intention, and Ann -was authorised to write to Elizabeth with the news. This was done; -a prompt reply brought the joyful assurance that her father was -delighted with the opportunity, and would in another week be at -Woodburn Grange to see the Farm. Great was the exultation in the -Woodburn family. All rejoiced in the prospect of having Elizabeth -so near, and Mr. Woodburn in the prospect of so accomplished an -agriculturist coming amongst them. - -In the specified time Mr. Trant Drury made his appearance by coach -at Castleborough, where he was received by George and driven over to -Woodburn. His pleasure in the beauty and fertility of the country -was great. He thought it rather too much encumbered with wood and -hedges, but still it was a fine and, he was sure, a _responding_ -country to the cultivator. Mr. Woodburn and George accompanied Mr. -Trant Drury to Bilts’ Farm. This farm lay on the ascending ground -betwixt Woodburn and Hillmartin. It was well cultivated, and all -the fences in good order. It consisted of three hundred acres, one -half in tillage and the other in pasture. The house was a large -red brick house, tall and square, standing at the western end of -a large square garden inclosed in a high brick wall. The house -occupied the greater portion of the western end, and within the -garden was a perfect retirement. Near the house were flower beds, but -the principal part of the garden was occupied with vegetables, with -espalier fruit-trees along the walks, and fruit-trees on the walls. -A summer-house in one corner offered a pleasant place for enjoyment -in fine weather, and, as appeared very common in that part of the -country, an upper room gave a view over the country round, which was -shut out below. There were extensive farm buildings near the house, -and a fine collection of hay and corn ricks, showing the abundant -produce of the land. A few very tall and large oak trees grew about -near the house and farm-yard, but in general the farm was rather -naked of wood, and had unobstructed view of its finely ploughed -lands on its slopes, and flocks and herds tranquilly grazing in its -pastures. - -Farmer Barrowclouch received the gentlemen in a straightforward way. -Took them over the house, the garden, the buildings, the land. Showed -the drainage to be good; stated how many quarters of corn it would -produce per acre, how many tons of hay, how many sheep or cattle it -would graze; and detailed the chief principles of his management. -Mr. Drury, like a good man of business, who was about to make a -bargain, did not attempt to depreciate the farm, its situation, or -its produce, but was careful not to express any decided enthusiasm -about it. He said he would candidly avow that he thought it a good -workable farm; and proceeded at once to ask what Mr. Barrowclouch -expected as good-will, and what was the rental, as well as the rates -and taxes. All these particulars being given and entered by him in -his note-book, he took a day or two to reflect on the subject, and -they made their adieus. This day or two was spent at Mr. Drury’s -desire in riding about with George or Mr. Woodburn, or both, to -see the general condition of the farms around. Mr. Drury then paid -a visit alone to Mr. Barrowclouch, where, like an able negotiant, -he battled out the terms with him, and returned saying that he had -agreed to take and enter on the farm at Lady-day. The memorandum -of agreement was drawn up and mutually signed, and a more formal -one would be sent him from Mr. Barrowclouch’s solicitor. In the -meantime Mr. Barrowclouch would endeavour to procure the consent of -his landlady to receive Mr. Drury as sole holder of the lease—the -agreement being contingent on this circumstance. They had, he said, -settled the amount of good-will, and had formed a general idea of the -value of the crops in the ground to be taken at Lady-day, subject to -their then condition: and a valuer for each party and umpire were to -be agreed upon. These contingencies falling out favourably, which -he quite expected, they would see him at Bilts’ Farm at Lady-day. -Much satisfaction was felt and expressed both at Woodburn Grange -and Garnside Farm, and we may leave these affairs thus well and -prospectively arranged, to note one or two other events of the -interim. - -During the later autumn months, Henry Clavering said that his father -was far from being right. He had ceased to take interest in his -observatory, had not once gone out with his gun, was busy amongst his -papers, and, though apparently cheerful, had a sort of shadow on his -countenance that he did not like. He had wished him to consult Dr. -Leroy, but he said, “Why should I? nothing ails me.” Henry Clavering -had, however, asked Dr. Leroy to come and dine with them, and then -said, before his father, that he did not think his father was quite -well. He wished he would have a little conversation with Sir Emanuel. - -“What nonsense!” said Sir Emanuel; “I never was better. In good -spirits, indeed, I am not. Who can be, in this hangman weather, with -the air charged with vapour, with the heaviest atmospheric pressure, -and the watery clouds lying almost on the ground? In a gloom of -Cimmeria itself—how can one be bright?” - -Dr. Leroy, however, talked cheerfully with Sir Emanuel about his -health; felt his pulse,—said it was rather sluggish, but that there -was no organic mischief that he could perceive, but recommended -cheerful society, and everything that exhilarated the spirits. To -Henry he remarked afterwards that he must not say a word to lower -the tone of Sir Emanuel’s spirits, but that he must say to himself -privately that there was a tendency in his father to that mysterious -condition called a breaking-up, which required nothing so much as a -cordial and pleasant tone of life around the patient. His father, -certainly, had no specific disease—but at the same time he certainly -was not well. Mr. Clavering said that was precisely his own idea, and -he engaged Dr. Leroy to come up often, as if coming to see and chat -with himself, so that he might judge of his father’s actual state. -Whenever asked about his father at Woodburn Grange, Henry Clavering -said he could not say that he was well; he could not say, from time -to time, that he was so well as he had been. He perceived in him -a gradual decline of activity and good spirits, yet he would not -confess to any ailment. It made him very melancholy. - -In mid-winter, and at midnight, and such a midnight!—the winds -roaring and tearing furiously through the trees, snow driving -thickly before the tyrannous blast, darkness profound adding to the -bewildering effect of the whirling pother of the snow-flakes,—there -was a loud ringing at the lodge-gate of Fair Manor. Sylvanus Crook -looked out of his chamber window, half stifled by the blast that -rushed in upon him, and demanded who was there. - -“Mr. Clavering,” said the well known voice of Henry Clavering. “Call -up Mrs. Heritage, I must see her. It is a case of life and death.” - -“Certainly, certainly,” said Sylvanus, quickly shutting the window. -In a very little time he had the gates open, and told the coachman to -drive in. - -“The family have been in bed two hours,” said Sylvanus: “but -they will soon hear,” stoutly pulling a bell at the door which -communicated with the upper storey of the house. - -“I am afraid we shall greatly alarm them,” said Henry Clavering, in a -mournful tone. - -“No,” said Sylvanus, “no; such calls are not unfrequent here. My -mistress will understand it.” - -Very quickly there was a casement open, and a voice asked what was -wanted. - -“Henry Clavering desires to see our mistress,” said Sylvanus. - -“I will open the door,” said the voice, and in a very little time, -the great front door was thrown open, and a servant appeared with a -light. It was the tall prim form of Sukey Priddo, the housekeeper. - -“Oh! do come in, Mr. Clavering!” she said, as she stood guarding the -lamp from the furious wind that swept in the wild surges of the snow. -“What a night for any mortal to be out in.” - -“And yet I must ask Mrs. Heritage to venture into it,” said Mr. -Clavering. - -“She will soon be ready,” said Mrs. Priddo, as a matter of course, -leading the way into a large but very plainly-furnished room. She -then took Mr. Clavering’s cloak, which in the brief moment of -leaving the carriage, and mounting the stairs, was covered with a -white load. This she gave to another servant to shake out, and then -breaking up a large coal on the fire, called the “raking-coal” in -that part of the country, and which is put on to burn slowly through -the night, she immediately set on a small kettle to boil water for -coffee. In a few minutes a tray with tea-cups was set on the table, -and soon after Mrs. Heritage entered, wrapped in a thick cloak, and -with a black quilted hood on her head. As she advanced to take the -hand of Henry Clavering, he was struck with her resemblance to some -handsome middle-aged abbess, her fine, solemn, but kindly features, -showing with a monastic gravity and grace within her hood. - -“I fear thou bringest us but indifferent tidings of thy dear father’s -health,” she said, most sympathetically. Henry found himself unable -to reply, but sat down, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed -violently. - -“We must not grieve too much,” said Mrs. Heritage; “all things -are in our Father’s hand, and are surely for the best. He does -not afflict us willingly, and he afflicts us only to instruct and -improve. Let me give thee a cup of coffee; we must not delay.” -She handed a cup of warm coffee to Henry, which he took and held -mechanically. “Drink it, dear friend,” she said, “it will do thee -good on our way,” and ringing the bell, she said, taking up another -cup and handing it to the servant, “give that to the coachman: poor -man, what a night for him.” - -“And what a night for you!” said Henry Clavering. “How can I ask you -to brave such a night? and yet your presence would be such a comfort -to my dear father.” - -“Dear friend,” said Mrs. Heritage, smiling tenderly, “it is what our -dear Lord expects of us. In life or in death, it is our duty and our -privilege to follow Him. Now, shall we go?” - -Henry Clavering had set down his cup of coffee untasted. Mrs. -Heritage, however, compelled him to take it, and having taken one -herself, and tied a warm woollen handkerchief around her throat, she -led the way to the door. Henry Clavering gave her his arm down the -steps, where Sylvanus Crook stood with the carriage-door in his hand -ready to open it and shut them in, looking more like a pillar of snow -than a man, and the coachman on his seat, looking a living snow-pile. - -Silently rolled the carriage away through the mass of snow, and with -difficulty hitting the gateway, disappeared beyond. The story of that -drive of only two miles, if related at full, would leave only the -wonder that it was accomplished at all. Darkness, deep snowdrifts, -that blew down across the way, and the blinding, bewildering effect -of the snowstorm, amid the roar and fury of the winds, made every -step one of the highest daring, peril, and difficulty. Repeatedly -Henry Clavering had to get out, and assist the coachman in forcing -his way through some huge track of snow, or in rounding the extremity -of some fallen tree, without overturning into a ditch or down some -steep descent. But through all Mrs. Heritage sate calm and resigned, -expressing no care on her own account, but much concern for Henry -Clavering, the coachman, and the poor horses. - -At length the terrible journey was completed, and Mrs. Heritage, -taking off her upper garments, was conducted by Henry Clavering -to his father’s chamber. The whole household was up, and wearing -the solemn aspect, and moving about with the silent steps, of -those who seem to feel that the angel of death is amongst them. As -they ascended the ample staircase, hung with the portraits of the -ancestors of five hundred years, and embellished with steel casques -of rare workmanship, supported on consoles, and suits of ancient, -dusky, or more recent and brightly burnished armour, richly inlaid -with gold—suits borne valiantly by their owners in fields renowned in -English history, the grave Friend said to herself, “No, not all these -things can detain those whom the Lord calls. These all, in their -places, tell the tale of departures.” - -The next moment her conductor opened softly a chamber door and -as softly closed it after her. He led her forward through the -dimly-lighted room to the bed in which lay Sir Emanuel Clavering, -pale and wasted, but with a bright eye which turned towards her, -watching earnestly her approach, and as she drew near extending his -hand to grasp hers. Around were several relatives, whom Mrs. Heritage -did not particularly notice. - -“How kind, how very kind,” he said, warmly clasping her hand. “I -could not leave, without seeing you. How very kind to come at such an -hour.” His son had fallen on his knees by the bed, and laying his -clasped hands on his father’s arm pressed his face against it. In a -chair close to the bedhead Mrs. Heritage perceived Thomas Clavering, -Sir Emanuel’s brother, the rector, who rose up, took the left hand -of Mrs. Heritage, pressed it to his lips passionately, and sat down -again without a word. - -“Give Mrs. Heritage a chair,” said Sir Emanuel; “I want to talk to -her a little.” The rector gave her his chair with a rapid courtesy, -and fell on his knees by his nephew. - -“I did so long for you, dear Mrs. Heritage,” said Sir Emanuel. “I -wanted to say that your good wishes for me and labour with me, I -trust, are not quite thrown away. I have thought much and deeply on -all that you have said. Yes, truly this is a world in which gigantic -difficulties present themselves to our reason. I cannot surmount -those difficulties, but I have resolved to leave them. How can I or -any man fathom the depths of the Infinite? It is vain—it is foolish -to expect it—we will leave the illimitable to clear itself up in the -illimitable of existence.” - -“Thou dost well,” said Mrs. Heritage. - -“It is true, dear madam—it is true that as all visible things are -slipping away—as the foundations of this existence are sinking -beneath me, I feel the want of some hand to lay hold on; some power -to bear me up and save me. My nature calls for a saviour—and it is -only in the Saviour you have so often pointed out to me that I find -what my soul craves. They are the divine assurances which He gives -in the Gospel that alone meet the demands of my inner being. But oh! -my dear friend, can I hope to receive the gracious acceptance of Him -whom I have through the whole of a proud life rejected and refused to -believe necessary.” - -Mrs. Heritage took from her pocket a small New Testament, and read -the parable of the Prodigal Son. Then laying down the book on the -bed, she said: “Dear friend—dear brother, thou hast had the divine -answer of our blessed Redeemer. It is only the narrowness of our -conceptions, the coldness of our hearts, that render doubtful the -offer of Almighty Love. He who sent down His only Son to seek and -save sinners; He who came down to convince them by His death of the -infinity of love; He who said, ‘If thy brother sin against thee not -seventy, but seventy times seven, forgive him,’ shall He not forgive -more abundantly? ‘Fear not little flock, for it is the Father’s good -pleasure to give you the kingdom.’” Then laying aside her hood, she -softly sunk on her knees, and in her plain muslin cap, and with an -uplifted, and as it seemed, glorified countenance, as her hand still -retained that of the dying man, she said,— - -“Oh, dear Father, receive this dear son to Thy love and Thy eternal -peace. It is Thou who hast raised in his soul the cry for Thy help -and forgiveness. It is Thou who hast winged his soul with fears that -he might the more eagerly fly to Thy divine arms. It is Thou who hast -shown him the emptiness of earth, the fathomless gulf of absence from -Thee—the alone eternal and substantial foundation of all life. All -these are the calls of Thy measureless affection for Thy repentant -creature. And now, O Lord! let the mantle of Thy peace, the living -spirit of Thy consolation, fall on his heart. Into the mansions of -the glorified, into the assembly of the spirits of just men made -perfect, receive his tendered and regenerated soul. Amen!” - -“Amen!” said the quivering voice of the rector. “Amen!” said the -faint voice of the dying man. The ministering Friend, as she still -continued on her knees, felt a short, quick tremor of the hand still -in hers. She arose, stood calm and stately, and said, “All is well -with our dear brother, he has entered into peace, now and for ever. -Blessed be the Lord!” - -The two relatives knew the meaning of those words, and the tears -gushed forth in fresh torrents. Mrs. Heritage sat still and prayerful -by them. She knew that words were useless, but that the sympathy of a -loving friend was felt in such an hour. She did not leave the house -of mourning till the next morning, but assisted Mrs. Thomas Clavering -in making all the arrangements necessary on so solemn an occasion. - -“I knew he would not be long,” said Mrs. Clavering, “for a few weeks -ago he said one Sunday morning, ‘Let everybody go to church.’ Such a -thing he had never said in his life before.” - -As Mrs. Heritage drove home, the storm had spent itself. The covering -of snow lay deep over the landscape, and glittered in the pale -sunbeams falling from a sky of deep and cloudless blue. There were -tremendous drifts of snow which lay across her way, and fantastic -wreaths swept down from the hedges which formed caves and twisted -pillars of the radiant substance. But Mr. Heritage had despatched men -with spades to cut a way for the carriage through the drifts, and had -thus made the return easy through the hushed and reposing scene, in -keeping with the solemn tone of Mrs. Heritage’s feelings. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - LETTY’S WEDDING. - - -The wild, tempestuous weather, which attended the death of Sir -Emanuel Clavering, renewed itself at his funeral. In the interval -betwixt these events there had been calm, clear days. The snow -lay white and dazzling over the whole landscape; the nights were -brilliant with stars, which seemed to derive double lustre from the -frost. The funeral of Sir Emanuel took place in the little church -just by, and was conducted by a neighbouring clergyman, a friend of -the rector’s. None were invited but the immediate relatives, and the -tenants, who received a notice that their presence at the church -would be regarded as a mark of respect. But in the middle of the -night preceding the day of the funeral, the wind again rose, snow -began to fall, and the two elements seemed as if they had concerted -to make the scene as miserable as possible. The winds raged, the -snow fell, and drove as in a riotous madness. A stupendous ash-tree -on the lawn, under which Sir Emanuel had been fond of sitting and -reading, was blown down; the windows of his observatory on the hill, -on the north side were driven in, and a small turret on the house, in -which he kept piles of papers, fell inwards, and buried them. It was -necessary to cut a way from the hall door to the church door, through -the deep snows, amidst which six stout yeomen bore the coffin, -staggering in the howling, tossing winds. Such was the war of the -storm in the trees about the church and the rector’s house, that the -voice of the clergyman could scarcely be heard as he read the burial -service. The tenants, who came from some distance, gained their homes -with much difficulty. For three or four days the weather continued -its riotous character, and a winter of unremittent severity followed. -The snows covered the hedges of the fields so completely that, when -hard frozen, people walked over them as on a highway. Great numbers -of sheep were lost in the mountain districts, and many people in -different parts of the kingdom perished on heaths and moors amid the -snows. Farmers were at their wits’-end for food for their cattle, -which had all to be kept up. Alternate thaws and frosts hung from the -eaves of buildings icicles a yard or more long, and a sudden frost -following on driving rain, froze the wings of birds to their bodies, -and in that condition incalculable numbers were seized and destroyed. -The spring was late in coming, and was attended by floods, doing -immense damage in their headlong course. - -Such an outburst of weather at the death and funeral of Sir Emanuel -Clavering was certain to excite in the imagination of the country -people round the most awful ideas of the mortal exit of a man who -had acquired so mysterious a reputation. It is a favourite idea that -tempests of a fearful character often attend the departure of men -remarkable for their daring deeds in life—deeds not very scrupulous -regarding the rights or lives of men. Such was the case at the -deaths of Cromwell and many other great innovators or troublers of -the earth. The people believe that the great enemy of mankind thus -comes to signalise the departure of those who have been his devoted -servants on a large scale. The country people about Cotmanhaye, -and far around, did Sir Emanuel the honour of classing him with -this satanically distinguished tribe, though they could point to no -actions but such as were kindly and benevolent. - -But the black art was ample enough, in their opinions, for any -disturbances of nature, and this they firmly believed that he had -practised. The driving in of his observatory windows, the fall of -the little turret where he kept his mysterious papers, were facts -of a significance not to be withstood. They did not take into their -consideration that this tempestuous and severe winter extended far -beyond any influence or knowledge of Sir Emanuel—that it extended, -indeed, not only over the whole kingdom, but over the whole of -Europe. _Their_ knowledge and experience lay only within a very -minute circle; but then Sir Emanuel died, and those furious elements -battled over his dying head. That was enough. Many were the stories, -by the cottage and the village inn firesides, of the horrors of that -night at Cotmanhaye Manor. Of the strange sights, strange sounds, -burning blue of the fire-flames, the howling of dogs, and the strange -neighing of horses in the turmoil of the winds. - -It was said that all the clergy had been collected for miles round -to endeavour to lay the devil, and prevent him seizing on his -victim—the only clergyman present being poor, dear Thomas Clavering, -who was too much overwhelmed with grief to be able to articulate more -than a few words of affection, and of confidence in the love and -merits of the Saviour. It was said that Mrs. Heritage had been sent -for when all the efforts of the clergy failed, and that in the midst -of her prayers the turret fell, the observatory windows flew shivered -to atoms, and then all was still. The devil had thus gone off in a -fury of disappointment. All remembered the calm, clear weather that -attended this good woman back, and which lasted till the funeral, -when it broke out again, and raged on for days and weeks. Not all -the reasonings of a Bacon, or the eloquence of a Chatham, could have -driven from the minds of the rural population the fixed idea that -Sir Emanuel had been accustomed to practices of an awful character, -or that the pre-eminent piety of Mrs. Heritage had most signally -triumphed over the Prince of Darkness. For twenty years after, the -grand epoch of all relative dates was the hard winter when Sir -Emanuel Clavering died. - -In the little circle of Woodburn his departure left another gap. Of -late years Sir Emanuel had lived more and come out more amongst his -neighbours; and, where he had been known intimately, he was greatly -beloved. In the families of Woodburn, Heritage, and Degge, he left a -deep and lasting regret. - -During the winter Henry Clavering, now Sir Henry, was for the most -part in London, attending to family affairs. He had not ventured to -call at Woodburn Grange before leaving, being much affected by the -death of his father, the Claverings having strong family attachments; -but he wrote a very kind farewell through a letter to Ann, and to -her expressed a hope of a more cheerful prospect as regarded their -relationship to each other. Ann herself could not help cherishing an -idea that the change of sentiment in his father at last would operate -a change in his own mind. Several times in the course of the winter -he wrote more and more happily, and promised himself much of her -society in spring. - -As for other matters at Woodburn Grange, they were by no means dull. -The wedding of Letty with Thorsby was to take place in May, and -Thorsby was there every few days overflowing with fun and animal -spirits. Since Betty Trapps knew that this marriage was inevitable, -though she continued privately to shake her head over it, she -_endeavoured_ to be more respectful to Thorsby, out of respect to -Letty; but Thorsby’s ebullient temperament sometimes tried her very -hard, especially when he indulged himself with making merry over -the Methodists, which he was very apt to do when Betty was waiting -at table. Betty said “some people were hetter and some were heeler -(that is, irritable or calm in disposition). For her part, she did -not pretend to be ower heeler—tread on a worm, and it would turn—and -if people would pinch her, she was pretty sure, she said, to cry -out.” One day Thorsby was very merry over a master manufacturer -in Castleborough, who was a great leader amongst the Methodists, -and kept a horse for the use of the preachers who went into the -country round, and rather irreverently called it God’s horse. Betty -defended the title, and thought the profanity was in laughing at the -manufacturer who kept it. The next time that Thorsby was obliged by -the weather to stay all night at the Grange, he found that Betty had -made him an “apple-pie bed;” that is, she had turned up the upper -sheet to the pillow, so that, on getting into bed, he found himself -stopped half-way. This, however, was nothing to the expression of -her indignation conveyed to him by a frog, a bit of furze, or even a -wasp, being put into his bed. - -Thorsby, on another occasion, excited Betty’s wrath by asserting -that he thought he could preach better than a favourite preacher -of Betty’s. “Preach, i’ faith!” said Betty, as she shifted Thorsby -plate—“Ay, may be, as well as old Parson Markham, of Rockville, who -buzzes like a dumbledore[1] in a pitcher.” The conversation turning -on somebody who had been unfortunate, Thorsby remarked that people -ought not to expect to get on who did not exert themselves. “Oh, -beleddy”—a great word of Betty’s, meaning, by-lady, from the old -phrase, “By our lady”—Betty remarked, “I always see folks run to help -a lazy duck that lies on its back and quackles, while stirring ducks -may take care of themselves as they can.” - -Such little skirmishes, however, only served to enliven the -dinner-table; but Thorsby was quite as fond of quizzing his Quaker -acquaintance, which was nearly as repugnant to Betty’s feelings, who -had a profound admiration of Mrs. Heritage; and who said she did -not like to hear any religious people fleered at. Thorsby was very -merry one day at the expense of Sylvanus Crook, who, on hearing some -one say that he could find any text in the Bible that any one could -mention, had asked him where was the text which spoke of twenty-nine -knives and never a fork. The man, who was a Methodist too, had -stoutly declared that there was no such text, and Thorsby was of his -opinion. Betty Trapps said Mr. Thorsby had something to learn yet, -before he began to preach, for there was such a text, and it was -in the first chapter and ninth verse of the book of Ezra. Thorsby -jumped up and got a Bible, and found in the list of the vessels and -other apparatus of the Temple nine-and-twenty knives. - -“But,” said Thorsby, “it does not say ‘and never a fork.’” - -“It need not,” said Betty, “because there was never a fork.” - -“Ah!” said Thorsby, “I see now—that was Crook’s way of putting it. -But they are not always so sharp, these Quakers,” added Thorsby. -“There is Solomon Jordan, the draper, you should have seen him one -fine evening last summer; he is one of the plainest of the plain in -his attire. Slipping on his warehouse stairs, he had dislocated his -collar-bone and had his left arm in a sling. Sitting at his desk -near his shop window, he observed an old militia officer, who had -been at a festive dinner with the officers of his regiment, drop -his spectacles in the middle of the street. Being well charged -with wine, he made many vain attempts to stoop and take up the -spectacles. Every time he staggered past them, and turned round to -make an attempt equally hopeless. Solomon Jordan, believing the -officer to lodge at a house just opposite, hastened out, picked up -the spectacles, and offered his right arm to conduct the officer -to his lodgings. The old captain was full of the most grateful -acknowledgments of this politeness; but, on arriving at the door, -he looked up and exclaimed,—‘But, my dear sir, these are not my -lodgings; mine are away ever so far up the street.’ - -“They began to march on, but the officer perceiving that Mr. Jordan -was without his hat, suddenly stopped, took off his cap and feather, -and put them on the head of the astonished Friend. - -“‘Take it off!’ exclaimed Solomon; ‘take it off, friend!’ - -“‘No, no’, replied the officer, energetically, ‘I could not think -of such a thing as your going bare-headed up the street, and you so -extremely kind to me.’ - -“‘Take off thy cap!’ exclaimed Solomon, more loudly, ‘or I’ll not go -another step with thee.’ - -“As Solomon would not move, notwithstanding all the protestations -of the officer, and could not get away, the officer holding his -arm as in a vice; and as he could not raise the other arm, which -was lamed, to take the cap off, the scene became highly ludicrous. -The people in the street, and there were many, saw the dilemma and -began to laugh, and the boys to run from all sides, crying, ‘Mr. -Jordan is ’listed for a soldier,—Mr. Jordan is ’listed!’ There was -a great running, and soon a great crowd, in the midst of which the -Friend was angrily demanding the officer to take off the offensive -cap; and the officer, with equal zeal, protesting against the Friend -proceeding bareheaded. Sometimes the officer, for a moment, would -concede the point to Solomon and replace his cap on his own head, -but almost directly would whip it off again and put it on Solomon’s, -which was the signal for a fresh roar of laughter from the people. -Thus they advanced, now stopping and parleying—now moving on again; -the cap sometimes on the soldier’s head, sometimes on the Friend’s, -till they reached the officer’s lodgings with half the idle people -of Castleborough at their heels. I think,” added Thorsby, “Friend -Jordan will never again take compassion on a disabled soldier.” - -“More’s the pity that he did,” said Betty Trapps. “I’d have left the -intossicated old fellow to plough the street up with his nose afore -I’d ha’ helped him; but such things are just egg and milk for some -folks:” meaning that such satirical stories were delicious to Thorsby. - -In March a great excitement was occasioned at Woodburn by the -arrival of the Drurys to take possession of their farm. Mr. Drury -took up his quarters at the Grange during the transfer of the farm -with its crops and stock to him, for he had disposed of his own -stock to his successor, and took to that on Bilts’ farm, as the most -suitable to the country; for, with all Mr. Trant Drury’s theoretical -notions, he had great faith in the fact, that experience of the -character of a particular country and of the stock most suitable to -it, was a guide not to be lightly neglected. He brought with him, -however, a variety of new apparatus, and some teams and waggons, -which excited the curiosity of his agricultural neighbours. The -Woodburns, as friends of Mr. Drury’s, declined being engaged for -him, or either of them, as his valuer, but recommended Mr. Norton, -of Peafield. All seemed to go on well in the valuation, till one day -Mr. Drury came home very pale and ill, saying he had had a fall down -Mr. Barrowclouch’s cellar-steps as they descended to examine those -regions, and Mr. Drury blamed Mr. Barrowclouch extremely for having -his cellar-steps where there was a sudden turn in them unguarded by a -handrail. Mr. Drury had evidently received a great shake, though no -bones were broken, and was under the doctor’s hands for a fortnight, -greatly to his chagrin at such a crisis. He continually murmured to -himself that it was “most unfortunate—most unfortunate.” Mr. Woodburn -and George, however, assured him that in the hands of Mr. Norton all -would go as well as in his own. Mr. Drury looked rather astonished -at such an opinion, and shook his head incredulously. It was evident -that he thought his absence on the occasion, although all was left -in the hands of two most competent and honourable men, a grand -misfortune. - -All, however, came to an end as everything does; the valuation was -brought in, examined by Mr. Drury, and the amount paid with the -remark, that it might have been worse. Before Mr. Barrowclouch left, -and before Mr. Drury had got out again, Mr. Woodburn went up to say -good-bye to his neighbour of many years, the worthy old farmer. - -“I hope all has gone off satisfactorily,” said Mr. Woodburn, “in the -valuation. Mr. Drury seems satisfied.” - -“Oh, is he?” said the farmer; “then I am sure I ought to be. They say -it is an ill wind as blows nobody any profit, and bless me, if Mr. -Drury had not fallen down those cellar-steps, I don’t think I should -be worth so much by a thousand pound as I am. Pray God that he gets -all right soon, and then I’m sure we shall both be right.” - -“But how do you mean?” asked Mr. Woodburn. “Mr. Drury, of course, -could not interfere with the valuers.” - -“Well, no,” said Mr. Barrowclouch, laughing, “if valuers were always -as stiff and peremptory as they should be. But my man was rather a -soft one, and Mr. Drury is such a hurrying sort of man; bless me! he -seemed as though he would ride rough shod right over us all. ‘Oh!’ he -would say, ‘that is but a poor affair—that is not worth more than so -and so, and that’s hardly worth valuing at all;’ and he kept hurrying -along, saying time was precious, and had the valuers here and there -and yonder, quick as lightning. ‘Mr. Drury,’ said I, ‘let you and me -go away, and leave the gentlemen to their cool judgment, _we_ have no -business to say a word.’ ‘Oh no!’ he would say, ‘he must see how all -was done, and the gentlemen could settle all afterwards.’ But I could -see my man began to be quite flabbergasted, and to get a wonderful -opinion of your Mr. Drury, and my heart began to sink in me. I felt -that my effects would go very cheap, when, all at once, some taters -were mentioned in the cellar. ‘Let’s see ’em,’ says Mr. Drury, and -off he goes to the house, and calls for a candle. ‘Hold hard!’ said -I, ‘hold hard! have a care! the cellar steps are dangerous to a -stranger. Let me go first with a light.’ ‘Dangerous,’ said he, in his -off-hand way, ‘how can cellar steps in a decent house be dangerous?’ -Up he catches the light and hurries on. ‘For God’s sake,’ said I, -‘keep back;’ but it was no use, on he goes, holding up his light, and -down he goes bang to the bottom. Oh Lors! oh Lors! I made sure he -were killed, and I heard a dreadful groan, and there he lay as dead.” - -“You had no handrail, Mr. Drury says.” - -“No, that’s true,” said the farmer; “nor there’s been none since -it was a house, but I never heard of anybody afore tumbling down. -Everybody is warned when they come fresh, and they awllis tak’ a -light, and look where they goon’. But Mr. Drury is such a hurrying, -driving sort of a man; he seems as if he’d drive sun and moon, and -th’ seven stars afore him. However, I hope he’ll be no worse for it. -I am sure I’m not.” - -Mr. Woodburn thought there was something very characteristic of -his new neighbour in Mr. Barrowclouch’s remarks; he thought he saw -symptoms of the same on-driving, overweening temperament in him, even -in conversation. He was destined to see this only too fully confirmed. - -A few weeks saw the Drurys settled at Bilts’ Farm. The furniture had -arrived, and was all arranged—the house had become the fit residence -for a gentleman. Elizabeth Drury, to her great delight and theirs, -was living permanently amid her new friends. The reader can imagine -the joy of the young people,—the Woodburns and Miss Heritage: the -visitings and re-visitings at the Grange, at Fair Manor, at Bilts’ -Farm. Elizabeth Drury had her own handsome horse, and joined her -friends in their rides. The spring was advancing in light and daily -growth of beauty and sweetness. May, and the marriage of Thorsby and -Letty were approaching. Busy was the time at Woodburn Grange in the -various preparations for it. Thorsby was all life and jollity. His -house in Castleborough had been put into the most perfect order for -the great event. - -At length May sent forth one of her fairest, most lovely, and odorous -mornings for the occasion. There was an unusual bustle in every house -and cottage in Woodburn. All was expectation in every dwelling to -see the carriages driving up from the Grange, and there they came! -But why need we particularise the persons and details of the scene? -There, however, were three charming bridesmaids, Miss Woodburn, -Miss Degge, and Miss Drury, in their white dresses and white veils, -in the first carriage, followed by Sir Simon and Lady Degge, in -their most splendid equipage, then Mr. and Mrs. Drury, accompanied -by George Woodburn, and lastly, Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn, with the -lovely, blushing Letty, with somewhat flushed cheeks, and eyes in -which joy and tears stood together. Every creature was out as they -passed through the village, and bows and curtseys, and women with -apron corners to their eyes, and yet with the most beaming delight on -their faces. At the church appeared already, Harry Thorsby, in superb -costume, and his best man, Sir Henry Clavering, his mother, and two -or three other friends. The ceremony was performed by the worthy -old Thomas Clavering, assisted by Mr. Markham. All went off well. -You, dear readers, may see the carriages dashing away again down to -the Grange, and the streaming eyes, noddings, and waving hands of -the villagers, and dancings and skippings of the children; you may -imagine the _déjeuner_, and all the speeches, and—away the happy pair -are gone to the Highlands of Scotland, where, no doubt, they will -enjoy themselves amid the rocks, and hills, and lakes, and heather. - -Meantime a certain blank and another degree of shade, have fallen -on Woodburn Grange. When Letty, that sunbeam which was ever darting -here and there, yet always making bright the house, returns, it will -be to Castleborough. Not far off, to be sure, but still not exactly -at Woodburn. Meantime, Ann and George, too, have their friend, Miss -Drury, to enliven them by her genial and ever lively society. There -are frequent passings between the Grange and Bilts’ Farm, where Mr. -Trant Drury is always busy, though there really, just now, seems -little to do, but for the dews to fall, and the crops to grow in the -sunshine. - -A month after the wedding Mr. and Mrs. Thorsby returned, full of -happiness and health, to commence their new life in Castleborough—to -receive Letty’s new circle of friends. That over, things resumed -something of their old routine. Though Letty was no longer a -resident at Woodburn Grange, but of Castleborough, greatly admired -by a wide circle of new friends, yet she was frequently taking that -way in her drives, and bringing in floods of sunshine and life with -her; and she and Thorsby generally spent their Sundays there. Visits -to the town were more attractive to the Woodburns, and more frequent. -George always dined at his sister’s on market-day, and Mrs. Woodburn -and Ann found a considerable number of shoppings and bargainings to -make in town. Every one saw, and every one approved, the growing -regard of George Woodburn and Elizabeth Drury. No formal engagement -was yet made, but both at the Grange and at Bilts’ Farm it was looked -on as a settled affair, and that with mutual pride and satisfaction. -Then there was a little loving intercourse going on at Fair Manor. -Dr. Frank Leroy seemed to have found perfect favour with Miss -Heritage, and with her parents. Every one thought him a fortunate -fellow with such a lovely and amiable wife, and such a fortune -in view: and every one thought that he deserved both, for he was -extremely admired for the modesty which clothed so gracefully great -knowledge and talent, and esteemed for his good and generous nature. -Dr. Leroy was a member of the Society of Friends, though the orthodox -did not class him as a “consistent member;” for he dressed and spoke -as any other gentleman, having seen a great deal of the world at home -and abroad, and learned that religion does not consist of caps and -coats, but of great and ennobling principles. - -Taking a sober view of the facts just stated, a not very sanguine -calculation would conclude that in much less than two years there -would be a succession of weddings in this quarter; that Frank Leroy -and Millicent Heritage, George Woodburn and Elizabeth Drury, and, -perhaps, Sir Henry Clavering and Ann Woodburn, would have each and -all passed into the holy state of matrimony, and that all the romance -of that transitive epoch, that young elective life of love merging -into sober domestic union, would be passed and gone. Let us see. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Humble-bee. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - MILLICENT HERITAGE AT THE YEARLY MEETING. - - -Two years have passed, and not one of these marriages has taken -place. Causes have been at work which no one without the eye of a -seer could well have detected, and yet they all lay in the nature -of things. To trace out their operation into events will require -some considerable detail. Let us begin at Fair Manor. There we -saw everything tending apparently to a happy issue. The strongest -affection existed betwixt Dr. Leroy and the fair Millicent. Dr. -Leroy was every day extending his practice, and through it his -reputation and usefulness. The brief hours that he could steal from -his duties he spent at Fair Manor, and the happy lovers might be -seen taking their rides together in the neighbouring country. They -often alighted at Woodburn Grange and at Bilts’ Farm, and brought an -atmosphere of gladness with them. Many pleasant evenings were spent -by this little circle of friends at Fair Manor. The marriage of the -doctor and Millicent was regarded as a near event. In the very month, -however, of May of the year following Letty Woodburn’s marriage, -the Heritages went up to the Friends’ yearly meeting. Mr. and Mrs. -Heritage had frequently gone on these occasions, for Mr. Heritage -had his banking connections in the capital, at whose houses he saw -the most influential Friends in the kingdom, and Mrs. Heritage had -often what was called in the Friends’ language, a concern upon her -in relation to that annual national assembling. Her appearances, as -they are termed, in the ministry, both in inspirational speaking -and in supplication, that is, in preaching and prayer, were often -very powerful and extraordinary. In them, she often rose into the -loftiest and most solemn strains of eloquence. Sometimes these -depicted the general, spiritual, and moral condition of the Society; -sometimes they were directed to the states of particular individuals, -and opened up in such force and startling discernment the minor -trials, tendencies, temptations and perils of some person or persons -un-named, as caused a silence like death to fall on the meeting,—a -hush, in which the spirit of the Allseeing seemed to hover awfully -and palpably over it; and in one instance, suicide itself was said -to have been driven in horror from the soul which contemplated it. -Sometimes the very walls of the meeting-house have seemed to shake -under the rush and thunder of the power thus mysteriously let loose -over the assembly by the words of a woman, and the whole of the -assembled Quakerism then left the place in a still and reflective -mood, giving only a fervid shake of the hand to each other and -saying, but not till they had reached their particular abodes,—“that -was a very precious opportunity.” - -Around Mr. and Mrs. Heritage the most orthodox persons moved, and -the most orthodox spirit reigned during these great annual visits, -and they returned home much refreshed and invigorated for the daily -trials of life. Sylvanus Crook would say of them, on such occasions, -that the dews of Hermon and of Carmel seemed to have fallen on them, -and that they had evidently been in the Lord’s banqueting-house, -where His banner over them was love. - -They had never before taken Millicent with them; but they thought, -as she was likely soon to leave their protecting roof and guidance, -it were well that she should see one of these great gatherings; see -the order and wisdom in which everything was administered, and hear -the gifted ministers, both men and women, from all parts of the -kingdom, and make acquaintance with their particular friends and -their children. To Millicent, who had spent the greater part of her -life in the society of a country town, this visit was the occasion -of much delightful anticipation and some nervousness. She had heard -of the enormous wealth of some of the London Friends, and that their -style and mode of living much differed from their own simple habits. -She had an inward shrinking from undergoing the criticism of young -men and women who lived in the centre of life and intelligence, and -whose eyes must be quick to detect any of the slightest evidences of -country breeding. The roar and bustle of London at first confounded -her. All appeared hurry, noise, and the long-sought-after perpetual -motion. The millionaire bankers, the Messrs. Barrington, were the -London agents of her father. They lived a few miles out of town; but -at these times their houses were so full of their relatives and most -intimate connections, that they did not ask the Heritages to take -up their quarters with them. They went to airy and ample private -lodgings in the outskirts of the city, yet within a short drive to -meeting; and Mr. Samuel Barrington, Mr. Heritage’s particular friend, -and through whom he generally transacted business, invited them to -dine and spend the evenings with them after the meetings were over, -as often as, according to his phrase, was agreeable to them; and when -the yearly meeting was concluded, Millicent was to make a visit of -some weeks at their house. - -Except to a young lady Friend, no idea can be given of the impression -which the first view, and the subsequent attendances of the yearly -meetings, made on Millicent. The silence, the calmness, the order -with which several hundreds of Friends, men and women, assembled -was something very imposing to a youthful imagination. True, -Millicent had seen a simple image of this fuller assembly in the -quarterly meetings of her own county; but there she knew almost every -individual, their history and connections. There still existed a -plainness of manner and of mind, a sort of equality of character and -condition, that was familiar to her thoughts. Here came together a -class of persons of a position, a wealth, and an education to which -she was unaccustomed, and which made her feel as if she were a novice -in a higher range of life. - -The general aspect of the assembly was plain. The men were almost -wholly dressed in the peculiar garb and cut of the Society, still, -with differences, advancing from the most marked and almost grotesque -formality of costume to a very near approach to the fashion, but -the plainest fashion, of the outer world. Amongst the women, the -distinctions were still more prominent. There was a delightfully neat -and pure character of dress throughout the whole female side of the -meeting, for the men and women sate separated. A general tendency to -dove-colour prevailed in both dresses and bonnets; but the younger -portion displayed a smarter tint of colour, even in the dove, and a -certain elegance of style, especially in the bonnets, which showed -that taste, and even fashion, could no more be excluded from the -younger branches of the Friend world, especially the affluent Friend -world, than light and air. Youth and beauty would assert their -rights as strongly, if unobtrusively, as the more solemn attributes -of strong sense, and spiritual development in the older members. -Millicent saw with great delight the many charming faces enclosed by -the exquisitely neat and often white bonnets. Other young ladies had -abandoned the silk bonnet, and assumed straw ones, though of a modest -style, and furnished only with the simplest ribbon to tie them with. -No gay bows and ultra-fashion makes had yet dared to invade that -ancient sanctuary of plainness and worldly abnegation. In our day -all that rigid stand by the order in the outward has fallen like the -leaves of autumn, and has not reappeared at spring. The Friend has, -in a majority of cases, assimilated himself to the world; and it is -a still more satisfactory truth, that the world has, in many things, -interiorly assimilated itself to the Friend. - -During the course of the yearly meeting, both in the general meetings -for worship and in the separate meetings to which the ladies retired -to transact their own affairs—for Quakerism was the first institution -to invite woman to consider that she had affairs which she could -best transact, and that she had faculties intended for use—Millicent -saw, with the lively interest of youth, the long row of ministers in -the gallery at the head of the meeting, men and women, and heard, -sometimes with astonishment, the addresses there made by persons of -both sexes. None, however, appeared to greater advantage than her -own mother; and the high admiration in which she found her held, -gave her a deep feeling of gratified pride. In the women’s meetings -she was equally struck with the ability with which certain ladies -addressed this assembly on matters of business, and the practical -eloquence to which they had attained. These meetings, and the society -which she enjoyed in the evenings at different houses of wealthy -and leading Friends, impressed her with a high idea of the solid -merits and highly moral and philanthropic tone of the Society. She -heard continually discussed those great topics of humanity which -have always occupied the mind and aims of Friends. Opposition to -slavery and the slave-trade and to war, plans and operations for -the reform of prisons, for the extension of education amongst the -poor, were everywhere the subjects of conversation. On these points -there were manuscripts read and tracts handed about; and though they -had no foreign missions—not being able, on their peculiar religious -principles, to establish such works for the propagation of the faith, -or to co-operate in those established by other bodies of Christians, -unless they were directly moved thereto by the spirit—yet they had -“public Friends,” as they termed them, occasionally in America or the -West Indies, or elsewhere, who were under concern to minister there, -and from one or other of these favoured individuals had letters, -which they read for the edification of the rest. - -Such was the aspect which the Society wore to Millicent during the -continuance of the great meeting, which lasted about ten days. She -saw, wherever she went, abundant evidence of wealth in the houses -of the leading Friends, united to a certain plainness of style. -The furniture was good, handsome, and substantial, but made no -pretensions to splendour or fashionable elegance. No works of -art adorned those plain walls, except everywhere one large framed -engraving, which, from its subject, had procured for it the privilege -of breaking through the Friends’ law concerning painting and -sculpture,—a law with them as strict as that of the Jews,—it was the -Treaty of William Penn with the American Indians, from the picture -by Benjamin West. This engraving was familiar to Millicent in her -own father’s dining-room, and greeted her here in every considerable -house that she entered. It was well worthy of such an honour, as the -memorial, to use the words of Voltaire, “of the only treaty ever made -without an oath, and the only one which never was broken.” It was -deserving of its universal honour, as perhaps the grandest practical -disproof which genuine Christian principle has ever triumphantly -given to the sophistries and the aggressive crimes of _soidisant_ -Christian governments. It was deserving of this pre-eminent -distinction, for that great action represented by it still towers -aloft, high above the highest moral reach of the most vaunted -statesman. Well, therefore, was it in the Friends to break a little -law regarding art, in order to exalt that great eternal law of God, -“Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,”—whether that neighbour be -found in the city dwelling or in the wild forest of untutored man. It -was an everyday testimony of the Friends that they at least, on some -occasions, really believed the words of the Universal Father, that he -is no respecter of persons. - -But the Yearly Meeting was over, the Friends were hurrying -simultaneously away to their different, and many of them very -distant, homes by the long coach journeys of those days. Mr. and -Mrs. Heritage had taken a loving leave of their dear child, and -she was the guest of Mr. Samuel Barrington, at his suburban house. -This was truly a very pleasant home. It was a large old country -brick-house, in extensive grounds. The family consisted of Mr. and -Mrs. Barrington, one son, Edmund, and three daughters, all grown up. -Two other sons were married, and lived not far off. - -The routine of the household very much resembled that of Fair Manor, -and of most Friends of that day. Immediately after breakfast, the -whole household assembled, and Mr. Barrington read a chapter from the -Bible. This over, the carriage appeared at the door, which drove the -father and son to business. Dinner was on the table at two o’clock, -for the city Friends had not yet fallen into the fashionable evening -hours for that meal, even the fashionable hour being rarely later -than five o’clock. The gentlemen dined in town, and returned to tea -at six. During the day the ladies amused themselves for some hours -with their needlework and talk, or took Millicent for a drive, to -call on some other Friends, or made a shopping visit to the city. -After tea, Mr. Edmund would propose a ride, in which Millicent and -one or more—perhaps all—of his sisters would accompany him. They -were extremely kind to Millicent, and she soon found herself a -marked object of attention. Her peculiar style of beauty—that fair -complexion, and those clear blue eyes, in combination with those long -dark eyelashes, those finely-arched and jetty eyebrows, and rich -raven hair,—that oriental _tout ensemble_ was extremely piquant, -even to the sober young men of the Society. Then it was whispered -that she was a very wealthy heiress, which by no means detracted -from her charms; and the quiet grace and modesty of her manners were -in themselves, unknown to her, as _distingué_ as if she had been -Lady Millicent, instead of simple Millicent, the Friends’ Child, as -Elizabeth Drury was fond of calling her. - -By degrees it dawned on Millicent that there was a side to the -Friends’ life in London, at least amongst the opulent, of which -she had not dreamed. The Misses Barrington, in their conversations -in their own room, launched into topics which at first startled -Millicent. They asked her if she had ever been at the theatres, -the opera, or at morning and evening concerts? With unfeigned -surprise, she replied, “Oh, certainly not! Surely no Friends went to -such places!” A pleasant smile passed over the faces of the young -ladies: and one of them said to Millicent, patting her gently on the -shoulder, “Oh, dear Simplicity! don’t thou think we all do nothing -but attend meetings and study prison discipline!” They informed her -that they frequently went to all these places of amusement. - -“But,” said Millicent, “it is against the rules of the Society. -What do your parents say? How do you answer the Queries?” (Certain -queries put to and answered by each particular and monthly meeting, -regarding the maintenance of the principles and practices of the -Society.) - -“My dear child,” said the young Friends, “we leave the meetings to -settle all that. They don’t know, in fact,—though perhaps they guess -a little,—half of what we do: why should they? We don’t want to break -any moral law, but we cannot live like nuns in a convent when all the -London stream of rational enjoyments is flowing around us.” - -“But your dear parents,” said Millicent, “what do they say? Surely -they do not approve of such indulgences? Why, I heard Mrs. Barrington -myself in the meeting, advocating the careful adherence to our great -testimonies, as she called them.” - -“Dear, good mother!” said these gay young Quakeresses—“yes, she -advocates paying all the tithes of mind and conscience, though those -are the only tithes Friends will pay, and we advocate seeing a -little pleasure whilst we are young. We don’t interfere with her -advocacy, and only wish her not to interfere with our little snatches -of amusement.” - -Millicent was all astonishment; but her young friends assured her -that they were not peculiar in these habits—plenty of young Friends -indulged in the same. - -“But,” said Millicent, “are you not very much stared at in such -public places in your Friend’s dress?” - -There was a general burst of merriment,—“Oh, dear, dear little -Simplicity,” said they, “we should no doubt attract a tolerable share -of attention if we did sport our Friends attire there: but dress does -not grow fast to our bodies. We can suit the dress to the occasion. -We have the warrant of an apostle, for ‘being all things to all men.’” - -Millicent was shocked. “No, don’t quote Scripture,” she said, “that -is worse than all.” - -“Forgive me,” said the one who used the expression, “it was wrong; -but, dear Millicent, we do not wish thee to do anything which -thou thinkst is wrong. We, however, see no wrong in an occasional -indulgence in a good moral play or opera, with excellent music. We -believe them all capable of strengthening what is good in us.” - -Millicent shook her head. “But I want to know,” she continued, “what -your parents say—do they willingly permit you to go to such places?” - -“We don’t ask them,” said the young ladies, “we don’t want to hurt -their feelings; perhaps they know all about it, and don’t want to see -too deeply, knowing that we would do nothing really wrong. But to -leave them as unconcerned as possible, we generally go to tea at one -of our brothers and drive thence.” - -“Dear! dear!” said Millicent, with a sigh, “I wonder what my dear -mother would say to all this?” - -“Oh, she would not like it, of course,” said the ladies; “but then -she has lived so much in the country, and in the strictest habits of -Friendism, that she cannot do otherwise; and yet all these things may -be, and we firmly believe are, very innocent.” Edmund, their brother, -treated Millicent’s scruples still more lightly. - -“Why,” he said, “my dear young friend, you don’t pin your faith, -surely, on all the old fogies stickle about. We must rub a little of -this country rust off you. You don’t think we are such very wicked -people, do you?”—he forgot his thee and thou in speaking of such -things. “But never mind, don’t trouble your little head about these -matters; all things come naturally.” - -And Millicent saw every reason to regard her young friends as good -and conscientious in most essential respects. They were extremely -benevolent, and the sums of money which the family spent on -philanthropic objects would have been the fortune of many people. -They introduced her to Mrs. Fry, and accompanied her to that lady’s -meetings with the prisoners in Newgate. They took her to sewing -meetings, and book-meetings, and to many a poor abode that they -visited with comfort and intelligence. The more she saw of them, the -more her heart drew near to them in sympathy. They were what some -classed as “Gay Friends,” but they were, notwithstanding their vast -wealth and position, extremely unassuming and amiable. But gradually -Millicent found the circle of her intercourse widening and extending -into the regions beyond Quakerdom. She was invited with them not only -to drive to the houses of the married brothers, where a much more -affluent display of plate, wines, and men-servants was found, but -to their aristocratic friends at the West-end, where the splendour -and luxury astonished her. In these parties her young companions no -longer retained a trace of the Quaker costume or language. She had -observed that Edmund when going to business or to meeting, wore the -collarless coat; but when he went out in an evening it was in the -full dress of ordinary society. To avoid bringing their departures -too prominently before the eyes of their parents, they generally -dressed at the house of one of the married brothers, and there -changed their dress on their return. Did Mr. and Mrs. Barrington -know this? It was a point that Millicent could never clear up, but -she rather imagined that they were willingly ignorant, deeming that -a current was running in modern society, with which their children -mixed, which it was useless to oppose. They were early people, too, -like the past generation, and were in bed long before the young -people returned from their evening parties. - -By degrees the charms of this life had produced their effect on -Millicent. The scenes of luxurious affluence that she witnessed; the -tables loaded with silver or silver-gilt plate,—a fortune almost -in itself; the elegance of the whole array of the dinner-tables, -the trains of richly-liveried servants; the waiting perfect to a -movement; the after drawing-room company the music, the introduction -to distinguished people, the marked notice which she herself excited, -were not without their effect upon a poetical and sensitive nature -like that of Millicent Heritage. She seemed to live in a new world—in -a fairy land—in a dream rather than a reality, and was enchanted by -it, whilst she continued to ask herself whether she ought to be so. - -The time fixed for her visit had expired; but it was renewed at -the earnest request of her friends, both old and young. It was -impossible, they said, for her to go yet, she had seen nothing of -London. Her mother wrote rather anxiously, fearing that her dear -Millicent was leading too gay a life, though with such good people: -and yet, with a nice instinct, Millicent had not indulged in her -letters home in more than a dry and matter-of-fact account of her -doings. She had said that the Barringtons saw a deal of company, and -that the splendour and luxury that she witnessed was truly wonderful. -Her mother hoped that so much grandeur would not spoil her for her -own simple, unostentatious life at home. - -One day Mr. Edmund Barrington told Millicent that he had a treat for -her. On the morrow Handel’s “Messiah” was to be performed, and he had -taken tickets for his sisters, for her, and for himself. Millicent -objected that she was sure her parents would not like her to go, and, -therefore, they must please to leave her at home with Mrs. Barrington. - -“What!” said Edmund, “do you object to _sacred_ music? Can there -possibly be anything wrong in listening to music so pure, so -edifying, so ennobling? It was a perfect perversion of intellect to -object to such a thing. She must go. He would not hear of anything -else.” His sisters joined in the assertion, that it would be really -high treason against virtue itself not to go. Millicent made a strong -resistance, but it was a sense of duty battling with the innate -tastes of her nature, and she went. - -“Good and right as it is,” said Edmund Barrington, “don’t tell your -mother about it. She cannot surmount her educational prejudices, and -why trouble her?” - -Millicent was, however, troubled. Charmed as she was by the noble -music, which bore her away in a trance-like state to regions of new -and lofty pleasure, she could not avoid feeling that it was wrong -to conceal anything from her mother. The uneasy feeling hung about -her, and came often in the midst of the pleasantest society with a -painful start. But there were other influences at work, which, though -she did not perceive them, were yet acting upon her. Everywhere -Edmund Barrington was at hand to accompany her into society—to ride -out with her. To take her to see sights in London, with one or more -of his sisters. One evening he told her that he had brought her a -trifling present, and put into her hand a case containing a gold -bracelet with a diamond clasp of a very beautiful pattern. Millicent -was dumb with amazement. Recovering a little her self-possession, she -thanked him very earnestly, but said that it was impossible for her -to accept it. It was of too great a value as a gift from a friend -whose friendship had yet been of so short a duration. Besides, she -could never wear it. To her it would be useless. To some other friend -of his it might be different. - -The colour rose into Mr. Barrington’s face; he looked deeply -chagrined, and said, “Nonsense, Millicent! you can wear it at least -here, and at home you can keep it to remind you of your friends in -London.” - -“Oh! I shall never need anything to remind me of my dear, kind -friends; of the happy time I have spent here. But please excuse me -receiving this. My parents would regard it as a proof of my folly and -vanity.” - -“No,” said Mr. Barrington, “do not offend me—do not wound me by the -refusal of so trifling a token of my regard.” - -He hurried away, and Millicent, in deepest trouble, sought one of -his sisters to express her embarrassment to. She found them all -together, and with some confusion and with gushing tears, begged of -them to prevail on their brother to receive the bracelet back, and -give her something of less value as a testimony of his friendship. -But the sisters unanimously expressed their pleasure in the gift; -were charmed with its beauty, and told her that she thought too much -of its mere money value. They instantly clasped it on her wrist, -declared it was the very thing which she wanted on occasions of high -dress, and that she must by no means hurt their brother’s feelings -by declining it. They all, they said, wanted to give her something -in memory of this visit, so dear to them. They then replaced the -bracelet in its case, kissed her affectionately, and one of them -carrying it into her bedroom, placed it on the toilette-table. - -Dark and sleepless was that night to Millicent Heritage. The gift -of the bracelet opened her eyes to what they might have been opened -long before, the assiduous attentions and zealous courtesies of -Edmund Barrington: the more than ordinary affection of his sisters. -It was not the gift which startled her, but the state of her own -feelings which it revealed to her. She could not see without terror -the dimness of the image of Dr. Leroy in her heart, the space and -intensity which that of Edmund Barrington had assumed there. The -agreeable person, the courteous manners, the good sense and happy -gaiety of this young man living amongst the proud, the powerful, the -intellectually and politically distinguished, and destined to so -immense a fortune, and who had been ever ready to attend, to serve, -and to introduce her wherever enjoyment or social honour were to be -found, had gained, unperceived by her, a hold on her regard, that -only now stood revealed in its fullest proportions. What had made -her so supremely happy in this visit—in this family? The love, she -said to herself, of every individual in it. Mr. and Mrs. Barrington -had treated her with the tenderness of parents. The daughters had -received and treated her as one of them; the son, rather haughty -as he was generally deemed, had been all devotion—a devotion never -relaxing, always finding some new occasion of affording her -pleasure. And Dr. Leroy? She saw with shame and compunction that -her correspondence with him had declined. His letters had to her -been as frequent as ever, as glowing with affection; but hers—they -had certainly become fewer and colder. She had excused herself for -not writing oftener, or at greater length, by the constant round -of engagements in which she lived, and promised him ample details -of what she called her adventures on her return. But were these -assurances capable of satisfying the quick sense of a genuine lover? -She knew that they had not been so. Dr. Leroy had complained, though -in the gentlest and kindest manner, that the gaieties and friends of -London seemed to have utterly eclipsed the sober life and friends -of the country. Her mother had just now written that she was afraid -Millicent had not been very attentive to Dr. Leroy, who seemed out -of spirits, and who confessed that he seldom heard from her. - -All her sins rushed over her memory and conscience. She hastened -away to her bedroom: opened the drawer in which she kept the letters -of her family and of Frank Leroy, and saw to her shame that there -were many of his letters that she had scarcely read, many that she -had never answered—some, actually with their seals unbroken. She -sank down in a chair, and sat long motionless as in a trance. But in -that outwardly trance-like state, her mind was in full and fiercest -activity. She asked herself whether then such a change had really -taken place in her. Whether she was prepared to abandon an ardent -lover, a noble-spirited man, and to attach herself to a person of but -yesterday’s acquaintance? Could she really be so fickle! She wished -to break the spell of such strange enchantment, and seized pen and -paper, and wrote a long letter to Dr. Leroy—but on reading it over, -she was terrified to perceive that it was but words, words, words—the -old life and love did not exist in it. It was like the dead shell of -the chrysalis; the winged Psyche of love had flown—whither? Ah! too -well she could follow and find it. - -The bell for dinner rang, and she hurried down-stairs to take her -part in the conversation as best she might. Every one observed her -silence, her absence of mind, her want of interest in what was -passing—and asked whether she was unwell, or had received bad news. -To plead indisposition would have been to bring immediate attentions -of the most perplexing kind upon her. She had no ill-tidings to -report, and could only excuse herself by saying that she thought she -was a little fatigued. This enabled her to retire early, and she sat -down and wrote a letter to her mother, begging to be forgiven for -the apparent neglect to herself and Dr. Leroy, but that the bustle -of London, and its hurrying stream of engagements she thought had -turned her head. Ah! poor thing! it would have been well had this -been all, but they had turned something more serious—her heart! - -The next day was Sunday, and whatever might be the social licence -with which the young Barringtons overleaped the pale of the Society -on the week-days, they all duly attended the morning meetings in -town. The large family carriage regularly rolled up to the Meeting -House gates in Houndsditch, and they descended to an hour and a -half’s quiet musing of some sort in that still and shady tabernacle. -Ah! that stillness! How little it suited the beating heart and -tortured bosom of Millicent Heritage. Charles Lamb says, that he -once got into a Quaker’s meeting, and never went through such a -process of spiritual inquisition before. He found himself asking -himself more questions in one short hour, than he could have answered -in a year. What, then, must have been the condition of Millicent -Heritage? Loving, sensitive, educated in a straight line of honour, -purity, and truth—and guilty? Who shall depict the tortures of that -age-long hour and a half? She went back to her past life; to its -peace, its innocence, her deep enjoyment of existence and of nature; -and then she turned a scared eye on the purple cloud and rapturous -whirlwind in which she had lately been floating far above the -darkened scenes and landscapes of the past. What would her father -and mother say—if she proved faithless to her most solemn vows and -most sacred engagements? Could she really give up Dr. Leroy for -another—honourable, gifted, learned, and amiable as he was? Ay,—but -that was no longer the question; did she, could she still love him? -The answer from that strange thing, the heart, made a thrill of -sickening cold pass through her. There was a spirit in it that mocked -her; a chill that she could not cast out, a fire in another quarter -of it, that she could not command. A sense of despair seized her that -was more terrible than death, she prayed to die, and had she been -alone, could have flung herself on the floor and cried aloud for -death. - -At this moment arose an aged woman in the gallery opposite to her. -She was clad in the simplest garb of grey, and over it a light cloak -of grey. She laid down her bonnet of the most rigorously antiquated -make and material, and displayed a coarse muslin cap over her grey -hair, as destitute of grace or ornament as any human hand could -fashion. Millicent knew her well. She was from Ireland, and bore the -unambitious name of Grubb. - -In a voice clear and solemn she said, “Whosoever shall offend one of -these little ones, which believe in me, it were better for him that -a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were drowned in the -depth of the sea. Woe unto the world, because of offences! for it -must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the -offence cometh! Therefore, if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut -them off, and cast them from thee; for it is better to enter into -life halt and maimed rather than having two hands, to be cast into -everlasting fire. And if thy eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast -it from thee: for it is better for thee to enter into life with one -eye, rather than having two eyes, to be cast into hell-fire.” - -In words at first slow and with pauses between, as if the inspiration -came but measuredly, she described the soul that is tempted by -ambition, by avarice, or by the very affections of its weak nature to -sin against itself or others. She drew a picture of the temptation -of Judas Iscariot to betray even the Lord of Life, and the agonies -of remorse that afterwards seized on him. She described him as -hastening to the Sanhedrim, and flinging down the price of blood in -the midst of the priests and scribes, and their taunt of “See thou -to that!” As she warmed in her discourse, her language became rapid, -loud, impassioned,—her small, slender frame seemed to expand, to -rise, as it were, into the air, and all the spirit of the prophet -to be upon her. She drew a picture of the horrors of such a soul -as, tempted by the passions, pleasures, or even otherwise innocent -endearments of life, selling what was sacred for the mere coinage of -self-indulgence, and condemning the righteous to injury and woe! - -At that word she suddenly stopped. There was a silence as of death. -Dropping abruptly from the high-wrought pitch of inspired passion, -she went on again in a tone of deep and solemn feeling, saying, “If -there be a soul here thus hard beset by a strong temptation of any -kind, to betray the innocent, or to sell the pure uprightness of a -precious and immortal spirit, let him or _her_”—and she seemed to -pause on the latter word—“pause, and cut off the offending part, even -should it be some tender, quivering portion of the heart itself, -and preserve unscathed the glorious, eternal heritage of a good -conscience!” - -A deep sigh seemed to issue from the bosom of the whole united -congregation. There was a breathing, as of a sudden relief, and -after a short silence the meeting broke up. Many a one asked of his -neighbour for whom this could be meant. There was one who could -have answered; but she was walking as in a dream. She entered the -waiting carriage, shrunk into a corner, only answering, “A most awful -sermon!” to a question of what she thought of it. She hastened to her -chamber, and there found a relief in a torrent of tears, and in vows -to stand firm to her duty, if it cost her her life. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - WHAT CAME OF MILLICENT’S VISIT. - - -For some days Millicent’s distress was too obvious to escape the -attention of her loving friends. They inquired again if she were -ill; if she had received any bad news. She was obliged to lay the -blame of her pale face and sad aspect on indisposition, and then -had to fight off the doctor, who was eagerly pressed upon her. She -said a few days would set her right again she did not doubt; and -immediately pleasant drives and cheerful calls on agreeable friends -were recommended. The young ladies proposed a drive into the parks, -and their brother stayed to accompany them. Millicent had often -driven across the parks, and admired their pleasant greenness amid -the vast brick wilderness of London; but she had no idea of what this -drive was to be. About four in the afternoon they entered Hyde Park, -and found themselves at once in a splendid cavalcade of fine horses, -fine carriages, and fine people, which made Millicent exclaim, “What -is all this about? Where are all these fashionable people going?” - -“They are about what we are about; they are going just where we are -going,” said the Friends. “These are the aristocracy taking their -daily airing before dinner.” - -As Millicent gazed in astonishment at the trains of handsome -equipages, superb horses, superbly liveried servants, and handsome -young men and women on magnificent horses, she said, “And this every -day! What an amazing scene!” - -“Not so amazing,” said Edmund; “if you consider that whilst -Parliament is sitting, not only the wealth of a world’s commerce, -but that of all the rest of the United Kingdom, is being expended -here; that here you see the _élite_ of the British aristocracy of -rank, affluence, and political influence, assembled. Now you may form -some little idea of the riches, the beauty, and taste of England. The -world has no such scene besides—not the Prater at Vienna—not even -the Bois de Boulogne of Paris.” And as they drove, he pointed out -to Millicent, men of distinguished rank, ministers, judges, great -lawyers, ambassadors of different countries, great Parliamentary -orators, and the most noted beauties of the fashionable world. - -“Well,” said Millicent, “it is worth seeing; but I am glad I form no -part of it.” - -“Why not?” asked Edmund. - -“Oh!” said Millicent—“what a butterfly life it seems to me! What a -very gay whirligo-round; much finer than that of children at a fair; -but still, only a whirligo-round. I should grow as sick of it as a -squirrel must of his ever round-spinning cage. Give me a good brisk -canter over a moor, or along the bowery lanes of my own dear country.” - -“Yes! and why not have them too?” said her friends. “You do not -consider that these people are, during the season, cooped up in -London—many by severe and unavoidable duties, and this is the only -thing they can get at all resembling country exercise. In the autumn -they will return, most of them, to enjoy their gallops over moors and -along lanes, as much as yourself.” - -“I am glad of it,” said Millicent; “and yet thousands who have no -express business in town spend their springs and summers here, and -love this Vanity Fair dearly—this seeing and being seen—this rivalry -of fine horses, dresses, and equipages. I don’t envy them.” - -“Oh dear no! Nor do they envy you, Millicent,” said her friends. -“There speaks the Quaker in you; that might be your mother talking.” - -“I am glad you think I talk at all like my dear mother,” said -Millicent; “for if it be anything like her talk it must have some -sense in it. But, though I would not like this sort of life myself, I -am much obliged by your making me acquainted with it.” - -The trouble which Millicent had shown on account of the bracelet, and -the evident distress, from some cause, which was upon her, made her -loving friends apparently desirous to neutralise the effect a little -by the sisters bringing her elegant presents—beautifully bound books, -and the like. One of them asked her to let her look at her watch; -and, taking off the plain black woven band by which it was held, -replaced it by a pretty gold chain. - -“My dear creature!” exclaimed Millicent, “of what use would such a -thing be to me? I could never wear it. I should have a deputation -from the meeting to visit me about it!” - -“Never mind that,” said her friend; “thou must teach them better. -There is no particular sin in gold; it is a gift of God, and ought -not to be rejected; and the art which shaped it so beautifully surely -deserves encouragement.” - -“All that I grant,” said Millicent; “but only think of wearing a gold -chain in a meeting where the plainest ribbon or a bonnet-tie excites -remark; where an extra plait in a cap brings down a censure from some -zealous woman Friend or other.” - -“For that very reason,” said her companion, “you, who know better, -ought to break through this silly narrowness. It is time that Friends -gave up their sectarian notions that ‘they are the people, and that -wisdom must die with them.’” - -“Really that is _too_ bad for anything!” exclaimed Millicent, and -yet could not help joining in the general merriment. - -“Be sure, dear Millicent,” said her young friends, “these things -do good. It is high time that Friends should see that their real -strength lies in the great principles which they hold, and which have -already so usefully leavened society at large, and that their little -Phariseeisms are of no consequence whatever. Quakerism is like a fine -statue in a public place, on which the dust and smoke have fallen. -You may wipe off these sullying particles, and you only restore the -statue to its true beauty. The greater minds of our society are -beginning to see this, and one day there will come a grand reform -amongst us.” - -There were still other scenes to which these “gay young Friends,” -as they were called, wished to introduce Millicent, and amongst -these were the theatre, the opera, and morning and evening concerts. -Against these she made a stout stand. Her parents would greatly -disapprove of it, and she would not for the world grieve them. -Besides, plays and operas were vain, and often wicked things: they -could do her no good, and she did not wish to see them. - -“But,” said they, “you, Millicent, are a poetess and a lover of -knowledge. You ought to see life if you are to understand or describe -it.” - -“But I don’t want to describe it,” said Millicent. - -“Still,” added they, “you should know it, though it were only to know -it; you need not frequent such scenes again if you do not like them. -Don’t you know what the Grand Duke of Weimar, the friend of Goethe, -the great German poet, says? But you don’t read German. He often -said to Goethe that he would wish to experience everything. He would -like to go into the lower regions even for a few days, to see how -they manage to make their life there tolerable under such momentous -disadvantages. He remarked that we are told a great deal about the -life above, and which he thought not very attractive, if it consisted -almost entirely of psalm-singing and waving of palms; but he fancied -that such a very miserable existence as that of the lower world must -have called forth the utmost ingenuity of the human or superhuman -mind, and that there must be some very curious inventions down there.” - -“My curiosity,” said Millicent, “will never induce me to wish to -visit those regions. I am quite willing that the Grand Duke should -have the benefit of such a journey all to himself.” - -But what avails a strong will, and what are good intentions, when -the heart has received a treacherous bias. Millicent was every day -more drawn by affection towards Edward Barrington, more deeply -attached to his kind sisters, who, with all their gaiety, were full -of the truest feminine feelings, and active in the best duties and -philanthropies of life. In less than three weeks, which she still -spent with them, she had been at the theatre, the opera, at different -concerts, and at a _fête champêtre_ given in the suburban grounds of -a nobleman, where there was a splendid military band, and a concourse -of company, including even persons of royal blood; and her own -oriental style of beauty, which some ladies said looked more like -Arabia or Circassia than England, drew much attention. - -Millicent, in spite of her solemn and tearful resolves, had given her -heart wholly to her indefatigable admirer, Edmund Barrington, and -his sisters rejoiced in the knowledge of it. But Mrs. Barrington, -who could not be blind to what was so obviously growing up, was in -great trepidation and anxiety. She told both Edmund and her daughters -that she understood distinctly from Mrs. Heritage that Millicent was -engaged to a young physician in her own neighbourhood; and could -they think it honourable, knowing that, to draw away the young girl’s -affections whilst under their own roof and care? - -“Dear mother!” said her daughters, “hast thou seen the portrait of -this young man? We have, and Oh! such a simple, smooth-faced Simon -it is! Can it be right, can it be honourable to allow a young, -clever creature like Millicent to engage herself in her years of -inexperienced country life, to a person far unworthy of her; and to -retain such an engagement after a more extended knowledge of society, -to her life-long unhappiness? No, surely it is better that it should -come to a speedy end.” - -But Mrs. Barrington asked them if they were sure that Dr. Leroy -was such a mere cipher as they imagined? She understood from Mrs. -Heritage, who was a woman capable of judging, that he was not only a -very amiable, but very able and accomplished man.” - -The daughters had seen a miniature painted by a country artist, in -Millicent’s possession, and certainly a more smooth-faced, simple, -and meaningless portrait never was beheld. It was the picture -which they judged of, not the man, whom they had never seen. Mrs. -Barrington zealously resumed the matter with her son, but he replied, -that if Millicent liked him better than another, he was not going to -say to her, Stick to a man that you now find does not fill by his -image the extended horizon of your heart and mind. He thought she -ought to be left to judge for herself, in such a matter, most of all. - -“But, my dear Edmund,” said his mother; “canst thou say that thou -hast left her to judge for herself? Hast thou not done thy best to -persuade her, and to change her feelings in thy favour?” - -Edmund smiled. “Ah! dear mother! do we live in such primitive times -that we do not venture to pluck a flower because another person likes -it too? Are these the days of such disinterested chivalry? Are these -days of such self-denying ordinances? I think I could look round in -our meeting, and find some very high precedents for such exercise of -free will.” - -Mrs. Barrington was silent, for the truth came very near home, and -certain tender reminiscences rose up from long past days, and made -her reasonings rather faint. - -“But what shall I say to thy father? what—oh what! to our friends at -Fair Manor?” - -“Leave all that to me,” said her son; “nature is always in quiet -course of development, and brings things round which are not very -easy to the sharpest wits.” - -The hour of Millicent’s return home had come. She had arrived in May, -it was now the glowing middle of July. In those two months she had -lived ages. New worlds of life and thought had been opened to her: -but those had not made her happier. The time she had spent in London, -amid such distinguished and affectionate friends, was an enchanted -time, but there lay a heavy cloud on her heart as she turned her mind -homewards. There were revelations to make there, and things to be -done which made her very soul shrink, as it were, into a nut-shell. -Mr. Barrington, who was glad of a trip to Castleborough, and a visit -to his old friend and business connection, Mr. Heritage, accompanied -her in the mail, and during the few days that he stayed all was -outwardly bright. Millicent was enthusiastic in her expressions -of the kindness of her friends in town, and the pleasure they had -procured her, and Mr. Barrington was equally eloquent in the praises -of Millicent, and in his hope of her meeting them again. Then he -went; and then the heart of Millicent sank at what was before her. -She must come to an explanation with Dr. Leroy, and the whole truth -must burst upon her parents. Dr. Leroy had, of course, ridden over -at the first news of Millicent’s return, and she had met him with -all the kindliness that she could assume. But what assumptions can -pass muster with a genuine lover. There had been a great falling off -both in the frequency, the volume, and the fervour of Millicent’s -correspondence with Dr. Leroy. He had his friends in town, and from -them he had heard of the great regard in which Millicent was held -by the Barringtons, of their constant endeavours to amuse her, -of the admiration in which she was held by the gay society into -which she had been introduced, and of the assiduous attendance and -attentions of Edmund Barrington. So long as Mr. Barrington remained, -Millicent managed to stave off the explanation which must inevitably -and promptly come, for Dr. Leroy bore in his pale face and silent -manner, the plainest signs of the uneasiness within. - -The moment that Mr. Barrington left, Millicent mounted her favourite -dark bay mare, May Dew, and with Tom Boddily as groom, rode off to -Woodburn Grange. Much love, and many congratulations on her charming -visit to London, and welcomes back, met her there; but as soon as -she could she withdrew with Ann into her chamber, and laid open the -astounding change in her views and feelings. Ann Woodburn sat dumb -with astonishment and concern. Millicent flung her arms round her -neck, and with floods of tears begged her counsel and help in the -dilemma. Counsel! help! What counsel, what help could she give if the -heart of her friend had gone from her old love to a new. - -Ann at length said, with a most sorrowful expression, “Poor Dr. -Leroy! poor, poor fellow! what will he do? how will he bear it?” And -again she sat as if paralyzed. - -“But what shall I do, dear Ann Woodburn? What can I do?” said -Millicent. - -“That is more than I can tell,” said Ann. “God alone can direct you -in such a crisis. What is to be done! What _will_ be the end of it?” - -Millicent went on passionately to detail the growth and incidents -of this change, and to defend her new friends from the blame which -Ann charged them with, as dishonourable and selfish. At length she -said, “Dear, dear Millicent, all I can advise is, for you to do -nothing hastily. You have been dazzled by the splendours you have -been living amongst. Take time for reflection; in the quiet of the -country, in the midst of your old associations, a different view of -things may again present itself. Poor Dr. Leroy!—so good, so clever! -My dear friend, the sudden bursting upon me of this news is like a -thunderbolt. I cannot collect my faculties; all I can say is, don’t -hurry, don’t hurry, and pray earnestly, incessantly for help and -direction from God.” - -The friends parted with a long and tender embrace, and Millicent rode -off, not homewards, but to Bilts’ farm, to see whether she could draw -a ray of comfort or counsel from Elizabeth Drury. But the same scenes -took place there. After the first glad and mutual salutations and -embraces, Millicent laid open her trouble to her friend Elizabeth, -and with much the same result as with Ann Woodburn. Elizabeth Drury -opened her large grey eyes in astonishment, and then said, “Mercy! -What a fatality! what a perplexity! My dear Millicent, were there -no Dr. Leroy, I should congratulate you with all my heart on such a -connection. But—but!—what in the world is to be done? Millicent dear, -I can only say, with that wise, yet loving Ann Woodburn—take time. I -am no Quaker, you know. I have made no vows against ‘the pomps and -vanities of this wicked world,’ though I suppose somebody did for me -one day. I can understand to a certain extent the fascinations of -great wealth, great splendour of position, great gaiety and prestige -of fashionable life; but let me tell you, I prefer ten thousand -times this more simple and quiet existence here in the country. -What do we want more than we have? A lovely country, sufficiency -of means for enjoying it, friends dear, intelligent, and refined. -Ah! I do not think the luxurious and more glittering life of the -metropolis or of high aristocratic rank can compare with it. When the -attention is drawn every day over such a multitude of objects and -persons, where can it settle? how can the heart take root anywhere? -No—the heart—the heart, my dear friend, in that lies the fountain -of happiness, and a few deep, tender, and lasting attachments are -worth more than a million of mere superficial acquaintances. I say, -with dear Ann Woodburn—take time: weigh well your decision, dear -Millicent. Remember that it may be death, or worse than death, to a -most estimable man, and of much sorrow to others. Wait—wait! Here -you have the prospect of a happy and useful life; here you are loved -and honoured far round; here a great field of beneficent labour -awaits you. Oh! to me, how much more delightful than the grander but -hurrying, whirling life of busy London! How much more worth seem to -me the solid satisfactions of an affluent and intellectual country -life, than the pageantry and ornamental glare of a more artificial -existence.” - -Millicent assented with passionate tears to every word of her -friend’s discourse, but this did not help the real difficulty. Her -heart had undergone a revolution, and the stern decision stood -unabated before her. In a few more days Dr. Leroy had insisted on -a candid statement of Millicent’s feelings towards him; and she had -given it, though it cost her a terrible agony. She had no misgivings -as to the necessity of this avowal; but the rent that must be made in -many friendships, the sorrow which she knew it must bring upon her -parents, and the misery which it must inflict on one who had been the -friend of her earliest youth, came with a crushing weight upon her. - -Dr. Leroy left the house, and returned to Castleborough, but it was -with the look of a man who had received an inner death-wound. Pale -and silent, he seemed to casual passers as if he had suddenly become -actually black. There was the dark shadow of a dreary desolation on -his countenance. He made no complaint to any one, not even to his -own mother; he made none to the parents of Millicent, but they saw -in her pallid, compressed features, in her silent manner, and her -eyes, whence she strove in vain to remove the traces of weeping, -that something was going awfully wrong. It was not long before Mrs. -Heritage had managed to draw the astounding secret from Millicent’s -lips, on condition only that she should not write to the Barringtons -about it. - -What a millstone was that which thus fell on the sober happiness of -Fair Manor. Mrs. Heritage, with her high notions of Christian truth -and integrity, could scarcely realise such a calamity as the breach -of so sacred an engagement with so estimable a man as Dr. Leroy. -Earnestly did she entreat her daughter to pause before she made an -irrevocable decision. Earnestly, wrestlingly did she lay all this -great trouble before God. Scarcely less severe was the blow to Mr. -Heritage. He looked at the happiness of his daughter but as connected -with her reputation for integrity of purpose, and he deeply lamented -the cruel blow given to Dr. Leroy. Both Mr. and Mrs. Heritage wrote -affectionate and tenderly sympathising letters to him, hoping that -things might take a better turn. But the condition of Millicent -occasioned them not only severe grief, but deep alarm. Though she -had, in a mood of desperation, broken the link of attachment with -Dr. Leroy, it had brought no peace to her own bosom. She felt the -sharpness of the wound which she had given him. She recalled the long -season of their youthful friendship, and his many merits and virtues. -She saw in the grief of her parents the amazement and blame which -would run through the circle of her friends; but in vain did she -endeavour to recall a sense of the love which had flitted to another -object. The effect upon her was that of a wasting fire upon her -nerves. She had no violent illness, but she was miserable, pale, and -sad. The least sudden sound shook her like an electric shock. She was -the walking shadow of a withering despondency. - -Elizabeth Drury, who was shocked more and more at every fresh sight -of her, proposed that they should go together to some cheerful, -genial sea-coast; and as she had an aunt living at Ventnor, in the -Isle of Wight, she suggested to Mr. and Mrs. Heritage that they -should go there for a while. To this they eagerly agreed; and the -two young ladies, with Tom Boddily as groom, set out for the south -without delay. As for Millicent, she would have gone to the north or -south Pole, or to any place, if she could have hoped to run away from -her own feelings and reflections. - -A few days saw them located on the cliffs of Ventnor, overlooking -the ship-studded sea, and amid the lively stir of gay summer -visitors. Elizabeth Drury put forth all her powers of vivacity and -entertainment. She showed her friend about, strolled with her along -the margin of the sounding, dashing waves, read to her, and engaged -horses on which to range the coast and the hills in every direction, -from Sandown to Blackgang Chine, from St. Laurence’s minikin church -to Appuldercombe, Godshill, or the ruins of Carisbrook. They had -a handsome villa to themselves standing in a pleasant shrubbery, -overlooking the town and sea, and out of the way of the general -traffic. They could be in a crush or a solitude at pleasure. Under -the guidance of Elizabeth Drury, and cheered by her buoyant spirit, -which loved to look on the bright side of things as much as possible, -and with her mind full of knowledge and amusing anecdote, Millicent -began to breathe more freely, and to recover strength of frame, -if not much greater peace of mind. There were letters frequently -from London, the greater part of which she gave Elizabeth to read. -They came from the Misses Barrington, regretting that her health -was not strong, and saying, that their brother would be down to -see her in a few days, and if she stayed much longer, they should -come down in a flock to see whether they could not help nature to -recover her spring. Millicent was evidently greatly excited, and -that pleasurably, by the prospect of seeing Edmund Barrington, and -Elizabeth Drury was curious to see the man who had been able to -supplant Dr. Leroy. But they were destined to receive another visit -before that of Edmund Barrington. Elizabeth had proposed the very -next day to take a ride through Niton, and up to the tower of St. -Catherine. They went alone. Elizabeth knew the way, and like a most -experienced groom opened gates in ascending the fields from Niton -to the top of the hill where the tower stands. They had reached -the summit of the hill, and taken a delighted survey of the vast -prospect over sea and land which it gave; the rocks along the winding -coast, over which the milk-white waves were lashing; St. Catherine’s -lighthouse below; the sweep of shore on towards Alum Bay and -Freshwater, and the tamer interior of the island. Tying their horses -to the gate leading into the field in which the tower stands, they -first examined that empty and desolate object, which is familiar to -the mariner so many leagues at sea. They then sat down on the mossy -turf amid the scattered furze bushes, and enjoyed the scent of the -native sward and the simple wild-flowers, and the peaceful scene of -nature spread beneath their eye; the green corn waving on the slopes, -the white flocks grazing silently on the down-like pastures. All -at once they heard the hollow tramp of an approaching horse on the -hill behind them. They sprang up, and observed a gentleman riding -towards them. “Mr. Barrington! it must be Mr. Barrington!” exclaimed -Elizabeth. “No! as I live, it is Dr. Leroy!” - -She saw that Millicent had already turned deadly pale, and trembled -violently. “What shall I do?” she said. “What will become of me?” -Elizabeth could only say hurriedly, “Do and say nothing which can -unnecessarily hurt his mind. Poor fellow, he is wretched enough. May -God Almighty aid and guide you both.” - -Dr. Leroy had tied his horse to a rail not far from the others, and -was already coming agitatedly towards them. He put out his hand, and -accosted them with a face full of misery, and which could not assume -even a melancholy smile. - -“I am an intruder, ladies,” he said; “that is my misfortune; but -excuse me for a few minutes; I will not distress you long; but -I must, as a last favour, request of Millicent a few words to -ourselves. They shall be but few.” His lips quivered, his voice -faltered. Millicent looked imploringly to Miss Drury. - -“Oh, _go_, dear Millicent!” she said; “Dr. Leroy’s request, under the -circumstances, is most reasonable. You are old, and, I trust, still -dear friends; give him a kind hearing, give him what comfort you can.” - -Millicent moved away silently, in a direction down the hill, beyond -the tower, and her once-beloved suitor moved silently by her side. -Elizabeth Drury threw herself again on the warm summer turf, hid -her face in her hands, and prayed, prayed, prayed, as if she would -call back some dear one from the dead, or would conquer from the -All-ruling Mind some repeal of fate. When she looked up, she saw the -unhappy pair standing quite out of hearing. Dr. Leroy was speaking -very earnestly, Millicent as earnestly looking on the ground, -and switching the grass with her riding-whip. Now she replied as -earnestly; now they moved away a little, now they stood again face -to face. She saw Millicent weeping violently; saw Dr. Leroy take her -hand and kiss it passionately, and again they stood as if silent and -in perplexity. Though Dr. Leroy said that his words should be few, -the interview drew on, and became long. He himself seemed to grow -warm and eloquent, Millicent to content herself with some significant -shakes of the head. - -“I wonder,” said Elizabeth to herself, “though miracles, they say, -have ceased, whether a little one might not be wrought for the -happiness of these good young people. Oh! what misery has that London -visit perpetrated on a whole circle of good creatures; and, yet, as -far as I can see, everybody might be just as happy as ever—if they -could only think so. There is a fine, frank, clever, and good young -fellow; well, really, I could like him myself, if I did not like -somebody better, and that silly girl has sent him to the right about -for a London money-bag. Really, we women are very silly with all our -sharpness. Here they come! Good gracious! It is no good. They look -like ghosts!” - -The quondam lovers really did approach looking most ominously. A -blight seemed to have passed over them both. Poor Frank Leroy looked -blacker in his misery than ever; Millicent looked very little better. - -“Good-bye, dear Miss Drury,” said Dr. Leroy, offering his hand. “I -must hasten away.” - -“No,” said Elizabeth, “you must not go; you must stay, at least, and -dine with us. I want to introduce you to my aunt. I want some talk -with you myself.” She continued to retain his hand affectionately. - -“I cannot do it, dear friend,” said Dr. Leroy, firmly, but with -strong emotion. “Good-bye—Good-bye!” - -He cast a look at Millicent expressive of a thousand things, and -hasting to the gate, mounted his horse and galloped away. The two -young women stood in silence, watching him until he disappeared -behind the old martello tower standing in that direction, and below -the shoulder of the hill. Millicent then threw herself on the turf, -and wept violently. In vain Elizabeth sat down by her, clasped -her in her arms, and endeavoured to console her. She wept long and -bitterly. - -“My dear Millicent,” at length Elizabeth said, “if you like Dr. Leroy -so much—if your parting from him costs you so much—why don’t you make -it up with him? Oh! pray do look well into your heart, and see who -really has the most of it. Is not this London affair a mere temporary -illusion? Is not the old love really at the bottom yet?” - -“No! no!” said Millicent, “it is not that; but it is because I am -born to make people miserable. Didst thou ever see such misery as in -poor Frank’s face? And now he is determined to quit his home, his -practice, his mother, who doats on him, and go to India. Think—think! -what grief I have occasioned to him—to his mother—to my own dear -parents——” - -“And to yourself, dear Millicent,” added Miss Drury. “They may say -that the days of witchcraft are over if they will, but,” she said, -starting up, “I should like—nay, I _must_ see Dr. Leroy before he -leaves Ventnor. He will not really sacrifice his fine practice, and -ruin everything, by some rash act. Come, come, let us go!” - -She hurried Millicent away; they mounted their horses by the aid of -the gate, and rode rapidly down hill, and to Ventnor. As they rang at -their gate, Tom Boddily appeared promptly. - -“Tom!” said Miss Drury, “have you seen Dr. Leroy?” - -“Yes, ma’am; I let him have the horse I ride, and told him where to -find you.” - -“And where is he now? Run—tell him I must see him!” - -Tom shook his head. “He’s gone, ma’am—gone by the three o’clock -coach; he just caught it as it started.” - -Elizabeth walked into the house in silence. “He is gone!” she -repeated. “It is too late! Heaven help us.” - -“Oh, let us go too!” said Millicent; “I am wretched here—I am on -thorns; but where shall I be at peace?” and she sat down, and looked -the victim of despair. - -“Yes—yes!” said Elizabeth, “we will go. We may still find Dr. Leroy -at Castleborough!” She rushed out, and gave Tom Boddily orders to -make ready for an instant start, to order a carriage and post-horses -for Ryde, whilst she ran and intrusted her aunt with all matters of -payment for the house for their short term. Tom seemed to disappear -as on wings. - -A single hour saw them on their way to Ryde. In those times, however, -there were not the numerous steam-packets crossing. There was no -railway to receive them at Portsmouth. With all possible speed, -however, they continued their journey, and on the third day reached -Fair Manor, only to learn that Dr. Leroy had sailed from London in -an Indiaman, in which he had taken the office of surgeon for the -voyage the day after he left the Isle of Wight. - -All Castleborough was full of wonder and speculation over this, to -it, strange event. Some desperate cause, every one felt, must have -produced such a catastrophe. Dr. Leroy was so noted for the calmness -and equanimity of his disposition. At Fair Manor a profound sorrow -reigned, and a deep and brooding silence lay over it. Sylvanus -Crook opened the gates for the fly bringing the two young ladies -from Castleborough, in silence. Sukey Priddo, when she came to the -door, looked as if she had seen an apparition, and ran to tell Mrs. -Heritage. Mrs. Heritage came hastily from her room. There were signs -of much weeping on her fair, but solemn, and now pale face. She -clasped her daughter, who sunk into her arms in tears, and without a -word, and carried her, as it were, into the sitting room, and thence -into a small private room beyond. Elizabeth Drury left mother and -daughter some time to themselves, and then, gently knocking at the -door, said she would go on home, and come to inquire after Millicent -in the morning. Mrs. Heritage seized Elizabeth almost convulsively, -and kissed her passionately again and again, and then turned and -sat down by her daughter. And what a sight was it of that lately so -happy daughter! She sat motionless, pale as a corpse, and with a face -of such intense wretchedness as the young usually glad spirits of -Elizabeth had formed no conception of. She fell on her knees before -the unhappy girl, clasped her fondly, and looking into her ghostlike -face with streaming eyes, said, “Dearest Millicent! don’t! don’t be -so cast down! Things may be better yet. They may!—they will!—they -must! God will not afflict us all so cruelly.” - -Millicent kissed her friend gratefully, and said, with a wondering -look, “But how can that be?—But I am very faint; I will go to bed.” - -Elizabeth and Mrs. Heritage assisted her up-stairs. The servants, -as they passed through the hall, stood aghast and in tears. When -Elizabeth had seen Millicent in bed, and again promised to return -early in the morning, she embraced her affectionately, and, kissing -Mrs. Heritage, hastened down-stairs and away home. There she found -the departure of Dr. Leroy the absorbing subject. Her father -commented very severely on Miss Heritage for jilting him, as he -bluntly called it, for a richer man in London. That was his plain -version of the story. That she found was the universal opinion -amongst their mutual acquaintance. The true cause of Dr. Leroy’s -departure, her mother said, had oozed out to the public, which -was greatly excited by this sudden abandonment of his practice by -a young man so greatly honoured and esteemed. The blame of Miss -Heritage was universal and intense. “She so wealthy,” they said, “to -let wealth and worldly distinction obliterate the feelings and the -friendship of years.” - -The shadows that Mrs. Heritage had foreseen in the hayfield, had thus -fallen on her own house and heart in an Egyptian density, wherever -else they might yet extend themselves. No hayfield fête had been -held since that memorable day; and causes more closely touching the -Woodburns than the darkness lying upon Fair Manor seemed to herald a -long cessation of such halcyon times. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - THORSBY’S FALL AND CONVERSION. - - -The early married days of Letty Woodburn seemed perfect in their -felicity. Often she used to drive over in the handsome open carriage -which Thorsby kept chiefly for her use, and whenever she came it -was with all the flush of happy life and gaiety about her. She -seemed to like her town life, and the new circle of friends that her -marriage had introduced her to, yet she always appeared to inhale -a fresh draught of joy as she sat in the old rooms, rambled round -the old garden, and saw the accustomed objects and people about her -as formerly. “Oh!” she would say, “how charming are these dear old -scenes—how glad am I that I can so readily come back to them!” She -and Thorsby generally spent their Sundays there, and he was ever in -the best of spirits, and even Betty Trapps had somewhat relented -towards him—It was observed that he scarcely ever had a jibe at -Methodists, evidently out of care not to hurt Betty’s feelings, -though, as he expressed it, he often trod on her corns by laughing at -her friends, Sylvanus Crook and David Qualm. He had bought somewhere, -and brought one day, a highly coloured engraving, all bright -blue, red, and yellow, of Shon-ap-Morgan-ap-Shenkin-ap-Gwillim, a -shentleman of Wales—as the inscription under it expressed it—going -to take possession of his father’s estate, riding on a goat. This -he said he was going to present to Howell Crusoe, the village -schoolmaster, as a pleasing memento of his native country. All the -Woodburn family begged of him not to do it, saying it would hurt -the worthy schoolmaster’s feelings, and Betty Trapps said she saw -that Mr. Thorsby had some of th’ owd aggravating spirit in him. But -Thorsby would take it to Crusoe: and to the astonishment of all the -Woodburns the schoolmaster accepted it, and hung it up in his house, -as a pleasant joke of Mister Thorsby’s. He seemed to think it an -honour to have so much notice from him. He presented Thorsby with the -little book, already mentioned, that he had printed in Castleborough, -of all things and subjects—on etiquette! It was meant for the help -of country schoolmasters like himself in forming the manners of -village children. It was founded on his practice, and certainly was a -curiosity in its way. Copies of it, I believe, are yet to be procured -in the midland counties. Thorsby was convulsed with laughter at its -rules, and read them with infinite gusto, not only at the Grange, but -among his friends in Castleborough. - -Besides the fun Thorsby found in Howell Crusoe’s “Book of -Etiquette,” he often brought amusing anecdotes from Fair Manor, -where he and Letty frequently took tea. Sylvanus, he said, told him -seriously that he was very much concerned to find an utter want of -conscience in dogs. They are called, he said, very faithful and -affectionate animals, but it was, he added, a lamentable fact, that, -like too many of their masters, they had no conscience whatever; they -were really nothing but time-servers. This he discovered by watching -a number of puppies that he had been training. He had tutored them -to avoid going on the garden beds, and they knew their duty so well, -that as long as any one was in sight they never set a foot on the -beds. Yet somehow he observed that there were prints of their feet -all over the newly-dug ground. How could this be? He resolved to -watch. He walked about the garden with these young dogs, now half -grown. Not one ever offered to wander from the walks, but no sooner -did he enter his house, and look cautiously out of the window, than -he saw them all deliberately walk on to the beds and behave very -badly there. A very slight rap at the window, and they all ran off, -and looked very much taken in. Yet, time after time, as he tried the -experiment, he found them still ready to run on the beds whenever -they thought nobody saw them. “They know their duty,” said Sylvanus, -“as well as I do—but the fact is, they have no conscience.” - -Sylvanus, Thorsby said, sincerely believed that spirits appeared -sometimes, and the reason he gave for it was, that it is said in the -Scriptures that the souls of the righteous shall see the fruits of -their labours and be satisfied, and from the same rule, he expected, -he said, that the wicked would be sent back to see the fruits of -_their_ labours, their avarice, their spending their lives in folly, -their abuses of their power; and that this was part of their -torment. He thought it must be a very racking thing for miserly men -to see their heirs wasting their gold in folly and sin. - -He related with great glee the dilemma into which such a grave -Friend and acute man of business as Mr. Heritage had fallen. A lady -of the Society, a woman of fortune, living some miles out of town, -had come under the dealings of the meeting for her infringements -of its practices, in dressing gaily, and having much free and easy -intercourse with the aristocratic families around her. As she -did not reform after repeated official visits and admonitions, -even committing the enormity of going to the theatre, she was -formally disowned—that is, excommunicated. In drawing up the minute -of disownment, the Friends had unadvisedly worded the cause of -disownment as for “disorderly walking.” This imputation on a lady, -Mrs. Jerram noticeably resented, and as Mr. Heritage was the clerk -of the meeting, she commenced an action against him at law for -defamation. The trial, which took place in Castleborough, went in -her favour, and brought her heavy damages. The damages, of course, -were borne by the Society, but Mr. Heritage was so much annoyed at -being thus made so prominent in the case against a lady, and his own -cousin, too, that he resigned the office of clerk, lest he might fall -into other such snares. Mrs. Jerram begged her cousin Heritage not to -think for a moment that she bore the least ill-will to him personally -on account of this offensive document; she excused him on account of -his only discharging his official duty. To show her perfect freedom -from resentment, but not, perhaps, without a little triumph on the -occasion, she often drove over to Fair Manor, and made herself as -agreeable as possible. “But,” said Sylvanus, “thou canst imagine that -these visits were not quite so agreeable to my master. People don’t -like, the best of them, to be publicly beaten, and ridiculed, as -they are in such cases.” - -“Well,” said Thorsby, “but you Friends should be more regenerate and -forgiving than all that.” - -“True,” replied Sylvanus, “it would be better, but it is difficult to -purge the old Adam quite out of us. I fear that there may be a little -of the old Adam in myself, but I try to keep him down, and I trust he -will not be permitted to obtain undue influence. I earnestly desire -to be led and guided right.” - -“Ah, don’t trust too much to that leading and guiding you talk so -much about,” said Thorsby; “for two of your friends came to my house -awhile ago, saying they were moved to come and speak to me as a -wild young man, and these were no other than your William Fairfax -and David Qualm; and, would you believe it? in going out they took -a wrong door, and Fairfax fell down my low kitchen stairs and hurt -himself confoundedly. Mind, Sylvanus, that you are better led and -guided than that.” - -“Thou likes a jest, friend Thorsby; but I was going to tell thee the -clever way my master got rid of Mary Jerram’s visits.” - -“Ah, by all means,” said Thorsby. - -“Well, thou sees,” continued Sylvanus, “Mary Jerram drove up one day, -ordered her horses to be taken out, and laid herself out for a long -day of it. She stayed all morning; she stayed dinner. The master came -home, and, notwithstanding, she stayed tea. She sat and talked, and -talked, and particularly directed her discourse to master. At length, -as it was getting late, master said to her, ‘Mary, although thou hast -left Friends, I suppose thou still remembers something of Scripture.’ - -“‘To be sure,’ replied Mary Jerram. ‘Remember Scripture! What do you -mean? I am not so disorderly in my walk as to forget that.’ - -“‘Then,’ said master, ‘thou knowest that the Scriptures say, “If -thine enemy hunger, give him meat, if he thirst give him drink;” but -I don’t think it says anything about lodgings.’ - -“Thou shouldst have seen the effect of that,” said Sylvanus, highly -delighted. “Since then Mary Jerram has not found her way to Fair Manor -again.” - -Thorsby was never without some jocose talk of this kind at his visits -to the Grange. But time rolled on, and there were rumours that the -charge of being a wild young man, which the Friends had made against -him, was not entirely without foundation. His old jovial companions -had drawn him again too much into their society and convivialities. -Letty made no complaints on this head, though as time went on her -own family thought they saw occasionally a more careful expression -on her countenance. Nothing, however, could exceed the affectionate -terms on which they seemed to be; nothing could betoken more love -and admiration than Thorsby’s manner to his wife. There appeared -no reserve, no concealment between them, and the Woodburns thought -there could be no serious cause of complaint betwixt two so obviously -happy. But time still rolled on, and in due course a little son was -born. With what pride Letty on her next visit to the Grange showed -the newest Woodburn to the grandfather,—mother and sister and George -had already taken their view of the miniature youth in Castleborough. -With what pride she told her father that she was charmed with the -opportunity of giving the name of Leonard—Leonard Woodburn Thorsby—to -a fresh claimant of the honours and virtues of the house! Thorsby -was himself no less proud of the young aspirant to manhood. It was, -according to him, the finest, the largest, the cleverest child of -its age that he had ever seen; but, in fact, before he had never -paid much attention to very young children, but seemed to think them -something very like fat caterpillars, with apple-dumpling faces. - -But was it the joy and pride of his heart that often sent him out -in an evening amongst his jolly companions, and sent him home late, -sometimes not very good-tempered? True it was that though Thorsby was -one of the best of husbands, tender, kind, anxious, solicitous that -his wife should have everything to make her happy, yet his ways of -making himself happy caused, by degrees, serious inroads into Letty’s -happiness. Often he not only came home late, but in a condition that -he called prime and gay as a lord, but which created very serious -fears in his wife’s mind. When he was in a less lordlike mood she -continued to intreat him to stay with her and read to her at her -needlework, or to go and see some of his more domestic friends. What -must become of her, she asked, if he contracted an unconquerable -habit of taking too much wine? - -“Too much wine!” he would reply. “What are you talking about, my dear -child? Too much wine! Why, I tell you, we are all as sober as judges. -It is not wine, it is only a little hilarity that we like at the -club. When a man has been fagging all day in the counting-house, why, -dear me, one must have a little talk and laughter to brighten one up. -But never do you fear. I know what I am about. I am not going to make -an ass of myself.” - -Letty thought that he used to find her society refreshing and -enlivening once. “And so I do now,” he would say; “but one cannot -always be tied to one’s wife’s apron-strings. But I know what it -is, Letty: it is these old fogies and Quakers that you have got -acquainted with; they make you think all mirth is a sin, and they go -about saying I am a wild young man. That’s it, Letty dear, that’s -it. Now I am not going to be a wild young man; in fact, I think I -am getting rather old and serious; but I’ll ‘wild-young-man’ those -frouzy Quakers—mark me, if I don’t.” - -With these ideas rankling in his mind, Thorsby one day riding from -Woodburn where his wife was staying a few days, saw coming on the -road towards him Mr. Jasper Heritage, a tall man, on his tall horse, -and little squabby David Qualm on his stout and squably Welsh pony. -Thorsby well knew that all Welsh ponies are, more or less, skittish, -and that Taffy, Qualm’s pony, was excessively so. As the two Friends -drew near, therefore, Thorsby took off his hat as if in compliment -to them. The moment he lifted it from his head Mr. Heritage shouted, -“Keep on thy hat, Henry Thorsby! keep on thy hat!” But Thorsby not -only did not put it on again, but he gave it a great flourish as -if in extreme politeness; and, it was the work of a moment,—David -Qualm’s pony started sideways to the farther side of the road, and -left him lying on his back in the middle of it. - -Thorsby, who was now afraid, seeing the heavy little man lying -motionless, that he might have done more mischief than he intended, -sprang from his horse, and ran to lift up the man of silence. But -as he nearly reached him, David found the use of his limbs and his -tongue, and raising himself on one elbow, his three-cornered hat and -brown wig having deserted him; with bare head and wild staring eyes, -he swung his one arm furiously, and cried like a maniac,—“Avaunt! son -of Belial! Avaunt! Touch me not, man of sin!” - -Mr. Heritage, who had also descended from his horse, gently pushed -Thorsby away, saying, “Let alone! Take thyself away, Henry Thorsby. -This is what I could not have expected of thee.” - -Thorsby would still have assisted to lift up and wipe the dust from -David Qualm, but Mr. Heritage would not let him, but carefully raised -his old friend and relative, and began to beat the dust from his -coat. Thorsby muttered some sort of an apology—something about his -not meaning any harm—but David cast a lion’s glance at him, and said, -“Thou liest, man! Thou liest! Thou meant it, and nothing less.” - -Thorsby, who did not think David was much hurt, mounted and rode -rapidly off. When he was out of hearing, he gave vent to an -uproarious laughter, and said, “A wild young man, indeed! Not so -wild but he can keep his seat better than some people.” He was so -elated with his exploit that he that evening told the story with much -humour and some embellishment at the club, to the exquisite delight -of his friends, and the next day it was all over the town. Amongst -the lighter and more giddy of the population it was thought a very -clever paying-off of the censorious Friend; amongst the older and -more thinking people it was regarded in a very different light, and -such a dangerous trick played off on a very quiet and inoffensive -man, by no means told in favour of Thorsby. The serious manner in -which Mr. Heritage spoke of it amongst his friends made a deep -impression, and it was regarded as a very impolitic act in Thorsby, -who, though his wife stood so well with the wealthy banker, might, in -times of commercial depression, find it much to his inconvenience to -have sunk in his esteem. - -Many things were spoken out on this occasion which had evidently lain -for some time in people’s minds. Wonder was expressed at the growing -dissipation of Thorsby. Of his notoriously riotous and bacchanalian -evenings with some of the richest but most immoral young men of the -place. Some people wondered that his wife did not appear to see it; -more uttered words of pity for her. Others said “What a fool that -man is, with such a wife, with a splendid business, with a circle of -acquaintances of the very first class in the town and neighbourhood, -and to be running such a course. But it was only the course his -father ran, and which made it a short one for him.” - -The news flew to Woodburn. Sukey Priddo told it that evening on the -way from the class-meeting to Betty Trapps, and Betty told it right -out to Letty. As she waited on the family at supper, she said, “Well, -Mr. Thorsby is a fine playful boy yet, is not he?” - -“Is what?” said Letty, eagerly. - -“A fine, frocksome boy,” said Betty. - -“What do you mean, Betty?” added Letty, alarmed. - -“I mean only that he has whisked his hat over his head, and made Mr. -Qualm’s pony send _him_ over his head.” - -“Are you dreaming?” said Mr. Woodburn, somewhat angrily. - -“No, sir, I am not dreaming, what I say I say; and there lies poor -Mr. Qualm in bed, all shaked to a mummy, and the doctor’s bled him -and said it is a bad case.” - -All called on Betty to explain how it took place, and Letty was -greatly agitated. - -“Oh!” said George, “I see how it is. Harry has taken off his hat to -the Friends as they passed, and that scamp of a pony has shied. But -he cannot have hurt the old man; falling from that little brute is -only like falling from a chair.” - -“What does a sober man like that ride such a skittish thing for?” -asked Mr. Woodburn. - -“Because,” said George, “I was going to say, he is an old fool; but -the fact is people always do ride animals like themselves.” - -“What! Do you think a man like a horse?” exclaimed Ann. - -“To a certain degree,” said George, “a little podgy man like David -Qualm is sure to select a little podgy horse, a tall slim fellow -fancies only a tall slim horse, and so on. It is the same with -sticks; men always carry sticks very like themselves, slender or -stout, clean or knotty and gnarled: and dogs too, have always a -certain resemblance to their masters. And wives—people wonder that -husbands and wives are often so alike. It is because men see a -likeness to themselves in a woman, and that delights them. They fall -in love with their own dear selves in falling in love with a woman. -But enough; you can discuss this bit of philosophy while I run up and -see how poor old David really is.” - -“Oh, thank you, thank you, George!” said Letty, as George took down -his hat and disappeared. In a very short time he returned, and said— - -“I’ve seen Qualm. He has not much amiss with him, but he is very -angry with Harry, who, however, only seems to have taken off his hat -to compliment the gentlemen as they passed. True, David says they -cried out to him to keep his hat on, but the fact was, the hat was -off when they cried out. You might as well tell a man not to shoot -when he has already pulled the trigger.” - -“I don’t see, then,” said Letty, “that Harry was really to blame; it -was only his courtesy.” - -“Of course not,” said George; and Letty, much relieved, went off with -the other ladies to bed. - -When she was gone, George said to his father, “I would not make -Letty anxious, or she would be tormenting herself all night, but I -don’t at all like this doing of Thorsby’s. It was clearly a designed -thing of his, from what I hear. I know he has a pique against David -Qualm; and, in fact, I am very anxious about Thorsby. I hear in -Castleborough continually of his wild goings-on with that scapegrace -set of young fellows that I hoped he had long ago cut.” - -“I have heard the same,” said Mr. Woodburn, “and have spoken more -than once to Thorsby on the subject, and he has always promised to -reform; but my opinion is that he is just as weak as a bulrush. He -can’t help himself. It is a very serious affair.” - -“Well,” said George, “there always was an excitable nature in -Thorsby. He has very quick feelings for good, and if not for evil, at -least for pleasure, and what he calls jollity. I had hoped that Letty -would have been able to keep him more at home, but he always says he -must have a little innocent larking, he should go daft without it.” - -“He will go daft with it,” said Mr. Woodburn, “if he does not mind.” - -Leonard Woodburn had had other causes of annoyance of late to try -his temper, of which anon, and he felt very keenly the conduct of -Thorsby towards his daughter. - -“I have long thought,” he said “that Letty is far from happy. I see -a gravity about her, a shade over her countenance sometimes, that I -never saw before her marriage.” - -“Yes, but remember, dear father, that she is now a wife and a mother; -we cannot expect people to remain always the lightsome beings of -their boy or girlhood.” - -“I expect nothing of the sort,” said Mr. Woodburn, rather tartly; -“but I did expect that this fellow would not be such a fool. It -is a confounded bad job, George, and makes me very cross and very -miserable. Good-night.” And Mr. Woodburn withdrew to bed. - -It was soon found that great censure was cast on Thorsby for his -conduct in this affair, and the knowledge of it seemed to anger him, -and to drive him into further excesses. For the first time he turned -almost savagely on Letty, when, on her return home, she expressed -regret at what had happened. - -“An old fool,” he said; “he should ride a safe horse, and not such a -will-o’-the-wisp as that Welsh pony, and then no harm could happen to -him.” - -“But you knew, dear Harry, what the pony was,” said Letty. “I wish -you had not done it. But as it is done, do, pray, call on Mr. Qualm -and apologize to him: a soft word, you know, turneth away wrath. And -call on Mr. Heritage and express your regret. We were on such good -terms with them all, and they are such worthy people.” - -“Do you think me such a sneak, Letty?” said Thorsby, taking up his -hat to go out to business. “Don’t you believe it.” - -Letty knew a great deal more of Thorsby’s life than had yet reached -Woodburn, but she had buried it and the sorrow of it in her heart, -and would not breathe a syllable of it except to God, which she did -with most fervent prayers and scalding tears. Many a report had come -to her from a most faithful quarter, and that was Thomas Barnsdale, -the manager of Thorsby’s business, a man who regarded the concern -and the reputation of his employer as his own. He was a Methodist -in religion, and a great reader of books of general literature of a -solid kind. He had grown up from a boy in the concern, and was ever -at his post, and ever regardless of his own labour to conduct it -to advantage. The unsteady life of Thorsby was all brought to his -knowledge, and he had not hesitated to speak seriously to him and -repeatedly, even at the risk of dismissal. He asked him earnestly -to recollect the shortened life and injured name and fortunes of -his father; and to act as he ought to do with such favour as God -had showered on him in such a wife, and in such friends all round. -Thorsby had taken these sermons, as he called them, not amiss, -but he had not altered. Every day Mr. Barnsdale heard of some wild -exploit of Thorsby and his comrades—practical jokes of the most -daring and expensive kind. One of these they had carried on at the -expense of a young surgeon of the town, whose vanity they had excited -by a letter written to him as from a lady of fortune at Bristol, who -had seen him at Castleborough, and fallen deeply in love with him. A -long correspondence had been kept up between the young man and the -imagined lady, the letters purporting to be from her having been -duly posted, and the young surgeon’s received by an accomplice at -Bristol. At length the _dénouément_ was to take place. The lady was -to meet him at Cheltenham; relays of horses were engaged for him at -the lady’s cost all the way from Castleborough to Cheltenham, where -he was to proceed in a private carriage, and there the marriage was -to take place by special licence. All was found by the young man -arranged as stated, and away he posted free-cost to Cheltenham, only -to find at the appointed rendezvous a letter from the improvised -lady, saying she had changed her mind. - -This could not have been carried out except at an expense which none -but very foolish and very mischievous fellows would have incurred, -but the delight which it occasioned them, and the hints which they -from time to time gave to the hoaxed inamorato, that they knew of the -affair, seemed ample satisfaction to their perverted minds. - -Time rolled on. Thorsby was looked very coldly on at Woodburn -Grange, at Fair Manor, and by many leading and right-thinking people -in Castleborough. Thomas Barnsdale felt it his duty to make Letty -acquainted with the downward course of her husband, that it might -not come in a more sudden and unexpected manner upon her. He could -now counsel with her, and work with her in attempts to check this -career, and it was a comfort to Letty to have such a faithful and -reliable friend to open her distressed mind to. - -Providence at length sent one of those _contretemps_ which, if -properly weighed, lead to retracement. Thorsby, attending the hunt, -was thrown from his horse, and the shock that he received, owing -probably to the state of his system from intemperance, produced -pleurisy, and brought him to the brink of death. The physicians -looked very gloomily on the case, and Thorsby, with that quick -sensitiveness of feeling natural to him, fell into the greatest -condition of terror and despair. He made the most touching and -agonised confessions to his wife of his unworthiness of her, of his -folly and wickedness. Poor Letty only too freely forgave him, and -cheered him with hopes of life yet, or of forgiveness by an ever good -God, if he was taken away. Thorsby begged that she would send for -Mrs. Heritage that she might pray for him, and that through her he -might send his avowal of deep contrition to Mr. Heritage and David -Qualm. Letty at once sent the carriage for Mrs. Heritage, and that -ever-ready minister of love was speedily at his bed-side. - -The repeated conversations and prayers of this good woman produced -in Thorsby a sense of remorse and kind of burning desire to live -and enact a new and nobler life, which were very edifying. In a -few days the doctors pronounced the crisis past, and Thorsby, in a -calmer state, was insatiable of the readings in the New Testament -which Letty afforded him. He recovered; but the effect of this -serious danger and alarm remained. A new phase of character now -revealed itself in him. He continued extremely burdened in spirit, -and zealously religious. He abandoned his club associates, and -accompanied his wife and Thomas Barnsdale to the meetings. But he -could not satisfy himself with merely attending religious services, -he felt himself compelled to stand forth and testify to the mercy of -God in thus again raising him up. Town and neighbourhood were one day -astonished beyond measure by seeing large placards posted all over -Castleborough and the neighbouring villages that Mr. Henry Thorsby -was going to preach at the Methodist Tabernacle. - -We may imagine the laughter, the jibes and scoffs which ran amongst -his old associates and the profaner portion of the population -at this announcement. Thorsby turned preacher! Saul amongst the -prophets! Balaam’s ass about to open its mouth; were but a few of the -witticisms afloat. All his old associates were resolved to go and -hear Saint Harry’s conventicle whinings, which they prophesied would -last as many nights as days. At Woodburn, the state of mind on the -hearing of this news it would be difficult to analyse. Astonishment -was great, but not the uppermost feeling. As Church-people, there was -a touch of shame, of disgust, of mortification at Thorsby exhibiting -himself as an amateur preacher of dissent. Something of all these, -and something more. Would it last? David Qualm, when he heard of -it, and who, by the by, was all right again, and still riding that -ticklish pony, said, “Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel.” After -that great effort of oracular speech, he closed his mouth again and -was silent for a week. - -But David Qualm’s utterance had an uneasy echo in the minds of many, -and the inmates of Woodburn Grange were amongst them. Letty, however, -said, “Anything, anything, rather than that old life of his,” and her -family, therefore, waited for what time should bring forth. On the -Sunday named, there was a general stream of life flowing towards -the tabernacle. Every possible atom of space in it was crowded. Many -of the leading people of the place were seen amongst the expectant -concourse. Letty herself was not there. The trial to her nerves was -too severe. - -The regular minister opened the service by prayer and a hymn, and -then Thorsby ascended the pulpit, opened his Bible, and took his text -from the Psalms—“Thou hast brought me up from the gates of hell.” The -silence was profound. He then began by reference to his past life and -his late illness. There was no nervousness, no hesitation about him, -as in one unaccustomed to such a public display. He said, doubtless -much wit and many pleasant sarcasms had been and would be expended -over the change which had taken place in him. He would only say, let -those thus disposed only come into the crisis through which he had -passed, and they would then hear what he had to say. Now he boldly -came forth to return thanks to God for his mercy to him, and devote -his life to the service of Christ, the friend of sinners. He then -drew a picture of his past condition; of the valley of the shadow -of death, of the terrors of Almighty judgment through which he had -passed, and appealed to his hearers to follow his example, and think -nothing of scorn, or ridicule, or persecution for the advocacy of the -most momentous interests of the human race. As he proceeded he warmed -into a tone of eloquence which surprised every one; and before he had -done, few were the eyes that were not drowned in tears. - -As the vast congregation streamed away from the chapel, many of the -old members of it said they had heard many wonderful sermons in that -chapel from great preachers, but nothing like that. Many said they -had no idea that Thorsby had so much in him; and all admitted that at -all events he had discovered a new and amazing talent in himself, -and would, if he held on, be truly a burning and a shining light. -The ascent of such a brilliant meteor into the religious horizon -of Methodism produced immediately numerous calls to visit other -towns—Sheffield, Manchester, Leeds, &c. &c.,—and everywhere the same -enthusiasm was excited by Thorsby’s addresses. He might have gone -from town to town on a triumphal round of religious service; much -time he was, in a measure, obliged to devote to such engagements, -and well was it for him that he had a man like Thomas Barnsdale to -attend to his business affairs. For some months Thorsby continued to -astonish and electrify the public by his impassioned discourses. Fair -Manor expressed a quiet hope that it would continue. Woodburn Grange -was in a condition of mind fit subject for metaphysical plumblines -to explore, half astonished and half acquiescent in the strange -phenomenon. Letty, with tears and smiles, when there, continued to -say, “Anything, anything, so that Harry continues as steady and kind -as now.” - -Betty Trapps alone expressed no enthusiasm, and avowed no faith in -this grand metamorphosis. She had heard Mr. Thorsby, she said, at -Hillmartin Chapel. It was very fine what he said, but then she knew -that he awlis could talk finely, even when he made so many “skits” -on the Methodists. For her part she looked on this as a judgment on -him for his fleering at good people so often. She and Sukey Priddo -had seen something that satisfied them. - -“What have you seen, Betty?” asked Mrs. Woodburn. Betty didn’t seem -in a hurry to answer; but when urged by all the family she said, - -“Well, if you must know, we saw the shadder of th’ Owd Youth,”—a -familiar name for the Devil in the midland counties,—“behind him in -the pulpit as he were preaching. That was enough for us.” - -“Nonsense,” said Ann, “it was merely some particular placing of the -lights that cast an odd shadow. How absurd, Betty, about the Old -Youth.” - -“As you please, Miss,” said Betty; “I’ve my own notions; but I -niver, in all my born days, expected to see Mr. Thorsby preaching in -Hillmartin chapel, nor to hear Mr. Nockels the local preacher saying -niver was such preaching. No, truly! William Penn’s ‘No Cross, no -Crown,’ was not such stuff as they got every day at Hillmartin.” - -“‘No Cross, no Crown,’” said Ann. “What makes you think it was ‘No -Cross, No Crown?’” - -“Sukey Priddo,” said Betty, “knows ‘No Cross, no Crown’ well enough. -Mr. Heritage made her a present of it, and she’s read it through five -times.” - -With Betty Trapps’s opinion of Thorsby’s spiritual appearances, we -may close this chapter, and leave the reader to think of it a little. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - WORSE AND WORSE WITH HARRY THORSBY. - - -One very hot, still July morning, before these just recorded -occurrences, and nearly a year before Millicent Heritage’s eventful -journey to London, Betty Trapps, who had been gathering peas in -the garden, ran into the house with her checked apron flung over -her head, and going puff! puff! this way and that, as if to blow -something away. When asked what was the matter, she said, “It’s a -harnet, as keen as mustard. It fled at me, and fled at me, like a big -dumbledore.” - -“Yes,” said George, “there is a nest of them in a hole in the -barn-wall; we must suffocate them with brimstone-fumes at night. -They are very destructive to fruit, and dangerous to the horses.” - -“Suffocate a devil with brimstone!” said Betty. “That’s a good un. -This harnet is for all the world like th’ owd enemy. He comes at you, -and at you, as if he’d eat you.” - -Whilst George was quietly smiling at Betty’s idea, there was a loud -ringing of a poker and fire-shovel, and he saw Sam Davis, one of the -labourers, crossing the garden beds, and looking up at the trees, as -in search of something. - -“There!” said Betty, “now the bees are swarming: this hot morning -fetches them all out.” - -George, Ann, Mrs. Woodburn, and Betty, as well as the other maids, -all hurried out to witness the interesting process of charming the -bees down. Loud rung Sam Davis’s music on the fire-shovel, and -presently they saw a brown cluster of bees, as large as a man’s hat, -and longer, hanging from the bough of an apple-tree. - -The country people have various ways of accounting for the effect of -this clangour on a fire-shovel in causing a swarm of bees to settle. -Some think they like it, and so stop to hear it; others, that the -young queen-bee, scared by the noise, settles on the first object -she sees. Certain it is that the effect is general, and very marked. -Others think this clangour must be made to claim your swarm, for if -it settles on another man’s property without such loud claim, and -close following, you cannot assert your right to them. Be that as it -may, our friends of Woodburn Grange saw their swarm hanging before -them. There was a quick running for a sheet and an empty hive. The -inside of the hive was rubbed with a mixture of beer and crushed -black-currant leaves, or balm, and Sam Davis quietly approached -them, put down two bricks on the sheet, cut off carefully the bough -on which the swarm hung; deposited it on the sheet between the -two bricks; and then set the hive over it. The skill with which -this was done, without irritating the bees, showed that Davis was -an experienced hand at this operation. The bees seemed to settle -themselves pretty tranquilly in their new home, but Mrs. Woodburn -observed that a number of them continued to fly about the end of the -bough whence the part covered with the swarm had been cut off. “Yes,” -said Davis, “they will come and try to find it, and worship the place -where the queen alighted several days yet.” - -“Ay,” said Betty, who had generally some religious fancy to attach -to every curious occurrence, “that’s just the way with many in their -religion. They go and worship blindly for a few days; but it’s only -for a few, and then it’s all over with them.” - -George Woodburn often thought of Betty’s quaint remarks long after -others had forgotten them, for he found something in them; and in -the course of the following spring, after Thorsby’s conversion, he -thought of these two occasions. “The harnet fled at me, and fled at -me,” said Betty, “like the owd enemy.” “This is just as he seems to -have done at Thorsby!” said George to himself. And then the bees -worshipping the bough where the queen-bee sat, for a few days, -and only for a few, as Betty said. How completely that applied to -Thorsby! His career of pulpit eloquence and repentant zeal had been -as brief as it had been dazzling. It was like the taking fire of -dry furze on a common. It was an all-consuming flame for a brief -period, and was gone, leaving a bare and blackened waste. Letty had -watched with a sad terror the decrease and disappearance of this -impetuous blaze of the soul. For a time there was a transition state -in Thorsby, which, to a spectator only concerned to observe the -singularities of character, would have been an interesting study. In -a morning he would be up as early as three o’clock, would go down -into the kitchen, where there was always a raking-coal burning, break -it up, and commence reading the Bible aloud, and with a somewhat -singing tone, accompanied by an occasional shake of the head, as -from some very impressive thought, and often with gushing showers of -tears. Before the servants came down, he would return to his bed, and -to a sound sleep, which would continue till ten o’clock, or later. -Letty, now accustomed to this habit, got a cup of coffee herself on -going down, and then waited patiently for her husband’s appearance. -He would come down sad and thoughtful, as it seemed, breakfast with -few words, and away to his warehouse. At noon he would return all -life and gaiety, and in the evening go off to his club. Yes, he was -again an associate of his old associates!—the sow had returned to -its wallowing in the mire! Yet this did not prevent him being up the -following morning, and reading aloud in his Bible with tears and -tones of pious feeling. - -Such an incongruous condition could not last. The different elements -of his strange character were in conflict. The religious sentiment -was maintaining its last efforts against the levity and love of -pleasure in that unstable heart. For awhile Thorsby was the wonder -once more of his townsmen, but this time it was the wonder and the -scorn. Sad was the heart and the life of poor Letty; sad was the mood -of mind in the once happy Woodburn Grange. Thorsby had lost all power -over his own actions, yet he had not lost all feeling. Many were the -paroxysms of remorse and tears which his wife had to witness, at -first with some faint hopes, at last only with anguish and despair. -Thorsby avoided being seen in the streets as much as possible, stole -by back ways to his warehouse, and at night renewed the orgies of -his dissolute club. - -George Woodburn spoke out his mind to the unfortunate man most -indignantly, most sternly; and seeing that it had no effect, he -entreated Letty to leave him, and return to Woodburn Grange. Mr. -Woodburn, who had many things now to harass him, drove over in the -day, while Thorsby was at the warehouse, and insisted that Letty -should return with him, and leave the wretched man to his inevitable -course. But Letty, worn and jaded as she now seemed by her constant -wretchedness, refused positively to leave her husband. “No,” she -said, “to the last moment I will stay by him, and try every means to -save him.” - -Mrs. Heritage, who had once effected so happy a result in him, again -ventured a visit to him. It was twelve o’clock in the day. The -remains of breakfast still stood on the table; and Thorsby, in his -morning-gown and slippers, was lying on the sofa, and reading a -novel. The bloated, sickly, demoralised aspect of the man struck Mrs. -Heritage with painful astonishment. He did not rise to receive her, -but with a scowling, savage sort of look begged to know to what he -owed the honour of this visit. - -“It is from a tender concern for thee, Henry Thorsby, and thy dear -wife, that I have wished to come.” - -“You can bestow your tender care on my wife, then,” said Thorsby: -“she is in the house.” - -“But, first,” said Mrs. Heritage, in her soft and gentle voice, “I -would like to speak a word or two to thee. I would ask thee if thou -knowest whither thou art going now? What must be the awful ultimatum -of thy present unhappy course?” - -“Yes, madam, I know very well where I am going—to hell, madam, to -hell!” - -“And canst thou reconcile thyself to such a thought—to the loss of -thy precious soul—to the affliction thou must bring on thy wife, thy -mother, thy child, and all that love thee?” - -“Let all that alone, Mrs. Heritage,” said Thorsby. “Don’t torture me -with talk of my wife, my mother, or my child. I know all that as well -as you do; but if a man is born to be damned, not all the preachers -or preacheresses on earth can save him.” - -Mrs. Heritage sat for a moment stupified by the defiant wickedness -before her; but, recovering herself, said, “No, all the powers on -earth cannot save thee; but these are not all the powers—God can save -thee.” - -“But I know, madam,” said Thorsby, fiercely, “that He won’t save me. -My day of grace is over. I know myself better than you do, with all -your spirit-moving—better than that old fogie, David Qualm,—and yet -he came pretty near the truth, when he said, ‘Unstable as water, thou -shalt not excel.’ Madam, even you cannot make an empty sack stand -upright; and this sack you are talking to is empty, empty—empty of -all grace as the Devil himself. And so, good morning!” - -With that, Thorsby rose up, flung down his book, and stalked out of -the room. Never in all her experience had the good Friend beheld such -a case of hardened bedevilment; never had her strong, clear mind felt -its power so baffled. - -That day Letty received a note from her husband, saying that -important business at the warehouse in London required his immediate -presence, and that he was gone by the coach: he might be some weeks -away. Letty sat for some time as thunderstruck. Suddenly she sprang -up, and ran upstairs. His travelling portmanteaus were there; she -could discover no linen nor clothes taken away. His dressing-case -stood as usual on his table. What could it mean? Had he gone off -in disgust at the visit of Mrs. Heritage? Surely that could not -have caused him to go off without any change of clothes. A frightful -idea came over her—had he gone to drown or destroy himself? She had -seen him exhibit, more than once, symptoms of _delirium tremens_. -She flung on a shawl, seized her bonnet, and away to the warehouse. -Thomas Barnsdale said he certainly was gone by coach. What the -important business could be was quite unknown to him: he had heard of -nothing pressing, and he thought he should have done had there been -such. - -“But what will he do without clothes? I must send after him a supply.” - -“He must have taken clothes, ma’am,” said Thomas Barnsdale. “He took -a large new portmanteau with him, for the porter carried it to the -coach.” - -Letty was more and more confounded. Then this flight was -preconcerted! She left the warehouse without a word, and returned -home with a heart loaded to its last power of endurance with misery. -What should she do? Go after him? No. Seek counsel from her parents, -and brother, and sister? No. She shrunk from communicating and -diffusing her distress. She sat down and wrote to him at the London -warehouse a letter which must have touched a harder heart than -Thorsby’s. Return of post brought a letter full of expressions of -love and regret, that he was obliged to go away so suddenly, but -bidding her be of good cheer, and make herself happy till his return. - -That letter did not much lighten Letty’s trouble. The late conduct -and habits of Thorsby, and this going away evidently on a concerted -plan, were things not to be got over. Very, very sad was that once -so gay heart. But Letty determined not to give up all hope lightly. -She wrote again to her husband, and received again a cheerful, loving -reply. She resolved to set herself to look after the business -with Thomas Barnsdale, and by attendance at the counting-house, to -dissipate the thoughts which haunted her solitude. Thomas Barnsdale -seemed pleased at her thinking of business, and explained matters -concerning which he wanted advice, but which Mr. Thorsby of late did -not give. Letty caught up the main ideas of the business rapidly, and -Barnsdale said it would be the salvation of the concern if she gave -her attention to it. Most of the day she spent at the counting-house, -and the nurse and little Leonard came to her every now and then. The -correspondence betwixt her and her husband went on with a fair and -even loving tone. - -But one day Thomas Barnsdale received her in the counting-house -with a very distressed air, closed the door after her, and having -carefully locked it, produced a letter, saying that he was compelled -to break to her very unhappy news. - -“What!” exclaimed Letty, springing from her chair, “is Henry dead? -Oh, tell me quickly—what is it?” - -“No, madam,” said Barnsdale; “but I lament to say, he is dead to -shame and honour.” - -Letty seized the letter and read. It was one in confidence from the -agent at the London warehouse, a respectable and trustworthy man, to -say, that Mr. Thorsby was actually living in Bond-street with a young -woman whom he had brought up from Castleborough with him. Letty let -fall the letter, and sank into the chair. Long she sat as in a swoon, -yet her eyes were open and gazing on the opposite wall. Barnsdale was -alarmed and was about to run for help, but suddenly Letty seized him -by the arm, and heaving a deep, deep sigh, said, woefully,—“This is -beyond all!—beyond all! How have I deserved this?” - -“Dear madam,” said Mr. Barnsdale, “this is intolerable—it is not to -be endured. Though I lose my office, I will instantly to London. I -will drag that woman from his house. I will compel this unhappy man -to return home.” - -“No! no! Mr. Barnsdale, that must not be,” said Letty, drawing her -hand across her brow as if bewildered. “I am so dizzy!—but that must -not be. Stay you here. You cannot leave this post. I will go myself.” - -“You go, madam! No, you cannot—must not.” - -“Yes, I _will_ go myself. O God, what a misery! But run, Mr. -Barnsdale, secure the whole inside of the three o’clock coach, if -possible. I will be ready.” - -Barnsdale looked aghast, perplexed to absolute despair; but Letty -hastened away, and sent off the carriage post-haste for her brother -George. She then set to work, ordered the nurse to be ready with -the child for an instant journey to London; put up a few things -for herself, and awaited her brother. In less than two hours he -was there, and the awful disclosure made. George was furious. Like -Barnsdale, he was for going off at once and inflicting summary -vengeance on the traitor. “What a viper! what a devil!” he exclaimed; -“but he shall repent this foul, this diabolical wrong. Oh, my poor, -dear Letty!” and he embraced his sister with passionate tears. - -But Letty succeeded in showing him that it was better for her to go. -She would take the child—that would move him if anything would—and -George should accompany her to support her when it was necessary. -George set off in haste for a change of linen and overcoat, and -at three o’clock the sad party were seated in the London coach. -Barnsdale had luckily secured the whole inside, so that, the nurse -travelling occasionally outside well wrapped up, George and Letty -could talk freely on their melancholy topic, and the child could lie -during the night on the front seat as snug as in his cradle. - -We must not describe that sad, long, and for the most part silent -journey. About ten in the morning the coach drove into the court -of that old-fashioned, but then greatly frequented inn, the -Swan-with-Two-Necks, in Lad-lane. There they descended, washed, -redressed, and made such a breakfast as people in their state of mind -could. George sent out into Wood-street to inquire if Mr. Thorsby was -yet at the warehouse, and received for reply that he was not expected -till twelve o’clock. A coach was at once ordered, and the whole party -entered it and drove to Bond-street. It was stopped within fifty -yards of the house sought, and George and Letty descended and walked -on, followed by the nurse and child, which looked as bright as a -child of six months can after a night’s journey, through which it -had slept like a top, and in a world whose trouble does not concern -it. Arrived at the door, Letty seemed as though she would sink, but -George encouraged her to hold up and go through it in reliance on -God. The door was opened by a servant, who asked their names, and -said she would inquire if Mr. Thorsby were in. But Letty did not give -her the opportunity of bringing a “No;” she took the child in her -arms, and followed on the servant’s heels. - -“You had better wait here, ma’am,” said the servant. - -“Go on!” said Letty, authoritatively. - -The girl looked astonished, but obeyed. Ascending the first flight of -stairs, she opened a door into a large and handsomely furnished room, -and said, “A lady, sir!” - -Letty stepped in, and stood with the child on her arm. There sat the -delinquent husband, in his morning-gown and slippers, reading the -newspaper, and on the opposite side of the breakfast-table sat a very -handsome young woman, of by no means unamiable appearance. The sight -of Letty, however, produced a wondrous change. Thorsby started to his -feet, and stood as rooted to the ground. His look was that rather -of a ghost than of a living man. Pale as death, he trembled from -head to foot like an aspen leaf. His female friend stood, a monument -of terror, shame, and confusion. It was evident that she knew Mrs. -Thorsby perfectly. But Letty, with a calmness with which heaven -itself must have endowed her, advanced to Thorsby, and said, holding -up the child towards him, “My dear Henry, I am not come to reproach -you, but to reclaim you. Let this young woman retire, I would speak -to you alone.” - -Thorsby made a hasty movement with his hand, and the young woman as -hastily retired, evidently glad to escape. - -“My dear Henry,” said Letty, pale as marble, yet bearing up with -wonderful firmness, “this little child wants its father; your loving -and ever-faithful wife wants her husband; your poor, afflicted, and -now very sick mother, wants her son. There, take your child, embrace -it, love it, and come home with us.” - -Thorsby gasped, as for breath. He would have spoken, but he could -not. He seized the child convulsively, and, bursting into a passion -of sobs and tears, covered it with kisses. He sat down, and, bending -over it, wept excessively. Letty softly fell on her knees at his -feet, laid her hand on his, looked up to him with streaming eyes, and -there was a long silence. As the storm of Thorsby’s emotion somewhat -subsided, Letty said, “And now, dear Henry, let us go. Let that -unhappy girl return to her friends, or be provided for; let her not -be cast forth to utter ruin. And for us, let us return to our own -home, to a new life, and to constant prayers for unfailing strength -to do our duty. Come, come! let us away at once.” - -“No, Letty, no!” exclaimed Thorsby, with a haggard look; “I can never -return. I am a disgraced man. I can never show my face in our own -town again. Go! be as happy as you can! I will give you everything; -but return—for me—never!” - -“And yet you _must_ return, dear Henry. I cannot let you go to -perdition. I have vowed to take you for better for worse, and I will -stand by you to the _very_ worst. Think not of temporary shame—think -of your own precious, eternal soul! Think of your child, your mother. -Think of me, if you yet—if you ever loved me!” - -“Loved you!” Thorsby stamped on the ground. “Letty Woodburn, I never -loved but you! That name has been my life, my inspiration, my shield, -but at last it failed me. Satan was too strong in me. Never, never, -can I again pollute you by my presence. I am a God-abandoned man! He -has lifted me up only to cast me down beyond redemption. Nothing, -nothing, can restore me.” - -“Remember the prodigal son,” said Letty. “Remember the all, -all-forgiving Father. Oh, return, return! and all may yet be well. If -you will not return, think! what good shall my life do me? What shall -be the sad, awful career of this dear babe without a father—with only -the sad, sad story of one! Come, oh, come home. George is here; he -will show you how all will forgive and forget.” - -“George!” exclaimed Thorsby, and seeming inspired with sudden -madness; “George! let him not come in—I cannot bear it. If he -comes”—he snatched a pistol from a side-table—“if he comes here, I -will put this bullet through my brain.” - -Letty stood terror-stricken. She saw that all hope of inducing him to -face his old connections was hopeless. - -“Put that down,” said Letty, sternly; “you terrify me. George will -not come unasked; and if you will not return to Castleborough, I -will come and live in London.” - -“You!” said Thorsby. “You, who love the country so, whose heart has -so many ties there!” - -“I can do it willingly,” said Letty. “I can be very happy with you -and dear little Leonard anywhere. My greatest ties are here.” - -“It cannot be,” said Thorsby, assuming an awful look. “Angels of -light and devils cannot dwell together. I say, once for all, go, and -leave me to my fate, or I will end it on this spot.” - -Letty started back with the child in her arms, which clung affrighted -to her bosom, and with a wild and long-fixed look, said, “Then -farewell! but oh, no, not for ever! not for ever!” and with that she -opened the door, gave one other last look at the unhappy man as he -stood ghastly and motionless—a look of misery beyond all words—then -disappeared. George saw her coming, still and tearless, clasping the -child to her heart, and he knew that her loving attempt had failed. -He supported her tenderly to the cab, and drove back to the inn. - -“Let us get home, dear George,” she said, as they entered the inn; “I -would not die here,” and she shuddered. - -“Die!” said George. “No, dearest, you shall not die. You will not die -for the faithlessness of a bad man; you must live for us and for your -child. But we will away home at once.” - -He laid his unhappy sister on the sofa, and rang for wine. “Take -some refreshment, dear Letty, and we will be off at once.” Letty -took a glass of wine mechanically, and closing her eyes, looked -like a beautiful corpse. George ordered a post-chaise, and so they -posted all the way down. Letty lay through the journey as in a sort -of trance, with a passive marble look, but still conscious, and -answering in a whisper to her brother’s anxious questions. This state -continued after they reached home. - -“It is a blessing of God,” said the physicians who were called in; -“the enormous strain of the mind has exhausted her animal powers—and -it is well: a different action, and the brain must have felt the -shock, and could not have borne it. Let her remain so. If she can -take nourishment, well; but for some time let her rest. Let us hope -that no violent reaction will take place, when we shall have to fear -delirium, and, perhaps, actual insanity.” - -The news of these events—of the heroic endeavours of Letty to reclaim -her husband, and of her present critical state—brought her mother and -sister instantly to her side. Under their tender care the judicious -system of the physicians was carefully carried out; and in a few -days’ time tears were seen stealing beneath the eyelashes of Letty; -her mother gently kissed her, and she raised her arms and clasped -them round her neck. Without opening her eyes, she was conscious of -the presence of Ann, and put out her hand to clasp her, and then she -lay and wept long and silently. Her dear, watching relations soon -found that she was perfectly conscious of all that had passed; but a -wondrous calm had come over her, and she said to her mother and Ann, -“Do not be anxious about me. I shall soon be better. I must live as -one of God’s children, to bear His rod, and to seek to save the lost. -Promise me never to blame him in my presence. Join with me in prayer -daily, nightly, incessant prayer, for his recovery. That is the -business of my life now. If I succeed in the end it will be worth all -the earth can send of sorrow and suffering.” - -In a few weeks Letty was about again. A pale, thin, serious, but -energetic-looking woman. Could that be the once laughing, blithe, -singing Letty? It was the same bright, pure spirit, saddened but -ennobled by the ordeal of trial and distress, and by a life’s aim -the noblest and most sacred that ever lifted a womanly soul into the -regions of a wisdom beyond her years. She soon returned her attention -to business. Closely veiled, she walked silently through the quietest -streets from her house to the warehouse; but the marked respect, the -lifted hats of the gentlemen, the regardful and sympathising looks -of ladies, and the deep curtseys of humbler women, as she passed, -showed what a sensation the narrative of her doings and sufferings -had created in the place. Thomas Barnsdale, by his silent, respectful -attention, showed the same effect on him. One of the first papers -that he put into her hand, was a deed of gift, regularly drawn by -a legal hand, and duly executed by Thorsby, making over to her and -their son the whole of the property and trade in Castleborough. -He had reserved only to himself the business in London, which, -as a commission business, received the goods manufactured at -Castleborough, and exported them on a percentage. This deeply -affected Letty. It showed that amid all the weakness and impulsive -folly of her husband, there were great redeeming qualities in him, -and she was more than ever resolved to hope for his final recovery, -and to devote her life to that object. Her father, tremendously -incensed against him, told her to leave the business to Barnsdale, -and the house to Thorsby’s mother, and come back to Woodburn Grange, -where the tenderest love awaited her. But Letty held to her wiser -course. Old Mrs. Thorsby, already in ill health, was completely -broken down by these last unhappy events, and could not last long. -Letty would not leave her, but attended her with every loving care. -To make the business more secure, she gave Thomas Barnsdale a -certain share in it, of which he was equally deserving, from his -faithfulness and unwearied attention to its interests. - -Not many weeks, however, passed without another blow from the evil -fate which now seemed to be pursuing Thorsby and his family. Letty -received a letter from her husband, informing her that his agent -in New York had absconded with 5000_l._ of his money, and left the -goods in the warehouse there very much exposed. He was that moment -departing for Liverpool to embark for America. When he might return -was uncertain; but if God could hear the prayer of such a wretch, -he prayed for all His blessings on her and their dear child. Letty, -struck as with a sudden wound, hastened to the counting-house to -inform Mr. Barnsdale of this startling news. She found that he -already was in possession of it. - -“What is the extent of the hazard?” she asked. “Will it ruin us?” - -“Oh no;” said Mr. Barnsdale. “If the money is not recovered—as very -likely it may not: that continent is vast; it is very much like -hunting a needle in a truss of hay, hunting a rogue in it—then there -are 5000_l._ gone. The stock, I see, in the New York store is, or -should be, about 5000_l._ more in value: 10,000_l._” - -“That is a great deal,” said Letty. - -“Yes; a great deal too much to lose,” replied Barnsdale; “but we can -bear a good deal more than that. It may hamper our money accounts -a little; but I am happy to say that Mr. Heritage has sent me word -that he is prepared to assist us at a pinch to a large amount. That, -madam, we owe to his high esteem of you.” He might have added, and to -his own confidence-inspiring character. “And,” added Mr. Barnsdale, -“do not let this event distress you. In my opinion it may prove the -very reverse of what it seems. Mr. Thorsby has wonderful energies in -his nature, strangely linked, it must be said, with sad weaknesses; -but let him once be roused in some important cause, and the latent -forces will be sure to come out. See what a wonderful eloquence he -displayed, before unknown to everybody—unknown to himself. I am sure -he will pursue this unblushing rogue to the very extremities of the -earth. He has all the spirit of the hunter in him, and nothing in the -world could be so beneficial to him as such an excitement and chase.” - -“Pray God it may be so,” said Letty. - -“Amen and Amen,” said Barnsdale, with much devotion. - -The very next day, Mrs. Heritage, to her extreme surprise, received -a letter, dated Liverpool, from Thorsby. In this he made a late but -earnest apology for his former rude return to her well-intentioned -admonitions, and now begged, as a parting favour, a few lines from -her as “a comfort to him on the deep waters.” - -Mrs. Heritage sat for a short time in silence, and then wrote this -reply:— - - “FRIEND HENRY THORSBY, - - “I think I may address thee as friend when our dear Redeemer so -addressed his betrayer, Judas Iscariot. Thou askest me for comfort on -the deep waters; but what comfort can there be to an alien from God? -What peace can there be to the wicked? Yes! I will pray for thee! as -thou desirest. I will pray earnestly that God will send thee troubles -upon troubles. That he will toss thee with tempests on the ocean, -and chase thee with misfortunes on land. I will pray that thou mayst -suffer wrong, and robbery, and deceit, and betrayal. That thou mayst -drink to the dregs of that cup of injury, and shame, and sorrow, that -thou hast been so lavishly pouring out for others who should have -been dear to thee as thy own soul. I forget—thy own soul is not dear -to thee; more and sadder pity. I will pray for heart-soreness, and -weariness of soul, for perils in cities and in deserts upon thee. For -shattered prospects, ruined hopes, ruin of goods and good name, and -for pursuit of measures and cruelties unto the verge of death. Mayst -thou be solitary and forsaken, as thou hast left others of whom thou -wert not worthy; may sickness overtake thee where there is none to -tend or soothe. May the blackness and the shadow of death overtake -thy soul and overwhelm thee with the terrors of hell. May its -torments seize on thy vitals and consume all that is within thee of -vile, and base, and unholy. And when the tempest and the earthquake -have done their mission on thee, mayst thou be favoured to hear the -still, small voice, which comes only to the ear opened by a pardoning -God. All these woes I wish thee, not from anger or a spirit of -unworthy vengeance, but from that love which is over all, and yearns -after all that lives. Knowest thou not that the hard ground must -first be torn up and rent in pieces by the plough and harrows of the -husbandman before it can receive the seed of a new harvest? May the -hard ground of thy heart, Henry Thorsby, be thus ploughed up and -harrowed in sunder, for so only do I believe that it can be reduced -to that soft and plastic state in which the seed of divine grace can -once more grow. And that it may be so will be the daily prayer, the -earnest wrestlings of the soul of one who would rejoice over thy -recall to the paths of virtue and of heaven, as over a dearly beloved -son. Thy friend in the truth, and the love which is indestructible -and unfathomable, - - “REBECCA HERITAGE.” - -Thorsby received and read this letter in a profound silence: in -silence he arose, thrust it into his pocket, and walked solemnly -on board. The winds are bearing him away on a long and arduous -pilgrimage. Let us leave him awhile to the unseen but ever-present -hand which pursues with the scourge, but forgets not the balm. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - ALL WRONG AT WOODBURN. - - -Summer was once more shining and breathing its perfumes over -the country round Woodburn. The pleasant fields stood full of -flower-embroidered grass; of green corn waving and billowing in -the scented breeze. The trees shed their verdurous gloom beneath -them; the red wild rose, and the snowy discs of the elder flowers, -mingled their odours with the yellow-and-red honeysuckle blossoms -in the fresh hawthorn hedges. The larks carolled high in the blue -air; brooks ran glittering down to the river, and the river glided -on in stately beauty. All was beautiful and happy in nature as -ever, but over the Grange lay a stillness, within was a stillness. -Betty Trapps, pursuing her accustomed household duties, neither -sung that “very cutting” song—“Once I freedah engyed,” nor the -equally favourite hymn—“We are marching through Emmanuel’s land.” -Mr. Woodburn wore a grave and sad air; Mrs. Woodburn sat knitting in -deep thought, or watched her cheese-making, without any of her former -jollity. Ann was with Letty in Castleborough, and George was taking -his solitary rides over the farm, as if something lay on his heart -which had banished that cheerful countenance so natural to him. There -were no preparations for any festive gathering in the hayfield. “The -light of other days” had disappeared like a dream. - -The conduct of Thorsby had verified all the instinctive prescience -in Betty Trapps’s nature. Letty, the loved and loving creature of -gladness, the sunshine of that once happy home; the flitting shape, -the ringing, singing voice of joy in it, was a deserted wife, and -the once jocose and sportive Thorsby, a disgraced and shameless -fugitive. Nor was that all; those shadows which Mrs. Heritage had -foreseen in the hayfield fête, had not only fallen on Woodburn -Grange, but on other spots around. Fair Manor itself had not escaped. -There was the only child there, then the hope and happiness of her -house, now a serious and nervous woman, who had passed through a -severe baptism, and now shrunk from intercourse beyond her own family -walls. Awaking from the impassioned dreams of her London visit, she -found that she had wounded another too deeply to leave peace in -her own bosom. She had candidly stated to Edmund Barrington, that -great as was her affection for him, she never could be happy in -the consciousness of the affliction she had occasioned to a most -worthy, faithful, and noble heart, nor under the sense of the deep -blame, which all those most dear to her, or most connected with the -attachments and the memories of her youth, awarded her. She had -resolved, therefore, to do the only penance which should mark her -sense of her wrong, and satisfy her innermost feeling of sacred -duty—never to marry; but to devote herself as soon as her health -should be restored, if indeed her shattered nerves should ever again -regain their healthy tone, to the works of the good Samaritan. - -Her mother had, through Mrs. Barrington, explained to that family -the severe shock and shattering through which her daughter had gone, -and the sensitive state of her nervous system still. She returned to -Edmund Barrington the diamond-clasped bracelet which he had given -Millicent, and which under no circumstances could she wear, but she -entreated that all other little mutual gifts might be retained as -memorials of a friendship, which both she and her daughter trusted -would still and for ever remain unbroken. - -It is only justice to say that these communications were received in -the most beautiful spirit. Both Edmund Barrington and his sisters -wrote to Millicent in the most kind and sympathizing terms. Edmund -declared himself willing to await the time when full health might -bring happier thoughts to Millicent, and his sisters expressed their -sincere sorrow that the tender conscience of Millicent had dissipated -to them so many pleasant hopes. They declared that they should never -cease to recollect with pleasure the happy time of her visit, or to -regret the prospect of losing her as a sister. No hope, however, was -held out by Millicent of a change in her present sentiments; and in -no very long time not only those amiable women, but their brother -too, had selected their partners for life, and were scattered into -their respective homes, amid all the solaces and distinctions of an -enormous affluence. - -Millicent Heritage regained her former estimation amongst her -friends by a knowledge of this conscientious renunciation of all -selfish happiness for herself; and the sense of this did much to -renew her vigour of frame, though it did not banish the grave and -thoughtful expression from her face and manner. She was often seen -mounted on her favourite mare, May Dew, followed by Tom Boddily, -taking her way towards the Grange, where she was always received with -love by Mrs. Woodburn and by Ann, when at home, and by Mr. Woodburn -and George with much kindly regard. Many, too, were her visits -to Bilts’ Farm, and her long conversations with Elizabeth Drury, -which seemed always to fill her with a renewed spirit of peace and -satisfaction. - -The only gleam of the past happy days seemed to be on the head of -the wise and loving Ann Woodburn. The effect of his father’s changed -views, revealed on his deathbed, had been on Sir Henry Clavering -such as she had hoped. He had thought deeply on this unexpected -confession. The peace with which he had seen his father depart had -made a deep impression on his mind through his affectionate nature. -He had arrived soon so far, that he felt that there was something -beyond the mere teachings of physical nature and the wisdom of -the schools which we need to enable us to push off our spiritual -bark into the unknown with confidence. He accepted, therefore, -like his father, the Saviour which the Gospel proclaims, though -ponderous difficulties lay betwixt his conceptions of this Saviour -as a messenger of God, and as God in Christ reconciling the world -to Himself. But Ann, filled now with the brightest hopes, helped -him along this valley of stumbling and of huge stones fallen from -the bald rocks of long past ages. She put into his hands Paley’s -“Evidences,” Butler’s “Analogy,” and other ably reasoned works of -her Church, and marked with deep satisfaction their gradual effect. -She no longer talked of leaving Sir Henry to his freedom of choice -for a wife. She found herself daily drawn into a nearer and more -kindred unity with him. All real obstacles to their marriage were, -in fact, surmounted, and that event was regarded as at hand, when -these unhappy circumstances connected with Letty’s fortunes, and -others yet to be related, made her beg that the marriage might be a -little delayed, that it might be celebrated under happier auspices, -if possible. Meantime, the political difficulties of the period, and -irritated condition of the people at large, and of the manufacturing -population in particular, kept Sir Henry actively engaged in his -magisterial duties. He generally looked in at the Grange in going -to and returning from Castleborough; and whilst Ann was there, at -Letty’s, he frequently went in and dined with them. Every day tended -to present the excellence of his heart and the clear solidity of his -mind more attractively to the whole Woodburn family. Ann only was -held back from the goal of her earthly happiness by the cloud that -lay on her most beloved ones. - -The settlement of Mr. Trant Drury in their immediate neighbourhood -had not proved such a source of satisfaction as had been hoped for. -Those dictatorial and hurrying qualities in his character, which -farmer Barrowclouch had noticed, soon began to press themselves -unpleasantly on most of those around him. That he was a first-rate -agriculturist of a particular school there could be no question; but -it was a school essentially different from that which prevailed in -all that part of the country. It was a country naturally fertile, -varied in its features, and rendered extremely pleasant by the fine -and free-grown fences, the scattered hedge-row trees, and patches -of wood. With all these, Mr. Drury made war to the knife—no, to -the hatchet and the saw. He expressed his great surprise that any -agriculturists could yet be found who would sacrifice so much of -their valuable land to the mere growth of useless bushes and almost -worthless hedge-row trees. As to the woods and plantations, they -might remain, and be made profitable by liberal thinning; but as for -the hedges, he would have them all pared down to the shortest state -possible to be fences at all, and the hedge-row trees, he would -cut down every one of them. He would leave only here and there on -the land a spreading tree for shelter for the cattle from the sun -in summer; but as for hedges, they were useful only as a means of -separating fields, and these he would cut to the quick, and narrow -as much as possible; nay, he would cut down half of the hedges -altogether, and leave the fields—especially the tillage fields—four -of five times their present size. He calculated that nearly a tenth -of the superficies of the country might be thus brought into -profitable culture. As for the hedge-row trees, he said they were -so frequently lopped on their trunks as they grew, to prevent their -spreading too widely, that as timber they were a congeries of knots, -and of no use but for firewood. In fact, he would have reduced the -whole country to a condition as bare as the back of your hand; for -beauty or the picturesque had no organ in his brain,—their place was -engrossed by the organ of profit. - -“Now, of what mortal use,” he would say to Mr. Woodburn, as he rode -over his farm, or through the neighbourhood with him,—“of what mortal -use are these little shapeless crofts and paddocks with their fences -running in all sorts of ways but straight lines,—these little, -often triangular plots, with their meandering huge hawthorn hedges, -actually turning and doubling on themselves? Sweep all these crooked, -scrambling fences away, and have some fine, large, shapely pastures -instead. And here is a brook now—do look at it. Would any one have -supposed, with the present value of land, that it should be allowed -to turn and twine about as it does, forming what the Scotch call -links, and as we may call them bows and loops, positively occupying -three times the ground which it would if reduced to a straight, -handsome course, as it soon might be?” - -Mr. Woodburn replied “that in truth they might remove some of the -rambling fences, and enlarge those little plots to advantage, but -he should be sorry to see all those beautiful hawthorn hedges now -throwing out their odorous sprays of wild roses and eglantine, cut -close like the cropped bristly head of a parish pauper.” - -“Beauty!” said Mr. Trant Drury,—“beauty! My dear sir, we cannot -live by beauty. We cannot pay rent by beauty. The interests of this -densely populated country cannot be maintained by empty notions of -beauty. When you want to go to market with your produce, see what -your crop of beauty will bring you. No, sir; as much corn, cattle, -hay, potatoes, and the like substantials, for which we labour, -and from which we must hope to live, as you please. The greatest -possible return for the greatest possible amount of labour and skill -expended;—that is my doctrine and my practice; and they are the only -principles that will in the long run make this country what it ought -to be.” - -“But man cannot live by bread alone,” said Mr. Woodburn; “that is a -principle established by an authority which I hope, Mr. Drury, you -consider as of as much validity as your modern save-all doctrine.” - -“I bow to the wisdom of our Lord,” said Mr. Drury; “but what He -undoubtedly meant was, not your visionary thing beauty, but divine -grace,—‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word which -proceedeth out of the mouth of God.’” - -“Very true,” said Mr. Woodburn; “and out of that divine mouth issued -these divine words: ‘Behold the lilies of the field, how they grow.’ -He who made beauty as well as material food, and showered it on -the earth, and continues so to shower it, knew and knows that we -want food for every part of our nature. ‘Meats for the belly, and -the belly for meats; but God shall destroy both it and them.’ Now, -according to my notions, every part of us demands its proper food. -Food for the support of the body, grace for the life of the soul, -beauty for the imagination, love for the heart, and truth for the -intellect. To feed only the body, and to devote all our labours and -our lands only to this purpose, is, in my opinion, to make ourselves -no better than the beasts that perish.” - -Mr. Drury smiled contemptuously. “That is all very well for you, -Mr. Woodburn, who live at ease on your own land; but that sort of -doctrine won’t do for tenant-farmers.” - -Mr. Woodburn thought it as good for tenant-farmers as for anybody -else; and should be very sorry to see the tenant-farmers allowed to -follow such a system of agricultural economy, as would make the whole -country as bare as a drill-ground, and as ugly as sin. He had seen -this style of cultivation carried out in some parts of the country, -and he would sooner emigrate to the American forests than live in -such a featureless district. He thought, to cut down hedges almost to -the ground, and exterminate every tree, was by no means beneficial -to cattle or sheep, which in cold weather, and especially during the -sharp east winds of early spring, required shelter as well as food. - -After one or two conversations of this kind Woodburn thought Mr. -Drury would say no more to him on this subject, but he was greatly -mistaken; for Mr. Trant Drury was one of those people that we now -and then come across, who carry their hobbies to a perfect monomania. -They are always on the same subject, in all places and with all -persons. Though they may have told you the same thing fifty times, -they never seem to recollect it, but treat it as perfectly new, and -go over the whole ground with merciless pertinacity. After a few -inflictions of the all-profit and threadbare country doctrine, Mr. -Woodburn began to wince visibly, and to say rather crustily, “Oh! Mr. -Drury, you have told us all that again and again.” - -“But you don’t benefit by it,” Mr. Drury would say. - -“No, nor ever shall, so far as I am concerned,” Mr. Woodburn would -reply. - -To George Woodburn and Elizabeth Drury, who had become deeply -attached to each other, and with the mutual consent of parents on -both sides, this disagreement of tastes in their fathers was a -subject of the greatest concern and anxiety. George quietly begged -of Mr. Drury not to say anything to his father on agricultural -topics, for that nothing would induce him to adopt any new notions; -but then Mr. Trant Drury’s whole thought, feeling, taste, and -conversation were agricultural. New modes of tillage, new implements, -new manures, new kinds of vegetables for winter feed,—these made up -the furniture, stock, and staple of his mind. His imagination stood -as thickly planted with those ideas as his rick-yard with ricks, his -fold-yard with cattle, or his fields with crops. George Woodburn -listened patiently to his perpetual talk on these subjects, and -admitted to a certain extent the value of them: but as to cutting -down hawthorn hedges and hedge-row trees, he stood out as firmly as -his father. When Mr. Drury was riding his indefatigable hobby in -that direction, he remained quiet and let the stream flow over him. -His after-conversations with Elizabeth were a rich compensation -for this otherwise rather severe martyrdom. Every day showed -Elizabeth in a more loveable character. Her lively, cheerful manner, -combined with a beautifully intellectual and religious sentiment, -and great intelligence, made her the beloved friend of Ann and -Mrs. Woodburn; and Mr. Woodburn looked on her with pride as his -future daughter-in-law. He only regretted that such a woman should -be the daughter of what he began in his own house to term such an -unmitigated bore. - -Mr. Trant Drury went to work vigorously on his own farm to exemplify -his peculiar code of agriculture, and, as he said, to set an example -to the benighted farmers around. His landlady, who lived in London, -readily granted him permission to pare down his fences and fell -hedge-row trees as he pleased. As the property was her own, but would -go, at her death, for want of direct issue, to another branch of the -family, she was at liberty to do this. The very first autumn and -winter, Mr. Drury had men cutting close the fences, and felling all -the trees but the oaks, which must stand till the proper season for -peeling, in spring. Part of this timber he was allowed to employ -in extending his outbuildings, and in making new gates, gateposts, -hurdles, &c. Part went to the wood-merchant, its proceeds to be -remitted to the landlady. - -Mr. Woodburn saw with indignation the destruction of these hedges -and trees, the wide, bare gap in the general beauty of the landscape -thus created, and his feelings were partaken by many others of the -neighbouring country and town, who denounced Mr. Drury as a Goth, -and hoped there would be no imitators of this unloveable sort of -thrift. Mr. Woodburn could not restrain himself, on the next visit of -Elizabeth Drury, from speaking in a sarcastically jeering manner of -this frightful system, as he called it, of her father. Elizabeth, -to whose ideas of beauty it was as great an outrage as to Mr. -Woodburn’s, burst into tears; and Mrs. Woodburn intreated her husband -to desist, saying, that Miss Drury was not responsible for the acts -of her father, and did all in her power, by affectionate kindness, -to make Elizabeth forget it. Mr. Woodburn’s own natural goodness of -heart caused him to express his regret for having hurt her feelings, -and adding that certainly Elizabeth must as much regret it as he -did. But there was a poisoned arrow fixed into her sensitive heart, -which nothing could effectually extract. She had begged and entreated -that the but thinly scattered trees on the farm might be spared, but -in vain. She witnessed their fall with grief, which she could not -conceal, and had thus incurred a considerable degree of anger from -her father. She had heard the mortifying remarks of the Heritages -and other friends; but the ground of painful feeling and of comment -which it had laid in the mind of all the Woodburns, and especially -of Mr. Woodburn, was a source of real unhappiness. She felt afraid to -go to the Grange when Mr. Woodburn was in the house, and when she did -meet him there, or elsewhere, she thought he looked coldly on her. -She was conscious that her very presence brought to his mind this -piece of Vandalism—the blot on the face of the country, as he termed -it. She heard of his by no means measured remarks upon it amongst his -neighbours; for though a quiet and courteous man, he was strong in -his feelings. - -George never alluded to the subject in her company, and never omitted -one of his usual visits to the farm. He even sat and heard Mr. -Drury’s conversation on the subject, for nothing could prevent him -continually introducing it, and remained passive, and making but now -and then an incidental reply, endeavouring to divert the discussion -to something more agreeable to the ladies. But nothing could turn -Mr. Trant Drury long. He would say, “Well, I find my plans don’t -meet with the approbation of my neighbours, eh? They would like all -to live in a wood, and pay rent, where they do pay rent, for growing -their landlord’s timber. Ah! they shall see in a while! They shall -see by my rick-yards how the matter stands.” - -To George, as to Elizabeth, this was a bitter drop which had fallen -into their cup. They saw that a strong antagonism would assuredly -grow up betwixt their fathers. All their ideas of rural economy -were so totally and irreconcileably opposed. Bitterly did Elizabeth -deplore their ever coming into such close and permanent contact; -bitterly did she repent having proposed their removal hither. By her -marriage with George, she would have come amongst her friends here -without one painful circumstance. But the change was made, and these -two faithful hearts resolved that no family dissension which might -arise should break or weaken the sacred tie of their own souls. They -endeavoured, each of them, so to arrange their visits to each other’s -house, as to come as little in the way of each other’s father as -possible, without seeming to make an actual coldness or breach. But -this was a most difficult plan of operations to manage. If Mr. Drury -did not see George for several days, he would say— - -“Well, George Woodburn seems to avoid us. He is like his father, I -suppose. He takes part with him, and can’t forgive this ridding my -farm of its lumber and rubbish.” - -“No, dear father,” Elizabeth would say, “George does not concern -himself about it; but he is very busy—and I wish, however, you would -not mention the subject so often to him. It looks as though you -wished to remind him of his father’s vexation. Oh, do, dear father, -let the matter be a tabooed subject. There is plenty to talk of -besides.” - -“Plenty to talk of!—to be sure there is. But I have no notion of -people having such thin skins, such tender ears, that they can’t bear -to hear of a tree falling or of a hedge being lopped. And I am sure I -very seldom refer to the thing.” - -“Only every time that George Woodburn is here, dear father. Though he -does not trouble himself about it, it must become tiresome to him.” - -“So he finds my company tiresome, does he, eh? A nice young man! -Perhaps he’ll find yours tiresome soon, Elizabeth, if he be so -difficult to please. So that’s the way the wind blows, eh? Um—um!”—or -rather an indescribable noise made with his mouth shut and through -his nose. - -At Woodburn Grange, Mr. Woodburn would say— - -“Have you seen Miss Drury lately?” - -“Yes; she was here this morning.” - -“Oh, she was! She takes care that I don’t see her. I suppose she’s -not pleased with me because I don’t like the devastations of that -father of hers. I suppose she takes up the cudgels for him. Well, I -am sorry for it—I am sorry indeed that such a sweet, good creature -has such a father. As for poor Mrs. Drury, she does not seem to -have a soul of her own. She is just like a scared automaton, if an -automaton could be scared. She must have had a pretty life of it with -such a man.” - -If George were in, he would quietly get up and go out, and then -Mrs. Woodburn, or Ann, if at home, would say, “Pray don’t make such -remarks, dear father—or husband—don’t you see how painful they are to -George; and as for Elizabeth Drury, she loves and honours you most -sincerely. Oh, what a misfortune that ever they came so near us!” - -In the meantime, Mr. Trant Drury went on his way in his own way, -which was of unwavering, confident comfortableness in his assurance -that all which he thought and did was right. To him all adverse -criticism was ignorance, all opposition envy. He lamented the -benighted condition of his bucolic neighbours, and was certain that -he should show them all their deficiencies. Mr. Drury had, in the -north, been a high authority, and he soon let it be known that it was -the same Mr. Trant Drury, whose letters in the “Farmers’ Journal,” -and in the York and Doncaster newspapers, on all agricultural -topics were so well known. “Eh! so this is the great Mr. Drury of -Yorkshire,” said Sir Roger Rockville, and Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, -and Squire Swagsides, “that we have got among us: that is very -fortunate.” Mr. Drury soon took the opportunity to make the public -aware of this great fact still further, by some letters in the -Castleborough papers, containing remarks on the improvements which -might obviously be introduced into that part of the country. He was -very soon consulted by landowners on the nature of such improvements, -which they hoped would lead to an augmentation of rents. Mr. Drury -soon became much in request for valuations of stock and crops in -cases of farms passing from one tenant to another, in matters of -drainage and manures, and treatment of woods,—and in all these -departments he was really extremely skilful. He attended public -meetings in different counties of an agricultural character, and made -speeches which went through the newspapers far and wide. - -It was soon made known by himself that he had been consulted by Sir -Roger Rockville, Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, Sir Timothy Sheepshanks, -Lord Rancliffe, the Earl Manvers, and others, on the condition of -their estates. Not one of them, however, we are well informed, -could be brought to listen to cropping all their fences close, -and knocking down all their hedge-row trees, except Sir Benjamin -Bullockshed, and one or two of his neighbours. In the rest, Mr. Drury -said, the old feudal notions of things were too strongly rooted -to allow of their ridding their lands of any trees. Mr. Woodburn, -when he heard that Mr. Drury had actually become the steward of Sir -Benjamin Bullockshed, and was going to display his science on his -farms, blessed his stars that that estate lay at some distance, and -that the odious disfigurement and stripping bare of nature would not -often offend his eyes. - -In the meantime, Mr. Drury, in the late autumn, had certainly a -fine rick-yard and cattle-yard to show. His sheep were in fine -condition, and he had an ample supply of turnips and mangel wurzel -for winter feed. He had also sown several acres of carrots for his -horses and cattle, then a matter of wonder and curiosity to his -neighbours, as applied to that purpose, having before been thought -of only for culinary use. With the working-men, the labourers of the -neighbourhood, Mr. Drury was by no means in favour. He had brought -with him a great variety of machinery, thrashing and winnowing -machines, tedding and raking machines, which at that day, when such -machinery was little known, were looked upon as all intended to -supersede manual labour. They were beheld with an evil eye, and the -indignant labourers were heard to wish that the earth would open and -swallow up these godless and man-starving inventions. Besides this, -Mr. Drury kept a very sharp eye on every man who worked for him. He -had a bailiff, or headman, who timed all the men as they arrived in -the morning, and noted the exact minute down, and a half, or even -a quarter of an hour, on any day was deducted at the end of the -week. He was always riding about on that tall roan horse of his, and -so continually at their heels, or ready to drop upon them at any -minute. They nick-named him Drury the Fire-eater, and wondered what -they had done that the devil had sent him into their country. - -The following spring a circumstance occurred which pre-eminently -delighted not only the labourers, but the farmers around, and in no -small degree Mr. Woodburn himself. Mr. Drury had written so much -on the necessity of cleaning, dressing your fields, of extirpating -to the utmost every species of couch-grass and weed, and that your -growing crops should be as free from them as your gardens; he had -made so many cutting remarks on the slovenliness of some of the -neighbouring farms, and characterised the style of cultivation -thereabout as lax, that it was with singular pleasure and merriment -that they observed several of his corn crops, and one six-acre -field in particular, as thickly mixed with docks as if the seed had -purposely been sown half-and-half. There was a going and riding -from all quarters to witness this wonderful sight. It was the talk -at market, and Mr. Drury was accosted with much country wit on the -occasion. “Is that,” asked farmers, “a part of your new plans, Mister -Drury? Are these a new sort of carrots of yourn?” Carrots being just -introduced by Mr. Drury, this was received with much laughter. Mr. -Drury replied angrily, and in the words of Scripture, “An enemy hath -done this.” - -But who was this enemy! It was certain that Mr. Drury had his enemies -in abundance amongst the labourers; but these men were too regularly -engaged in hard work to collect such a quantity of dock seed, and -to sow it so completely. There was a touch of ingenuity in it, too, -which seemed beyond their habitual dulness. The suspicion turned in -another direction. - -In the autumn, on proceeding to get his potatoes, it was discovered -by the men that the rows had been extensively plundered, by the -potatoes being extracted from the sides of the rows, the tops being -left standing, and the earth at the sides carefully put back and -trampled hard. There was ingenuity there, too. - -Mr. Drury not only set a man to watch at night, but he watched with -him, and they soon captured, in the fact, a sort of half-witted, -wandering vagabond fellow of Castleborough, named Ned King. This Ned -King, a thin shangling fellow, dirty and ragged, and seldom without -a pipe in his mouth, was reckoned only half-witted, but, at the same -time, he had a cunning about him of no ordinary calibre. He was -accustomed to ramble the streets, and early in the morning turn over -with his feet or his hands, as carefully as a hen scratching in the -chaff at a barn-door, the dust and scraps of paper swept out of the -shops. It was said that he had occasionally recovered thus one-pound -and even five-pound notes. It was certain that one day, in a main -street, he was seen to stoop down and pick up a half-guinea in gold. -A person close behind said, “That is mine!” “Oh!” said Ned, keeping -the piece in his closed hand, “is yours a straight or a crooked one?” -The man immediately imagined that it must be a crooked one, or so -stupid a fellow would not have thought of it. “A crooked one, to-be -sure,” said the man. “Then it is not yours,” added King, opening his -hand, “for this is straight;” and the claimant disappeared amid the -jeers of the people. - -Ned being caught, begged hard to be let go, saying, he would make -Mr. Drury amends; but such was not Mr. Drury’s creed. He was for -the most summary punishment of all such depredators, and King was -carried before the magistrates, and thence to the House of Correction -for three months. The extraordinary crop of docks on Mr. Drury’s -farm was no sooner talked of, than many people recollected seeing -King here and there all round the country collecting, as he said, -bird-seeds of different sorts; but they noticed him particularly -gathering dock-seeds, which he said were for birds, but which nobody -had ever known collected for such a purpose. It was shown by some of -King’s neighbours that he had whole sack-bags of such seeds in his -possession during the winter. But his having collected such seeds, -and his having whole bags of them, did not prove that he had sown Mr. -Drury’s corn-fields with them. There was no moral doubt whatever that -he had done it; but it had been done so adroitly, that no one had -ever seen him about Mr. Drury’s farm at night. He must have done it -in midnights when every soul was fast asleep. - -Mr. Drury had him up before the magistrates; and brought plenty of -evidence of his having collected dock-seed for six or seven miles -round, and of his having sacks full of it; but when the magistrates -called on him to show how he had disposed of it, Ned grinned, and -said, “How was he to know? He was always selling seeds and yarbs -(herbs) to all sorts of people, and he did not know their names.” -The old proverb of any fool taking a horse to water, and not all -England being able to make him drink, was verified in Ned’s case. -Nobody could convict him, and he was too shrewd to convict himself. -The magistrates were compelled to dismiss him with a threat, and -everybody said Mr. Drury had better have let Ned alone, he would -do him some other ill-turn. And this soon appeared to be the case, -for Mr. Drury’s field-gates were continually found wide open in a -morning, and cattle and sheep let in or let out, and the greatest -damage done. Sheep and cattle were found eating up and treading down -the corn crops, and his horses were gone off, and were discovered in -some neighbouring parish. - -In this case the able and acute Mr. Trant Drury had found his match -in the half-witted Ned King, the fool of Castleborough, much to the -delectation of farmers and labourers all round Woodburn. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - WOODBURN AND ROCKVILLE AT WAR. - - -Once more spring; and though many things had occurred to sadden the -hearts once so light at Woodburn, there were yet days there when -something of the old charm seemed to come back. There were hearts -and minds all the more bound together by sympathy in sorrow, and -by a common endurance of the petty enmity of proud and ignorant -neighbours. One fine May Sunday evening, Mr. and Mrs. Degge had -come in to tea at the Grange. Sir Henry Clavering was there; and -after tea a walk was proposed down by the river-side to a copse, -where two nightingales were continually heard, evening and night, -singing against each other in marvellous rivalry. Mr. and Mrs. -Degge, Sir Henry, George, Ann, and Letty, set out for this walk. A -more delicious evening never shed its charms on such a company. A -light breeze blew the odours of legions of flowers towards them as -they slowly wandered down the valley. They had then to cross some -fields, and pass through a farm-yard, before reaching the copse in -question. These fields and this copse were on Sir Roger Rockville’s -land; and as they approached the gate leading into the fields, they -saw, to their surprise, a board erected, declaring that there was no -road that way. As this was, and always had been, a road far beyond -the memory of man, and as no legal measures had been taken to stop -it, the gentlemen were quite confident that it could not be legally -stopped. They, therefore, went on, passed through the farm-yard, saw -no one, and reached the copse. - -As they were standing beneath some trees just within it, and were -listening to the songs of the emulative birds, suddenly a gun was -discharged over their heads, and one of the birds fell at their feet. -In the greatest astonishment and indignation, the three gentlemen -rushed towards the place whence the discharge came, but could discern -no one. The ladies had picked up the poor little musician, now with -its feathers dabbled with its blood, and all its wondrous music -hushed for ever, and were in the highest state of pity and resentment. - -The party took its way back in a mood of extreme exasperation at the -barbarous deed, which they attributed to some one of Sir Roger’s -keepers, and that the poor bird had fallen a martyr to the baronet’s -known feelings against them. As they entered the farm-yard, two young -men came towards them, one having a gun on his shoulders. This one -addressed the party without any sign of courtesy. - -“Did not you see the board up by the gate?” - -“Yes!” it was replied. “We saw it, but it has no business there. This -is an old road, and has not, to our certain knowledge, been legally -stopped.” - -“I tell you,” said the young man, in an excited tone, “there is no -road—never was a road, and no one shall come this way.” - -“Pray, who are you, young man?” said Sir Henry Clavering. - -“Who am I? I am the son of the tenant here.” - -“Then let me tell you,” said Sir Henry, “that I am Sir Henry -Clavering, a magistrate. This is Mr. Degge, another magistrate, who -must have heard of any intention to stop this road by legal means. -You young men are new here,—your father has only entered on this farm -at Lady Day. We are old inhabitants, and know that this has always -been a road.” - -“I don’t care,” said the young farmer, “who you are. I tell you there -is no road here. I am ordered by Sir Roger to let nobody pass here, -and I won’t, and”—clapping his gun with one hand, as the other rested -it on his shoulder—“if any one comes after this notice, I’ll give him -what shall prevent him coming again.” - -“Do you know,” said Mr. Degge, “what you are saying and doing? With -a gun in your hand, menacing death or disablement to any one coming -upon a lawful road?” - -“Yes, I know what I say; and if you want to know more, this is my -legal adviser”—pointing to the other man, who had a town look about -him. - -“So,” said Mr. Degge, “you are a lawyer; and do you approve of such -language as this?” - -“I say,” replied the lawyer, “resist force by force.” - -“Then,” said Mr. Degge, “you are a very dangerous and unlawyerlike -adviser, and this matter cannot rest here.” And with that the party -walked on. - -On inquiry, it was found that the lawyer was the brother of the -young farmer, and a mere lawyer’s clerk in Castleborough. Sir Henry -Clavering immediately wrote to Sir Roger Rockville, detailing what -had taken place, and requesting to know whether these proceedings -were really sanctioned by him. In reply, Sir Roger said that the road -through the farm-yard in question was a great nuisance, and he had -told the farmer that he might get it stopped if he could, but that -he had not authorised him to use any menace or violence. Sir Henry -requested to know whether Sir Roger denied the ancient right of road, -and whether he had ordered the board to be put up? To these questions -Sir Roger gave no reply. Sir Henry and Mr. Degge, therefore, issued a -warrant for the farmer to appear before the bench, on a given day, -in order to have him bound over to keep the peace. - -When the day arrived, it was found that never had there been so full -an assembly of magistrates for years. It was evident that Sir Roger -had mustered all his friends. The man was called up, and charged by -Sir Henry Clavering with the menaces already mentioned. He replied, -that he had only done as he was ordered by his landlord. Sir Henry -looked round, but though Sir Roger’s friends were there in great -force, he himself was absent. As the man swore positively that Sir -Roger had ordered him to turn everybody back, and, if they would not -go, to use force, and had sent the warning-board for him to put up, -Sir Henry produced and read Sir Rogers letter, declaring that he had -not authorised the farmer to use any menace or violence. This was a -poser, and the responsibility of the act was thrown wholly on the -man, who was declared by Sir Henry to be perjured. He added, that -he should prosecute him for the perjury; but he now demanded that -he should be bound to keep the peace towards every one for twelve -months, under a very heavy penalty. But here the united power of -Sir Henry and Mr. Degge failed against the whole bench, who were -unanimous in declaring that it would be quite sufficient if the young -man promised that he would not thus offend again. And on a ready -promise on his part, he was discharged. - -Mr. Degge told the magistrates that they had taken a very heavy -responsibility upon themselves, as, from what he had seen of the -young man’s temperament, he believed him to be so excitable that, -under the least provocation, he might do some serious mischief to -some one, and that he should, for public security, feel himself -compelled to sue for a mandamus requiring them to show cause for -neglecting the very necessary precaution of binding the delinquent -to keep the peace. - -This announcement produced an evident damp on the assembled justices; -but the man was already discharged, and there was no help for it. -But even before Sir Henry could issue a warrant to summon the man -to answer the charge of perjury, a fresh encounter had produced a -repetition of the very same conduct in him. All the people of the -neighbourhood were incensed at the clandestine attempt to stop this -road, and made constant use of it, though round about, in going to -Rockville; and in a very short time the effect of the reiterated -irritation of this popular opposition had produced actual insanity in -the young farmer, whose mother, it was found, was already confined in -a lunatic asylum, and whither he himself had to be conducted. This -melancholy visitation of course stopped all proceedings on the part -of Sir Henry and Mr. Degge, even against the magistrates. The road -was left peaceably open; but the condition of mind originated by this -constant clashing of views betwixt what might be called the Woodburn -and Rockville parties, was one very prejudicial to the happiness of -the neighbourhood, and ominous of results of no agreeable kind. - - - END OF VOL. II. - - - BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - pg 8 Changed locked herself in her bed-room to: bedroom - pg 22 Changed comma to period end of: honour and all affection - pg 43 Removed repeated word of from: one of of the toll-bars - pg 77 Added quote after: everybody go to church. - pg 92 Removed unnecessary quotes before: “I think,” added Thorsby - pg 101 Changed imagine the déjeûner to: déjeuner - pg 130 Changed duty battling wtih to: with - pg 131 Removed unneeded quote after: might be different. - pg 136 Added a comma after: abandon an ardent lover - pg 145 Changed if you considerth at to: consider that - pg 151 Removed quote after: wish to see them. - pg 154 Removed quote after: roof and care? - pg 169 Changed that of Edmund Barington to: Barrington - pg 171 Changed nothing which can unncessarily to: unnecessarily - pg 174 Added quote before: I must hasten - pg 191 Removed quote after: seen the effect of that, - pg 205 Changed word s to as: But s it is done - pg 246 Removed word to from: soon returned to her attention - pg 271 Changed hedges and hedgerow to: hedge-row - pg 272 Changed and fell hedgerow to: hedge-row - Other hyphenated and non-hyphenated words left as written. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODBURN GRANGE, VOL. 2 OF -3 *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Woodburn Grange, vol. 2 of 3</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>A story of English country life</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: William Howitt</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 26, 2022 [eBook #69642]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Sonya Schermann, Bob Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODBURN GRANGE, VOL. 2 OF 3 ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover"> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> -<h1>WOODBURN GRANGE.</h1> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - - -<p class="center fs150">WOODBURN GRANGE.</p> - -<p class="center fs120">A Story of English Country Life.</p> -<br> -<p class="center fs80">BY</p> -<p class="center">WILLIAM HOWITT.<br> -<br><br> -IN THREE VOLUMES.<br> -<br> -VOL. II.<br> -<br><br> -LONDON:<br> -CHARLES W. WOOD, 13, TAVISTOCK ST., STRAND.<br> -1867.<br> -<br> -[<em>Right of Translation reserved.</em>]<br> -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p class="center">LONDON:</p> -<p class="center">BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> -<hr class="r5"> - -<table class="autotable"> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">CHAP.</td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">I.</td> -<td class="tdl">—THE CLAVERINGS AND HERITAGES</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">II.</td> -<td class="tdl">—A WILD GALLOP</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">III.</td> -<td class="tdl">—AN ADVENT AND AN EXIT</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl">—LETTY’S WEDDING</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">V.</td> -<td class="tdl">—MILLICENT HERITAGE AT THE YEARLY MEETING</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl">—WHAT CAME OF MILLICENT’S VISIT</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VII.</td> -<td class="tdl">—THORSBY’S FALL AND CONVERSION</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> -<td class="tdl">—WORSE AND WORSE WITH HARRY THORSBY</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_218">219</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IX.</td> -<td class="tdl">—ALL WRONG AT WOODBURN</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">X.</td> -<td class="tdl">—WOODBURN AND ROCKVILLE AT WAR</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> -<p class="center fs150">WOODBURN GRANGE.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="r30"> -<hr class="r30b"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="center">THE CLAVERINGS AND HERITAGES.</p> - -<p>On the morning after the frolic on the -island, as the young friends called it, when -the breakfast was over, where the merriment -of the affair, and the return of Henry Clavering -had been discussed, and the ladies -were left to themselves, topics were introduced -which belonged only to the initiated, -that is, to the womenkind.</p> - -<p>“How well Mr. Clavering looks,” said Mrs. -Woodburn, “and how kind and amiable he is. -What a joy it is to George to have him back -again, and you, Ann?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I am very glad indeed that he is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span> -come back; poor Sir Emanuel must have been -so lonely by himself up in that great house.”</p> - -<p>“True,” said Mrs. Woodburn. “But you, -Ann? Has he altered his opinions at all?”</p> - -<p>Ann shook her head, the tears started to -her eyes, and she said, “No, dear mother, he -is just the same; it is very sad.”</p> - -<p>“It is sad,” said Mrs. Woodburn; “but let -us wait God’s time, my dear child; I will -still hope that so excellent a young man, with -such sense and such a heart, must come right -at last.”</p> - -<p>Ann again shook her head, and said, sorrowfully, -“I don’t know; pray God it may be -so,” and went on with her sewing.</p> - -<p>As a conversation between Mr. Clavering -and Miss Woodburn happened to come to my -ear, as it does so often come, by means of the -little bird which carries so many arcana to -authorly ears, I may throw a little light on -the mysterious words of Mrs. Woodburn and -her daughter. For a long time there had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> -been a strong and tender attachment betwixt -Henry Clavering and Ann Woodburn. Mr. -Clavering, George’s old schoolfellow, and -almost constant companion since, had been -most intimate at Woodburn Grange. The -whole family loved and admired him, for his -sound sense, high moral feeling, and unassuming -kindly disposition. The attachment -betwixt Ann and him had grown up almost -insensibly. He made a direct offer to Ann, -and this was warmly seconded by every one -of her family. Independently of the splendid -fortune and title which Mr. Clavering would -inherit, and the fortunate nearness of his -abode, no woman could expect to find in a -husband a more agreeable person, a more -rich possessor of moral and intellectual endowments -and qualities. What, then, stood in the -way? There was an obstacle, to Ann’s religious -and conscientious nature, which in her -opinion was insurmountable. Mr. Clavering -had no faith in Christianity: he had but a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> -doubtful one in the existence of man after -death.</p> - -<p>Sir Emanuel Clavering, as we have seen, -was accredited in the mind of the common -people round with the practice of the black -art. For that, of course, there was no foundation; -but as there cannot well be smoke -where there is no fire, there was a certain -foundation for this notion. Sir Emanuel, in -the ardent pursuit of astronomical science, had -acquired the most profound idea of the wondrous -construction and illimitable extent of -the universe. That it was produced and -upheld in such beautiful order by some great -invisible power co-extensive with itself, he -could not doubt; but he felt an invincible -difficulty in imagining that this could be any -living being. He believed it rather to be an -intelligent principle or force producing all -things—the soul, as it were, of all visible -creation. In a word, he was what we understand -by a Pantheist. If there were a God,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -he conceived it must be a sentient principle -rather than a concentrated mind, inhabiting -some localised vehicle perceptible even to -spiritual beings, if there were such. It was -to him something illimitable, unapproachable, -incomprehensible: the infinite, impossible to -be conceived of, or perceived by the finite. -For these reasons, he disbelieved the whole -narrative of God taking a human form and -coming down and dying for mankind.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Heritage, deeply grieved at such notions -in a man otherwise excellent and so -agreeable, had felt herself drawn to meet him, -and reason with him on this head. Admitting -that the infinite must be incomprehensible to -the finite, she asked him if he could understand -his own existence? Yet he did exist, -and so did God. Had no such scheme as this -earth, and of human beings living in so -complicated a machine of flesh, blood, nerves, -and their sensations, supported by vegetables -converted by digestive process into this flesh<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> -and blood; of the growth of all animals, and -of man himself; of all vegetables, of the -mightiest trees, with all their varied and delicious -fruits and essences—not been exhibited -to intellectual beings capable of observing it, -she urged that such beings could by no -possibility have conceived the idea of so marvellous -a creation.</p> - -<p>Sir Emanuel admitted the force of her -arguments, and thanked her most warmly for -presenting them to his mind, but he could by -no means bring himself to believe, amidst the -myriads of worlds which the telescope revealed -to the eye—far as its powers could -open up the inconceivable distances of the -heavens—that God could condescend to come -down to this one little planet, and take upon -himself the weaknesses and inconveniences of -humanity, and be insulted and killed by his -own creatures. It revolted, he said, the -totality of his reason.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Heritage reminded him that he had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> -just admitted that everything around him -was beyond the grasp of reason, and he ought -to content himself with the unquestionable -facts of a thoroughly authenticated history.</p> - -<p>Sir Emanuel smiled, and said that he must -think of that part of the subject, and concluded -the conversation by thanking Mrs. -Heritage, and asking her to go and look at -some American deer that he had just received -from the United States. Mrs. Heritage often -afterwards renewed the conversation with Sir -Emanuel, and he had always received her -remarks in the kindest and most courteous -manner, but remained apparently as fixed in -his old views as ever. In these views Henry -Clavering, his only son, had grown up. They -had never been expressly taught him by his -father, but he had listened to conversations on -these topics so often, and had such respect -for the talents and honourable nature of his -father, whilst his mother had been lost to -him when very young, that these ideas were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> -to him as part of his mental constitution.</p> - -<p>It was this knowledge that had been Ann -Woodburn’s stumbling-block and most painful -trial. Loving Mr. Clavering with all the -strength of her deeply-feeling nature, she -could not bring herself to contemplate an -alliance with a man who was not a Christian, -whatever else he might be. Oh, many a long -and deep struggle it had occasioned her; -many a restless and sleepless night; many a -sorrowful, miserable day. Sometimes her -agony rose to such desperation that she had -locked herself in her bedroom and flung herself -on the floor, and rolled there in a -frenzy of grief. All her eloquence had been -used to induce Henry Clavering to read works -of our great divines on the subject; all the -arguments with which they had furnished -her she had zealously urged on him; but -without any effect but that of making him as -wretched as herself. He told her that most<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> -gladly would he be convinced, most earnestly -he wished that he could think as she did; but -he could not, and would not conceal from her -the truth. After long endeavours and waitings -on the part of Ann, and a state of mind -most wearing to Mr. Clavering himself, Ann -had told him that she felt that she never -could consent to a union whilst their opinion -on so vital a point remained as they were -and though to her it was like dividing soul -and body, she would not remain a tie upon -him; she left him free as the winds to choose -some more fortunate and, as he might think, -more reasonable woman.</p> - -<p>To this proposal Henry Clavering would -not listen. “No,” said he, “my dearest -Ann, I cannot change my heart and soul at -pleasure. With you or with no one must I -unite my life. I feel the greatness of your -self-sacrifice, but it is not in your power to -set me free. I am what I am, and must be. -My love for you is rooted into the deepest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> -region of my heart—neither you nor I can -tear it out at will. I will wait for you as -long as you like—and you or I may change.”</p> - -<p>Sir Emanuel Clavering had seconded the -proposal of his son with the most zealous -advocacy. He said he rejoiced at the idea of -seeing Cotmanhaye Manor lit up and warmed -and graced by such a mistress. He told -Ann that she must not make herself and -Henry wretched by silly scruples. They were -both as good as they could be, and they -might well leave all the rest to the winding-up -of time. But then Sir Emanuel let slip a -word which would have spoiled all had there -been any chance of Ann’s acquiescence.</p> - -<p>“Come,” said he, “dismiss any more -girlish fancies; let me see you my dear -daughter-in-law, and at Cotmanhaye we will -make you as pretty a little infidel as can be -wished.”</p> - -<p>“God forbid!” said Ann, shuddering; and -these words sunk deep into her soul. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> -travelled on in thought to the time when she -might be the mother of precious children, -and the idea of their growing up in such an -atmosphere of infidelity made her resolve -irrevocable. In vain had Henry Clavering -assured her that in the event of a family, -she should indoctrinate the children as she -pleased. Not a word from him, and he -thought he might answer for his father, -should ever be let fall to mar her maternal -counsels.</p> - -<p>“But,” said Ann, “you would not even say -one word which should accord with my -teachings, and what a predicament for the -quick sagacity of childhood!”</p> - -<p>Such was the state of things which had -induced Henry Clavering to go abroad, and -had made him a wanderer through far countries -for two years. It was this which had -made Ann Woodburn, however outwardly -calm and occasionally smiling, inwardly sad -and anxious, and had deepened with a proportionate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> -force her religious feelings. As -the party of young people walked home in -the evening of yesterday through the woods, -Mr. Clavering had gradually fallen behind -with Ann, and, taking her hand affectionately, -had said, with a tone full of feeling:—</p> - -<p>“What news, my dear Ann? Have your -scruples vanished? May we hope for better -days?”</p> - -<p>“No, dear Henry,” replied Ann, sorrowfully. -“My scruples, as you call them, can -never leave me; and I fear from your question -that your views have undergone no -change.”</p> - -<p>“I must confess,” said Mr. Clavering, “that -they have not.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Ann, after a long silence, -“let us not renew that subject. Let us leave -it to God. But I say again, Henry, why -should you waste your existence in useless -regrets and unrequited affections for such a -simple country maiden as me, when a brilliant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> -world is open to you, and so many fitter -and livelier companions within the scope of -your choice? I do not say, forget me—let us -be friends; but, be free from all thought of -me.”</p> - -<p>Henry Clavering held affectionately her -hand, and they walked on in silence; but he -felt that hand quiver, and saw that she trembled -violently.</p> - -<p>“Well, let us leave this topic,” he said, “at -least for the present. I shall not make you -miserable. We will still look onward, and -hope.”</p> - -<p>Ann Woodburn gave him a look of most -loving thankfulness, wiped her tears from her -face, and they went on, hand in hand, in -silence till they came up with their companions. -Let us now return to the conversation -of the mother and daughters at the Grange.</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Letty, looking rather knowingly, -“that ‘the course of true love’ really -seldom does run smooth.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> - -<p>“Yours, Letty, I think, runs smooth -enough,” said Ann, brightening up. “Really, -it is not for you to say that, with Mr. Thorsby’s -declaration and your worthy parents’ -consent given but yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Letty, blushing and looking -very happy, “I was not thinking of myself, -but of Millicent Heritage.”</p> - -<p>“Of Millicent Heritage!” exclaimed her -mother and sister; “why, what of her?”</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” continued Ann, “Dr. Leroy -is over head and ears in love with her. -Never did I see a young man’s eyes always -resting with such affectionate expression on -any one as his do on Miss Heritage; and -really she seems very fond of him; and a -most accomplished and amiable man he is.”</p> - -<p>“True, all true,” said Letty, taking a -folded paper from her pocket. “I told you -I would read you a bit of Miss Heritage’s -poetry; and when you have heard it—well, -then you can judge. This poem was given to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -Miss Drury by Millicent, and she has allowed -me to copy it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, let us have it!” said both the ladies, -“we never heard a line of Quaker poetry—not -even that Mr. Moon’s you mentioned.”</p> - -<p>“Moon James,” said Letty; “but now—” -she began—</p> - - -<p class="center">COME TO ME.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container fs80"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Come to me, loved one, from thy heaven descending,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Come to me softly, with the falling dews;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Come when the shadows and the lights are blending,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the heart fondly all its past renews.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Come to me, loved one,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">As I sit and muse.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Come to me in the hushed, dark midnight hour,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Fall with thy spirit gladness on my heart,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Let me embrace thee in the deathless power</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of that which once cemented cannot part.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Come to me, loved one,—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Spirit though thou art.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Come to me, loved one, when the breeze is sighing,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the far sky shines with a lonely light;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where loving lips to loving words replying,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Make even this cloudy world divinely light.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Come to me, loved one,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Let our souls unite!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">For I would live, and love, and ever be</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A part of that, and those, the sacred few,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With whom my heart has grown in such degree</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of deep endearment as the heavens renew.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Come to me, loved one,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Say—the dead are true.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Come, when the days are dark, the storms are raving,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">When friends are passing, and the heart is low,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Come, when the soul is sick, and inly craving</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For what it hopes and dreams and fain would know.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Come to me, loved one,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In thy star-like glow.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Come in God’s freedom of the souls set free;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">No startling touch, no vision dread be mine—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Enfold me in thy presence—let me be</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Soul of thy soul in all its life divine.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Come to me, loved one,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Whisper—thine, still thine!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Is that Miss Heritage’s?” asked Mrs. -Woodburn. “Is it really? I did not think -so much was in her. It is rather lugubrious; -but for so young a girl, there is stuff in it.”</p> - -<p>“But you know, father says these Quakers -are extraordinary people,” said Letty. “You -don’t know all at once what is in them.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> - -<p>“It is very good,” said Ann. “I should -like a copy of it. It is much better, I undertake -to say, than that Mr. Moon’s.”</p> - -<p>“Moon James,” reiterated Letty, “but, -as mother says, a little lugubrious, and -reminds me of that ‘sentimental’ Miss Bailey, -who says she does so love melancholy subjects.”</p> - -<p>“And who,” asked Mrs. Woodburn, “can -this apostrophised beloved one be? A mere -girl’s fancy, I expect.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Letty; “Miss Drury says it -was some young fellow of a cousin who got -drowned in the Trent when he was about -eighteen, bathing. I wonder what Dr. Leroy -would say to this poem?”</p> - -<p>“He would not mind,” said Mrs. Woodburn. -“Miss Heritage is not likely to pine -in reality after a youth drowned years ago, -with such a good-looking and clever lover -as Dr. Frank Leroy. Perhaps it was a -good thing the lad did get drowned.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> -These Friends make too many cousin-marriages.”</p> - -<p>“Dear mother!” exclaimed both the -daughters, “would you drown off the young -Friends who were in danger of marrying -cousins?”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” replied Mrs. Woodburn, laughing, -“not so bad as that; I would only send -such mischievous young fellows to Botany -Bay.”</p> - -<p>With a burst of good-natured merriment -at Mrs. Woodburn’s proposal for curing -Quaker cousin-marriages, the conversation -ended, Mrs. Woodburn going away to her -household duties, and Letty to copy her -poem.</p> - -<p>We have now given a pretty full picture -of the life at Woodburn Grange, and a few -glimpses into Friend life, as it was then. -The reader, no doubt, thinks with us, that it -is about time that our story marched at -something more than a goose-step, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> -which I fully accord, and shall set forward -with it accordingly after one more observation. -Many readers, accustomed only to the -measured manners betwixt masters and mistresses -and domestic servants of to-day, and -especially in towns, will probably think the -free and often very personal speech of Betty -Trapps out of nature, or, at least, out of place. -Those who lived then in the country, perhaps -some living there now, will recollect female -servants who were quite as free-spoken and -as brusquely-unflattering as Betty Trapps, -and who, nevertheless, lived their twenty and -thirty years in a family. Their industry, -fidelity, and attachment to the family which -they served, made a grand set-off against -their unceremonious freedom. Such servants -were not only tolerated but greatly valued, -and it would have been a severe trial to part -with them. A sort of relationship, approaching -to kinship, seemed to grow up with such -long and free service, and many of the old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -servants came to be called by the name of -the family they lived in. Very probably -Betty Trapps was often called in the village -and neighbourhood, Betty at Woodburns’, -and, at length, Betty Woodburn. One such -Betty I knew, who used to hunt us children -up, wash us, and pack us off to the village -school. I should never forget her, were it -only for rubbing my nose so hardly and -crumplingly with the napkin after washing -me. But I remember her still more for -many a kind office, many a token of affection, -many an absorbing story as we sate round -the great blazing wood fire in the house-place -of a winter’s evening, and Betty travelled -back amongst the days and acquaintance of -her youth, and found things that were to her -still “very cutting,” and which we yet called -for again and again.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">A WILD GALLOP.</p> - - -<p>Whilst these things were transpiring, and -a pleasant intercourse of friendship was progressing -in and about Woodburn, things and -feelings of a very different character were -laying the foundations of future complications -in the same, as yet, happy neighbourhood.</p> - -<p>Mr. Degge had taken and furnished a cottage -in Hillmartin, very near his own house, -for his mother. The yet hale and cheerful -woman of fifty, was much fonder of a house -more resembling in size and furnishing her -former humble habitation by the Castleborough -meadows, than the large house of -her son called Hillmartin Hall. She could -not here work and get up linen, but she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -could spin and look after a little garden. -She must have some employment: and Simon -Degge knew that his mother would feel much -more happy in a house of her own than in -a great house, even though her son and -daughter-in-law showed her every honour -and all affection. She could come in and -out as she pleased, and yet have a house to -return to where she was mistress, and felt -that everything was her own. She had one -little maid-servant, and her cottage was as -cheerful and pleasant as plenty and a love of -neatness and order could make it. She had -her little garden, and cultivated flowers, -especially the old English flowers, pinks, -double-daisies, daffodils, wall-flowers, polyanthuses, -and the like. The roses and honeysuckles -that covered her garden porch and -peeped in at her windows, saw the balm-of-Gilead -and egg plants and geraniums looking -out at them and seeming to say, “we are -all happy.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> - -<p>Old Mrs. Degge, if old she could be called, -had her cat and her great green-baize covered -bible, and she could do with such -company much better than some people can -with whole crowds. Mrs. Degge—we shall -distinguish her daughter-in-law as Mrs. Simon -Degge—had beyond these things a source of -satisfaction which, next to the happiness and -prosperity of her son and his family, was the -grand satisfaction of her life. Mrs. Degge -was a Methodist, and was a most notable -acquisition to the society at Hillmartin. -There were a considerable number of Methodists -in the village, but chiefly amongst the -poorer class. There was no appointed -preacher at the chapel, but local preachers, -often working men at Castleborough, officiated -there. Sometimes there came a -greater gun—a round-preacher, as he was -called—one appointed by Conference to -preach at different places within a certain -round, or district. Besides these, there were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -occasional amateur preachers—gentlemen, who -felt it a duty to assist in preaching the gospel.</p> - -<p>To these different labourers in the great -field, there had wanted a comfortable hostel, -as it were, or house where they could receive -such rest and refreshment as the outer man -requires, however strong and unwearied the -inner man might be. Exactly such a pleasant, -home-like domicile could Mrs. Degge -now offer them. There the preachers could -go direct, with the feeling of a welcome as -sincere as it was acceptable. The poor servant -of the gospel who had to foot it from -the town, up the long hill, often in sweltering -hot weather, often amid the snow and storms -of winter, there found always a cheerful -hearth, a ready cushioned arm-chair, -a smiling, pious face, and a heart always -ready to give the sure tokens of welcome and -comfort. There they could dine and rest -betwixt the morning and evening services: -there they could take tea, and enjoy the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> -company of one or other of the esteemed -brethren who dropped in. There was a -chamber, clean, snug, and quiet, if there were -need of stopping the night. The richer -brother who came on horseback knew that -his horse was as welcome and would be -ministered to as cordially in the stable of -Mr. Degge, as he himself would be at his -mother’s. Mr. Degge had assured them himself -of this, and often stepped in and had a -friendly chat with these apostles of the -people. He told his mother that she was -not to spare any expense in making her -house a resort most agreeable to her friends; -and Mrs. Degge, knowing that this was as -genuinely said as she herself could say it, -made her house the pleasant resort of the -prophets of her community as much as the -Shunamite woman of old did her little room -on the wall to Elisha.</p> - -<p>A class met at Mrs. Degge’s house; and -at any cottage in the village where any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> -members of the society lived, Mrs. Degge -was a most welcome visitor, always ready to -carry help and comfort wherever there was -need, or sickness, or want of counsel. Mr. -Degge not only enabled her to do all that -“she found in her heart to do,” but he paid -off an old debt on the chapel, for at that -time of day, few country chapels of the Wesleyans -were without such a debt, whatever -they may now be; and he frequently contributed -liberally, as well as enabling his mother -to contribute liberally, to the subscriptions -ever and anon called for.</p> - -<p>But these favours to the religious friends of -his mother were fresh aggravations of his -offences against the fixed prejudices of the -neighbouring squirearchy. Sir Roger Rockville -had driven the Methodists with a high -hand out of his village and beyond his domains, -and here was this odious money-bag -of Castleborough fostering them to the utmost -of his and his old washer-woman mothers’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -ability in Hillmartin almost under his nose. -Every neighbouring squire sympathised with -Sir Roger, and afresh denounced Simon -Degge as a nuisance.</p> - -<p>Of this feeling he had very soon a proof. -In the churchyard at Hillmartin was a large -brick vault, which had belonged to the family -who had been years ago the owners of the -house and land now purchased by Simon -Degge. As this family had long been extinct, -and there was ample space unoccupied in the -vault, Mr. Degge proferred to purchase this -vault of the vicar. This gentleman did not -reside at Hillmartin but at Gotham, and -preached once a week, that is, on the Sunday -afternoons, at Hillmartin. Mr. Degge made -his proposal for the vault, intending to -arrange the leaden coffins of the old family -at one end, and build a wall across in front -of them, so as to leave his portion a complete -vault of itself. The clergyman appeared -quite willing, and said he would consider<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> -what would be a fair price. But time went -on, and Mr. Degge received no answer. He -applied again and again, but the vicar had -not come to a decision. At length he said, -on being pressed, that he was very agreeable -to make over the vault to Mr. Degge, but -that he found there was a little difficulty in -the matter. This difficulty he did not explain, -and the delay went on again for a long -time. When pressed as to where this difficulty -lay, he said it lay with the bishop.</p> - -<p>Mr. Degge at once wrote to the bishop, -begging for an explanation of the difficulty, -and received a note from the bishop saying -that he was himself quite favourable to his -desire, but that there lay a little difficulty -elsewhere. Mr. Degge pressed to know -where, and at length learned from the bishop -that it lay with the vicar. This opened his -eyes; and he ceased any further application, -saying he was very foolish for entering into -negotiation for a vault while mother earth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> -was ready in a most friendly manner to -receive the remains of himself or of any one -belonging to him. His friend, Thomas Clavering, -however, on hearing of this piece of -poor equivocation, told him he might build a -vault, as large as he liked, in the churchyard -at Cotmanhaye any day.</p> - -<p>Another circumstance greatly embittered -the minds of the squires against Mr. Degge. -The difficulty which he found in procuring the -conviction of a person for any offence against -his property, or of defending any of his work-people -or the villagers against vexatious -warrants issued by one or other of these -gentlemen on the suggestions of their bailiffs -or keepers, induced him to desire to be made -a magistrate of the county as well as the -town, which he was. Sir Emanuel Clavering -was willing at all times to give him his -support, but then he was only one opposed -to half a-dozen, or, if they chose to carry -the matter to the sessions, many more. Sir<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -Emanuel strongly recommended this step, -as although it would leave him in a very -slender minority, there were cases which -they could deal with on their united warrants, -and their influence would be felt -altogether more effectual. This object was -accomplished through the intervention of -Lord Netherland, the Recorder of Castleborough, -but to the infinite disgust of the -squirearchy, of the stamp described, all round. -The epithets of “pauper” and “upstart” were -heard once more in every cadence of indignation. -Here was this tradesman, this unabashed, -irrepressible plebeian, now not only -planting himself down in the very midst of -them, but usurping their honourable magisterial -functions, and mounting the very bench -hallowed by their time-honoured dulnesses. -Sir Roger Rockville was in a condition of -the most deplorable effervescence.</p> - -<p>Scarcely had this odious apparition started -up amongst them, and desecrated the arena<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -of their justiciary operations, when a circumstance -occurred which startled them with a -proof of the inconveniences which they had to -apprehend.</p> - -<p>A labourer and his son, a boy about ten -years of age, was returning from the fields -towards Hillmartin village, and were following -the footpath through a copse, when the -lad saw a thrush’s nest on one of the lowest -boughs of a spruce-fir, temptingly nestled -close to the stem, not more than a yard from -the ground. Away he ran towards it, his -father stopping for him on the path. Arrived -near the tree, the lad as he ran struck -his foot against something and fell, but jumping -up, said,</p> - -<p>“Oh father, here is a great chain!”</p> - -<p>He was stooping to lift it up, when the -father cried out,</p> - -<p>“Let it alone! let it alone! it is a man-trap!”</p> - -<p>The boy stood terrified at the dreaded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> -name of a man-trap. The father advanced -carefully, poking the ground, which was -covered with dead leaves, with a long pole -which he picked up. When he came to the -spot where the boy stood, he saw part of a -strong chain laid bare, and lifting it up, -discovered close to his feet a stout iron pin, -which was driven into the ground and thus -confined the chain. Telling the boy not to -move, he gradually lifted the chain till he -felt it again fast.</p> - -<p>“There,” he said, “is the trap.”</p> - -<p>He looked round, and discovering a large -stone, he fetched it, and discharged it into -the place where he supposed the centre of -the trap to be. At once with a horrid snap -and clang, the jaws of the huge trap sprung -out of the concealing leaves and clashed -together with a direful shock. Father and son -stood rooted fast with terror. There was -revealed the great iron engine in a half -circle of at least half a yard high, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> -its hideous iron teeth closed and grinning -terribly.</p> - -<p>“There!” said the father—“take care, -Tom, how you goon a bird-nesting into -woods. If this had caught you, it would -have snapped you in the very middle of your -body, and these devil’s teeth would have -a’most met in your flesh. Nobody but the -wretch of a keeper as set it could have got -you out, and if you had bin by yersen -you mun ha’ died afore anybody had fun -ye.”</p> - -<p>The man immediately, on reaching the -village, asked permission to see Mr. Degge, -who heard the account with great indignation, -and taking another strong man with -him, went to the place to see this truly -“infernal machine.” He found it within five -yards of the footpath through the copse, and -expressing his astonishment and abhorrence -of an act then become as illegal as it was -monstrous, he ordered the men to take it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> -and carry it to the village. There they -deposited it by the public stocks, and chained -it, and made it fast by a padlock to it,—fitting -companions. The exhibition, and the -place in which this horrid engine was found, -created a most indignant sensation against -Sir Roger Rockville and his keeper. Such -were the diabolical machines that used to be -set in our game preserves half a century ago -or more, almost as commonly as the lesser -trap is yet set for lesser animals. Such is the -wonderful effect of custom and of selfish interests, -that these dire engines of a demoniac -cruelty could be planted here and there in -English woods, and which might catch and -hold in their hideous fangs human creatures, -and keep them in inexpressible tortures for -perhaps twelve hours or more; whilst all the -time the gentlemen and the ladies on those -estates were sleeping comfortably in their -beds. Such was the force of these man-traps, -that they required a man with an iron<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -winch to open them by a mechanism attached -for the purpose.</p> - -<p>These barbarous machines had now been -made illegal by act of parliament, yet Sir -Roger and others continued to use them, as -I know, for I myself had long after this -period a narrow escape, when botanizing, of -being caught in one in the woods of Strelley, -near Nottingham; and that within a few -yards of a foot-road!</p> - -<p>There was a great running from all parts -of the village to see this monument of the -tender mercies of Sir Roger Rockville, and -many were the inverted blessings showered -on his head. Very soon, however, the keeper -came in hot haste to reclaim his trap, and -Mr. Degge immediately apprehended him by -warrant, and committed him to the house of -correction and hard labour for six months.</p> - -<p>The sensation with which the news of this -event was received by Sir Roger, and amongst -his confreres of the woods and the bench, it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -would be impossible to describe. The audacity -of Simon Degge had reached a pitch -which surpassed all their bounds of conception. -Why, he was daring to treat them as -they had treated the humble villagers for -centuries. At first there was a great talk of -Mr. Degge having committed a robbery, of -having carried off Sir Roger’s property from -his own ground. But soon his cautious clerk -advised him that Mr. Degge, as a magistrate, -could seize an unlawful instrument anywhere. -The man-trap was accordingly secured to the -public stocks by strong rivets, and there it -remained for many years. Whilst the event -was fresh, many gentlemen and ladies drove -or rode to Hillmartin to have a look at this -relic of ancient savagery. On the Sunday -following, hundreds of the working people, -men, women, and children, flocked thither to -see it, and as they returned by Rockville Hall -gave very hearty groans for Sir Roger.</p> - -<p>There was a mighty consulting amongst<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> -this little group of the worst kind of country -squires; and it was resolved to sign unanimously, -of course, short of Mr. Degge and Sir -Emanuel Clavering, an order for the release of -the keeper—but the cautious clerk of the bench -again advised against this. He represented -that the man was legally committed for a legal -offence, and such was the spirit of Mr. Degge, -who was also now Mayor of Castleborough, -that he would compel them by mandamus to -show cause for such release, and this would -make the affair still more widely commented -upon. As it was, the liberal newspapers far -and wide had published the account, and -made most cutting criticisms upon it. They -even called for the seizure of Sir Roger by -warrant, and his committal to the treadmill. -Nothing for a long time had excited such a -paroxysm of public indignation.</p> - -<p>The breach betwixt the Rockville, Bullockshed -and Tenterhook class and that of Woodburn, -Hillmartin and Cotmanhaye was enormously<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> -widened. Simon Degge, Mayor of -Castleborough, and county magistrate of Hillmartin, -was regarded as a pestilent demagogue -of the first rank: and all those who fraternized -with him, as the Claverings, Woodburns, -Heritages, and indeed many of the more -enlightened county families, and the whole of -the Castleborough population, were looked on -as a crooked generation, hostile to all the -ancient institutions of the country. In woods -and kennels, and in several country halls, -Simon Degge and his friends were cursed -before all the gods of the game-laws; in town -and village everywhere Simon Degge was the -hero of the people. All looked to him as -their friend and powerful protector. “One -of ourselves,” they said, “he does not desert -us, he remains one of ourselves.” Whoever -saw him, saw a man as little like a restless -mischievous demagogue as it was possible to -conceive. For a great part of the day he -was in town, partly attending to his own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> -mercantile affairs, partly to the affairs of his -office. When he got to Hillmartin, he might -be seen riding quietly over his farm, or at -home happy and gay as possible amidst three -or four children, now enlivening his house: or -he was taking a quiet drive with his mother -and wife, as if he had no care on him, and -no desire in him to do battle with any one. -Of the feeling abroad amongst the Nimrod -class and their followers, a circumstance -soon occurred to make him more deeply -sensible.</p> - -<p>On a fine summer evening, George and -Letty Woodburn had ridden to Hillmartin, -and Simon Degge had mounted his horse and -accompanied them a few miles further on the -road beyond Gotham. Letty was mounted -on a handsome light bay mare, which had -been newly purchased for her. She was delighted -with it, and praised the easy paces of -the creature.</p> - -<p>“She is very handsome,” said Simon Degge,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -“but there is occasionally a rather vicious -look in her eye that I don’t like. I would -advise you to ride her with a martingale, and -a curb-bit rather than with that snaffle.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?” said Letty, “she is -very fresh, certainly, but I think quite gentle -and amiable,” and she patted her on the neck.</p> - -<p>“She does sometimes cast side-glances with -her eyes,” said George, “that are a little suspicious, -and she is rather hard-mouthed. I -shall adopt your advice, Mr. Degge, as safest.”</p> - -<p>At this moment Letty found it rather hard -work to hold her in. She had a short, -dancing, impatient action, and seemed to long -to be off at a smart rate. All at once there -was a blow on the high hawthorn hedge on -the left hand of the road, and off went the -mare. She took the bit between her teeth, -stretched out her neck as straight as a dart, -laid back her ears, and away! George and -Mr. Degge endeavoured to spring on before -her and seize her by the bridle-rein, but this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> -only set her off more impetuously than before. -In vain Letty pulled her in with all her power, -and endeavoured to pluck, by a sudden jerk, -the bit out of her teeth. She held it as fast -as if in a vice, and went off, spite of her efforts, -at a furious rate. George and Mr. Degge -were in the utmost alarm. Any attempt to -pursue her only made the frantic animal dash -on more madly. One thing appeared in -Letty’s favour; there was a long, ascending, -though not very steep hill, and her friends -trusted that the mare would wind herself -before she got to the top, and so allow herself -to be pulled in. George, without daring to -gallop after her at full speed, yet kept on at a -smart pace, taking the grassy borders of -the road, so as not to let the flying animal -hear him more than he could help. Mr. -Degge, who stopped a moment to look over a -gate into the field, to see whence the alarm -had come, was now galloping rapidly after. -Letty kept her seat like a capital horsewoman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> -as she was; and George felt confident that -unless something caused the mare to start -aside or to fall, she would go on safely home -with her. But there might be people coming -who might attempt to stop the mare, and -cause her to swerve suddenly aside, or she -might dash madly against one of the two -turnpike gates and kill both herself and rider. -The speed at which she flew on was frightful. -God’s providence could alone prevent some -fatal disaster. In one place there was a -broken spot in the middle of the road, over -which she sprang with a tremendous leap, -but Letty sate securely, and away! away! -they went like the wind: the two gentlemen -in breathless terror following as near as they -dare approach.</p> - -<p>Anon, the flying maniac steed came to a -steep and considerable descent. “If Letty -keeps her seat there,” said or rather thought -George, “it will all be well.” He gazed with -fixed eyes and suspended breath as he himself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -sped along, expecting to see his sister lose in -that rapid, shaking descent, her equilibrium, -and perhaps fly over the horse’s head, but -no,—unmoved, undaunted, as it would appear -by her steady figure and attitude, on -she flew, a cloud of dust coming driving -thickly behind her.</p> - -<p>Again she dashed up another ascent, and -now was on a long level road—there! one -of the toll-bars, but standing wide open. -Through dashed the horse and rider. Out -rushed a woman—threw her arms aloft over -her head, and stood, as the two gentlemen -rushed past, like a picture of ghastly and -petrified terror. On, away! away! the next -toll-bar, but this time the gate shut. George -was all horror, expecting, in chill desperation, -a terrible tragedy. On went the mare, without -stop or stay, dashed against the gate, -which flew aside, and on they went, more -frightfully than ever. “God send,” said -George in his soul, “that no waggon may<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> -be coming this way—the furious beast would -dash right upon it, and——”</p> - -<p>But now the race was nearly at an end. -Four miles were they distant when the mare -started off, and now they were flying down -the sandy road under the cliff towards Woodburn -Grange. As their horses made little -noise in the deep sand of the road, George -and Mr. Degge spurred on, and saw, as they -turned the bend of the road, the mare dash -right up to the gates of the stable-yard, and -stop in an instant. George expected to see -Letty pitched right over the yard gates, -which were not higher than the horse’s -shoulder. She was thrown only on its -neck, and there lay a moment as if stunned. -By the time George rode up, she had recovered -herself, and had sprung to the ground, -where she stood, pale, still, and as in a -dream. George sprung from his horse, and -catching her in his arms, said, “Thank God -that all is well.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> - -<p>Letty made no answer, but broke into loud -hysterical laughter, and then fainted. Mr. -and Mrs. Woodburn and the servants had -all rushed out as they saw the mare coming -at mad speed, covered with foam and dust, -and Letty riding as if she had no fear, for -she was silent, and made no gesture of alarm. -It was the courage of desperation; one moment’s -loss of self-control, and her destruction -would have been instant. Such had been the -speed of that wild ride, that it had occupied -but a few minutes. George carried Letty in -amid frantic exclamations from the women -that she was dead, was killed. But he told -them she was not hurt, and bade them be -quiet. He laid her on the sofa, and amid the -bustle and the terror around her, there she -lay as in a trance, pale, fair, and beautiful as -a spirit.</p> - -<p>In awhile she revived, and said, smilingly, -that by God’s blessing, she was quite well, -but as she attempted to rise, she exclaimed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -“Oh! my head! my head! how dizzy! all -is swimming—going round!” and she lay -down again. This dizziness returned at any -attempt to lift her head. Mr. Degge had -already ridden off for Dr. Leroy, and soon -came gallopping back with him. He had -brought such remedies as suggested themselves -to him, and proceeded to bathe her -temples and forehead with ether, which Letty -found delightfully cool. He gave her some -anodyne or other, and requested her to lie as -quiet and as tranquilly in mind as possible. -He said that the violent strain on the nervous -system, and excitement of the brain, would -show their effects for some time; and so it -proved. The dizziness continued still on any -motion, and during the night she awoke repeatedly -in great alarm, and with piercing -cries, dreaming she was again riding that -fearful race, though during it she had shown -nothing but the most calm courage. For -some weeks she continued to feel the effects<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> -of the great terror and effort through which -she had gone. In all the rushing fury of the -flight, she said she had only prayed for a -clear course, and that the horse might keep -its footing.</p> - -<p>The praises of her courageous bearing, and -the indignation of every one at the dastardly -fellow who had occasioned the frightful occurrence, -were pretty equal. Mr. Degge, who -had ridden to the place immediately after -and traced out the man, said he was a keeper -of Mr. Sheepshanks, and that he had no doubt -the thing was purposely done; though the -fellow said he was only trying to start a -rabbit, that had gone into the hedge there. It -was not long, however, before a Hillmartin -labourer, who had met the fellow in a public-house, -heard him say, that he thought it had -been Mrs. Degge, and he had rather it had -been. As for that Miss Woodburn, however, -he was glad she came to no harm, for there -was no woman in that county or the next<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> -that could stick in a saddle like her. Mr. -Degge and every member of the Woodburn, -and of hundreds of other families except -Letty herself, longed to be able to fix the -charge of purposed mischief on him, but it -could not be done.</p> - -<p>By the time that Letty was all right again, -George had, by repeated trials with a curb -bridle and martingale, ascertained that the -mare was perfectly manageable. It was clear -that so long as she was prevented getting the -full stretch of her neck and head, she would -make no attempt at running away with her -rider. George rode her daily, and tried her -in all ways, and pronounced her safe as a -rocking-horse, or a rocking-chair. Letty ere -long mounted her again, though amid much -nervous terror of all the women at the -Grange, and found her most obedient to the -hand, and became much attached to her. -The incidents of this chapter had, however, -shown that the feeling of antagonism in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> -Rockville party to our friends of Hillmartin, -Woodburn, and one or two other -houses, had intensified itself to a dangerous -degree.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">AN ADVENT AND AN EXIT.</p> - - -<p>The visit of Elizabeth Drury at Woodburn -Grange was a short time of mutual endearment—one -in which true souls and genial -natures recognise and draw near to each -other. It would be difficult to say which of -the family came to love her most, or which of -them she came to love most; yet, if there -was a deeper, more sympathetic feeling, it -was betwixt their guest and George and Ann. -George Woodburn looked on Elizabeth Drury -as the perfect ideal of womanhood. Her -graceful and cheerful form, her bright and -enjoying nature, her clear intelligence and -sunny spirits, were his increasing admiration. -Betwixt Ann and Miss Drury close and confidential<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -conversations revealed the kinship of -their tastes, and their deep aspirations after the -same intellectual and sacred objects. They -made discoveries of thought and feeling which -created in them a sisterhood. But scarcely -less did Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn and Letty -affectionately estimate their guest, or she -them—the warm-heartedness of Mrs. Woodburn, -the sterling character of Mr. Woodburn, -the joyous impulsiveness of Letty.</p> - -<p>Miss Drury pressed the two young ladies -to pay her a visit of some weeks in Yorkshire; -and as soon as the corn-harvest was -got in they took their flight thither. Their -reception was as glowingly kind as it was -possible to be. Elizabeth Drury and her -father met them at the next town, and drove -them to Garnside Farm, their home, in one -of the beautiful dales for which that part of -Yorkshire is famous. The house was old but -spacious, handsomely furnished, and surrounded -by a large garden. A great extent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> -of barns and out-buildings near it, presented -almost the aspect of a village. A wide prospect -along a broad valley, through which ran -a rapid and clear stream, and, over the valley, -of dark woods bounded by long azure hills or -fells, was a constant charm for the eye from -the windows. Mr. Trant Drury was a tall, -gentlemanly, rather sparely-built man of -middle age, always clad in a blue lapelled -coat with gilt buttons, a pale yellow kerseymere -striped waistcoat, cord small-clothes, -and handsome top-boots. He was energetic -and somewhat impetuous in his manner, whilst -Mrs. Drury, a tall, slight woman, had something -timid and over-gentle in hers. Miss -Drury was the same natural and loveable -person as they had seen her on her visit. -She seemed to form a free and unconstrained -medium betwixt father and mother, where -otherwise the mother might have sunk into a -mere automaton, obeying with a certain dread -the dominant temperament of her husband.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Drury was evidently a man full of the -science and business of his life. His bookcase -displayed all the chief works on agriculture -and bucolics, from Virgil and Columella down -to Tull, Kames, Arthur Young, Sinclair, and -the rest of the great georgic writers. His -sheds and waggon yards displayed all the -varieties of modern machines for facilitating -the operations of rural culture. His barns -and cattle-houses, his stables, with their -drainage and ventilations, his threshing and -winnowing, and chaff and turnip-cutting, his -oat and furze-bruising engines, his riding and -team horses, herds of Holderness cattle, and -his flocks of mixed Cheviot and Merino sheep, -were all objects of a pride and interest that -knew no bounds. The Misses Woodburn, as -the daughters of a gentleman farmer, must -turn out with him and visit them all. He -very soon had them on foot all over his farm, -and pointed out his corn and grass lands, -the evident effects of his drainings on his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> -higher lands and sluicings on his meadows, -his already-springing wheat, his exquisitely -neat ploughing, his turnips and beet-root. -Elizabeth, ever at their side, endeavoured to -enliven their agricultural survey by, ever and -anon, pointing out some beauty of the landscape, -or relating some amusing story of the -country people living around.</p> - -<p>She proposed in a few days to make excursions -to the celebrated ruins and lovely -scenery of Riveaux and Fountains Abbey; -but in these excursions Mr. Drury gave them -his company, and was so zealous in pointing -out all the beauties or curiosities of the place, -that Elizabeth had repeatedly to remind her -father that they were ladies whom he was ciceroning, -and could not follow him across water-meadows, -or through rough dingles without -wet feet or torn garments. But Mr. Drury -was deaf to all such remonstrances. He -pooh-poohed the idea of people coming to -see places of interest and not seeing them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> -“Come along, girls,” he would say, seizing -each by an arm, “you must see this,” or -“you must see that,” and he bore them away -rapidly over rocks or across brooks, or -through meadows up to the knees in wet -grass. Miss Drury protested that he would -give his friends their deaths, and the young -ladies themselves, finding hesitation useless, -made the best of the situation, followed, full -of laughter, and glowing with warmth, and -on the principle of Walter Scott, that—</p> - - -<p class="fs80"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“A summer night in greenwood spent</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Is but to-morrow’s merriment.”</span></p> - - -<p>Elizabeth Drury had, before starting, however, -warned them to take with them dry -stockings and shoes, and on returning to -their inn they found the wisdom of the precaution.</p> - -<p>Time flew happily away at Garnside, and -our young friends, at the end of three weeks, -returned to Woodburn, in raptures with their -Yorkshire visit; with redoubled attachment<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> -to Elizabeth Drury, and with many amusing -anecdotes of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">empressé</i> temperament of -Mr. Drury, who was a high authority in the -West Riding in all branches of agricultural -life and stock. He attended all meetings on -such topics, made speeches which were received -with great respect, and was consulted -by gentlemen and noblemen on all questions -of rural economy. Yet, said they, his lease -was on the point of expiring, and Elizabeth -had expressed a zealous wish that he might -find a farm somewhere in Nottinghamshire, -not far from her new but beloved friends. -Mr. Drury had fallen in readily with the -idea. He liked the account of the country, -as Elizabeth had given it to him, of the -people, and liked the idea of trying his skill -on a new kind of ground, and, perhaps, of -introducing some proofs of it amongst a fresh -class and in a fresh field.</p> - -<p>“That,” said Mr. Woodburn, “is a thing -not so easy of accomplishment. Farms in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> -fertile and pleasant neighbourhood like this, -are not easily picked up. There are generally -ten candidates for any one farm that -falls out.”</p> - -<p>The girls said thoughtfully that this was -true.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said George, who had listened -markedly to this conversation, “I don’t know -that such a project is impracticable. I have -been told by Barrowclouch of Bilts’ Farm, -that he would not object to dispose of his -lease to a responsible man who could pay -the whole money down.”</p> - -<p>“Did he say that?” asked Mr. Woodburn.</p> - -<p>“He did,” said George, “for he has another -farm in Leicestershire, which he prefers; and -he had no doubt that his landlady, who lives -in London, would accept a good responsible -tenant of his recommendation as direct holder -of the lease, so that he might be himself freed -from all responsibility, without which he could -not give up the farm.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, that is a chance, indeed,” said Mr. -Woodburn. “I should not have dreamed of -such a thing.”</p> - -<p>The ladies were in raptures at the prospect -of having Elizabeth Drury so near them. -They proposed to write off at once to her, -and tell her of this opening.</p> - -<p>“Not so fast,” said George, “let me see -Barrowclouch, and know whether he remains -in the same mind. Men often talk of things -when they are not very definite or near, -which they draw out of when the thing is -put nakedly before them.”</p> - -<p>George rode up to Bilts’ Farm, made the -inquiry, and returned, saying that Barrowclouch -stuck to his expressed intention, and -Ann was authorised to write to Elizabeth -with the news. This was done; a prompt -reply brought the joyful assurance that -her father was delighted with the opportunity, -and would in another week be -at Woodburn Grange to see the Farm.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> -Great was the exultation in the Woodburn -family. All rejoiced in the prospect of having -Elizabeth so near, and Mr. Woodburn in the -prospect of so accomplished an agriculturist -coming amongst them.</p> - -<p>In the specified time Mr. Trant Drury -made his appearance by coach at Castleborough, -where he was received by George -and driven over to Woodburn. His pleasure -in the beauty and fertility of the country was -great. He thought it rather too much encumbered -with wood and hedges, but still -it was a fine and, he was sure, a <em>responding</em> -country to the cultivator. Mr. Woodburn -and George accompanied Mr. Trant Drury to -Bilts’ Farm. This farm lay on the ascending -ground betwixt Woodburn and Hillmartin. It -was well cultivated, and all the fences in good -order. It consisted of three hundred acres, -one half in tillage and the other in pasture. -The house was a large red brick house, tall -and square, standing at the western end of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -large square garden inclosed in a high brick -wall. The house occupied the greater portion -of the western end, and within the garden -was a perfect retirement. Near the house -were flower beds, but the principal part of the -garden was occupied with vegetables, with -espalier fruit-trees along the walks, and -fruit-trees on the walls. A summer-house -in one corner offered a pleasant place for -enjoyment in fine weather, and, as appeared -very common in that part of the country, an -upper room gave a view over the country -round, which was shut out below. There were -extensive farm buildings near the house, and -a fine collection of hay and corn ricks, showing -the abundant produce of the land. A few -very tall and large oak trees grew about near -the house and farm-yard, but in general the -farm was rather naked of wood, and had -unobstructed view of its finely ploughed -lands on its slopes, and flocks and herds -tranquilly grazing in its pastures.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> - -<p>Farmer Barrowclouch received the gentlemen -in a straightforward way. Took them -over the house, the garden, the buildings, the -land. Showed the drainage to be good; -stated how many quarters of corn it would -produce per acre, how many tons of hay, -how many sheep or cattle it would graze; -and detailed the chief principles of his -management. Mr. Drury, like a good man of -business, who was about to make a bargain, -did not attempt to depreciate the farm, its -situation, or its produce, but was careful -not to express any decided enthusiasm -about it. He said he would candidly avow -that he thought it a good workable farm; -and proceeded at once to ask what Mr. Barrowclouch -expected as good-will, and what was -the rental, as well as the rates and taxes. -All these particulars being given and entered -by him in his note-book, he took a day or -two to reflect on the subject, and they made -their adieus. This day or two was spent at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> -Mr. Drury’s desire in riding about with -George or Mr. Woodburn, or both, to see -the general condition of the farms around. -Mr. Drury then paid a visit alone to Mr. -Barrowclouch, where, like an able negotiant, -he battled out the terms with him, and returned -saying that he had agreed to take and -enter on the farm at Lady-day. The memorandum -of agreement was drawn up and -mutually signed, and a more formal one -would be sent him from Mr. Barrowclouch’s -solicitor. In the meantime Mr. Barrowclouch -would endeavour to procure the consent of -his landlady to receive Mr. Drury as sole -holder of the lease—the agreement being -contingent on this circumstance. They had, -he said, settled the amount of good-will, and -had formed a general idea of the value of -the crops in the ground to be taken at Lady-day, -subject to their then condition: and a -valuer for each party and umpire were to be -agreed upon. These contingencies falling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> -out favourably, which he quite expected, they -would see him at Bilts’ Farm at Lady-day. -Much satisfaction was felt and expressed both -at Woodburn Grange and Garnside Farm, -and we may leave these affairs thus well -and prospectively arranged, to note one or -two other events of the interim.</p> - -<p>During the later autumn months, Henry -Clavering said that his father was far from -being right. He had ceased to take interest -in his observatory, had not once gone out -with his gun, was busy amongst his papers, -and, though apparently cheerful, had a sort -of shadow on his countenance that he did -not like. He had wished him to consult -Dr. Leroy, but he said, “Why should I? -nothing ails me.” Henry Clavering had, -however, asked Dr. Leroy to come and dine -with them, and then said, before his father, -that he did not think his father was quite -well. He wished he would have a little conversation -with Sir Emanuel.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> - -<p>“What nonsense!” said Sir Emanuel; “I -never was better. In good spirits, indeed, I -am not. Who can be, in this hangman weather, -with the air charged with vapour, with -the heaviest atmospheric pressure, and the -watery clouds lying almost on the ground? -In a gloom of Cimmeria itself—how can one -be bright?”</p> - -<p>Dr. Leroy, however, talked cheerfully with -Sir Emanuel about his health; felt his pulse,—said -it was rather sluggish, but that there -was no organic mischief that he could perceive, -but recommended cheerful society, and -everything that exhilarated the spirits. To -Henry he remarked afterwards that he must -not say a word to lower the tone of Sir -Emanuel’s spirits, but that he must say to -himself privately that there was a tendency -in his father to that mysterious -condition called a breaking-up, which required -nothing so much as a cordial and -pleasant tone of life around the patient. His<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -father, certainly, had no specific disease—but -at the same time he certainly was not -well. Mr. Clavering said that was precisely -his own idea, and he engaged Dr. Leroy to -come up often, as if coming to see and chat -with himself, so that he might judge of his -father’s actual state. Whenever asked about -his father at Woodburn Grange, Henry Clavering -said he could not say that he was well; he -could not say, from time to time, that he was -so well as he had been. He perceived in -him a gradual decline of activity and good -spirits, yet he would not confess to any ailment. -It made him very melancholy.</p> - -<p>In mid-winter, and at midnight, and such -a midnight!—the winds roaring and tearing -furiously through the trees, snow driving -thickly before the tyrannous blast, darkness -profound adding to the bewildering effect of -the whirling pother of the snow-flakes,—there -was a loud ringing at the lodge-gate of Fair -Manor. Sylvanus Crook looked out of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> -chamber window, half stifled by the blast -that rushed in upon him, and demanded who -was there.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Clavering,” said the well known voice -of Henry Clavering. “Call up Mrs. Heritage, -I must see her. It is a case of life and -death.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, certainly,” said Sylvanus, -quickly shutting the window. In a very -little time he had the gates open, and told -the coachman to drive in.</p> - -<p>“The family have been in bed two -hours,” said Sylvanus: “but they will soon -hear,” stoutly pulling a bell at the door -which communicated with the upper storey of -the house.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid we shall greatly alarm -them,” said Henry Clavering, in a mournful -tone.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Sylvanus, “no; such calls are -not unfrequent here. My mistress will understand -it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> - -<p>Very quickly there was a casement open, -and a voice asked what was wanted.</p> - -<p>“Henry Clavering desires to see our -mistress,” said Sylvanus.</p> - -<p>“I will open the door,” said the voice, and -in a very little time, the great front door -was thrown open, and a servant appeared -with a light. It was the tall prim form of -Sukey Priddo, the housekeeper.</p> - -<p>“Oh! do come in, Mr. Clavering!” she -said, as she stood guarding the lamp from -the furious wind that swept in the wild -surges of the snow. “What a night for any -mortal to be out in.”</p> - -<p>“And yet I must ask Mrs. Heritage to -venture into it,” said Mr. Clavering.</p> - -<p>“She will soon be ready,” said Mrs. -Priddo, as a matter of course, leading the -way into a large but very plainly-furnished -room. She then took Mr. Clavering’s -cloak, which in the brief moment of leaving -the carriage, and mounting the stairs, was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> -covered with a white load. This she gave to -another servant to shake out, and then -breaking up a large coal on the fire, called the -“raking-coal” in that part of the country, -and which is put on to burn slowly through -the night, she immediately set on a small -kettle to boil water for coffee. In a few -minutes a tray with tea-cups was set on the -table, and soon after Mrs. Heritage entered, -wrapped in a thick cloak, and with a black -quilted hood on her head. As she advanced -to take the hand of Henry Clavering, he was -struck with her resemblance to some handsome -middle-aged abbess, her fine, solemn, -but kindly features, showing with a monastic -gravity and grace within her hood.</p> - -<p>“I fear thou bringest us but indifferent -tidings of thy dear father’s health,” she said, -most sympathetically. Henry found himself -unable to reply, but sat down, buried his face -in his hands, and sobbed violently.</p> - -<p>“We must not grieve too much,” said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> -Mrs. Heritage; “all things are in our Father’s -hand, and are surely for the best. He does -not afflict us willingly, and he afflicts us only -to instruct and improve. Let me give thee -a cup of coffee; we must not delay.” She -handed a cup of warm coffee to Henry, which -he took and held mechanically. “Drink it, -dear friend,” she said, “it will do thee good -on our way,” and ringing the bell, she said, -taking up another cup and handing it to the -servant, “give that to the coachman: poor -man, what a night for him.”</p> - -<p>“And what a night for you!” said Henry -Clavering. “How can I ask you to brave such -a night? and yet your presence would be -such a comfort to my dear father.”</p> - -<p>“Dear friend,” said Mrs. Heritage, smiling -tenderly, “it is what our dear Lord expects of -us. In life or in death, it is our duty and -our privilege to follow Him. Now, shall we -go?”</p> - -<p>Henry Clavering had set down his cup of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> -coffee untasted. Mrs. Heritage, however, compelled -him to take it, and having taken one -herself, and tied a warm woollen handkerchief -around her throat, she led the way to -the door. Henry Clavering gave her his arm -down the steps, where Sylvanus Crook stood -with the carriage-door in his hand ready to -open it and shut them in, looking more like -a pillar of snow than a man, and the coachman -on his seat, looking a living snow-pile.</p> - -<p>Silently rolled the carriage away through -the mass of snow, and with difficulty hitting -the gateway, disappeared beyond. The story -of that drive of only two miles, if related at -full, would leave only the wonder that it was -accomplished at all. Darkness, deep snowdrifts, -that blew down across the way, and -the blinding, bewildering effect of the snowstorm, -amid the roar and fury of the winds, -made every step one of the highest daring, -peril, and difficulty. Repeatedly Henry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> -Clavering had to get out, and assist the -coachman in forcing his way through some -huge track of snow, or in rounding the extremity -of some fallen tree, without overturning -into a ditch or down some steep -descent. But through all Mrs. Heritage sate -calm and resigned, expressing no care on her -own account, but much concern for Henry -Clavering, the coachman, and the poor -horses.</p> - -<p>At length the terrible journey was completed, -and Mrs. Heritage, taking off her -upper garments, was conducted by Henry -Clavering to his father’s chamber. The -whole household was up, and wearing the -solemn aspect, and moving about with the -silent steps, of those who seem to feel that -the angel of death is amongst them. As they -ascended the ample staircase, hung with the -portraits of the ancestors of five hundred -years, and embellished with steel casques of -rare workmanship, supported on consoles, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> -suits of ancient, dusky, or more recent and -brightly burnished armour, richly inlaid with -gold—suits borne valiantly by their owners -in fields renowned in English history, the -grave Friend said to herself, “No, not all -these things can detain those whom the -Lord calls. These all, in their places, tell the -tale of departures.”</p> - -<p>The next moment her conductor opened -softly a chamber door and as softly closed it -after her. He led her forward through the -dimly-lighted room to the bed in which lay -Sir Emanuel Clavering, pale and wasted, but -with a bright eye which turned towards her, -watching earnestly her approach, and as she -drew near extending his hand to grasp hers. -Around were several relatives, whom Mrs. -Heritage did not particularly notice.</p> - -<p>“How kind, how very kind,” he said, -warmly clasping her hand. “I could not -leave, without seeing you. How very kind -to come at such an hour.” His son had fallen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -on his knees by the bed, and laying his -clasped hands on his father’s arm pressed his -face against it. In a chair close to the bedhead -Mrs. Heritage perceived Thomas Clavering, -Sir Emanuel’s brother, the rector, -who rose up, took the left hand of Mrs. -Heritage, pressed it to his lips passionately, -and sat down again without a word.</p> - -<p>“Give Mrs. Heritage a chair,” said Sir -Emanuel; “I want to talk to her a little.” -The rector gave her his chair with a rapid -courtesy, and fell on his knees by his -nephew.</p> - -<p>“I did so long for you, dear Mrs. Heritage,” -said Sir Emanuel. “I wanted to say -that your good wishes for me and labour with -me, I trust, are not quite thrown away. I -have thought much and deeply on all that you -have said. Yes, truly this is a world in -which gigantic difficulties present themselves -to our reason. I cannot surmount those -difficulties, but I have resolved to leave them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> -How can I or any man fathom the depths of -the Infinite? It is vain—it is foolish to -expect it—we will leave the illimitable to -clear itself up in the illimitable of existence.”</p> - -<p>“Thou dost well,” said Mrs. Heritage.</p> - -<p>“It is true, dear madam—it is true that as -all visible things are slipping away—as the -foundations of this existence are sinking beneath -me, I feel the want of some hand to lay -hold on; some power to bear me up and save -me. My nature calls for a saviour—and it is -only in the Saviour you have so often pointed -out to me that I find what my soul craves. -They are the divine assurances which He gives -in the Gospel that alone meet the demands -of my inner being. But oh! my dear friend, -can I hope to receive the gracious acceptance -of Him whom I have through the whole of a -proud life rejected and refused to believe -necessary.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Heritage took from her pocket a small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> -New Testament, and read the parable of the -Prodigal Son. Then laying down the book -on the bed, she said: “Dear friend—dear -brother, thou hast had the divine answer of -our blessed Redeemer. It is only the narrowness -of our conceptions, the coldness of -our hearts, that render doubtful the offer of -Almighty Love. He who sent down His only -Son to seek and save sinners; He who came -down to convince them by His death of the -infinity of love; He who said, ‘If thy brother -sin against thee not seventy, but seventy -times seven, forgive him,’ shall He not forgive -more abundantly? ‘Fear not little flock, for -it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you -the kingdom.’” Then laying aside her hood, -she softly sunk on her knees, and in her plain -muslin cap, and with an uplifted, and as it -seemed, glorified countenance, as her hand -still retained that of the dying man, she -said,—</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear Father, receive this dear son to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> -Thy love and Thy eternal peace. It is Thou -who hast raised in his soul the cry for Thy -help and forgiveness. It is Thou who hast -winged his soul with fears that he might the -more eagerly fly to Thy divine arms. It is -Thou who hast shown him the emptiness of -earth, the fathomless gulf of absence from -Thee—the alone eternal and substantial foundation -of all life. All these are the calls of -Thy measureless affection for Thy repentant -creature. And now, O Lord! let the mantle -of Thy peace, the living spirit of Thy consolation, -fall on his heart. Into the mansions of -the glorified, into the assembly of the spirits -of just men made perfect, receive his tendered -and regenerated soul. Amen!”</p> - -<p>“Amen!” said the quivering voice of the -rector. “Amen!” said the faint voice of -the dying man. The ministering Friend, as -she still continued on her knees, felt a short, -quick tremor of the hand still in hers. She -arose, stood calm and stately, and said, “All<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> -is well with our dear brother, he has entered -into peace, now and for ever. Blessed be -the Lord!”</p> - -<p>The two relatives knew the meaning of -those words, and the tears gushed forth in -fresh torrents. Mrs. Heritage sat still and -prayerful by them. She knew that words -were useless, but that the sympathy of a loving -friend was felt in such an hour. She did -not leave the house of mourning till the next -morning, but assisted Mrs. Thomas Clavering -in making all the arrangements necessary on -so solemn an occasion.</p> - -<p>“I knew he would not be long,” said Mrs. -Clavering, “for a few weeks ago he said one -Sunday morning, ‘Let everybody go to church.’ -Such a thing he had never said in his life -before.”</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Heritage drove home, the storm -had spent itself. The covering of snow lay -deep over the landscape, and glittered in the -pale sunbeams falling from a sky of deep and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> -cloudless blue. There were tremendous drifts -of snow which lay across her way, and fantastic -wreaths swept down from the hedges -which formed caves and twisted pillars of the -radiant substance. But Mr. Heritage had -despatched men with spades to cut a way for -the carriage through the drifts, and had thus -made the return easy through the hushed and -reposing scene, in keeping with the solemn -tone of Mrs. Heritage’s feelings.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">LETTY’S WEDDING.</p> - - -<p>The wild, tempestuous weather, which -attended the death of Sir Emanuel Clavering, -renewed itself at his funeral. In the interval -betwixt these events there had been calm, -clear days. The snow lay white and dazzling -over the whole landscape; the nights were -brilliant with stars, which seemed to derive -double lustre from the frost. The funeral of -Sir Emanuel took place in the little church -just by, and was conducted by a neighbouring -clergyman, a friend of the rector’s. None -were invited but the immediate relatives, and -the tenants, who received a notice that their -presence at the church would be regarded as -a mark of respect. But in the middle of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> -night preceding the day of the funeral, the -wind again rose, snow began to fall, and the -two elements seemed as if they had concerted -to make the scene as miserable as possible. -The winds raged, the snow fell, and drove -as in a riotous madness. A stupendous ash-tree -on the lawn, under which Sir Emanuel -had been fond of sitting and reading, was -blown down; the windows of his observatory -on the hill, on the north side were driven in, -and a small turret on the house, in which he -kept piles of papers, fell inwards, and buried -them. It was necessary to cut a way from -the hall door to the church door, through the -deep snows, amidst which six stout yeomen -bore the coffin, staggering in the howling, -tossing winds. Such was the war of the -storm in the trees about the church and the -rector’s house, that the voice of the clergyman -could scarcely be heard as he read the -burial service. The tenants, who came from -some distance, gained their homes with much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> -difficulty. For three or four days the weather -continued its riotous character, and a winter -of unremittent severity followed. The snows -covered the hedges of the fields so completely -that, when hard frozen, people walked over -them as on a highway. Great numbers of -sheep were lost in the mountain districts, and -many people in different parts of the kingdom -perished on heaths and moors amid the snows. -Farmers were at their wits’-end for food for -their cattle, which had all to be kept up. -Alternate thaws and frosts hung from the -eaves of buildings icicles a yard or more -long, and a sudden frost following on driving -rain, froze the wings of birds to their bodies, -and in that condition incalculable numbers -were seized and destroyed. The spring was -late in coming, and was attended by floods, -doing immense damage in their headlong -course.</p> - -<p>Such an outburst of weather at the death -and funeral of Sir Emanuel Clavering was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -certain to excite in the imagination of the -country people round the most awful ideas of -the mortal exit of a man who had acquired -so mysterious a reputation. It is a favourite -idea that tempests of a fearful character often -attend the departure of men remarkable for -their daring deeds in life—deeds not very -scrupulous regarding the rights or lives of -men. Such was the case at the deaths of -Cromwell and many other great innovators -or troublers of the earth. The people believe -that the great enemy of mankind thus comes -to signalise the departure of those who have -been his devoted servants on a large scale. -The country people about Cotmanhaye, and -far around, did Sir Emanuel the honour of -classing him with this satanically distinguished -tribe, though they could point to no -actions but such as were kindly and benevolent.</p> - -<p>But the black art was ample enough, in -their opinions, for any disturbances of nature,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -and this they firmly believed that he had -practised. The driving in of his observatory -windows, the fall of the little turret where he -kept his mysterious papers, were facts of a -significance not to be withstood. They did -not take into their consideration that this -tempestuous and severe winter extended far -beyond any influence or knowledge of Sir -Emanuel—that it extended, indeed, not only -over the whole kingdom, but over the whole -of Europe. <em>Their</em> knowledge and experience -lay only within a very minute circle; but -then Sir Emanuel died, and those furious -elements battled over his dying head. That -was enough. Many were the stories, by the -cottage and the village inn firesides, of the -horrors of that night at Cotmanhaye Manor. -Of the strange sights, strange sounds, burning -blue of the fire-flames, the howling of dogs, -and the strange neighing of horses in the -turmoil of the winds.</p> - -<p>It was said that all the clergy had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> -collected for miles round to endeavour to lay -the devil, and prevent him seizing on his -victim—the only clergyman present being -poor, dear Thomas Clavering, who was too -much overwhelmed with grief to be able to -articulate more than a few words of affection, -and of confidence in the love and merits -of the Saviour. It was said that Mrs. Heritage -had been sent for when all the efforts of -the clergy failed, and that in the midst of her -prayers the turret fell, the observatory windows -flew shivered to atoms, and then all -was still. The devil had thus gone off in a -fury of disappointment. All remembered the -calm, clear weather that attended this good -woman back, and which lasted till the funeral, -when it broke out again, and raged on for -days and weeks. Not all the reasonings of -a Bacon, or the eloquence of a Chatham, -could have driven from the minds of the -rural population the fixed idea that Sir -Emanuel had been accustomed to practices of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -an awful character, or that the pre-eminent -piety of Mrs. Heritage had most signally -triumphed over the Prince of Darkness. For -twenty years after, the grand epoch of all -relative dates was the hard winter when Sir -Emanuel Clavering died.</p> - -<p>In the little circle of Woodburn his departure -left another gap. Of late years Sir -Emanuel had lived more and come out more -amongst his neighbours; and, where he had -been known intimately, he was greatly beloved. -In the families of Woodburn, Heritage, -and Degge, he left a deep and lasting -regret.</p> - -<p>During the winter Henry Clavering, now -Sir Henry, was for the most part in London, -attending to family affairs. He had not -ventured to call at Woodburn Grange before -leaving, being much affected by the death of -his father, the Claverings having strong -family attachments; but he wrote a very -kind farewell through a letter to Ann, and to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> -her expressed a hope of a more cheerful -prospect as regarded their relationship to -each other. Ann herself could not help -cherishing an idea that the change of sentiment -in his father at last would operate a -change in his own mind. Several times in -the course of the winter he wrote more and -more happily, and promised himself much of -her society in spring.</p> - -<p>As for other matters at Woodburn Grange, -they were by no means dull. The wedding -of Letty with Thorsby was to take place in -May, and Thorsby was there every few days -overflowing with fun and animal spirits. -Since Betty Trapps knew that this marriage -was inevitable, though she continued privately -to shake her head over it, she <em>endeavoured</em> -to be more respectful to Thorsby, out -of respect to Letty; but Thorsby’s ebullient -temperament sometimes tried her very hard, -especially when he indulged himself with -making merry over the Methodists, which he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> -was very apt to do when Betty was waiting -at table. Betty said “some people were -hetter and some were heeler (that is, irritable -or calm in disposition). For her part, she did -not pretend to be ower heeler—tread on a -worm, and it would turn—and if people -would pinch her, she was pretty sure, she -said, to cry out.” One day Thorsby was very -merry over a master manufacturer in Castleborough, -who was a great leader amongst -the Methodists, and kept a horse for the use -of the preachers who went into the country -round, and rather irreverently called it -God’s horse. Betty defended the title, and -thought the profanity was in laughing at the -manufacturer who kept it. The next time -that Thorsby was obliged by the weather to -stay all night at the Grange, he found that -Betty had made him an “apple-pie bed;” -that is, she had turned up the upper sheet to -the pillow, so that, on getting into bed, he -found himself stopped half-way. This, however,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> -was nothing to the expression of her -indignation conveyed to him by a frog, a bit -of furze, or even a wasp, being put into his -bed.</p> - -<p>Thorsby, on another occasion, excited -Betty’s wrath by asserting that he thought -he could preach better than a favourite -preacher of Betty’s. “Preach, i’ faith!” said -Betty, as she shifted Thorsby plate—“Ay, -may be, as well as old Parson Markham, of -Rockville, who buzzes like a dumbledore<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -in a pitcher.” The conversation turning -on somebody who had been unfortunate, -Thorsby remarked that people ought not to -expect to get on who did not exert themselves. -“Oh, beleddy”—a great word of -Betty’s, meaning, by-lady, from the old -phrase, “By our lady”—Betty remarked, “I -always see folks run to help a lazy duck that -lies on its back and quackles, while stirring<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> -ducks may take care of themselves as they -can.”</p> - -<p>Such little skirmishes, however, only served -to enliven the dinner-table; but Thorsby was -quite as fond of quizzing his Quaker acquaintance, -which was nearly as repugnant -to Betty’s feelings, who had a profound admiration -of Mrs. Heritage; and who said she -did not like to hear any religious people -fleered at. Thorsby was very merry one -day at the expense of Sylvanus Crook, who, -on hearing some one say that he could find -any text in the Bible that any one could -mention, had asked him where was the text -which spoke of twenty-nine knives and never -a fork. The man, who was a Methodist too, -had stoutly declared that there was no such -text, and Thorsby was of his opinion. -Betty Trapps said Mr. Thorsby had something -to learn yet, before he began to preach, -for there was such a text, and it was in the -first chapter and ninth verse of the book of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -Ezra. Thorsby jumped up and got a Bible, -and found in the list of the vessels and other -apparatus of the Temple nine-and-twenty -knives.</p> - -<p>“But,” said Thorsby, “it does not say -‘and never a fork.’”</p> - -<p>“It need not,” said Betty, “because there -was never a fork.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Thorsby, “I see now—that -was Crook’s way of putting it. But they -are not always so sharp, these Quakers,” -added Thorsby. “There is Solomon Jordan, -the draper, you should have seen him one -fine evening last summer; he is one of the -plainest of the plain in his attire. Slipping -on his warehouse stairs, he had dislocated -his collar-bone and had his left arm in a -sling. Sitting at his desk near his shop -window, he observed an old militia officer, -who had been at a festive dinner with the -officers of his regiment, drop his spectacles -in the middle of the street. Being well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -charged with wine, he made many vain -attempts to stoop and take up the spectacles. -Every time he staggered past them, and -turned round to make an attempt equally -hopeless. Solomon Jordan, believing the -officer to lodge at a house just opposite, -hastened out, picked up the spectacles, and -offered his right arm to conduct the officer -to his lodgings. The old captain was full of -the most grateful acknowledgments of this -politeness; but, on arriving at the door, he -looked up and exclaimed,—‘But, my dear -sir, these are not my lodgings; mine are -away ever so far up the street.’</p> - -<p>“They began to march on, but the officer -perceiving that Mr. Jordan was without his -hat, suddenly stopped, took off his cap and -feather, and put them on the head of the -astonished Friend.</p> - -<p>“‘Take it off!’ exclaimed Solomon; ‘take -it off, friend!’</p> - -<p>“‘No, no’, replied the officer, energetically,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> -‘I could not think of such a thing as your -going bare-headed up the street, and you so -extremely kind to me.’</p> - -<p>“‘Take off thy cap!’ exclaimed Solomon, -more loudly, ‘or I’ll not go another step -with thee.’</p> - -<p>“As Solomon would not move, notwithstanding -all the protestations of the officer, -and could not get away, the officer holding -his arm as in a vice; and as he could not -raise the other arm, which was lamed, to -take the cap off, the scene became highly -ludicrous. The people in the street, and -there were many, saw the dilemma and began -to laugh, and the boys to run from all sides, -crying, ‘Mr. Jordan is ’listed for a soldier,—Mr. -Jordan is ’listed!’ There was a great -running, and soon a great crowd, in the -midst of which the Friend was angrily demanding -the officer to take off the offensive -cap; and the officer, with equal zeal, protesting -against the Friend proceeding bareheaded.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> -Sometimes the officer, for a moment, -would concede the point to Solomon -and replace his cap on his own head, but -almost directly would whip it off again and -put it on Solomon’s, which was the signal for -a fresh roar of laughter from the people. -Thus they advanced, now stopping and parleying—now -moving on again; the cap sometimes -on the soldier’s head, sometimes on the -Friend’s, till they reached the officer’s lodgings -with half the idle people of Castleborough -at their heels. I think,” added -Thorsby, “Friend Jordan will never again -take compassion on a disabled soldier.”</p> - -<p>“More’s the pity that he did,” said Betty -Trapps. “I’d have left the intossicated old -fellow to plough the street up with his nose -afore I’d ha’ helped him; but such things are -just egg and milk for some folks:” meaning -that such satirical stories were delicious to -Thorsby.</p> - -<p>In March a great excitement was occasioned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -at Woodburn by the arrival of the -Drurys to take possession of their farm. Mr. -Drury took up his quarters at the Grange -during the transfer of the farm with its crops -and stock to him, for he had disposed of his -own stock to his successor, and took to that -on Bilts’ farm, as the most suitable to the -country; for, with all Mr. Trant Drury’s -theoretical notions, he had great faith in the -fact, that experience of the character of a -particular country and of the stock most -suitable to it, was a guide not to be lightly -neglected. He brought with him, however, -a variety of new apparatus, and some teams -and waggons, which excited the curiosity of -his agricultural neighbours. The Woodburns, -as friends of Mr. Drury’s, declined being -engaged for him, or either of them, as his -valuer, but recommended Mr. Norton, of -Peafield. All seemed to go on well in the -valuation, till one day Mr. Drury came home -very pale and ill, saying he had had a fall<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> -down Mr. Barrowclouch’s cellar-steps as they -descended to examine those regions, and Mr. -Drury blamed Mr. Barrowclouch extremely -for having his cellar-steps where there was a -sudden turn in them unguarded by a handrail. -Mr. Drury had evidently received a -great shake, though no bones were broken, -and was under the doctor’s hands for a fortnight, -greatly to his chagrin at such a crisis. -He continually murmured to himself that it -was “most unfortunate—most unfortunate.” -Mr. Woodburn and George, however, assured -him that in the hands of Mr. Norton all -would go as well as in his own. Mr. Drury -looked rather astonished at such an opinion, -and shook his head incredulously. It was -evident that he thought his absence on the -occasion, although all was left in the hands -of two most competent and honourable men, -a grand misfortune.</p> - -<p>All, however, came to an end as everything -does; the valuation was brought in, examined<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> -by Mr. Drury, and the amount paid with -the remark, that it might have been worse. -Before Mr. Barrowclouch left, and before Mr. -Drury had got out again, Mr. Woodburn -went up to say good-bye to his neighbour of -many years, the worthy old farmer.</p> - -<p>“I hope all has gone off satisfactorily,” -said Mr. Woodburn, “in the valuation. Mr. -Drury seems satisfied.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, is he?” said the farmer; “then I am -sure I ought to be. They say it is an ill -wind as blows nobody any profit, and bless -me, if Mr. Drury had not fallen down those -cellar-steps, I don’t think I should be worth -so much by a thousand pound as I am. -Pray God that he gets all right soon, and -then I’m sure we shall both be right.”</p> - -<p>“But how do you mean?” asked Mr. Woodburn. -“Mr. Drury, of course, could not -interfere with the valuers.”</p> - -<p>“Well, no,” said Mr. Barrowclouch, laughing, -“if valuers were always as stiff and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -peremptory as they should be. But my -man was rather a soft one, and Mr. Drury -is such a hurrying sort of man; bless me! -he seemed as though he would ride rough -shod right over us all. ‘Oh!’ he would say, -‘that is but a poor affair—that is not worth -more than so and so, and that’s hardly -worth valuing at all;’ and he kept hurrying -along, saying time was precious, and had -the valuers here and there and yonder, quick -as lightning. ‘Mr. Drury,’ said I, ‘let you -and me go away, and leave the gentlemen to -their cool judgment, <em>we</em> have no business to -say a word.’ ‘Oh no!’ he would say, ‘he -must see how all was done, and the gentlemen -could settle all afterwards.’ But I -could see my man began to be quite flabbergasted, -and to get a wonderful opinion of -your Mr. Drury, and my heart began to sink -in me. I felt that my effects would go very -cheap, when, all at once, some taters were -mentioned in the cellar. ‘Let’s see ’em,’ says<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> -Mr. Drury, and off he goes to the house, and -calls for a candle. ‘Hold hard!’ said I, -‘hold hard! have a care! the cellar steps -are dangerous to a stranger. Let me go -first with a light.’ ‘Dangerous,’ said he, in -his off-hand way, ‘how can cellar steps in a -decent house be dangerous?’ Up he catches -the light and hurries on. ‘For God’s sake,’ -said I, ‘keep back;’ but it was no use, on he -goes, holding up his light, and down he goes -bang to the bottom. Oh Lors! oh Lors! I -made sure he were killed, and I heard a -dreadful groan, and there he lay as dead.”</p> - -<p>“You had no handrail, Mr. Drury says.”</p> - -<p>“No, that’s true,” said the farmer; “nor -there’s been none since it was a house, but I -never heard of anybody afore tumbling down. -Everybody is warned when they come fresh, -and they awllis tak’ a light, and look where -they goon’. But Mr. Drury is such a hurrying, -driving sort of a man; he seems as if -he’d drive sun and moon, and th’ seven stars<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -afore him. However, I hope he’ll be no -worse for it. I am sure I’m not.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Woodburn thought there was something -very characteristic of his new neighbour -in Mr. Barrowclouch’s remarks; he -thought he saw symptoms of the same on-driving, -overweening temperament in him, -even in conversation. He was destined to see -this only too fully confirmed.</p> - -<p>A few weeks saw the Drurys settled at -Bilts’ Farm. The furniture had arrived, and -was all arranged—the house had become -the fit residence for a gentleman. Elizabeth -Drury, to her great delight and theirs, was -living permanently amid her new friends. -The reader can imagine the joy of the young -people,—the Woodburns and Miss Heritage: -the visitings and re-visitings at the Grange, -at Fair Manor, at Bilts’ Farm. Elizabeth -Drury had her own handsome horse, and -joined her friends in their rides. The spring -was advancing in light and daily growth of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> -beauty and sweetness. May, and the marriage -of Thorsby and Letty were approaching. -Busy was the time at Woodburn -Grange in the various preparations for it. -Thorsby was all life and jollity. His house -in Castleborough had been put into the most -perfect order for the great event.</p> - -<p>At length May sent forth one of her -fairest, most lovely, and odorous mornings -for the occasion. There was an unusual -bustle in every house and cottage in Woodburn. -All was expectation in every dwelling -to see the carriages driving up from the -Grange, and there they came! But why -need we particularise the persons and details -of the scene? There, however, were three -charming bridesmaids, Miss Woodburn, Miss -Degge, and Miss Drury, in their white -dresses and white veils, in the first carriage, -followed by Sir Simon and Lady Degge, in -their most splendid equipage, then Mr. and -Mrs. Drury, accompanied by George Woodburn,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> -and lastly, Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn, -with the lovely, blushing Letty, with somewhat -flushed cheeks, and eyes in which joy -and tears stood together. Every creature was -out as they passed through the village, and -bows and curtseys, and women with apron -corners to their eyes, and yet with the most -beaming delight on their faces. At the -church appeared already, Harry Thorsby, in -superb costume, and his best man, Sir Henry -Clavering, his mother, and two or three -other friends. The ceremony was performed -by the worthy old Thomas Clavering, assisted -by Mr. Markham. All went off well. You, -dear readers, may see the carriages dashing -away again down to the Grange, and the -streaming eyes, noddings, and waving hands -of the villagers, and dancings and skippings -of the children; you may imagine the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner</i>, -and all the speeches, and—away the -happy pair are gone to the Highlands of -Scotland, where, no doubt, they will enjoy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> -themselves amid the rocks, and hills, and -lakes, and heather.</p> - -<p>Meantime a certain blank and another -degree of shade, have fallen on Woodburn -Grange. When Letty, that sunbeam which -was ever darting here and there, yet always -making bright the house, returns, it will be -to Castleborough. Not far off, to be sure, -but still not exactly at Woodburn. Meantime, -Ann and George, too, have their friend, -Miss Drury, to enliven them by her genial -and ever lively society. There are frequent -passings between the Grange and Bilts’ -Farm, where Mr. Trant Drury is always -busy, though there really, just now, seems -little to do, but for the dews to fall, and the -crops to grow in the sunshine.</p> - -<p>A month after the wedding Mr. and Mrs. -Thorsby returned, full of happiness and -health, to commence their new life in Castleborough—to -receive Letty’s new circle of -friends. That over, things resumed something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> -of their old routine. Though Letty was -no longer a resident at Woodburn Grange, -but of Castleborough, greatly admired by a -wide circle of new friends, yet she was -frequently taking that way in her drives, and -bringing in floods of sunshine and life with -her; and she and Thorsby generally spent -their Sundays there. Visits to the town -were more attractive to the Woodburns, and -more frequent. George always dined at his -sister’s on market-day, and Mrs. Woodburn -and Ann found a considerable number of -shoppings and bargainings to make in town. -Every one saw, and every one approved, the -growing regard of George Woodburn and -Elizabeth Drury. No formal engagement -was yet made, but both at the Grange and -at Bilts’ Farm it was looked on as a settled -affair, and that with mutual pride and satisfaction. -Then there was a little loving intercourse -going on at Fair Manor. Dr. -Frank Leroy seemed to have found perfect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> -favour with Miss Heritage, and with her -parents. Every one thought him a fortunate -fellow with such a lovely and amiable wife, -and such a fortune in view: and every one -thought that he deserved both, for he was -extremely admired for the modesty which -clothed so gracefully great knowledge and -talent, and esteemed for his good and generous -nature. Dr. Leroy was a member of -the Society of Friends, though the orthodox -did not class him as a “consistent member;” -for he dressed and spoke as any other gentleman, -having seen a great deal of the -world at home and abroad, and learned that -religion does not consist of caps and coats, -but of great and ennobling principles.</p> - -<p>Taking a sober view of the facts just -stated, a not very sanguine calculation would -conclude that in much less than two years -there would be a succession of weddings in -this quarter; that Frank Leroy and Millicent -Heritage, George Woodburn and Elizabeth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -Drury, and, perhaps, Sir Henry Clavering -and Ann Woodburn, would have each and -all passed into the holy state of matrimony, -and that all the romance of that -transitive epoch, that young elective life of -love merging into sober domestic union, -would be passed and gone. Let us see.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></p> - - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Humble-bee.</p> - -</div> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">MILLICENT HERITAGE AT THE YEARLY MEETING.</p> - - -<p>Two years have passed, and not one of -these marriages has taken place. Causes -have been at work which no one without the -eye of a seer could well have detected, and -yet they all lay in the nature of things. To -trace out their operation into events will -require some considerable detail. Let us -begin at Fair Manor. There we saw everything -tending apparently to a happy issue. -The strongest affection existed betwixt Dr. -Leroy and the fair Millicent. Dr. Leroy was -every day extending his practice, and through -it his reputation and usefulness. The brief -hours that he could steal from his duties he -spent at Fair Manor, and the happy lovers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> -might be seen taking their rides together -in the neighbouring country. They often -alighted at Woodburn Grange and at Bilts’ -Farm, and brought an atmosphere of gladness -with them. Many pleasant evenings were -spent by this little circle of friends at Fair -Manor. The marriage of the doctor and -Millicent was regarded as a near event. In -the very month, however, of May of the year -following Letty Woodburn’s marriage, the -Heritages went up to the Friends’ yearly -meeting. Mr. and Mrs. Heritage had frequently -gone on these occasions, for Mr. -Heritage had his banking connections in the -capital, at whose houses he saw the most -influential Friends in the kingdom, and Mrs. -Heritage had often what was called in the -Friends’ language, a concern upon her in -relation to that annual national assembling. -Her appearances, as they are termed, in the -ministry, both in inspirational speaking and -in supplication, that is, in preaching and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> -prayer, were often very powerful and extraordinary. -In them, she often rose into the -loftiest and most solemn strains of eloquence. -Sometimes these depicted the general, spiritual, -and moral condition of the Society; -sometimes they were directed to the states of -particular individuals, and opened up in such -force and startling discernment the minor -trials, tendencies, temptations and perils of -some person or persons un-named, as caused -a silence like death to fall on the meeting,—a -hush, in which the spirit of the Allseeing -seemed to hover awfully and palpably over -it; and in one instance, suicide itself was -said to have been driven in horror from the -soul which contemplated it. Sometimes the -very walls of the meeting-house have seemed -to shake under the rush and thunder of the -power thus mysteriously let loose over the -assembly by the words of a woman, and the -whole of the assembled Quakerism then left -the place in a still and reflective mood, giving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> -only a fervid shake of the hand to each other -and saying, but not till they had reached -their particular abodes,—“that was a very -precious opportunity.”</p> - -<p>Around Mr. and Mrs. Heritage the most -orthodox persons moved, and the most orthodox -spirit reigned during these great annual -visits, and they returned home much refreshed -and invigorated for the daily trials of -life. Sylvanus Crook would say of them, on -such occasions, that the dews of Hermon and -of Carmel seemed to have fallen on them, -and that they had evidently been in the -Lord’s banqueting-house, where His banner -over them was love.</p> - -<p>They had never before taken Millicent -with them; but they thought, as she was -likely soon to leave their protecting roof and -guidance, it were well that she should see -one of these great gatherings; see the order -and wisdom in which everything was administered, -and hear the gifted ministers,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> -both men and women, from all parts of the -kingdom, and make acquaintance with their -particular friends and their children. To -Millicent, who had spent the greater part of -her life in the society of a country town, this -visit was the occasion of much delightful -anticipation and some nervousness. She had -heard of the enormous wealth of some of the -London Friends, and that their style and -mode of living much differed from their own -simple habits. She had an inward shrinking -from undergoing the criticism of young men -and women who lived in the centre of life -and intelligence, and whose eyes must be -quick to detect any of the slightest evidences -of country breeding. The roar and bustle of -London at first confounded her. All appeared -hurry, noise, and the long-sought-after -perpetual motion. The millionaire -bankers, the Messrs. Barrington, were the -London agents of her father. They lived a -few miles out of town; but at these times<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> -their houses were so full of their relatives -and most intimate connections, that they did -not ask the Heritages to take up their -quarters with them. They went to airy and -ample private lodgings in the outskirts of the -city, yet within a short drive to meeting; -and Mr. Samuel Barrington, Mr. Heritage’s -particular friend, and through whom he generally -transacted business, invited them to -dine and spend the evenings with them after -the meetings were over, as often as, according -to his phrase, was agreeable to them; and -when the yearly meeting was concluded, -Millicent was to make a visit of some weeks -at their house.</p> - -<p>Except to a young lady Friend, no idea -can be given of the impression which the first -view, and the subsequent attendances of the -yearly meetings, made on Millicent. The -silence, the calmness, the order with which -several hundreds of Friends, men and women, -assembled was something very imposing to a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> -youthful imagination. True, Millicent had -seen a simple image of this fuller assembly in -the quarterly meetings of her own county; -but there she knew almost every individual, -their history and connections. There still -existed a plainness of manner and of mind, -a sort of equality of character and condition, -that was familiar to her thoughts. Here -came together a class of persons of a position, -a wealth, and an education to which she was -unaccustomed, and which made her feel as if -she were a novice in a higher range of life.</p> - -<p>The general aspect of the assembly was -plain. The men were almost wholly dressed -in the peculiar garb and cut of the Society, -still, with differences, advancing from the -most marked and almost grotesque formality -of costume to a very near approach to -the fashion, but the plainest fashion, of the -outer world. Amongst the women, the distinctions -were still more prominent. There -was a delightfully neat and pure character<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> -of dress throughout the whole female side of -the meeting, for the men and women sate -separated. A general tendency to dove-colour -prevailed in both dresses and bonnets; -but the younger portion displayed a smarter -tint of colour, even in the dove, and a certain -elegance of style, especially in the bonnets, -which showed that taste, and even fashion, -could no more be excluded from the younger -branches of the Friend world, especially the -affluent Friend world, than light and air. -Youth and beauty would assert their rights -as strongly, if unobtrusively, as the more -solemn attributes of strong sense, and -spiritual development in the older members. -Millicent saw with great delight the many -charming faces enclosed by the exquisitely -neat and often white bonnets. Other young -ladies had abandoned the silk bonnet, and -assumed straw ones, though of a modest -style, and furnished only with the simplest -ribbon to tie them with. No gay bows and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -ultra-fashion makes had yet dared to invade -that ancient sanctuary of plainness and -worldly abnegation. In our day all that -rigid stand by the order in the outward has -fallen like the leaves of autumn, and has not -reappeared at spring. The Friend has, in a -majority of cases, assimilated himself to the -world; and it is a still more satisfactory -truth, that the world has, in many things, -interiorly assimilated itself to the Friend.</p> - -<p>During the course of the yearly meeting, -both in the general meetings for worship and -in the separate meetings to which the ladies -retired to transact their own affairs—for -Quakerism was the first institution to invite -woman to consider that she had affairs which -she could best transact, and that she had -faculties intended for use—Millicent saw, -with the lively interest of youth, the long -row of ministers in the gallery at the head of -the meeting, men and women, and heard, -sometimes with astonishment, the addresses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> -there made by persons of both sexes. None, -however, appeared to greater advantage than -her own mother; and the high admiration in -which she found her held, gave her a deep -feeling of gratified pride. In the women’s -meetings she was equally struck with the -ability with which certain ladies addressed -this assembly on matters of business, and -the practical eloquence to which they had -attained. These meetings, and the society -which she enjoyed in the evenings at different -houses of wealthy and leading Friends, impressed -her with a high idea of the solid -merits and highly moral and philanthropic -tone of the Society. She heard continually -discussed those great topics of humanity -which have always occupied the mind and -aims of Friends. Opposition to slavery and -the slave-trade and to war, plans and operations -for the reform of prisons, for the extension -of education amongst the poor, were -everywhere the subjects of conversation. On<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> -these points there were manuscripts read and -tracts handed about; and though they had -no foreign missions—not being able, on their -peculiar religious principles, to establish such -works for the propagation of the faith, or to -co-operate in those established by other -bodies of Christians, unless they were directly -moved thereto by the spirit—yet they had -“public Friends,” as they termed them, occasionally -in America or the West Indies, or -elsewhere, who were under concern to -minister there, and from one or other of -these favoured individuals had letters, which -they read for the edification of the rest.</p> - -<p>Such was the aspect which the Society -wore to Millicent during the continuance of -the great meeting, which lasted about ten -days. She saw, wherever she went, abundant -evidence of wealth in the houses of the leading -Friends, united to a certain plainness of style. -The furniture was good, handsome, and substantial, -but made no pretensions to splendour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -or fashionable elegance. No works of art -adorned those plain walls, except everywhere -one large framed engraving, which, from its -subject, had procured for it the privilege of -breaking through the Friends’ law concerning -painting and sculpture,—a law with them as -strict as that of the Jews,—it was the Treaty -of William Penn with the American Indians, -from the picture by Benjamin West. This -engraving was familiar to Millicent in her -own father’s dining-room, and greeted her -here in every considerable house that she -entered. It was well worthy of such an -honour, as the memorial, to use the words -of Voltaire, “of the only treaty ever made -without an oath, and the only one which -never was broken.” It was deserving of its -universal honour, as perhaps the grandest -practical disproof which genuine Christian -principle has ever triumphantly given to the -sophistries and the aggressive crimes of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soidisant</i> -Christian governments. It was deserving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> -of this pre-eminent distinction, for -that great action represented by it still towers -aloft, high above the highest moral reach of -the most vaunted statesman. Well, therefore, -was it in the Friends to break a little -law regarding art, in order to exalt that great -eternal law of God, “Thou shalt love thy -neighbour as thyself,”—whether that neighbour -be found in the city dwelling or in the -wild forest of untutored man. It was an -everyday testimony of the Friends that they -at least, on some occasions, really believed -the words of the Universal Father, that he is -no respecter of persons.</p> - -<p>But the Yearly Meeting was over, the -Friends were hurrying simultaneously away -to their different, and many of them very -distant, homes by the long coach journeys of -those days. Mr. and Mrs. Heritage had -taken a loving leave of their dear child, and -she was the guest of Mr. Samuel Barrington, -at his suburban house. This was truly a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> -very pleasant home. It was a large old -country brick-house, in extensive grounds. -The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Barrington, -one son, Edmund, and three daughters, -all grown up. Two other sons were -married, and lived not far off.</p> - -<p>The routine of the household very much -resembled that of Fair Manor, and of most -Friends of that day. Immediately after -breakfast, the whole household assembled, -and Mr. Barrington read a chapter from the -Bible. This over, the carriage appeared at -the door, which drove the father and son to -business. Dinner was on the table at two -o’clock, for the city Friends had not yet -fallen into the fashionable evening hours for -that meal, even the fashionable hour being -rarely later than five o’clock. The gentlemen -dined in town, and returned to tea at six. -During the day the ladies amused themselves -for some hours with their needlework and talk, -or took Millicent for a drive, to call on some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> -other Friends, or made a shopping visit to -the city. After tea, Mr. Edmund would propose -a ride, in which Millicent and one or -more—perhaps all—of his sisters would accompany -him. They were extremely kind -to Millicent, and she soon found herself a -marked object of attention. Her peculiar -style of beauty—that fair complexion, and -those clear blue eyes, in combination with -those long dark eyelashes, those finely-arched -and jetty eyebrows, and rich raven hair,—that -oriental <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tout ensemble</i> was extremely -piquant, even to the sober young men of the -Society. Then it was whispered that she -was a very wealthy heiress, which by no -means detracted from her charms; and the -quiet grace and modesty of her manners were -in themselves, unknown to her, as <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">distingué</i> -as if she had been Lady Millicent, instead of -simple Millicent, the Friends’ Child, as -Elizabeth Drury was fond of calling her.</p> - -<p>By degrees it dawned on Millicent that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> -there was a side to the Friends’ life in -London, at least amongst the opulent, of -which she had not dreamed. The Misses -Barrington, in their conversations in their -own room, launched into topics which at first -startled Millicent. They asked her if she -had ever been at the theatres, the opera, or -at morning and evening concerts? With unfeigned -surprise, she replied, “Oh, certainly -not! Surely no Friends went to such -places!” A pleasant smile passed over the -faces of the young ladies: and one of them -said to Millicent, patting her gently on the -shoulder, “Oh, dear Simplicity! don’t thou -think we all do nothing but attend meetings -and study prison discipline!” They informed -her that they frequently went to all -these places of amusement.</p> - -<p>“But,” said Millicent, “it is against the -rules of the Society. What do your parents -say? How do you answer the Queries?” -(Certain queries put to and answered by each<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> -particular and monthly meeting, regarding -the maintenance of the principles and practices -of the Society.)</p> - -<p>“My dear child,” said the young Friends, -“we leave the meetings to settle all -that. They don’t know, in fact,—though -perhaps they guess a little,—half of what we -do: why should they? We don’t want to -break any moral law, but we cannot live like -nuns in a convent when all the London -stream of rational enjoyments is flowing -around us.”</p> - -<p>“But your dear parents,” said Millicent, -“what do they say? Surely they do not -approve of such indulgences? Why, I heard -Mrs. Barrington myself in the meeting, advocating -the careful adherence to our great -testimonies, as she called them.”</p> - -<p>“Dear, good mother!” said these gay -young Quakeresses—“yes, she advocates -paying all the tithes of mind and conscience, -though those are the only tithes Friends will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> -pay, and we advocate seeing a little pleasure -whilst we are young. We don’t interfere -with her advocacy, and only wish her not to -interfere with our little snatches of amusement.”</p> - -<p>Millicent was all astonishment; but her -young friends assured her that they were not -peculiar in these habits—plenty of young -Friends indulged in the same.</p> - -<p>“But,” said Millicent, “are you not very -much stared at in such public places in your -Friend’s dress?”</p> - -<p>There was a general burst of merriment,—“Oh, -dear, dear little Simplicity,” said they, -“we should no doubt attract a tolerable share -of attention if we did sport our Friends -attire there: but dress does not grow fast -to our bodies. We can suit the dress to -the occasion. We have the warrant of -an apostle, for ‘being all things to all -men.’”</p> - -<p>Millicent was shocked. “No, don’t quote<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -Scripture,” she said, “that is worse than -all.”</p> - -<p>“Forgive me,” said the one who used the -expression, “it was wrong; but, dear Millicent, -we do not wish thee to do anything -which thou thinkst is wrong. We, however, -see no wrong in an occasional indulgence in -a good moral play or opera, with excellent -music. We believe them all capable of -strengthening what is good in us.”</p> - -<p>Millicent shook her head. “But I want -to know,” she continued, “what your parents -say—do they willingly permit you to go to -such places?”</p> - -<p>“We don’t ask them,” said the young -ladies, “we don’t want to hurt their feelings; -perhaps they know all about it, and don’t want -to see too deeply, knowing that we would do -nothing really wrong. But to leave them as -unconcerned as possible, we generally go to -tea at one of our brothers and drive thence.”</p> - -<p>“Dear! dear!” said Millicent, with a sigh,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> -“I wonder what my dear mother would say -to all this?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she would not like it, of course,” said -the ladies; “but then she has lived so much -in the country, and in the strictest habits of -Friendism, that she cannot do otherwise; -and yet all these things may be, and we -firmly believe are, very innocent.” Edmund, -their brother, treated Millicent’s scruples still -more lightly.</p> - -<p>“Why,” he said, “my dear young friend, -you don’t pin your faith, surely, on all the old -fogies stickle about. We must rub a little of -this country rust off you. You don’t think -we are such very wicked people, do you?”—he -forgot his thee and thou in speaking -of such things. “But never mind, don’t -trouble your little head about these matters; -all things come naturally.”</p> - -<p>And Millicent saw every reason to regard -her young friends as good and conscientious -in most essential respects. They were extremely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -benevolent, and the sums of money -which the family spent on philanthropic objects -would have been the fortune of many -people. They introduced her to Mrs. Fry, -and accompanied her to that lady’s meetings -with the prisoners in Newgate. They took -her to sewing meetings, and book-meetings, -and to many a poor abode that they visited -with comfort and intelligence. The more she -saw of them, the more her heart drew near -to them in sympathy. They were what some -classed as “Gay Friends,” but they were, notwithstanding -their vast wealth and position, -extremely unassuming and amiable. But -gradually Millicent found the circle of her -intercourse widening and extending into the -regions beyond Quakerdom. She was invited -with them not only to drive to the houses of -the married brothers, where a much more -affluent display of plate, wines, and men-servants -was found, but to their aristocratic -friends at the West-end, where the splendour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> -and luxury astonished her. In these parties -her young companions no longer retained a -trace of the Quaker costume or language. -She had observed that Edmund when going -to business or to meeting, wore the collarless -coat; but when he went out in an evening -it was in the full dress of ordinary society. -To avoid bringing their departures too prominently -before the eyes of their parents, -they generally dressed at the house of one -of the married brothers, and there changed -their dress on their return. Did Mr. and -Mrs. Barrington know this? It was a point -that Millicent could never clear up, but she -rather imagined that they were willingly -ignorant, deeming that a current was running -in modern society, with which their children -mixed, which it was useless to oppose. They -were early people, too, like the past generation, -and were in bed long before the young -people returned from their evening parties.</p> - -<p>By degrees the charms of this life had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> -produced their effect on Millicent. The -scenes of luxurious affluence that she witnessed; -the tables loaded with silver or -silver-gilt plate,—a fortune almost in itself; -the elegance of the whole array of the -dinner-tables, the trains of richly-liveried -servants; the waiting perfect to a movement; -the after drawing-room company the -music, the introduction to distinguished people, -the marked notice which she herself -excited, were not without their effect upon a -poetical and sensitive nature like that of -Millicent Heritage. She seemed to live in a -new world—in a fairy land—in a dream -rather than a reality, and was enchanted by -it, whilst she continued to ask herself whether -she ought to be so.</p> - -<p>The time fixed for her visit had expired; -but it was renewed at the earnest request of -her friends, both old and young. It was -impossible, they said, for her to go yet, she -had seen nothing of London. Her mother<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> -wrote rather anxiously, fearing that her dear -Millicent was leading too gay a life, though -with such good people: and yet, with a nice -instinct, Millicent had not indulged in her -letters home in more than a dry and matter-of-fact -account of her doings. She had said -that the Barringtons saw a deal of company, -and that the splendour and luxury that she -witnessed was truly wonderful. Her mother -hoped that so much grandeur would not spoil -her for her own simple, unostentatious life at -home.</p> - -<p>One day Mr. Edmund Barrington told -Millicent that he had a treat for her. On -the morrow Handel’s “Messiah” was to be -performed, and he had taken tickets for his -sisters, for her, and for himself. Millicent -objected that she was sure her parents -would not like her to go, and, therefore, they -must please to leave her at home with Mrs. -Barrington.</p> - -<p>“What!” said Edmund, “do you object<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> -to <em>sacred</em> music? Can there possibly be -anything wrong in listening to music so -pure, so edifying, so ennobling? It was a -perfect perversion of intellect to object to -such a thing. She must go. He would not -hear of anything else.” His sisters joined -in the assertion, that it would be really high -treason against virtue itself not to go. Millicent -made a strong resistance, but it was -a sense of duty battling with the innate -tastes of her nature, and she went.</p> - -<p>“Good and right as it is,” said Edmund -Barrington, “don’t tell your mother about -it. She cannot surmount her educational -prejudices, and why trouble her?”</p> - -<p>Millicent was, however, troubled. Charmed -as she was by the noble music, which bore -her away in a trance-like state to regions of -new and lofty pleasure, she could not avoid -feeling that it was wrong to conceal anything -from her mother. The uneasy feeling hung -about her, and came often in the midst of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> -the pleasantest society with a painful start. -But there were other influences at work, -which, though she did not perceive them, -were yet acting upon her. Everywhere -Edmund Barrington was at hand to accompany -her into society—to ride out with -her. To take her to see sights in London, -with one or more of his sisters. One evening -he told her that he had brought her a trifling -present, and put into her hand a case containing -a gold bracelet with a diamond clasp -of a very beautiful pattern. Millicent was -dumb with amazement. Recovering a little -her self-possession, she thanked him very -earnestly, but said that it was impossible for -her to accept it. It was of too great a -value as a gift from a friend whose friendship -had yet been of so short a duration. Besides, -she could never wear it. To her it would be -useless. To some other friend of his it might -be different.</p> - -<p>The colour rose into Mr. Barrington’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -face; he looked deeply chagrined, and said, -“Nonsense, Millicent! you can wear it at -least here, and at home you can keep it to -remind you of your friends in London.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I shall never need anything to -remind me of my dear, kind friends; of the -happy time I have spent here. But please -excuse me receiving this. My parents would -regard it as a proof of my folly and vanity.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mr. Barrington, “do not offend -me—do not wound me by the refusal of so -trifling a token of my regard.”</p> - -<p>He hurried away, and Millicent, in deepest -trouble, sought one of his sisters to express -her embarrassment to. She found them -all together, and with some confusion and with -gushing tears, begged of them to prevail on -their brother to receive the bracelet back, -and give her something of less value as a -testimony of his friendship. But the sisters -unanimously expressed their pleasure in the -gift; were charmed with its beauty, and told<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> -her that she thought too much of its mere -money value. They instantly clasped it on -her wrist, declared it was the very thing -which she wanted on occasions of high dress, -and that she must by no means hurt their -brother’s feelings by declining it. They all, -they said, wanted to give her something in -memory of this visit, so dear to them. They -then replaced the bracelet in its case, kissed -her affectionately, and one of them carrying -it into her bedroom, placed it on the -toilette-table.</p> - -<p>Dark and sleepless was that night to Millicent -Heritage. The gift of the bracelet -opened her eyes to what they might have -been opened long before, the assiduous attentions -and zealous courtesies of Edmund -Barrington: the more than ordinary affection -of his sisters. It was not the gift which -startled her, but the state of her own feelings -which it revealed to her. She could not see -without terror the dimness of the image of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> -Dr. Leroy in her heart, the space and intensity -which that of Edmund Barrington -had assumed there. The agreeable person, -the courteous manners, the good sense and -happy gaiety of this young man living -amongst the proud, the powerful, the intellectually -and politically distinguished, and -destined to so immense a fortune, and who -had been ever ready to attend, to serve, and -to introduce her wherever enjoyment or -social honour were to be found, had gained, -unperceived by her, a hold on her regard, -that only now stood revealed in its fullest proportions. -What had made her so supremely -happy in this visit—in this family? The -love, she said to herself, of every individual -in it. Mr. and Mrs. Barrington had treated -her with the tenderness of parents. The -daughters had received and treated her as -one of them; the son, rather haughty as -he was generally deemed, had been all -devotion—a devotion never relaxing, always<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> -finding some new occasion of affording her -pleasure. And Dr. Leroy? She saw with -shame and compunction that her correspondence -with him had declined. His -letters had to her been as frequent as ever, -as glowing with affection; but hers—they -had certainly become fewer and colder. -She had excused herself for not writing -oftener, or at greater length, by the constant -round of engagements in which she lived, -and promised him ample details of what she -called her adventures on her return. But -were these assurances capable of satisfying the -quick sense of a genuine lover? She knew -that they had not been so. Dr. Leroy had -complained, though in the gentlest and -kindest manner, that the gaieties and friends -of London seemed to have utterly eclipsed -the sober life and friends of the country. -Her mother had just now written that she -was afraid Millicent had not been very attentive -to Dr. Leroy, who seemed out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> -spirits, and who confessed that he seldom -heard from her.</p> - -<p>All her sins rushed over her memory and -conscience. She hastened away to her bedroom: -opened the drawer in which she kept -the letters of her family and of Frank Leroy, -and saw to her shame that there were many of -his letters that she had scarcely read, many -that she had never answered—some, actually -with their seals unbroken. She sank down -in a chair, and sat long motionless as in a -trance. But in that outwardly trance-like -state, her mind was in full and fiercest -activity. She asked herself whether then -such a change had really taken place in her. -Whether she was prepared to abandon an -ardent lover, a noble-spirited man, and to attach -herself to a person of but yesterday’s -acquaintance? Could she really be so fickle! -She wished to break the spell of such strange -enchantment, and seized pen and paper, and -wrote a long letter to Dr. Leroy—but on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> -reading it over, she was terrified to perceive -that it was but words, words, words—the -old life and love did not exist in it. It was -like the dead shell of the chrysalis; the -winged Psyche of love had flown—whither? -Ah! too well she could follow and find it.</p> - -<p>The bell for dinner rang, and she hurried -down-stairs to take her part in the conversation -as best she might. Every one observed -her silence, her absence of mind, her want of -interest in what was passing—and asked -whether she was unwell, or had received bad -news. To plead indisposition would have -been to bring immediate attentions of the -most perplexing kind upon her. She had no -ill-tidings to report, and could only excuse -herself by saying that she thought she was a -little fatigued. This enabled her to retire -early, and she sat down and wrote a letter to -her mother, begging to be forgiven for the -apparent neglect to herself and Dr. Leroy, -but that the bustle of London, and its hurrying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> -stream of engagements she thought had -turned her head. Ah! poor thing! it would -have been well had this been all, but they -had turned something more serious—her -heart!</p> - -<p>The next day was Sunday, and whatever -might be the social licence with which the -young Barringtons overleaped the pale of -the Society on the week-days, they all duly -attended the morning meetings in town. The -large family carriage regularly rolled up to -the Meeting House gates in Houndsditch, and -they descended to an hour and a half’s quiet -musing of some sort in that still and shady -tabernacle. Ah! that stillness! How little -it suited the beating heart and tortured -bosom of Millicent Heritage. Charles Lamb -says, that he once got into a Quaker’s meeting, -and never went through such a process -of spiritual inquisition before. He found himself -asking himself more questions in one -short hour, than he could have answered in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> -year. What, then, must have been the condition -of Millicent Heritage? Loving, sensitive, -educated in a straight line of honour, -purity, and truth—and guilty? Who shall -depict the tortures of that age-long hour and -a half? She went back to her past life; to -its peace, its innocence, her deep enjoyment -of existence and of nature; and then she -turned a scared eye on the purple cloud and -rapturous whirlwind in which she had lately -been floating far above the darkened scenes -and landscapes of the past. What would her -father and mother say—if she proved faithless -to her most solemn vows and most sacred -engagements? Could she really give up -Dr. Leroy for another—honourable, gifted, -learned, and amiable as he was? Ay,—but -that was no longer the question; did she, -could she still love him? The answer from -that strange thing, the heart, made a thrill of -sickening cold pass through her. There was -a spirit in it that mocked her; a chill that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> -she could not cast out, a fire in another -quarter of it, that she could not command. -A sense of despair seized her that was more -terrible than death, she prayed to die, and -had she been alone, could have flung herself -on the floor and cried aloud for death.</p> - -<p>At this moment arose an aged woman in -the gallery opposite to her. She was clad in -the simplest garb of grey, and over it a light -cloak of grey. She laid down her bonnet of -the most rigorously antiquated make and -material, and displayed a coarse muslin cap -over her grey hair, as destitute of grace or -ornament as any human hand could fashion. -Millicent knew her well. She was from -Ireland, and bore the unambitious name of -Grubb.</p> - -<p>In a voice clear and solemn she said, -“Whosoever shall offend one of these little -ones, which believe in me, it were better for -him that a millstone were hanged about his -neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> -sea. Woe unto the world, because of -offences! for it must needs be that offences -come; but woe to that man by whom the -offence cometh! Therefore, if thy hand or -thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast -them from thee; for it is better to enter into -life halt and maimed rather than having two -hands, to be cast into everlasting fire. And -if thy eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast -it from thee: for it is better for thee to -enter into life with one eye, rather than -having two eyes, to be cast into hell-fire.”</p> - -<p>In words at first slow and with pauses -between, as if the inspiration came but -measuredly, she described the soul that is -tempted by ambition, by avarice, or by the -very affections of its weak nature to sin -against itself or others. She drew a picture -of the temptation of Judas Iscariot to betray -even the Lord of Life, and the agonies of -remorse that afterwards seized on him. She -described him as hastening to the Sanhedrim,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> -and flinging down the price of blood in the -midst of the priests and scribes, and their -taunt of “See thou to that!” As she warmed -in her discourse, her language became rapid, -loud, impassioned,—her small, slender frame -seemed to expand, to rise, as it were, into the -air, and all the spirit of the prophet to be -upon her. She drew a picture of the horrors -of such a soul as, tempted by the passions, -pleasures, or even otherwise innocent endearments -of life, selling what was sacred for -the mere coinage of self-indulgence, and condemning -the righteous to injury and woe!</p> - -<p>At that word she suddenly stopped. There -was a silence as of death. Dropping abruptly -from the high-wrought pitch of inspired -passion, she went on again in a tone of deep -and solemn feeling, saying, “If there be a -soul here thus hard beset by a strong temptation -of any kind, to betray the innocent, or to -sell the pure uprightness of a precious and -immortal spirit, let him or <em>her</em>”—and she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> -seemed to pause on the latter word—“pause, -and cut off the offending part, even should it -be some tender, quivering portion of the -heart itself, and preserve unscathed the -glorious, eternal heritage of a good conscience!”</p> - -<p>A deep sigh seemed to issue from the -bosom of the whole united congregation. -There was a breathing, as of a sudden relief, -and after a short silence the meeting broke -up. Many a one asked of his neighbour for -whom this could be meant. There was one -who could have answered; but she was -walking as in a dream. She entered the -waiting carriage, shrunk into a corner, only -answering, “A most awful sermon!” to a -question of what she thought of it. She hastened -to her chamber, and there found a -relief in a torrent of tears, and in vows to -stand firm to her duty, if it cost her her life.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">WHAT CAME OF MILLICENT’S VISIT.</p> - - -<p>For some days Millicent’s distress was too -obvious to escape the attention of her loving -friends. They inquired again if she were ill; -if she had received any bad news. She was -obliged to lay the blame of her pale face and -sad aspect on indisposition, and then had to -fight off the doctor, who was eagerly pressed -upon her. She said a few days would set -her right again she did not doubt; and -immediately pleasant drives and cheerful -calls on agreeable friends were recommended. -The young ladies proposed a drive into the -parks, and their brother stayed to accompany -them. Millicent had often driven across the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> -parks, and admired their pleasant greenness -amid the vast brick wilderness of London; -but she had no idea of what this drive was -to be. About four in the afternoon they -entered Hyde Park, and found themselves -at once in a splendid cavalcade of fine -horses, fine carriages, and fine people, which -made Millicent exclaim, “What is all this -about? Where are all these fashionable -people going?”</p> - -<p>“They are about what we are about; -they are going just where we are going,” -said the Friends. “These are the aristocracy -taking their daily airing before dinner.”</p> - -<p>As Millicent gazed in astonishment at the -trains of handsome equipages, superb horses, -superbly liveried servants, and handsome -young men and women on magnificent -horses, she said, “And this every day! -What an amazing scene!”</p> - -<p>“Not so amazing,” said Edmund; “if -you consider that whilst Parliament is sitting,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> -not only the wealth of a world’s commerce, -but that of all the rest of the United Kingdom, -is being expended here; that here you see the -<em>élite</em> of the British aristocracy of rank, affluence, -and political influence, assembled. Now -you may form some little idea of the riches, -the beauty, and taste of England. The world -has no such scene besides—not the Prater at -Vienna—not even the Bois de Boulogne of -Paris.” And as they drove, he pointed out -to Millicent, men of distinguished rank, -ministers, judges, great lawyers, ambassadors -of different countries, great Parliamentary -orators, and the most noted beauties of the -fashionable world.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Millicent, “it is worth seeing; -but I am glad I form no part of it.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked Edmund.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Millicent—“what a butterfly -life it seems to me! What a very gay -whirligo-round; much finer than that of -children at a fair; but still, only a whirligo-round.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> -I should grow as sick of it as a -squirrel must of his ever round-spinning cage. -Give me a good brisk canter over a moor, -or along the bowery lanes of my own dear -country.”</p> - -<p>“Yes! and why not have them too?” -said her friends. “You do not consider that -these people are, during the season, cooped -up in London—many by severe and unavoidable -duties, and this is the only thing they -can get at all resembling country exercise. -In the autumn they will return, most of -them, to enjoy their gallops over moors and -along lanes, as much as yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad of it,” said Millicent; “and -yet thousands who have no express business -in town spend their springs and summers -here, and love this Vanity Fair dearly—this -seeing and being seen—this rivalry of fine -horses, dresses, and equipages. I don’t envy -them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh dear no! Nor do they envy you,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> -Millicent,” said her friends. “There speaks -the Quaker in you; that might be your -mother talking.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad you think I talk at all like -my dear mother,” said Millicent; “for if it -be anything like her talk it must have some -sense in it. But, though I would not like -this sort of life myself, I am much obliged by -your making me acquainted with it.”</p> - -<p>The trouble which Millicent had shown -on account of the bracelet, and the evident -distress, from some cause, which was upon -her, made her loving friends apparently -desirous to neutralise the effect a little by -the sisters bringing her elegant presents—beautifully -bound books, and the like. One -of them asked her to let her look at her -watch; and, taking off the plain black woven -band by which it was held, replaced it by -a pretty gold chain.</p> - -<p>“My dear creature!” exclaimed Millicent, -“of what use would such a thing be to me?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> -I could never wear it. I should have a -deputation from the meeting to visit me -about it!”</p> - -<p>“Never mind that,” said her friend; -“thou must teach them better. There is -no particular sin in gold; it is a gift of God, -and ought not to be rejected; and the art -which shaped it so beautifully surely deserves -encouragement.”</p> - -<p>“All that I grant,” said Millicent; “but -only think of wearing a gold chain in a meeting -where the plainest ribbon or a bonnet-tie -excites remark; where an extra plait in a -cap brings down a censure from some zealous -woman Friend or other.”</p> - -<p>“For that very reason,” said her companion, -“you, who know better, ought to break -through this silly narrowness. It is time -that Friends gave up their sectarian notions -that ‘they are the people, and that wisdom -must die with them.’”</p> - -<p>“Really that is <em>too</em> bad for anything!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> -exclaimed Millicent, and yet could not help -joining in the general merriment.</p> - -<p>“Be sure, dear Millicent,” said her young -friends, “these things do good. It is high -time that Friends should see that their real -strength lies in the great principles which -they hold, and which have already so usefully -leavened society at large, and that their little -Phariseeisms are of no consequence whatever. -Quakerism is like a fine statue in a public -place, on which the dust and smoke have -fallen. You may wipe off these sullying particles, -and you only restore the statue to its -true beauty. The greater minds of our -society are beginning to see this, and one -day there will come a grand reform amongst -us.”</p> - -<p>There were still other scenes to which -these “gay young Friends,” as they were -called, wished to introduce Millicent, and -amongst these were the theatre, the opera, -and morning and evening concerts. Against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> -these she made a stout stand. Her parents -would greatly disapprove of it, and she would -not for the world grieve them. Besides, -plays and operas were vain, and often wicked -things: they could do her no good, and she -did not wish to see them.</p> - -<p>“But,” said they, “you, Millicent, are a -poetess and a lover of knowledge. You -ought to see life if you are to understand or -describe it.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t want to describe it,” said -Millicent.</p> - -<p>“Still,” added they, “you should know it, -though it were only to know it; you need not -frequent such scenes again if you do not like -them. Don’t you know what the Grand -Duke of Weimar, the friend of Goethe, the -great German poet, says? But you don’t -read German. He often said to Goethe -that he would wish to experience everything. -He would like to go into the lower regions -even for a few days, to see how they manage<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> -to make their life there tolerable under such -momentous disadvantages. He remarked that -we are told a great deal about the life above, -and which he thought not very attractive, if it -consisted almost entirely of psalm-singing and -waving of palms; but he fancied that such a -very miserable existence as that of the lower -world must have called forth the utmost ingenuity -of the human or superhuman mind, -and that there must be some very curious -inventions down there.”</p> - -<p>“My curiosity,” said Millicent, “will never -induce me to wish to visit those regions. -I am quite willing that the Grand Duke -should have the benefit of such a journey all -to himself.”</p> - -<p>But what avails a strong will, and what are -good intentions, when the heart has received -a treacherous bias. Millicent was every day -more drawn by affection towards Edward -Barrington, more deeply attached to his kind -sisters, who, with all their gaiety, were full<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> -of the truest feminine feelings, and active in -the best duties and philanthropies of life. In -less than three weeks, which she still spent -with them, she had been at the theatre, the -opera, at different concerts, and at a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fête -champêtre</i> given in the suburban grounds of -a nobleman, where there was a splendid military -band, and a concourse of company, including -even persons of royal blood; and her -own oriental style of beauty, which some -ladies said looked more like Arabia or Circassia -than England, drew much attention.</p> - -<p>Millicent, in spite of her solemn and tearful -resolves, had given her heart wholly to her -indefatigable admirer, Edmund Barrington, -and his sisters rejoiced in the knowledge -of it. But Mrs. Barrington, who could not -be blind to what was so obviously growing -up, was in great trepidation and anxiety. -She told both Edmund and her daughters -that she understood distinctly from Mrs. -Heritage that Millicent was engaged to a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> -young physician in her own neighbourhood; -and could they think it honourable, -knowing that, to draw away the young girl’s -affections whilst under their own roof and -care?</p> - -<p>“Dear mother!” said her daughters, -“hast thou seen the portrait of this young -man? We have, and Oh! such a simple, -smooth-faced Simon it is! Can it be right, -can it be honourable to allow a young, -clever creature like Millicent to engage herself -in her years of inexperienced country -life, to a person far unworthy of her; and to -retain such an engagement after a more extended -knowledge of society, to her life-long -unhappiness? No, surely it is better that it -should come to a speedy end.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Barrington asked them if they -were sure that Dr. Leroy was such a mere -cipher as they imagined? She understood -from Mrs. Heritage, who was a woman -capable of judging, that he was not only a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> -very amiable, but very able and accomplished -man.”</p> - -<p>The daughters had seen a miniature -painted by a country artist, in Millicent’s -possession, and certainly a more smooth-faced, -simple, and meaningless portrait never -was beheld. It was the picture which they -judged of, not the man, whom they had never -seen. Mrs. Barrington zealously resumed the -matter with her son, but he replied, that if -Millicent liked him better than another, he -was not going to say to her, Stick to a -man that you now find does not fill by his -image the extended horizon of your heart -and mind. He thought she ought to be left -to judge for herself, in such a matter, most -of all.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Edmund,” said his mother; -“canst thou say that thou hast left her to -judge for herself? Hast thou not done thy -best to persuade her, and to change her -feelings in thy favour?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> - -<p>Edmund smiled. “Ah! dear mother! do -we live in such primitive times that we do -not venture to pluck a flower because another -person likes it too? Are these the days of -such disinterested chivalry? Are these days -of such self-denying ordinances? I think I -could look round in our meeting, and find -some very high precedents for such exercise -of free will.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Barrington was silent, for the truth -came very near home, and certain tender -reminiscences rose up from long past days, -and made her reasonings rather faint.</p> - -<p>“But what shall I say to thy father? -what—oh what! to our friends at Fair -Manor?”</p> - -<p>“Leave all that to me,” said her son; -“nature is always in quiet course of development, -and brings things round which are not -very easy to the sharpest wits.”</p> - -<p>The hour of Millicent’s return home had -come. She had arrived in May, it was now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> -the glowing middle of July. In those two -months she had lived ages. New worlds of -life and thought had been opened to her: -but those had not made her happier. The -time she had spent in London, amid such -distinguished and affectionate friends, was -an enchanted time, but there lay a heavy -cloud on her heart as she turned her mind -homewards. There were revelations to make -there, and things to be done which made her -very soul shrink, as it were, into a nut-shell. -Mr. Barrington, who was glad of a trip to -Castleborough, and a visit to his old friend -and business connection, Mr. Heritage, accompanied -her in the mail, and during the few -days that he stayed all was outwardly bright. -Millicent was enthusiastic in her expressions -of the kindness of her friends in town, and -the pleasure they had procured her, and Mr. -Barrington was equally eloquent in the praises -of Millicent, and in his hope of her meeting -them again. Then he went; and then the heart<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> -of Millicent sank at what was before her. -She must come to an explanation with -Dr. Leroy, and the whole truth must burst -upon her parents. Dr. Leroy had, of course, -ridden over at the first news of Millicent’s -return, and she had met him with all the -kindliness that she could assume. But what -assumptions can pass muster with a genuine -lover. There had been a great falling off -both in the frequency, the volume, and the -fervour of Millicent’s correspondence with Dr. -Leroy. He had his friends in town, and from -them he had heard of the great regard in -which Millicent was held by the Barringtons, -of their constant endeavours to amuse her, -of the admiration in which she was held by -the gay society into which she had been -introduced, and of the assiduous attendance -and attentions of Edmund Barrington. -So long as Mr. Barrington remained, Millicent -managed to stave off the explanation -which must inevitably and promptly come,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> -for Dr. Leroy bore in his pale face and silent -manner, the plainest signs of the uneasiness -within.</p> - -<p>The moment that Mr. Barrington left, Millicent -mounted her favourite dark bay mare, -May Dew, and with Tom Boddily as groom, -rode off to Woodburn Grange. Much love, -and many congratulations on her charming -visit to London, and welcomes back, met her -there; but as soon as she could she withdrew -with Ann into her chamber, and laid -open the astounding change in her views and -feelings. Ann Woodburn sat dumb with -astonishment and concern. Millicent flung -her arms round her neck, and with floods of -tears begged her counsel and help in the -dilemma. Counsel! help! What counsel, -what help could she give if the heart of her -friend had gone from her old love to a -new.</p> - -<p>Ann at length said, with a most sorrowful -expression, “Poor Dr. Leroy! poor, poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> -fellow! what will he do? how will he bear -it?” And again she sat as if paralyzed.</p> - -<p>“But what shall I do, dear Ann Woodburn? -What can I do?” said Millicent.</p> - -<p>“That is more than I can tell,” said Ann. -“God alone can direct you in such a crisis. -What is to be done! What <em>will</em> be the end -of it?”</p> - -<p>Millicent went on passionately to detail the -growth and incidents of this change, and to -defend her new friends from the blame which -Ann charged them with, as dishonourable -and selfish. At length she said, “Dear, dear -Millicent, all I can advise is, for you to do -nothing hastily. You have been dazzled by -the splendours you have been living amongst. -Take time for reflection; in the quiet of the -country, in the midst of your old associations, -a different view of things may again present -itself. Poor Dr. Leroy!—so good, so clever! -My dear friend, the sudden bursting upon me -of this news is like a thunderbolt. I cannot<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> -collect my faculties; all I can say is, don’t -hurry, don’t hurry, and pray earnestly, incessantly -for help and direction from God.”</p> - -<p>The friends parted with a long and tender -embrace, and Millicent rode off, not homewards, -but to Bilts’ farm, to see whether she -could draw a ray of comfort or counsel from -Elizabeth Drury. But the same scenes took -place there. After the first glad and mutual -salutations and embraces, Millicent laid open -her trouble to her friend Elizabeth, and with -much the same result as with Ann Woodburn. -Elizabeth Drury opened her large -grey eyes in astonishment, and then said, -“Mercy! What a fatality! what a perplexity! -My dear Millicent, were there no -Dr. Leroy, I should congratulate you with all -my heart on such a connection. But—but!—what -in the world is to be done? Millicent -dear, I can only say, with that wise, yet -loving Ann Woodburn—take time. I am no -Quaker, you know. I have made no vows<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> -against ‘the pomps and vanities of this -wicked world,’ though I suppose somebody -did for me one day. I can understand to -a certain extent the fascinations of great -wealth, great splendour of position, great -gaiety and prestige of fashionable life; but -let me tell you, I prefer ten thousand times -this more simple and quiet existence here in -the country. What do we want more than -we have? A lovely country, sufficiency of -means for enjoying it, friends dear, intelligent, -and refined. Ah! I do not think the -luxurious and more glittering life of the -metropolis or of high aristocratic rank can -compare with it. When the attention is -drawn every day over such a multitude of -objects and persons, where can it settle? -how can the heart take root anywhere? -No—the heart—the heart, my dear friend, -in that lies the fountain of happiness, and a -few deep, tender, and lasting attachments -are worth more than a million of mere superficial<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> -acquaintances. I say, with dear Ann -Woodburn—take time: weigh well your decision, -dear Millicent. Remember that it -may be death, or worse than death, to a most -estimable man, and of much sorrow to others. -Wait—wait! Here you have the prospect -of a happy and useful life; here you are -loved and honoured far round; here a great -field of beneficent labour awaits you. Oh! -to me, how much more delightful than the -grander but hurrying, whirling life of busy -London! How much more worth seem to -me the solid satisfactions of an affluent and -intellectual country life, than the pageantry -and ornamental glare of a more artificial -existence.”</p> - -<p>Millicent assented with passionate tears to -every word of her friend’s discourse, but this -did not help the real difficulty. Her heart -had undergone a revolution, and the stern -decision stood unabated before her. In a -few more days Dr. Leroy had insisted on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> -a candid statement of Millicent’s feelings -towards him; and she had given it, though -it cost her a terrible agony. She had no -misgivings as to the necessity of this avowal; -but the rent that must be made in many -friendships, the sorrow which she knew it -must bring upon her parents, and the misery -which it must inflict on one who had been -the friend of her earliest youth, came with a -crushing weight upon her.</p> - -<p>Dr. Leroy left the house, and returned to -Castleborough, but it was with the look of -a man who had received an inner death-wound. -Pale and silent, he seemed to casual -passers as if he had suddenly become actually -black. There was the dark shadow of a -dreary desolation on his countenance. He -made no complaint to any one, not even to -his own mother; he made none to the parents -of Millicent, but they saw in her pallid, compressed -features, in her silent manner, and -her eyes, whence she strove in vain to remove<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> -the traces of weeping, that something was -going awfully wrong. It was not long before -Mrs. Heritage had managed to draw the -astounding secret from Millicent’s lips, on -condition only that she should not write to -the Barringtons about it.</p> - -<p>What a millstone was that which thus fell -on the sober happiness of Fair Manor. Mrs. -Heritage, with her high notions of Christian -truth and integrity, could scarcely realise -such a calamity as the breach of so sacred -an engagement with so estimable a man as -Dr. Leroy. Earnestly did she entreat her -daughter to pause before she made an irrevocable -decision. Earnestly, wrestlingly did she -lay all this great trouble before God. Scarcely -less severe was the blow to Mr. Heritage. -He looked at the happiness of his daughter -but as connected with her reputation for -integrity of purpose, and he deeply lamented -the cruel blow given to Dr. Leroy. Both -Mr. and Mrs. Heritage wrote affectionate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> -and tenderly sympathising letters to him, -hoping that things might take a better turn. -But the condition of Millicent occasioned -them not only severe grief, but deep alarm. -Though she had, in a mood of desperation, -broken the link of attachment with Dr. Leroy, -it had brought no peace to her own bosom. -She felt the sharpness of the wound which -she had given him. She recalled the long -season of their youthful friendship, and his -many merits and virtues. She saw in the -grief of her parents the amazement and -blame which would run through the circle -of her friends; but in vain did she endeavour -to recall a sense of the love which had flitted -to another object. The effect upon her was -that of a wasting fire upon her nerves. She -had no violent illness, but she was miserable, -pale, and sad. The least sudden sound -shook her like an electric shock. She was -the walking shadow of a withering despondency.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> - -<p>Elizabeth Drury, who was shocked more -and more at every fresh sight of her, proposed -that they should go together to some -cheerful, genial sea-coast; and as she had an -aunt living at Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight, -she suggested to Mr. and Mrs. Heritage that -they should go there for a while. To this -they eagerly agreed; and the two young -ladies, with Tom Boddily as groom, set out -for the south without delay. As for Millicent, -she would have gone to the north or south -Pole, or to any place, if she could have hoped -to run away from her own feelings and reflections.</p> - -<p>A few days saw them located on the cliffs -of Ventnor, overlooking the ship-studded sea, -and amid the lively stir of gay summer -visitors. Elizabeth Drury put forth all her -powers of vivacity and entertainment. She -showed her friend about, strolled with her -along the margin of the sounding, dashing -waves, read to her, and engaged horses on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> -which to range the coast and the hills in -every direction, from Sandown to Blackgang -Chine, from St. Laurence’s minikin church to -Appuldercombe, Godshill, or the ruins of -Carisbrook. They had a handsome villa to -themselves standing in a pleasant shrubbery, -overlooking the town and sea, and out of the -way of the general traffic. They could be in -a crush or a solitude at pleasure. Under the -guidance of Elizabeth Drury, and cheered by -her buoyant spirit, which loved to look on the -bright side of things as much as possible, -and with her mind full of knowledge and -amusing anecdote, Millicent began to breathe -more freely, and to recover strength of frame, -if not much greater peace of mind. There -were letters frequently from London, the -greater part of which she gave Elizabeth to -read. They came from the Misses Barrington, -regretting that her health was not strong, -and saying, that their brother would be down -to see her in a few days, and if she stayed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> -much longer, they should come down in a -flock to see whether they could not help -nature to recover her spring. Millicent was -evidently greatly excited, and that pleasurably, -by the prospect of seeing Edmund Barrington, -and Elizabeth Drury was curious to see the -man who had been able to supplant Dr. -Leroy. But they were destined to receive -another visit before that of Edmund Barrington. -Elizabeth had proposed the very -next day to take a ride through Niton, and -up to the tower of St. Catherine. They -went alone. Elizabeth knew the way, and -like a most experienced groom opened gates -in ascending the fields from Niton to the -top of the hill where the tower stands. -They had reached the summit of the hill, and -taken a delighted survey of the vast prospect -over sea and land which it gave; the rocks -along the winding coast, over which the milk-white -waves were lashing; St. Catherine’s -lighthouse below; the sweep of shore on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> -towards Alum Bay and Freshwater, and the -tamer interior of the island. Tying their -horses to the gate leading into the field in -which the tower stands, they first examined -that empty and desolate object, which is -familiar to the mariner so many leagues at -sea. They then sat down on the mossy turf -amid the scattered furze bushes, and enjoyed -the scent of the native sward and the simple -wild-flowers, and the peaceful scene of nature -spread beneath their eye; the green corn waving -on the slopes, the white flocks grazing -silently on the down-like pastures. All at -once they heard the hollow tramp of an approaching -horse on the hill behind them. -They sprang up, and observed a gentleman -riding towards them. “Mr. Barrington! it -must be Mr. Barrington!” exclaimed Elizabeth. -“No! as I live, it is Dr. Leroy!”</p> - -<p>She saw that Millicent had already turned -deadly pale, and trembled violently. “What -shall I do?” she said. “What will become<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> -of me?” Elizabeth could only say hurriedly, -“Do and say nothing which can unnecessarily -hurt his mind. Poor fellow, he is wretched -enough. May God Almighty aid and guide -you both.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Leroy had tied his horse to a rail not -far from the others, and was already coming -agitatedly towards them. He put out his -hand, and accosted them with a face full of -misery, and which could not assume even a -melancholy smile.</p> - -<p>“I am an intruder, ladies,” he said; “that is -my misfortune; but excuse me for a few -minutes; I will not distress you long; but I -must, as a last favour, request of Millicent a -few words to ourselves. They shall be but -few.” His lips quivered, his voice faltered. -Millicent looked imploringly to Miss -Drury.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>go</em>, dear Millicent!” she said; “Dr. -Leroy’s request, under the circumstances, is -most reasonable. You are old, and, I trust,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> -still dear friends; give him a kind hearing, -give him what comfort you can.”</p> - -<p>Millicent moved away silently, in a direction -down the hill, beyond the tower, and her once-beloved -suitor moved silently by her side. -Elizabeth Drury threw herself again on the -warm summer turf, hid her face in her hands, -and prayed, prayed, prayed, as if she would -call back some dear one from the dead, or -would conquer from the All-ruling Mind some -repeal of fate. When she looked up, she saw -the unhappy pair standing quite out of hearing. -Dr. Leroy was speaking very earnestly, -Millicent as earnestly looking on the ground, -and switching the grass with her riding-whip. -Now she replied as earnestly; now -they moved away a little, now they stood -again face to face. She saw Millicent weeping -violently; saw Dr. Leroy take her hand -and kiss it passionately, and again they stood -as if silent and in perplexity. Though Dr. -Leroy said that his words should be few, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> -interview drew on, and became long. He -himself seemed to grow warm and eloquent, -Millicent to content herself with some significant -shakes of the head.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” said Elizabeth to herself, -“though miracles, they say, have ceased, -whether a little one might not be wrought -for the happiness of these good young people. -Oh! what misery has that London visit perpetrated -on a whole circle of good creatures; -and, yet, as far as I can see, everybody might -be just as happy as ever—if they could only -think so. There is a fine, frank, clever, and -good young fellow; well, really, I could like -him myself, if I did not like somebody better, -and that silly girl has sent him to the right -about for a London money-bag. Really, we -women are very silly with all our sharpness. -Here they come! Good gracious! It is no -good. They look like ghosts!”</p> - -<p>The quondam lovers really did approach -looking most ominously. A blight seemed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> -have passed over them both. Poor Frank -Leroy looked blacker in his misery than -ever; Millicent looked very little better.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, dear Miss Drury,” said Dr. -Leroy, offering his hand. “I must hasten -away.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Elizabeth, “you must not go; -you must stay, at least, and dine with us. -I want to introduce you to my aunt. I -want some talk with you myself.” She -continued to retain his hand affectionately.</p> - -<p>“I cannot do it, dear friend,” said Dr. -Leroy, firmly, but with strong emotion. -“Good-bye—Good-bye!”</p> - -<p>He cast a look at Millicent expressive of -a thousand things, and hasting to the gate, -mounted his horse and galloped away. The -two young women stood in silence, watching -him until he disappeared behind the old -martello tower standing in that direction, -and below the shoulder of the hill. Millicent -then threw herself on the turf, and wept<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> -violently. In vain Elizabeth sat down by her, -clasped her in her arms, and endeavoured to -console her. She wept long and bitterly.</p> - -<p>“My dear Millicent,” at length Elizabeth -said, “if you like Dr. Leroy so much—if -your parting from him costs you so much—why -don’t you make it up with him? Oh! -pray do look well into your heart, and see -who really has the most of it. Is not this -London affair a mere temporary illusion? -Is not the old love really at the bottom -yet?”</p> - -<p>“No! no!” said Millicent, “it is not -that; but it is because I am born to make -people miserable. Didst thou ever see such -misery as in poor Frank’s face? And now -he is determined to quit his home, his practice, -his mother, who doats on him, and go -to India. Think—think! what grief I have -occasioned to him—to his mother—to my -own dear parents——”</p> - -<p>“And to yourself, dear Millicent,” added<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> -Miss Drury. “They may say that the -days of witchcraft are over if they will, -but,” she said, starting up, “I should like—nay, -I <em>must</em> see Dr. Leroy before he leaves -Ventnor. He will not really sacrifice his fine -practice, and ruin everything, by some rash -act. Come, come, let us go!”</p> - -<p>She hurried Millicent away; they mounted -their horses by the aid of the gate, and -rode rapidly down hill, and to Ventnor. As -they rang at their gate, Tom Boddily appeared -promptly.</p> - -<p>“Tom!” said Miss Drury, “have you seen -Dr. Leroy?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am; I let him have the horse I -ride, and told him where to find you.”</p> - -<p>“And where is he now? Run—tell him -I must see him!”</p> - -<p>Tom shook his head. “He’s gone, ma’am—gone -by the three o’clock coach; he just -caught it as it started.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth walked into the house in silence.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> -“He is gone!” she repeated. “It is too -late! Heaven help us.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, let us go too!” said Millicent; “I -am wretched here—I am on thorns; but -where shall I be at peace?” and she sat -down, and looked the victim of despair.</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes!” said Elizabeth, “we will -go. We may still find Dr. Leroy at Castleborough!” -She rushed out, and gave Tom -Boddily orders to make ready for an instant -start, to order a carriage and post-horses -for Ryde, whilst she ran and intrusted her -aunt with all matters of payment for the -house for their short term. Tom seemed to -disappear as on wings.</p> - -<p>A single hour saw them on their way to -Ryde. In those times, however, there were -not the numerous steam-packets crossing. -There was no railway to receive them at -Portsmouth. With all possible speed, however, -they continued their journey, and on -the third day reached Fair Manor, only to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> -learn that Dr. Leroy had sailed from London -in an Indiaman, in which he had taken the -office of surgeon for the voyage the day after -he left the Isle of Wight.</p> - -<p>All Castleborough was full of wonder and -speculation over this, to it, strange event. -Some desperate cause, every one felt, must -have produced such a catastrophe. Dr. Leroy -was so noted for the calmness and equanimity -of his disposition. At Fair Manor a profound -sorrow reigned, and a deep and brooding -silence lay over it. Sylvanus Crook opened -the gates for the fly bringing the two young -ladies from Castleborough, in silence. Sukey -Priddo, when she came to the door, looked -as if she had seen an apparition, and ran to -tell Mrs. Heritage. Mrs. Heritage came -hastily from her room. There were signs of -much weeping on her fair, but solemn, and -now pale face. She clasped her daughter, -who sunk into her arms in tears, and without -a word, and carried her, as it were, into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> -the sitting room, and thence into a small -private room beyond. Elizabeth Drury left -mother and daughter some time to themselves, -and then, gently knocking at the -door, said she would go on home, and come -to inquire after Millicent in the morning. -Mrs. Heritage seized Elizabeth almost convulsively, -and kissed her passionately again -and again, and then turned and sat down -by her daughter. And what a sight was it -of that lately so happy daughter! She sat -motionless, pale as a corpse, and with a face -of such intense wretchedness as the young -usually glad spirits of Elizabeth had formed -no conception of. She fell on her knees -before the unhappy girl, clasped her fondly, -and looking into her ghostlike face with -streaming eyes, said, “Dearest Millicent! -don’t! don’t be so cast down! Things may -be better yet. They may!—they will!—they -must! God will not afflict us all so -cruelly.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> - -<p>Millicent kissed her friend gratefully, and -said, with a wondering look, “But how can -that be?—But I am very faint; I will go to -bed.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth and Mrs. Heritage assisted her -up-stairs. The servants, as they passed -through the hall, stood aghast and in tears. -When Elizabeth had seen Millicent in bed, -and again promised to return early in the -morning, she embraced her affectionately, -and, kissing Mrs. Heritage, hastened down-stairs -and away home. There she found the -departure of Dr. Leroy the absorbing subject. -Her father commented very severely on Miss -Heritage for jilting him, as he bluntly called -it, for a richer man in London. That was his -plain version of the story. That she found was -the universal opinion amongst their mutual -acquaintance. The true cause of Dr. Leroy’s -departure, her mother said, had oozed out to -the public, which was greatly excited by this -sudden abandonment of his practice by a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> -young man so greatly honoured and esteemed. -The blame of Miss Heritage was universal -and intense. “She so wealthy,” they said, -“to let wealth and worldly distinction obliterate -the feelings and the friendship of years.”</p> - -<p>The shadows that Mrs. Heritage had foreseen -in the hayfield, had thus fallen on her -own house and heart in an Egyptian density, -wherever else they might yet extend themselves. -No hayfield fête had been held since -that memorable day; and causes more closely -touching the Woodburns than the darkness -lying upon Fair Manor seemed to herald a -long cessation of such halcyon times.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THORSBY’S FALL AND CONVERSION.</p> - - -<p>The early married days of Letty Woodburn -seemed perfect in their felicity. Often -she used to drive over in the handsome open -carriage which Thorsby kept chiefly for her -use, and whenever she came it was with all -the flush of happy life and gaiety about her. -She seemed to like her town life, and the new -circle of friends that her marriage had introduced -her to, yet she always appeared to -inhale a fresh draught of joy as she sat in -the old rooms, rambled round the old garden, -and saw the accustomed objects and people -about her as formerly. “Oh!” she would -say, “how charming are these dear old scenes—how -glad am I that I can so readily come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> -back to them!” She and Thorsby generally -spent their Sundays there, and he was -ever in the best of spirits, and even Betty -Trapps had somewhat relented towards him—It -was observed that he scarcely ever had -a jibe at Methodists, evidently out of care -not to hurt Betty’s feelings, though, as he -expressed it, he often trod on her corns by -laughing at her friends, Sylvanus Crook and -David Qualm. He had bought somewhere, and -brought one day, a highly coloured engraving, -all bright blue, red, and yellow, of Shon-ap-Morgan-ap-Shenkin-ap-Gwillim, -a shentleman -of Wales—as the inscription under it expressed -it—going to take possession of his -father’s estate, riding on a goat. This he -said he was going to present to Howell -Crusoe, the village schoolmaster, as a pleasing -memento of his native country. All the -Woodburn family begged of him not to do it, -saying it would hurt the worthy schoolmaster’s -feelings, and Betty Trapps said she saw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -that Mr. Thorsby had some of th’ owd -aggravating spirit in him. But Thorsby -would take it to Crusoe: and to the astonishment -of all the Woodburns the schoolmaster -accepted it, and hung it up in his house, -as a pleasant joke of Mister Thorsby’s. He -seemed to think it an honour to have so much -notice from him. He presented Thorsby -with the little book, already mentioned, that -he had printed in Castleborough, of all things -and subjects—on etiquette! It was meant -for the help of country schoolmasters like -himself in forming the manners of village -children. It was founded on his practice, -and certainly was a curiosity in its way. -Copies of it, I believe, are yet to be procured -in the midland counties. Thorsby was convulsed -with laughter at its rules, and read -them with infinite gusto, not only at the -Grange, but among his friends in Castleborough.</p> - -<p>Besides the fun Thorsby found in Howell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -Crusoe’s “Book of Etiquette,” he often -brought amusing anecdotes from Fair Manor, -where he and Letty frequently took tea. -Sylvanus, he said, told him seriously that he -was very much concerned to find an utter -want of conscience in dogs. They are called, -he said, very faithful and affectionate animals, -but it was, he added, a lamentable fact, that, -like too many of their masters, they had no -conscience whatever; they were really nothing -but time-servers. This he discovered by -watching a number of puppies that he had -been training. He had tutored them to avoid -going on the garden beds, and they knew -their duty so well, that as long as any one -was in sight they never set a foot on the -beds. Yet somehow he observed that there -were prints of their feet all over the newly-dug -ground. How could this be? He resolved -to watch. He walked about the garden with -these young dogs, now half grown. Not one -ever offered to wander from the walks, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> -no sooner did he enter his house, and look -cautiously out of the window, than he saw -them all deliberately walk on to the beds and -behave very badly there. A very slight rap -at the window, and they all ran off, and -looked very much taken in. Yet, time after -time, as he tried the experiment, he found -them still ready to run on the beds whenever -they thought nobody saw them. “They -know their duty,” said Sylvanus, “as well as -I do—but the fact is, they have no conscience.”</p> - -<p>Sylvanus, Thorsby said, sincerely believed -that spirits appeared sometimes, and the -reason he gave for it was, that it is said in -the Scriptures that the souls of the righteous -shall see the fruits of their labours and be -satisfied, and from the same rule, he expected, -he said, that the wicked would be sent back -to see the fruits of <em>their</em> labours, their avarice, -their spending their lives in folly, their abuses -of their power; and that this was part of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> -their torment. He thought it must be a very -racking thing for miserly men to see their -heirs wasting their gold in folly and sin.</p> - -<p>He related with great glee the dilemma -into which such a grave Friend and acute -man of business as Mr. Heritage had fallen. -A lady of the Society, a woman of fortune, -living some miles out of town, had come -under the dealings of the meeting for her -infringements of its practices, in dressing -gaily, and having much free and easy intercourse -with the aristocratic families around -her. As she did not reform after repeated -official visits and admonitions, even committing -the enormity of going to the theatre, -she was formally disowned—that is, excommunicated. -In drawing up the minute of -disownment, the Friends had unadvisedly -worded the cause of disownment as for “disorderly -walking.” This imputation on a lady, -Mrs. Jerram noticeably resented, and as Mr. -Heritage was the clerk of the meeting, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> -commenced an action against him at law for -defamation. The trial, which took place in -Castleborough, went in her favour, and brought -her heavy damages. The damages, of course, -were borne by the Society, but Mr. Heritage -was so much annoyed at being thus made so -prominent in the case against a lady, and his -own cousin, too, that he resigned the office of -clerk, lest he might fall into other such snares. -Mrs. Jerram begged her cousin Heritage not -to think for a moment that she bore the least -ill-will to him personally on account of this -offensive document; she excused him on -account of his only discharging his official -duty. To show her perfect freedom from -resentment, but not, perhaps, without a little -triumph on the occasion, she often drove over -to Fair Manor, and made herself as agreeable -as possible. “But,” said Sylvanus, “thou -canst imagine that these visits were not quite -so agreeable to my master. People don’t -like, the best of them, to be publicly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> -beaten, and ridiculed, as they are in such -cases.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Thorsby, “but you Friends -should be more regenerate and forgiving than -all that.”</p> - -<p>“True,” replied Sylvanus, “it would be -better, but it is difficult to purge the old Adam -quite out of us. I fear that there may be a -little of the old Adam in myself, but I try to -keep him down, and I trust he will not be -permitted to obtain undue influence. I -earnestly desire to be led and guided right.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, don’t trust too much to that leading -and guiding you talk so much about,” said -Thorsby; “for two of your friends came to -my house awhile ago, saying they were -moved to come and speak to me as a wild -young man, and these were no other than -your William Fairfax and David Qualm; and, -would you believe it? in going out they took a -wrong door, and Fairfax fell down my low -kitchen stairs and hurt himself confoundedly.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> -Mind, Sylvanus, that you are better led and -guided than that.”</p> - -<p>“Thou likes a jest, friend Thorsby; but -I was going to tell thee the clever way my -master got rid of Mary Jerram’s visits.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, by all means,” said Thorsby.</p> - -<p>“Well, thou sees,” continued Sylvanus, -“Mary Jerram drove up one day, ordered her -horses to be taken out, and laid herself out -for a long day of it. She stayed all morning; -she stayed dinner. The master came home, -and, notwithstanding, she stayed tea. She -sat and talked, and talked, and particularly -directed her discourse to master. At length, -as it was getting late, master said to her, -‘Mary, although thou hast left Friends, I -suppose thou still remembers something of -Scripture.’</p> - -<p>“‘To be sure,’ replied Mary Jerram. -‘Remember Scripture! What do you mean? -I am not so disorderly in my walk as to -forget that.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> - -<p>“‘Then,’ said master, ‘thou knowest that -the Scriptures say, “If thine enemy hunger, -give him meat, if he thirst give him drink;” -but I don’t think it says anything about -lodgings.’</p> - -<p>“Thou shouldst have seen the effect of -that,” said Sylvanus, highly delighted. “Since -then Mary Jerram has not found her way to -Fair Manor again.”</p> - -<p>Thorsby was never without some jocose -talk of this kind at his visits to the Grange. -But time rolled on, and there were rumours -that the charge of being a wild young man, -which the Friends had made against him, -was not entirely without foundation. His old -jovial companions had drawn him again too -much into their society and convivialities. -Letty made no complaints on this head, -though as time went on her own family -thought they saw occasionally a more careful -expression on her countenance. Nothing, -however, could exceed the affectionate terms<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> -on which they seemed to be; nothing could -betoken more love and admiration than -Thorsby’s manner to his wife. There appeared -no reserve, no concealment between -them, and the Woodburns thought there -could be no serious cause of complaint betwixt -two so obviously happy. But time -still rolled on, and in due course a little son -was born. With what pride Letty on her -next visit to the Grange showed the newest -Woodburn to the grandfather,—mother and -sister and George had already taken their -view of the miniature youth in Castleborough. -With what pride she told her father -that she was charmed with the opportunity of -giving the name of Leonard—Leonard Woodburn -Thorsby—to a fresh claimant of the -honours and virtues of the house! Thorsby -was himself no less proud of the young aspirant -to manhood. It was, according to him, -the finest, the largest, the cleverest child of its -age that he had ever seen; but, in fact, before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> -he had never paid much attention to very -young children, but seemed to think them -something very like fat caterpillars, with apple-dumpling -faces.</p> - -<p>But was it the joy and pride of his heart -that often sent him out in an evening amongst -his jolly companions, and sent him home late, -sometimes not very good-tempered? True it -was that though Thorsby was one of the best -of husbands, tender, kind, anxious, solicitous -that his wife should have everything to make -her happy, yet his ways of making himself -happy caused, by degrees, serious inroads into -Letty’s happiness. Often he not only came -home late, but in a condition that he called -prime and gay as a lord, but which created -very serious fears in his wife’s mind. When -he was in a less lordlike mood she continued -to intreat him to stay with her and read to -her at her needlework, or to go and see some -of his more domestic friends. What must -become of her, she asked, if he contracted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> -an unconquerable habit of taking too much -wine?</p> - -<p>“Too much wine!” he would reply. “What -are you talking about, my dear child? Too -much wine! Why, I tell you, we are all as -sober as judges. It is not wine, it is only a -little hilarity that we like at the club. When -a man has been fagging all day in the counting-house, -why, dear me, one must have a -little talk and laughter to brighten one up. -But never do you fear. I know what I am -about. I am not going to make an ass of -myself.”</p> - -<p>Letty thought that he used to find her -society refreshing and enlivening once. “And -so I do now,” he would say; “but one cannot -always be tied to one’s wife’s apron-strings. -But I know what it is, Letty: it is these old -fogies and Quakers that you have got acquainted -with; they make you think all -mirth is a sin, and they go about saying I am -a wild young man. That’s it, Letty dear,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> -that’s it. Now I am not going to be a wild -young man; in fact, I think I am getting -rather old and serious; but I’ll ‘wild-young-man’ -those frouzy Quakers—mark me, if I -don’t.”</p> - -<p>With these ideas rankling in his mind, -Thorsby one day riding from Woodburn -where his wife was staying a few days, saw -coming on the road towards him Mr. Jasper -Heritage, a tall man, on his tall horse, and -little squabby David Qualm on his stout -and squably Welsh pony. Thorsby well knew -that all Welsh ponies are, more or less, skittish, -and that Taffy, Qualm’s pony, was -excessively so. As the two Friends drew -near, therefore, Thorsby took off his hat as if -in compliment to them. The moment he lifted -it from his head Mr. Heritage shouted, -“Keep on thy hat, Henry Thorsby! keep -on thy hat!” But Thorsby not only did not -put it on again, but he gave it a great flourish -as if in extreme politeness; and, it was the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> -work of a moment,—David Qualm’s pony -started sideways to the farther side of the -road, and left him lying on his back in the -middle of it.</p> - -<p>Thorsby, who was now afraid, seeing the -heavy little man lying motionless, that he might -have done more mischief than he intended, -sprang from his horse, and ran to lift up the -man of silence. But as he nearly reached -him, David found the use of his limbs and his -tongue, and raising himself on one elbow, his -three-cornered hat and brown wig having -deserted him; with bare head and wild -staring eyes, he swung his one arm furiously, -and cried like a maniac,—“Avaunt! son of -Belial! Avaunt! Touch me not, man of -sin!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Heritage, who had also descended -from his horse, gently pushed Thorsby -away, saying, “Let alone! Take thyself -away, Henry Thorsby. This is what I could -not have expected of thee.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p> - -<p>Thorsby would still have assisted to lift up -and wipe the dust from David Qualm, but -Mr. Heritage would not let him, but carefully -raised his old friend and relative, and began -to beat the dust from his coat. Thorsby -muttered some sort of an apology—something -about his not meaning any harm—but David -cast a lion’s glance at him, and said, “Thou -liest, man! Thou liest! Thou meant it, and -nothing less.”</p> - -<p>Thorsby, who did not think David was -much hurt, mounted and rode rapidly off. -When he was out of hearing, he gave vent to -an uproarious laughter, and said, “A wild -young man, indeed! Not so wild but he can -keep his seat better than some people.” He -was so elated with his exploit that he that -evening told the story with much humour and -some embellishment at the club, to the exquisite -delight of his friends, and the next day it -was all over the town. Amongst the lighter -and more giddy of the population it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> -thought a very clever paying-off of the censorious -Friend; amongst the older and more -thinking people it was regarded in a very -different light, and such a dangerous trick -played off on a very quiet and inoffensive -man, by no means told in favour of Thorsby. -The serious manner in which Mr. Heritage -spoke of it amongst his friends made a deep -impression, and it was regarded as a very -impolitic act in Thorsby, who, though his wife -stood so well with the wealthy banker, might, -in times of commercial depression, find it -much to his inconvenience to have sunk in his -esteem.</p> - -<p>Many things were spoken out on this occasion -which had evidently lain for some time -in people’s minds. Wonder was expressed at -the growing dissipation of Thorsby. Of his -notoriously riotous and bacchanalian evenings -with some of the richest but most immoral -young men of the place. Some people -wondered that his wife did not appear to see<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> -it; more uttered words of pity for her. -Others said “What a fool that man is, with -such a wife, with a splendid business, with a -circle of acquaintances of the very first class -in the town and neighbourhood, and to be -running such a course. But it was only the -course his father ran, and which made it a -short one for him.”</p> - -<p>The news flew to Woodburn. Sukey -Priddo told it that evening on the way from -the class-meeting to Betty Trapps, and Betty -told it right out to Letty. As she waited on -the family at supper, she said, “Well, Mr. -Thorsby is a fine playful boy yet, is not -he?”</p> - -<p>“Is what?” said Letty, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“A fine, frocksome boy,” said Betty.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Betty?” added -Letty, alarmed.</p> - -<p>“I mean only that he has whisked his hat -over his head, and made Mr. Qualm’s pony -send <em>him</em> over his head.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> - -<p>“Are you dreaming?” said Mr. Woodburn, -somewhat angrily.</p> - -<p>“No, sir, I am not dreaming, what I say -I say; and there lies poor Mr. Qualm in bed, -all shaked to a mummy, and the doctor’s bled -him and said it is a bad case.”</p> - -<p>All called on Betty to explain how it took -place, and Letty was greatly agitated.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said George, “I see how it is. -Harry has taken off his hat to the Friends as -they passed, and that scamp of a pony has -shied. But he cannot have hurt the old -man; falling from that little brute is only -like falling from a chair.”</p> - -<p>“What does a sober man like that ride -such a skittish thing for?” asked Mr. Woodburn.</p> - -<p>“Because,” said George, “I was going to -say, he is an old fool; but the fact is people -always do ride animals like themselves.”</p> - -<p>“What! Do you think a man like a -horse?” exclaimed Ann.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> - -<p>“To a certain degree,” said George, “a -little podgy man like David Qualm is sure to -select a little podgy horse, a tall slim fellow -fancies only a tall slim horse, and so on. It -is the same with sticks; men always carry -sticks very like themselves, slender or stout, -clean or knotty and gnarled: and dogs too, -have always a certain resemblance to their -masters. And wives—people wonder that -husbands and wives are often so alike. It is -because men see a likeness to themselves in -a woman, and that delights them. They -fall in love with their own dear selves in -falling in love with a woman. But enough; -you can discuss this bit of philosophy while -I run up and see how poor old David really -is.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you, thank you, George!” -said Letty, as George took down his hat and -disappeared. In a very short time he returned, -and said—</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen Qualm. He has not much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> -amiss with him, but he is very angry with -Harry, who, however, only seems to have -taken off his hat to compliment the gentlemen -as they passed. True, David says they -cried out to him to keep his hat on, but the -fact was, the hat was off when they cried -out. You might as well tell a man not to -shoot when he has already pulled the -trigger.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see, then,” said Letty, “that -Harry was really to blame; it was only his -courtesy.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not,” said George; and Letty, -much relieved, went off with the other ladies -to bed.</p> - -<p>When she was gone, George said to his -father, “I would not make Letty anxious, or -she would be tormenting herself all night, -but I don’t at all like this doing of Thorsby’s. -It was clearly a designed thing of his, from -what I hear. I know he has a pique against -David Qualm; and, in fact, I am very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> -anxious about Thorsby. I hear in Castleborough -continually of his wild goings-on -with that scapegrace set of young fellows that -I hoped he had long ago cut.”</p> - -<p>“I have heard the same,” said Mr. Woodburn, -“and have spoken more than once to -Thorsby on the subject, and he has always -promised to reform; but my opinion is that -he is just as weak as a bulrush. He can’t -help himself. It is a very serious affair.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said George, “there always was an -excitable nature in Thorsby. He has very -quick feelings for good, and if not for evil, at -least for pleasure, and what he calls jollity. -I had hoped that Letty would have been able -to keep him more at home, but he always says -he must have a little innocent larking, he -should go daft without it.”</p> - -<p>“He will go daft with it,” said Mr. Woodburn, -“if he does not mind.”</p> - -<p>Leonard Woodburn had had other causes -of annoyance of late to try his temper, of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> -which anon, and he felt very keenly the -conduct of Thorsby towards his daughter.</p> - -<p>“I have long thought,” he said “that -Letty is far from happy. I see a gravity -about her, a shade over her countenance -sometimes, that I never saw before her -marriage.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but remember, dear father, that she -is now a wife and a mother; we cannot -expect people to remain always the lightsome -beings of their boy or girlhood.”</p> - -<p>“I expect nothing of the sort,” said Mr. -Woodburn, rather tartly; “but I did expect -that this fellow would not be such a fool. It -is a confounded bad job, George, and makes -me very cross and very miserable. Good-night.” -And Mr. Woodburn withdrew to -bed.</p> - -<p>It was soon found that great censure was -cast on Thorsby for his conduct in this affair, -and the knowledge of it seemed to anger him, -and to drive him into further excesses. For<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> -the first time he turned almost savagely on -Letty, when, on her return home, she expressed -regret at what had happened.</p> - -<p>“An old fool,” he said; “he should ride a -safe horse, and not such a will-o’-the-wisp as -that Welsh pony, and then no harm could -happen to him.”</p> - -<p>“But you knew, dear Harry, what the -pony was,” said Letty. “I wish you had not -done it. But as it is done, do, pray, call on -Mr. Qualm and apologize to him: a soft -word, you know, turneth away wrath. And -call on Mr. Heritage and express your -regret. We were on such good terms with -them all, and they are such worthy people.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think me such a sneak, Letty?” -said Thorsby, taking up his hat to go out to -business. “Don’t you believe it.”</p> - -<p>Letty knew a great deal more of Thorsby’s -life than had yet reached Woodburn, but she -had buried it and the sorrow of it in her -heart, and would not breathe a syllable of it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> -except to God, which she did with most -fervent prayers and scalding tears. Many a -report had come to her from a most faithful -quarter, and that was Thomas Barnsdale, the -manager of Thorsby’s business, a man who -regarded the concern and the reputation of -his employer as his own. He was a Methodist -in religion, and a great reader of books -of general literature of a solid kind. He had -grown up from a boy in the concern, and was -ever at his post, and ever regardless of his -own labour to conduct it to advantage. The -unsteady life of Thorsby was all brought to -his knowledge, and he had not hesitated to -speak seriously to him and repeatedly, even -at the risk of dismissal. He asked him -earnestly to recollect the shortened life and -injured name and fortunes of his father; and -to act as he ought to do with such favour as -God had showered on him in such a wife, -and in such friends all round. Thorsby had -taken these sermons, as he called them, not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> -amiss, but he had not altered. Every day Mr. -Barnsdale heard of some wild exploit of -Thorsby and his comrades—practical jokes -of the most daring and expensive kind. One -of these they had carried on at the expense -of a young surgeon of the town, whose vanity -they had excited by a letter written to him -as from a lady of fortune at Bristol, who had -seen him at Castleborough, and fallen deeply -in love with him. A long correspondence -had been kept up between the young man -and the imagined lady, the letters purporting -to be from her having been duly posted, and -the young surgeon’s received by an accomplice -at Bristol. At length the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">dénouément</i> -was to take place. The lady was to meet -him at Cheltenham; relays of horses were -engaged for him at the lady’s cost all the -way from Castleborough to Cheltenham, -where he was to proceed in a private carriage, -and there the marriage was to take -place by special licence. All was found by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> -the young man arranged as stated, and away -he posted free-cost to Cheltenham, only to -find at the appointed rendezvous a letter from -the improvised lady, saying she had changed -her mind.</p> - -<p>This could not have been carried out -except at an expense which none but very -foolish and very mischievous fellows would -have incurred, but the delight which it occasioned -them, and the hints which they from -time to time gave to the hoaxed inamorato, -that they knew of the affair, seemed ample -satisfaction to their perverted minds.</p> - -<p>Time rolled on. Thorsby was looked very -coldly on at Woodburn Grange, at Fair -Manor, and by many leading and right-thinking -people in Castleborough. Thomas -Barnsdale felt it his duty to make Letty acquainted -with the downward course of her -husband, that it might not come in a more -sudden and unexpected manner upon her. -He could now counsel with her, and work<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> -with her in attempts to check this career, and -it was a comfort to Letty to have such a -faithful and reliable friend to open her distressed -mind to.</p> - -<p>Providence at length sent one of those -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">contretemps</i> which, if properly weighed, lead -to retracement. Thorsby, attending the hunt, -was thrown from his horse, and the shock -that he received, owing probably to the state -of his system from intemperance, produced -pleurisy, and brought him to the brink of -death. The physicians looked very gloomily -on the case, and Thorsby, with that quick -sensitiveness of feeling natural to him, fell -into the greatest condition of terror and -despair. He made the most touching and -agonised confessions to his wife of his unworthiness -of her, of his folly and wickedness. -Poor Letty only too freely forgave him, and -cheered him with hopes of life yet, or of -forgiveness by an ever good God, if he was -taken away. Thorsby begged that she would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> -send for Mrs. Heritage that she might pray -for him, and that through her he might send -his avowal of deep contrition to Mr. Heritage -and David Qualm. Letty at once sent -the carriage for Mrs. Heritage, and that ever-ready -minister of love was speedily at his -bed-side.</p> - -<p>The repeated conversations and prayers -of this good woman produced in Thorsby -a sense of remorse and kind of burning -desire to live and enact a new and nobler -life, which were very edifying. In a few days -the doctors pronounced the crisis past, and -Thorsby, in a calmer state, was insatiable of -the readings in the New Testament which -Letty afforded him. He recovered; but the -effect of this serious danger and alarm remained. -A new phase of character now -revealed itself in him. He continued extremely -burdened in spirit, and zealously -religious. He abandoned his club associates, -and accompanied his wife and Thomas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> -Barnsdale to the meetings. But he could not -satisfy himself with merely attending religious -services, he felt himself compelled to -stand forth and testify to the mercy of God -in thus again raising him up. Town and -neighbourhood were one day astonished -beyond measure by seeing large placards -posted all over Castleborough and the neighbouring -villages that Mr. Henry Thorsby -was going to preach at the Methodist -Tabernacle.</p> - -<p>We may imagine the laughter, the jibes -and scoffs which ran amongst his old associates -and the profaner portion of the population -at this announcement. Thorsby turned -preacher! Saul amongst the prophets! -Balaam’s ass about to open its mouth; were -but a few of the witticisms afloat. All his -old associates were resolved to go and hear -Saint Harry’s conventicle whinings, which -they prophesied would last as many nights -as days. At Woodburn, the state of mind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> -on the hearing of this news it would be difficult -to analyse. Astonishment was great, but -not the uppermost feeling. As Church-people, -there was a touch of shame, of disgust, of -mortification at Thorsby exhibiting himself -as an amateur preacher of dissent. Something -of all these, and something more. -Would it last? David Qualm, when he -heard of it, and who, by the by, was all -right again, and still riding that ticklish pony, -said, “Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel.” -After that great effort of oracular -speech, he closed his mouth again and was -silent for a week.</p> - -<p>But David Qualm’s utterance had an uneasy -echo in the minds of many, and the -inmates of Woodburn Grange were amongst -them. Letty, however, said, “Anything, -anything, rather than that old life of his,” -and her family, therefore, waited for what -time should bring forth. On the Sunday -named, there was a general stream of life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> -flowing towards the tabernacle. Every -possible atom of space in it was crowded. -Many of the leading people of the place -were seen amongst the expectant concourse. -Letty herself was not there. The trial to -her nerves was too severe.</p> - -<p>The regular minister opened the service -by prayer and a hymn, and then Thorsby -ascended the pulpit, opened his Bible, and -took his text from the Psalms—“Thou hast -brought me up from the gates of hell.” The -silence was profound. He then began by -reference to his past life and his late illness. -There was no nervousness, no hesitation about -him, as in one unaccustomed to such a public -display. He said, doubtless much wit and -many pleasant sarcasms had been and would -be expended over the change which had taken -place in him. He would only say, let those -thus disposed only come into the crisis through -which he had passed, and they would then hear -what he had to say. Now he boldly came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> -forth to return thanks to God for his mercy -to him, and devote his life to the service of -Christ, the friend of sinners. He then drew -a picture of his past condition; of the valley -of the shadow of death, of the terrors of -Almighty judgment through which he had -passed, and appealed to his hearers to follow -his example, and think nothing of scorn, -or ridicule, or persecution for the advocacy -of the most momentous interests of the -human race. As he proceeded he warmed -into a tone of eloquence which surprised -every one; and before he had done, few -were the eyes that were not drowned in -tears.</p> - -<p>As the vast congregation streamed away -from the chapel, many of the old members -of it said they had heard many wonderful -sermons in that chapel from great preachers, -but nothing like that. Many said they had -no idea that Thorsby had so much in -him; and all admitted that at all events he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> -had discovered a new and amazing talent in -himself, and would, if he held on, be truly a -burning and a shining light. The ascent of -such a brilliant meteor into the religious -horizon of Methodism produced immediately -numerous calls to visit other towns—Sheffield, -Manchester, Leeds, &c. &c.,—and everywhere -the same enthusiasm was excited by Thorsby’s -addresses. He might have gone from town -to town on a triumphal round of religious -service; much time he was, in a measure, -obliged to devote to such engagements, and -well was it for him that he had a man like -Thomas Barnsdale to attend to his business -affairs. For some months Thorsby continued -to astonish and electrify the public by his -impassioned discourses. Fair Manor expressed -a quiet hope that it would continue. -Woodburn Grange was in a condition of -mind fit subject for metaphysical plumblines -to explore, half astonished and half acquiescent -in the strange phenomenon. Letty,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> -with tears and smiles, when there, continued -to say, “Anything, anything, so that -Harry continues as steady and kind as -now.”</p> - -<p>Betty Trapps alone expressed no enthusiasm, -and avowed no faith in this grand -metamorphosis. She had heard Mr. Thorsby, -she said, at Hillmartin Chapel. It was very -fine what he said, but then she knew that he -awlis could talk finely, even when he made -so many “skits” on the Methodists. For -her part she looked on this as a judgment on -him for his fleering at good people so often. -She and Sukey Priddo had seen something -that satisfied them.</p> - -<p>“What have you seen, Betty?” asked Mrs. -Woodburn. Betty didn’t seem in a hurry to -answer; but when urged by all the family -she said,</p> - -<p>“Well, if you must know, we saw the -shadder of th’ Owd Youth,”—a familiar name -for the Devil in the midland counties,—“behind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> -him in the pulpit as he were preaching. -That was enough for us.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense,” said Ann, “it was merely -some particular placing of the lights that cast -an odd shadow. How absurd, Betty, about -the Old Youth.”</p> - -<p>“As you please, Miss,” said Betty; “I’ve -my own notions; but I niver, in all my -born days, expected to see Mr. Thorsby -preaching in Hillmartin chapel, nor to hear -Mr. Nockels the local preacher saying -niver was such preaching. No, truly! -William Penn’s ‘No Cross, no Crown,’ was -not such stuff as they got every day at Hillmartin.”</p> - -<p>“‘No Cross, no Crown,’” said Ann. -“What makes you think it was ‘No Cross, -No Crown?’”</p> - -<p>“Sukey Priddo,” said Betty, “knows ‘No -Cross, no Crown’ well enough. Mr. Heritage -made her a present of it, and she’s read it -through five times.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> - -<p>With Betty Trapps’s opinion of Thorsby’s -spiritual appearances, we may close this -chapter, and leave the reader to think of -it a little.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">WORSE AND WORSE WITH HARRY THORSBY.</p> - - -<p>One very hot, still July morning, before -these just recorded occurrences, and nearly -a year before Millicent Heritage’s eventful -journey to London, Betty Trapps, who had -been gathering peas in the garden, ran into -the house with her checked apron flung over -her head, and going puff! puff! this way -and that, as if to blow something away. -When asked what was the matter, she said, -“It’s a harnet, as keen as mustard. It fled -at me, and fled at me, like a big dumbledore.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said George, “there is a nest of -them in a hole in the barn-wall; we must -suffocate them with brimstone-fumes at night.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> -They are very destructive to fruit, and dangerous -to the horses.”</p> - -<p>“Suffocate a devil with brimstone!” said -Betty. “That’s a good un. This harnet -is for all the world like th’ owd enemy. He -comes at you, and at you, as if he’d eat -you.”</p> - -<p>Whilst George was quietly smiling at -Betty’s idea, there was a loud ringing of a -poker and fire-shovel, and he saw Sam Davis, -one of the labourers, crossing the garden -beds, and looking up at the trees, as in search -of something.</p> - -<p>“There!” said Betty, “now the bees are -swarming: this hot morning fetches them all -out.”</p> - -<p>George, Ann, Mrs. Woodburn, and Betty, -as well as the other maids, all hurried out to -witness the interesting process of charming -the bees down. Loud rung Sam Davis’s -music on the fire-shovel, and presently they -saw a brown cluster of bees, as large as a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> -man’s hat, and longer, hanging from the -bough of an apple-tree.</p> - -<p>The country people have various ways of -accounting for the effect of this clangour on -a fire-shovel in causing a swarm of bees to -settle. Some think they like it, and so stop -to hear it; others, that the young queen-bee, -scared by the noise, settles on the first object -she sees. Certain it is that the effect is general, -and very marked. Others think this -clangour must be made to claim your swarm, -for if it settles on another man’s property -without such loud claim, and close following, -you cannot assert your right to them. Be -that as it may, our friends of Woodburn -Grange saw their swarm hanging before them. -There was a quick running for a sheet and -an empty hive. The inside of the hive was -rubbed with a mixture of beer and crushed -black-currant leaves, or balm, and Sam Davis -quietly approached them, put down two bricks -on the sheet, cut off carefully the bough on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> -which the swarm hung; deposited it on the -sheet between the two bricks; and then set -the hive over it. The skill with which this -was done, without irritating the bees, showed -that Davis was an experienced hand at this -operation. The bees seemed to settle themselves -pretty tranquilly in their new home, -but Mrs. Woodburn observed that a number -of them continued to fly about the end of -the bough whence the part covered with the -swarm had been cut off. “Yes,” said Davis, -“they will come and try to find it, and -worship the place where the queen alighted -several days yet.”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Betty, who had generally -some religious fancy to attach to every -curious occurrence, “that’s just the way -with many in their religion. They go and -worship blindly for a few days; but it’s -only for a few, and then it’s all over with -them.”</p> - -<p>George Woodburn often thought of Betty’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> -quaint remarks long after others had forgotten -them, for he found something in them; -and in the course of the following spring, -after Thorsby’s conversion, he thought of -these two occasions. “The harnet fled at -me, and fled at me,” said Betty, “like the -owd enemy.” “This is just as he seems to -have done at Thorsby!” said George to himself. -And then the bees worshipping the -bough where the queen-bee sat, for a few -days, and only for a few, as Betty said. How -completely that applied to Thorsby! His -career of pulpit eloquence and repentant zeal -had been as brief as it had been dazzling. It -was like the taking fire of dry furze on a -common. It was an all-consuming flame for -a brief period, and was gone, leaving a bare -and blackened waste. Letty had watched -with a sad terror the decrease and disappearance -of this impetuous blaze of the soul. For -a time there was a transition state in Thorsby, -which, to a spectator only concerned to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> -observe the singularities of character, would -have been an interesting study. In a morning -he would be up as early as three o’clock, would -go down into the kitchen, where there was -always a raking-coal burning, break it up, -and commence reading the Bible aloud, and -with a somewhat singing tone, accompanied -by an occasional shake of the head, as from -some very impressive thought, and often with -gushing showers of tears. Before the servants -came down, he would return to his bed, and -to a sound sleep, which would continue till -ten o’clock, or later. Letty, now accustomed -to this habit, got a cup of coffee herself on -going down, and then waited patiently for -her husband’s appearance. He would come -down sad and thoughtful, as it seemed, -breakfast with few words, and away to his -warehouse. At noon he would return all -life and gaiety, and in the evening go off to -his club. Yes, he was again an associate of -his old associates!—the sow had returned to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span> -its wallowing in the mire! Yet this did not -prevent him being up the following morning, -and reading aloud in his Bible with tears and -tones of pious feeling.</p> - -<p>Such an incongruous condition could not -last. The different elements of his strange -character were in conflict. The religious -sentiment was maintaining its last efforts -against the levity and love of pleasure in -that unstable heart. For awhile Thorsby -was the wonder once more of his townsmen, -but this time it was the wonder and the -scorn. Sad was the heart and the life of -poor Letty; sad was the mood of mind in -the once happy Woodburn Grange. Thorsby -had lost all power over his own actions, yet -he had not lost all feeling. Many were the -paroxysms of remorse and tears which his -wife had to witness, at first with some faint -hopes, at last only with anguish and despair. -Thorsby avoided being seen in the streets as -much as possible, stole by back ways to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> -warehouse, and at night renewed the orgies -of his dissolute club.</p> - -<p>George Woodburn spoke out his mind to -the unfortunate man most indignantly, most -sternly; and seeing that it had no effect, he -entreated Letty to leave him, and return to -Woodburn Grange. Mr. Woodburn, who had -many things now to harass him, drove over in -the day, while Thorsby was at the warehouse, -and insisted that Letty should return with -him, and leave the wretched man to his -inevitable course. But Letty, worn and jaded -as she now seemed by her constant wretchedness, -refused positively to leave her husband. -“No,” she said, “to the last moment I will -stay by him, and try every means to save -him.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Heritage, who had once effected so -happy a result in him, again ventured a -visit to him. It was twelve o’clock in the -day. The remains of breakfast still stood on -the table; and Thorsby, in his morning-gown<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> -and slippers, was lying on the sofa, and reading -a novel. The bloated, sickly, demoralised -aspect of the man struck Mrs. Heritage with -painful astonishment. He did not rise to -receive her, but with a scowling, savage sort -of look begged to know to what he owed the -honour of this visit.</p> - -<p>“It is from a tender concern for thee, -Henry Thorsby, and thy dear wife, that I -have wished to come.”</p> - -<p>“You can bestow your tender care on my -wife, then,” said Thorsby: “she is in the -house.”</p> - -<p>“But, first,” said Mrs. Heritage, in her soft -and gentle voice, “I would like to speak a -word or two to thee. I would ask thee if -thou knowest whither thou art going now? -What must be the awful ultimatum of thy -present unhappy course?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, madam, I know very well where -I am going—to hell, madam, to hell!”</p> - -<p>“And canst thou reconcile thyself to such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span> -a thought—to the loss of thy precious soul—to -the affliction thou must bring on thy wife, -thy mother, thy child, and all that love -thee?”</p> - -<p>“Let all that alone, Mrs. Heritage,” said -Thorsby. “Don’t torture me with talk of -my wife, my mother, or my child. I know -all that as well as you do; but if a man is -born to be damned, not all the preachers or -preacheresses on earth can save him.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Heritage sat for a moment stupified -by the defiant wickedness before her; but, -recovering herself, said, “No, all the powers -on earth cannot save thee; but these are not -all the powers—God can save thee.”</p> - -<p>“But I know, madam,” said Thorsby, -fiercely, “that He won’t save me. My day -of grace is over. I know myself better than -you do, with all your spirit-moving—better -than that old fogie, David Qualm,—and yet -he came pretty near the truth, when he said, -‘Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel.’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> -Madam, even you cannot make an empty -sack stand upright; and this sack you are -talking to is empty, empty—empty of all -grace as the Devil himself. And so, good -morning!”</p> - -<p>With that, Thorsby rose up, flung down -his book, and stalked out of the room. Never -in all her experience had the good Friend -beheld such a case of hardened bedevilment; -never had her strong, clear mind felt its -power so baffled.</p> - -<p>That day Letty received a note from -her husband, saying that important business -at the warehouse in London required his -immediate presence, and that he was gone -by the coach: he might be some weeks away. -Letty sat for some time as thunderstruck. -Suddenly she sprang up, and ran upstairs. -His travelling portmanteaus were there; she -could discover no linen nor clothes taken away. -His dressing-case stood as usual on his table. -What could it mean? Had he gone off in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> -disgust at the visit of Mrs. Heritage? Surely -that could not have caused him to go off -without any change of clothes. A frightful -idea came over her—had he gone to drown -or destroy himself? She had seen him exhibit, -more than once, symptoms of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">delirium -tremens</i>. She flung on a shawl, seized her -bonnet, and away to the warehouse. Thomas -Barnsdale said he certainly was gone by -coach. What the important business could be -was quite unknown to him: he had heard of -nothing pressing, and he thought he should -have done had there been such.</p> - -<p>“But what will he do without clothes? I -must send after him a supply.”</p> - -<p>“He must have taken clothes, ma’am,” said -Thomas Barnsdale. “He took a large new -portmanteau with him, for the porter carried -it to the coach.”</p> - -<p>Letty was more and more confounded. -Then this flight was preconcerted! She left -the warehouse without a word, and returned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span> -home with a heart loaded to its last power of -endurance with misery. What should she -do? Go after him? No. Seek counsel -from her parents, and brother, and sister? -No. She shrunk from communicating and -diffusing her distress. She sat down and -wrote to him at the London warehouse a -letter which must have touched a harder -heart than Thorsby’s. Return of post -brought a letter full of expressions of love -and regret, that he was obliged to go away -so suddenly, but bidding her be of good -cheer, and make herself happy till his return.</p> - -<p>That letter did not much lighten Letty’s -trouble. The late conduct and habits of -Thorsby, and this going away evidently on -a concerted plan, were things not to be got -over. Very, very sad was that once so -gay heart. But Letty determined not to -give up all hope lightly. She wrote again -to her husband, and received again a cheerful, -loving reply. She resolved to set herself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> -to look after the business with Thomas -Barnsdale, and by attendance at the counting-house, -to dissipate the thoughts which -haunted her solitude. Thomas Barnsdale -seemed pleased at her thinking of business, -and explained matters concerning which he -wanted advice, but which Mr. Thorsby of -late did not give. Letty caught up the -main ideas of the business rapidly, and -Barnsdale said it would be the salvation of -the concern if she gave her attention to it. -Most of the day she spent at the counting-house, -and the nurse and little Leonard -came to her every now and then. The -correspondence betwixt her and her husband -went on with a fair and even loving tone.</p> - -<p>But one day Thomas Barnsdale received -her in the counting-house with a very distressed -air, closed the door after her, and -having carefully locked it, produced a letter, -saying that he was compelled to break to -her very unhappy news.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> - -<p>“What!” exclaimed Letty, springing from -her chair, “is Henry dead? Oh, tell me -quickly—what is it?”</p> - -<p>“No, madam,” said Barnsdale; “but I -lament to say, he is dead to shame and -honour.”</p> - -<p>Letty seized the letter and read. It was -one in confidence from the agent at the -London warehouse, a respectable and trustworthy -man, to say, that Mr. Thorsby was -actually living in Bond-street with a young -woman whom he had brought up from Castleborough -with him. Letty let fall the letter, -and sank into the chair. Long she sat as in -a swoon, yet her eyes were open and gazing -on the opposite wall. Barnsdale was alarmed -and was about to run for help, but suddenly -Letty seized him by the arm, and heaving a -deep, deep sigh, said, woefully,—“This is -beyond all!—beyond all! How have I deserved -this?”</p> - -<p>“Dear madam,” said Mr. Barnsdale, “this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> -is intolerable—it is not to be endured. -Though I lose my office, I will instantly to -London. I will drag that woman from his -house. I will compel this unhappy man to -return home.”</p> - -<p>“No! no! Mr. Barnsdale, that must not -be,” said Letty, drawing her hand across her -brow as if bewildered. “I am so dizzy!—but -that must not be. Stay you here. You -cannot leave this post. I will go myself.”</p> - -<p>“You go, madam! No, you cannot—must -not.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I <em>will</em> go myself. O God, what a -misery! But run, Mr. Barnsdale, secure the -whole inside of the three o’clock coach, if -possible. I will be ready.”</p> - -<p>Barnsdale looked aghast, perplexed to absolute -despair; but Letty hastened away, and -sent off the carriage post-haste for her brother -George. She then set to work, ordered the -nurse to be ready with the child for an -instant journey to London; put up a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> -things for herself, and awaited her brother. -In less than two hours he was there, and the -awful disclosure made. George was furious. -Like Barnsdale, he was for going off at once -and inflicting summary vengeance on the -traitor. “What a viper! what a devil!” he -exclaimed; “but he shall repent this foul, -this diabolical wrong. Oh, my poor, dear -Letty!” and he embraced his sister with -passionate tears.</p> - -<p>But Letty succeeded in showing him that -it was better for her to go. She would take -the child—that would move him if anything -would—and George should accompany her to -support her when it was necessary. George -set off in haste for a change of linen and -overcoat, and at three o’clock the sad -party were seated in the London coach. -Barnsdale had luckily secured the whole -inside, so that, the nurse travelling occasionally -outside well wrapped up, George and -Letty could talk freely on their melancholy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> -topic, and the child could lie during the night -on the front seat as snug as in his cradle.</p> - -<p>We must not describe that sad, long, and -for the most part silent journey. About ten -in the morning the coach drove into the court -of that old-fashioned, but then greatly frequented -inn, the Swan-with-Two-Necks, in -Lad-lane. There they descended, washed, -redressed, and made such a breakfast as -people in their state of mind could. George -sent out into Wood-street to inquire if Mr. -Thorsby was yet at the warehouse, and -received for reply that he was not expected -till twelve o’clock. A coach was at once -ordered, and the whole party entered it and -drove to Bond-street. It was stopped within -fifty yards of the house sought, and George -and Letty descended and walked on, followed -by the nurse and child, which looked as -bright as a child of six months can after a -night’s journey, through which it had slept -like a top, and in a world whose trouble does<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> -not concern it. Arrived at the door, Letty -seemed as though she would sink, but George -encouraged her to hold up and go through it -in reliance on God. The door was opened by -a servant, who asked their names, and said she -would inquire if Mr. Thorsby were in. But -Letty did not give her the opportunity of -bringing a “No;” she took the child in her -arms, and followed on the servant’s heels.</p> - -<p>“You had better wait here, ma’am,” said -the servant.</p> - -<p>“Go on!” said Letty, authoritatively.</p> - -<p>The girl looked astonished, but obeyed. -Ascending the first flight of stairs, she opened -a door into a large and handsomely furnished -room, and said, “A lady, sir!”</p> - -<p>Letty stepped in, and stood with the child -on her arm. There sat the delinquent husband, -in his morning-gown and slippers, -reading the newspaper, and on the opposite -side of the breakfast-table sat a very handsome -young woman, of by no means unamiable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> -appearance. The sight of Letty, -however, produced a wondrous change. -Thorsby started to his feet, and stood as -rooted to the ground. His look was that -rather of a ghost than of a living man. Pale -as death, he trembled from head to foot like -an aspen leaf. His female friend stood, a -monument of terror, shame, and confusion. -It was evident that she knew Mrs. Thorsby -perfectly. But Letty, with a calmness with -which heaven itself must have endowed her, -advanced to Thorsby, and said, holding up -the child towards him, “My dear Henry, I -am not come to reproach you, but to reclaim -you. Let this young woman retire, I would -speak to you alone.”</p> - -<p>Thorsby made a hasty movement with -his hand, and the young woman as hastily -retired, evidently glad to escape.</p> - -<p>“My dear Henry,” said Letty, pale as -marble, yet bearing up with wonderful firmness, -“this little child wants its father; your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> -loving and ever-faithful wife wants her husband; -your poor, afflicted, and now very sick -mother, wants her son. There, take your -child, embrace it, love it, and come home -with us.”</p> - -<p>Thorsby gasped, as for breath. He would -have spoken, but he could not. He seized -the child convulsively, and, bursting into a -passion of sobs and tears, covered it with -kisses. He sat down, and, bending over it, -wept excessively. Letty softly fell on her -knees at his feet, laid her hand on his, looked -up to him with streaming eyes, and there -was a long silence. As the storm of -Thorsby’s emotion somewhat subsided, Letty -said, “And now, dear Henry, let us go. Let -that unhappy girl return to her friends, or be -provided for; let her not be cast forth to -utter ruin. And for us, let us return to our -own home, to a new life, and to constant -prayers for unfailing strength to do our duty. -Come, come! let us away at once.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></p> - -<p>“No, Letty, no!” exclaimed Thorsby, with -a haggard look; “I can never return. I am -a disgraced man. I can never show my face -in our own town again. Go! be as happy as -you can! I will give you everything; but -return—for me—never!”</p> - -<p>“And yet you <em>must</em> return, dear Henry. -I cannot let you go to perdition. I have -vowed to take you for better for worse, and I -will stand by you to the <em>very</em> worst. Think -not of temporary shame—think of your own -precious, eternal soul! Think of your child, -your mother. Think of me, if you yet—if -you ever loved me!”</p> - -<p>“Loved you!” Thorsby stamped on the -ground. “Letty Woodburn, I never loved -but you! That name has been my life, my -inspiration, my shield, but at last it failed me. -Satan was too strong in me. Never, never, -can I again pollute you by my presence. I -am a God-abandoned man! He has lifted -me up only to cast me down beyond redemption.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> -Nothing, nothing, can restore -me.”</p> - -<p>“Remember the prodigal son,” said Letty. -“Remember the all, all-forgiving Father. Oh, -return, return! and all may yet be well. If -you will not return, think! what good shall -my life do me? What shall be the sad, awful -career of this dear babe without a father—with -only the sad, sad story of one! Come, -oh, come home. George is here; he will -show you how all will forgive and forget.”</p> - -<p>“George!” exclaimed Thorsby, and seeming -inspired with sudden madness; “George! -let him not come in—I cannot bear it. If -he comes”—he snatched a pistol from a side-table—“if -he comes here, I will put this -bullet through my brain.”</p> - -<p>Letty stood terror-stricken. She saw that -all hope of inducing him to face his old connections -was hopeless.</p> - -<p>“Put that down,” said Letty, sternly; “you -terrify me. George will not come unasked;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> -and if you will not return to Castleborough, -I will come and live in London.”</p> - -<p>“You!” said Thorsby. “You, who love -the country so, whose heart has so many ties -there!”</p> - -<p>“I can do it willingly,” said Letty. “I -can be very happy with you and dear -little Leonard anywhere. My greatest ties -are here.”</p> - -<p>“It cannot be,” said Thorsby, assuming an -awful look. “Angels of light and devils cannot -dwell together. I say, once for all, go, -and leave me to my fate, or I will end it on -this spot.”</p> - -<p>Letty started back with the child in her -arms, which clung affrighted to her bosom, -and with a wild and long-fixed look, said, -“Then farewell! but oh, no, not for ever! -not for ever!” and with that she opened the -door, gave one other last look at the unhappy -man as he stood ghastly and motionless—a -look of misery beyond all words—then disappeared.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> -George saw her coming, still and -tearless, clasping the child to her heart, -and he knew that her loving attempt had -failed. He supported her tenderly to the -cab, and drove back to the inn.</p> - -<p>“Let us get home, dear George,” she said, -as they entered the inn; “I would not die -here,” and she shuddered.</p> - -<p>“Die!” said George. “No, dearest, you -shall not die. You will not die for the faithlessness -of a bad man; you must live for us -and for your child. But we will away home -at once.”</p> - -<p>He laid his unhappy sister on the sofa, -and rang for wine. “Take some refreshment, -dear Letty, and we will be off at once.” -Letty took a glass of wine mechanically, and -closing her eyes, looked like a beautiful -corpse. George ordered a post-chaise, and -so they posted all the way down. Letty -lay through the journey as in a sort of -trance, with a passive marble look, but still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> -conscious, and answering in a whisper to -her brother’s anxious questions. This state -continued after they reached home.</p> - -<p>“It is a blessing of God,” said the physicians -who were called in; “the enormous strain -of the mind has exhausted her animal powers—and -it is well: a different action, and the -brain must have felt the shock, and could -not have borne it. Let her remain so. If -she can take nourishment, well; but for -some time let her rest. Let us hope that -no violent reaction will take place, when we -shall have to fear delirium, and, perhaps, -actual insanity.”</p> - -<p>The news of these events—of the heroic -endeavours of Letty to reclaim her husband, -and of her present critical state—brought -her mother and sister instantly to her side. -Under their tender care the judicious system -of the physicians was carefully carried out; -and in a few days’ time tears were seen -stealing beneath the eyelashes of Letty; her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> -mother gently kissed her, and she raised -her arms and clasped them round her neck. -Without opening her eyes, she was conscious -of the presence of Ann, and put out -her hand to clasp her, and then she lay and -wept long and silently. Her dear, watching -relations soon found that she was perfectly -conscious of all that had passed; but a -wondrous calm had come over her, and she -said to her mother and Ann, “Do not be -anxious about me. I shall soon be better. -I must live as one of God’s children, to bear -His rod, and to seek to save the lost. -Promise me never to blame him in my presence. -Join with me in prayer daily, -nightly, incessant prayer, for his recovery. -That is the business of my life now. If I -succeed in the end it will be worth all the -earth can send of sorrow and suffering.”</p> - -<p>In a few weeks Letty was about again. -A pale, thin, serious, but energetic-looking -woman. Could that be the once laughing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> -blithe, singing Letty? It was the same -bright, pure spirit, saddened but ennobled -by the ordeal of trial and distress, and by a -life’s aim the noblest and most sacred that -ever lifted a womanly soul into the regions -of a wisdom beyond her years. She soon -returned her attention to business. Closely -veiled, she walked silently through the -quietest streets from her house to the warehouse; -but the marked respect, the lifted -hats of the gentlemen, the regardful and -sympathising looks of ladies, and the deep -curtseys of humbler women, as she passed, -showed what a sensation the narrative of -her doings and sufferings had created in -the place. Thomas Barnsdale, by his silent, -respectful attention, showed the same effect -on him. One of the first papers that he put -into her hand, was a deed of gift, regularly -drawn by a legal hand, and duly executed by -Thorsby, making over to her and their son -the whole of the property and trade in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> -Castleborough. He had reserved only to -himself the business in London, which, as -a commission business, received the goods -manufactured at Castleborough, and exported -them on a percentage. This deeply affected -Letty. It showed that amid all the weakness -and impulsive folly of her husband, there -were great redeeming qualities in him, and -she was more than ever resolved to hope for -his final recovery, and to devote her life to -that object. Her father, tremendously incensed -against him, told her to leave the business -to Barnsdale, and the house to Thorsby’s -mother, and come back to Woodburn Grange, -where the tenderest love awaited her. But -Letty held to her wiser course. Old Mrs. -Thorsby, already in ill health, was completely -broken down by these last unhappy -events, and could not last long. Letty -would not leave her, but attended her with -every loving care. To make the business -more secure, she gave Thomas Barnsdale a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> -certain share in it, of which he was equally -deserving, from his faithfulness and unwearied -attention to its interests.</p> - -<p>Not many weeks, however, passed without -another blow from the evil fate which now -seemed to be pursuing Thorsby and his -family. Letty received a letter from her -husband, informing her that his agent in -New York had absconded with 5000<em>l.</em> of his -money, and left the goods in the warehouse -there very much exposed. He was that -moment departing for Liverpool to embark -for America. When he might return was -uncertain; but if God could hear the prayer -of such a wretch, he prayed for all His blessings -on her and their dear child. Letty, -struck as with a sudden wound, hastened to -the counting-house to inform Mr. Barnsdale -of this startling news. She found that he -already was in possession of it.</p> - -<p>“What is the extent of the hazard?” she -asked. “Will it ruin us?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh no;” said Mr. Barnsdale. “If the -money is not recovered—as very likely it -may not: that continent is vast; it is very -much like hunting a needle in a truss of -hay, hunting a rogue in it—then there are -5000<em>l.</em> gone. The stock, I see, in the New -York store is, or should be, about 5000<em>l.</em> -more in value: 10,000<em>l.</em>”</p> - -<p>“That is a great deal,” said Letty.</p> - -<p>“Yes; a great deal too much to lose,” -replied Barnsdale; “but we can bear a good -deal more than that. It may hamper our -money accounts a little; but I am happy to -say that Mr. Heritage has sent me word -that he is prepared to assist us at a pinch to -a large amount. That, madam, we owe to -his high esteem of you.” He might have -added, and to his own confidence-inspiring -character. “And,” added Mr. Barnsdale, -“do not let this event distress you. In my -opinion it may prove the very reverse of -what it seems. Mr. Thorsby has wonderful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> -energies in his nature, strangely linked, it -must be said, with sad weaknesses; but -let him once be roused in some important -cause, and the latent forces will be sure to -come out. See what a wonderful eloquence -he displayed, before unknown to everybody—unknown -to himself. I am sure -he will pursue this unblushing rogue to -the very extremities of the earth. He -has all the spirit of the hunter in him, -and nothing in the world could be so -beneficial to him as such an excitement -and chase.”</p> - -<p>“Pray God it may be so,” said Letty.</p> - -<p>“Amen and Amen,” said Barnsdale, with -much devotion.</p> - -<p>The very next day, Mrs. Heritage, to her -extreme surprise, received a letter, dated -Liverpool, from Thorsby. In this he made a -late but earnest apology for his former rude -return to her well-intentioned admonitions, -and now begged, as a parting favour, a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span> -lines from her as “a comfort to him on the -deep waters.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Heritage sat for a short time in -silence, and then wrote this reply:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">“Friend Henry Thorsby,</span></p> -<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">“I think I may address thee as friend</span> -when our dear Redeemer so addressed his -betrayer, Judas Iscariot. Thou askest me -for comfort on the deep waters; but what -comfort can there be to an alien from God? -What peace can there be to the wicked? -Yes! I will pray for thee! as thou desirest. -I will pray earnestly that God will send thee -troubles upon troubles. That he will toss -thee with tempests on the ocean, and chase -thee with misfortunes on land. I will pray -that thou mayst suffer wrong, and robbery, -and deceit, and betrayal. That thou mayst -drink to the dregs of that cup of injury, -and shame, and sorrow, that thou hast been -so lavishly pouring out for others who should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span> -have been dear to thee as thy own soul. I -forget—thy own soul is not dear to thee; -more and sadder pity. I will pray for heart-soreness, -and weariness of soul, for perils -in cities and in deserts upon thee. For -shattered prospects, ruined hopes, ruin of -goods and good name, and for pursuit of -measures and cruelties unto the verge of -death. Mayst thou be solitary and forsaken, -as thou hast left others of whom thou wert -not worthy; may sickness overtake thee -where there is none to tend or soothe. May -the blackness and the shadow of death overtake -thy soul and overwhelm thee with the -terrors of hell. May its torments seize on -thy vitals and consume all that is within thee -of vile, and base, and unholy. And when the -tempest and the earthquake have done their -mission on thee, mayst thou be favoured to -hear the still, small voice, which comes only -to the ear opened by a pardoning God. All -these woes I wish thee, not from anger or a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> -spirit of unworthy vengeance, but from that -love which is over all, and yearns after all -that lives. Knowest thou not that the hard -ground must first be torn up and rent in -pieces by the plough and harrows of the -husbandman before it can receive the seed of -a new harvest? May the hard ground of thy -heart, Henry Thorsby, be thus ploughed up -and harrowed in sunder, for so only do I -believe that it can be reduced to that soft -and plastic state in which the seed of divine -grace can once more grow. And that it -may be so will be the daily prayer, the -earnest wrestlings of the soul of one who -would rejoice over thy recall to the paths of -virtue and of heaven, as over a dearly -beloved son. Thy friend in the truth, and -the love which is indestructible and unfathomable,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">“Rebecca Heritage.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>Thorsby received and read this letter in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span> -profound silence: in silence he arose, thrust -it into his pocket, and walked solemnly on -board. The winds are bearing him away on -a long and arduous pilgrimage. Let us leave -him awhile to the unseen but ever-present -hand which pursues with the scourge, but -forgets not the balm.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">ALL WRONG AT WOODBURN.</p> - - -<p>Summer was once more shining and -breathing its perfumes over the country -round Woodburn. The pleasant fields stood -full of flower-embroidered grass; of green -corn waving and billowing in the scented -breeze. The trees shed their verdurous gloom -beneath them; the red wild rose, and the -snowy discs of the elder flowers, mingled their -odours with the yellow-and-red honeysuckle -blossoms in the fresh hawthorn hedges. The -larks carolled high in the blue air; brooks -ran glittering down to the river, and the -river glided on in stately beauty. All was -beautiful and happy in nature as ever, but -over the Grange lay a stillness, within was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span> -stillness. Betty Trapps, pursuing her accustomed -household duties, neither sung that -“very cutting” song—“Once I freedah engyed,” -nor the equally favourite hymn—“We -are marching through Emmanuel’s land.” -Mr. Woodburn wore a grave and sad air; -Mrs. Woodburn sat knitting in deep thought, -or watched her cheese-making, without any -of her former jollity. Ann was with Letty -in Castleborough, and George was taking his -solitary rides over the farm, as if something -lay on his heart which had banished that -cheerful countenance so natural to him. There -were no preparations for any festive gathering -in the hayfield. “The light of other -days” had disappeared like a dream.</p> - -<p>The conduct of Thorsby had verified all the -instinctive prescience in Betty Trapps’s nature. -Letty, the loved and loving creature of gladness, -the sunshine of that once happy home; -the flitting shape, the ringing, singing voice -of joy in it, was a deserted wife, and the once<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> -jocose and sportive Thorsby, a disgraced and -shameless fugitive. Nor was that all; those -shadows which Mrs. Heritage had foreseen in -the hayfield fête, had not only fallen on -Woodburn Grange, but on other spots around. -Fair Manor itself had not escaped. There -was the only child there, then the hope and -happiness of her house, now a serious and -nervous woman, who had passed through a -severe baptism, and now shrunk from intercourse -beyond her own family walls. -Awaking from the impassioned dreams of -her London visit, she found that she had -wounded another too deeply to leave peace -in her own bosom. She had candidly stated -to Edmund Barrington, that great as was -her affection for him, she never could be -happy in the consciousness of the affliction -she had occasioned to a most worthy, -faithful, and noble heart, nor under the sense -of the deep blame, which all those most dear -to her, or most connected with the attachments<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> -and the memories of her youth, awarded -her. She had resolved, therefore, to do the -only penance which should mark her sense of -her wrong, and satisfy her innermost feeling -of sacred duty—never to marry; but to -devote herself as soon as her health should -be restored, if indeed her shattered nerves -should ever again regain their healthy tone, -to the works of the good Samaritan.</p> - -<p>Her mother had, through Mrs. Barrington, -explained to that family the severe shock -and shattering through which her daughter -had gone, and the sensitive state of her -nervous system still. She returned to Edmund -Barrington the diamond-clasped bracelet -which he had given Millicent, and which -under no circumstances could she wear, but -she entreated that all other little mutual -gifts might be retained as memorials of a -friendship, which both she and her daughter -trusted would still and for ever remain unbroken.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span></p> - -<p>It is only justice to say that these communications -were received in the most -beautiful spirit. Both Edmund Barrington -and his sisters wrote to Millicent in the most -kind and sympathizing terms. Edmund declared -himself willing to await the time when -full health might bring happier thoughts to -Millicent, and his sisters expressed their -sincere sorrow that the tender conscience of -Millicent had dissipated to them so many -pleasant hopes. They declared that they -should never cease to recollect with pleasure -the happy time of her visit, or to regret the -prospect of losing her as a sister. No hope, -however, was held out by Millicent of a -change in her present sentiments; and in no -very long time not only those amiable women, -but their brother too, had selected their partners -for life, and were scattered into their -respective homes, amid all the solaces and -distinctions of an enormous affluence.</p> - -<p>Millicent Heritage regained her former<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span> -estimation amongst her friends by a knowledge -of this conscientious renunciation of all selfish -happiness for herself; and the sense of this -did much to renew her vigour of frame, -though it did not banish the grave and -thoughtful expression from her face and -manner. She was often seen mounted on -her favourite mare, May Dew, followed by -Tom Boddily, taking her way towards the -Grange, where she was always received with -love by Mrs. Woodburn and by Ann, when at -home, and by Mr. Woodburn and George -with much kindly regard. Many, too, were -her visits to Bilts’ Farm, and her long conversations -with Elizabeth Drury, which -seemed always to fill her with a renewed -spirit of peace and satisfaction.</p> - -<p>The only gleam of the past happy days -seemed to be on the head of the wise and -loving Ann Woodburn. The effect of his -father’s changed views, revealed on his deathbed, -had been on Sir Henry Clavering such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> -as she had hoped. He had thought deeply -on this unexpected confession. The peace -with which he had seen his father depart had -made a deep impression on his mind through -his affectionate nature. He had arrived soon -so far, that he felt that there was something -beyond the mere teachings of physical -nature and the wisdom of the schools which -we need to enable us to push off our spiritual -bark into the unknown with confidence. -He accepted, therefore, like his father, the -Saviour which the Gospel proclaims, though -ponderous difficulties lay betwixt his conceptions -of this Saviour as a messenger of -God, and as God in Christ reconciling the -world to Himself. But Ann, filled now with -the brightest hopes, helped him along this -valley of stumbling and of huge stones fallen -from the bald rocks of long past ages. She -put into his hands Paley’s “Evidences,” -Butler’s “Analogy,” and other ably reasoned -works of her Church, and marked with deep<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> -satisfaction their gradual effect. She no -longer talked of leaving Sir Henry to his -freedom of choice for a wife. She found herself -daily drawn into a nearer and more -kindred unity with him. All real obstacles -to their marriage were, in fact, surmounted, -and that event was regarded as at hand, -when these unhappy circumstances connected -with Letty’s fortunes, and others yet to be -related, made her beg that the marriage -might be a little delayed, that it might be -celebrated under happier auspices, if possible. -Meantime, the political difficulties of the -period, and irritated condition of the people -at large, and of the manufacturing population -in particular, kept Sir Henry actively engaged -in his magisterial duties. He generally looked -in at the Grange in going to and returning -from Castleborough; and whilst Ann was -there, at Letty’s, he frequently went in and -dined with them. Every day tended to -present the excellence of his heart and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> -clear solidity of his mind more attractively to -the whole Woodburn family. Ann only was -held back from the goal of her earthly happiness -by the cloud that lay on her most -beloved ones.</p> - -<p>The settlement of Mr. Trant Drury in -their immediate neighbourhood had not -proved such a source of satisfaction as had -been hoped for. Those dictatorial and hurrying -qualities in his character, which farmer -Barrowclouch had noticed, soon began to press -themselves unpleasantly on most of those -around him. That he was a first-rate agriculturist -of a particular school there could be -no question; but it was a school essentially -different from that which prevailed in all that -part of the country. It was a country naturally -fertile, varied in its features, and -rendered extremely pleasant by the fine and -free-grown fences, the scattered hedge-row -trees, and patches of wood. With all these, -Mr. Drury made war to the knife—no, to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> -hatchet and the saw. He expressed his great -surprise that any agriculturists could yet be -found who would sacrifice so much of their -valuable land to the mere growth of useless -bushes and almost worthless hedge-row trees. -As to the woods and plantations, they might -remain, and be made profitable by liberal -thinning; but as for the hedges, he would -have them all pared down to the shortest -state possible to be fences at all, and the -hedge-row trees, he would cut down every -one of them. He would leave only here and -there on the land a spreading tree for shelter -for the cattle from the sun in summer; but -as for hedges, they were useful only as a -means of separating fields, and these he would -cut to the quick, and narrow as much as -possible; nay, he would cut down half of -the hedges altogether, and leave the fields—especially -the tillage fields—four of five -times their present size. He calculated that -nearly a tenth of the superficies of the country<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span> -might be thus brought into profitable culture. -As for the hedge-row trees, he said -they were so frequently lopped on their -trunks as they grew, to prevent their spreading -too widely, that as timber they were a -congeries of knots, and of no use but for firewood. -In fact, he would have reduced the -whole country to a condition as bare as -the back of your hand; for beauty or the -picturesque had no organ in his brain,—their -place was engrossed by the organ of -profit.</p> - -<p>“Now, of what mortal use,” he would say -to Mr. Woodburn, as he rode over his farm, -or through the neighbourhood with him,—“of -what mortal use are these little shapeless -crofts and paddocks with their fences running -in all sorts of ways but straight lines,—these -little, often triangular plots, with their meandering -huge hawthorn hedges, actually turning -and doubling on themselves? Sweep all -these crooked, scrambling fences away, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> -have some fine, large, shapely pastures instead. -And here is a brook now—do look at -it. Would any one have supposed, with the -present value of land, that it should be -allowed to turn and twine about as it does, -forming what the Scotch call links, and as we -may call them bows and loops, positively -occupying three times the ground which it -would if reduced to a straight, handsome -course, as it soon might be?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Woodburn replied “that in truth they -might remove some of the rambling fences, -and enlarge those little plots to advantage, -but he should be sorry to see all those beautiful -hawthorn hedges now throwing out their -odorous sprays of wild roses and eglantine, -cut close like the cropped bristly head of a -parish pauper.”</p> - -<p>“Beauty!” said Mr. Trant Drury,—“beauty! -My dear sir, we cannot live by -beauty. We cannot pay rent by beauty. -The interests of this densely populated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> -country cannot be maintained by empty -notions of beauty. When you want to go -to market with your produce, see what your -crop of beauty will bring you. No, sir; as -much corn, cattle, hay, potatoes, and the like -substantials, for which we labour, and from -which we must hope to live, as you please. -The greatest possible return for the greatest -possible amount of labour and skill expended;—that -is my doctrine and my practice; and -they are the only principles that will in the -long run make this country what it ought -to be.”</p> - -<p>“But man cannot live by bread alone,” -said Mr. Woodburn; “that is a principle -established by an authority which I hope, -Mr. Drury, you consider as of as much -validity as your modern save-all doctrine.”</p> - -<p>“I bow to the wisdom of our Lord,” said -Mr. Drury; “but what He undoubtedly meant -was, not your visionary thing beauty, but -divine grace,—‘Man shall not live by bread<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span> -alone, but by every word which proceedeth -out of the mouth of God.’”</p> - -<p>“Very true,” said Mr. Woodburn; “and -out of that divine mouth issued these divine -words: ‘Behold the lilies of the field, how -they grow.’ He who made beauty as well as -material food, and showered it on the earth, -and continues so to shower it, knew and -knows that we want food for every part of -our nature. ‘Meats for the belly, and the -belly for meats; but God shall destroy both -it and them.’ Now, according to my notions, -every part of us demands its proper food. -Food for the support of the body, grace for -the life of the soul, beauty for the imagination, -love for the heart, and truth for the -intellect. To feed only the body, and to -devote all our labours and our lands only to -this purpose, is, in my opinion, to make ourselves -no better than the beasts that perish.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Drury smiled contemptuously. “That -is all very well for you, Mr. Woodburn, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> -live at ease on your own land; but that sort -of doctrine won’t do for tenant-farmers.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Woodburn thought it as good for -tenant-farmers as for anybody else; and -should be very sorry to see the tenant-farmers -allowed to follow such a system of agricultural -economy, as would make the whole -country as bare as a drill-ground, and as -ugly as sin. He had seen this style of cultivation -carried out in some parts of the -country, and he would sooner emigrate to -the American forests than live in such a -featureless district. He thought, to cut down -hedges almost to the ground, and exterminate -every tree, was by no means beneficial to -cattle or sheep, which in cold weather, and -especially during the sharp east winds of -early spring, required shelter as well as food.</p> - -<p>After one or two conversations of this kind -Woodburn thought Mr. Drury would say no -more to him on this subject, but he was -greatly mistaken; for Mr. Trant Drury was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> -one of those people that we now and then -come across, who carry their hobbies to a -perfect monomania. They are always on the -same subject, in all places and with all persons. -Though they may have told you the -same thing fifty times, they never seem to -recollect it, but treat it as perfectly new, and -go over the whole ground with merciless -pertinacity. After a few inflictions of the -all-profit and threadbare country doctrine, -Mr. Woodburn began to wince visibly, and -to say rather crustily, “Oh! Mr. Drury, you -have told us all that again and again.”</p> - -<p>“But you don’t benefit by it,” Mr. Drury -would say.</p> - -<p>“No, nor ever shall, so far as I am concerned,” -Mr. Woodburn would reply.</p> - -<p>To George Woodburn and Elizabeth Drury, -who had become deeply attached to each -other, and with the mutual consent of parents -on both sides, this disagreement of tastes in -their fathers was a subject of the greatest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span> -concern and anxiety. George quietly begged -of Mr. Drury not to say anything to his -father on agricultural topics, for that nothing -would induce him to adopt any new notions; -but then Mr. Trant Drury’s whole thought, -feeling, taste, and conversation were agricultural. -New modes of tillage, new implements, -new manures, new kinds of vegetables -for winter feed,—these made up the furniture, -stock, and staple of his mind. His -imagination stood as thickly planted with -those ideas as his rick-yard with ricks, his -fold-yard with cattle, or his fields with crops. -George Woodburn listened patiently to his -perpetual talk on these subjects, and admitted -to a certain extent the value of them: but -as to cutting down hawthorn hedges and -hedge-row trees, he stood out as firmly as his -father. When Mr. Drury was riding his -indefatigable hobby in that direction, he remained -quiet and let the stream flow over -him. His after-conversations with Elizabeth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span> -were a rich compensation for this otherwise -rather severe martyrdom. Every day showed -Elizabeth in a more loveable character. Her -lively, cheerful manner, combined with a -beautifully intellectual and religious sentiment, -and great intelligence, made her the -beloved friend of Ann and Mrs. Woodburn; -and Mr. Woodburn looked on her with pride -as his future daughter-in-law. He only regretted -that such a woman should be the -daughter of what he began in his own house -to term such an unmitigated bore.</p> - -<p>Mr. Trant Drury went to work vigorously -on his own farm to exemplify his peculiar -code of agriculture, and, as he said, to set an -example to the benighted farmers around. -His landlady, who lived in London, readily -granted him permission to pare down his -fences and fell hedge-row trees as he pleased. -As the property was her own, but would go, -at her death, for want of direct issue, to -another branch of the family, she was at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span> -liberty to do this. The very first autumn -and winter, Mr. Drury had men cutting close -the fences, and felling all the trees but the -oaks, which must stand till the proper season -for peeling, in spring. Part of this timber -he was allowed to employ in extending his -outbuildings, and in making new gates, gateposts, -hurdles, &c. Part went to the wood-merchant, -its proceeds to be remitted to the -landlady.</p> - -<p>Mr. Woodburn saw with indignation the -destruction of these hedges and trees, the -wide, bare gap in the general beauty of the -landscape thus created, and his feelings were -partaken by many others of the neighbouring -country and town, who denounced Mr. -Drury as a Goth, and hoped there would be -no imitators of this unloveable sort of thrift. -Mr. Woodburn could not restrain himself, on -the next visit of Elizabeth Drury, from -speaking in a sarcastically jeering manner of -this frightful system, as he called it, of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span> -father. Elizabeth, to whose ideas of beauty -it was as great an outrage as to Mr. Woodburn’s, -burst into tears; and Mrs. Woodburn -intreated her husband to desist, saying, that -Miss Drury was not responsible for the acts -of her father, and did all in her power, by -affectionate kindness, to make Elizabeth forget -it. Mr. Woodburn’s own natural goodness of -heart caused him to express his regret for -having hurt her feelings, and adding that -certainly Elizabeth must as much regret it as -he did. But there was a poisoned arrow fixed -into her sensitive heart, which nothing could -effectually extract. She had begged and entreated -that the but thinly scattered trees on -the farm might be spared, but in vain. She -witnessed their fall with grief, which she could -not conceal, and had thus incurred a considerable -degree of anger from her father. -She had heard the mortifying remarks of the -Heritages and other friends; but the ground -of painful feeling and of comment which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span> -it had laid in the mind of all the Woodburns, -and especially of Mr. Woodburn, was a source -of real unhappiness. She felt afraid to go to -the Grange when Mr. Woodburn was in the -house, and when she did meet him there, or -elsewhere, she thought he looked coldly -on her. She was conscious that her very -presence brought to his mind this piece of -Vandalism—the blot on the face of the -country, as he termed it. She heard of his -by no means measured remarks upon it -amongst his neighbours; for though a quiet -and courteous man, he was strong in his -feelings.</p> - -<p>George never alluded to the subject in her -company, and never omitted one of his usual -visits to the farm. He even sat and heard -Mr. Drury’s conversation on the subject, for -nothing could prevent him continually introducing -it, and remained passive, and making -but now and then an incidental reply, endeavouring -to divert the discussion to something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span> -more agreeable to the ladies. But nothing -could turn Mr. Trant Drury long. He would -say, “Well, I find my plans don’t meet with -the approbation of my neighbours, eh? They -would like all to live in a wood, and pay rent, -where they do pay rent, for growing their -landlord’s timber. Ah! they shall see in a -while! They shall see by my rick-yards how -the matter stands.”</p> - -<p>To George, as to Elizabeth, this was a bitter -drop which had fallen into their cup. They -saw that a strong antagonism would assuredly -grow up betwixt their fathers. All their -ideas of rural economy were so totally and -irreconcileably opposed. Bitterly did Elizabeth -deplore their ever coming into such close and -permanent contact; bitterly did she repent -having proposed their removal hither. By -her marriage with George, she would have -come amongst her friends here without one -painful circumstance. But the change was -made, and these two faithful hearts resolved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span> -that no family dissension which might arise -should break or weaken the sacred tie of -their own souls. They endeavoured, each of -them, so to arrange their visits to each other’s -house, as to come as little in the way of -each other’s father as possible, without seeming -to make an actual coldness or breach. -But this was a most difficult plan of operations -to manage. If Mr. Drury did not see -George for several days, he would say—</p> - -<p>“Well, George Woodburn seems to avoid -us. He is like his father, I suppose. He -takes part with him, and can’t forgive this -ridding my farm of its lumber and rubbish.”</p> - -<p>“No, dear father,” Elizabeth would say, -“George does not concern himself about it; -but he is very busy—and I wish, however, -you would not mention the subject so often -to him. It looks as though you wished to -remind him of his father’s vexation. Oh, do, -dear father, let the matter be a tabooed subject. -There is plenty to talk of besides.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> - -<p>“Plenty to talk of!—to be sure there is. -But I have no notion of people having such -thin skins, such tender ears, that they can’t -bear to hear of a tree falling or of a hedge -being lopped. And I am sure I very seldom -refer to the thing.”</p> - -<p>“Only every time that George Woodburn -is here, dear father. Though he does not -trouble himself about it, it must become tiresome -to him.”</p> - -<p>“So he finds my company tiresome, does -he, eh? A nice young man! Perhaps he’ll -find yours tiresome soon, Elizabeth, if he be -so difficult to please. So that’s the way the -wind blows, eh? Um—um!”—or rather an -indescribable noise made with his mouth shut -and through his nose.</p> - -<p>At Woodburn Grange, Mr. Woodburn -would say—</p> - -<p>“Have you seen Miss Drury lately?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; she was here this morning.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she was! She takes care that I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> -don’t see her. I suppose she’s not pleased -with me because I don’t like the devastations -of that father of hers. I suppose she takes -up the cudgels for him. Well, I am sorry -for it—I am sorry indeed that such a sweet, -good creature has such a father. As for poor -Mrs. Drury, she does not seem to have a soul -of her own. She is just like a scared automaton, -if an automaton could be scared. She -must have had a pretty life of it with such a -man.”</p> - -<p>If George were in, he would quietly get -up and go out, and then Mrs. Woodburn, or -Ann, if at home, would say, “Pray don’t -make such remarks, dear father—or husband—don’t -you see how painful they are to -George; and as for Elizabeth Drury, she -loves and honours you most sincerely. Oh, -what a misfortune that ever they came so -near us!”</p> - -<p>In the meantime, Mr. Trant Drury went -on his way in his own way, which was of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> -unwavering, confident comfortableness in his -assurance that all which he thought and did -was right. To him all adverse criticism was -ignorance, all opposition envy. He lamented -the benighted condition of his bucolic neighbours, -and was certain that he should show -them all their deficiencies. Mr. Drury had, -in the north, been a high authority, and he -soon let it be known that it was the same -Mr. Trant Drury, whose letters in the -“Farmers’ Journal,” and in the York and -Doncaster newspapers, on all agricultural -topics were so well known. “Eh! so this -is the great Mr. Drury of Yorkshire,” said -Sir Roger Rockville, and Sir Benjamin -Bullockshed, and Squire Swagsides, “that we -have got among us: that is very fortunate.” -Mr. Drury soon took the opportunity to make -the public aware of this great fact still further, -by some letters in the Castleborough -papers, containing remarks on the improvements -which might obviously be introduced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> -into that part of the country. He was very -soon consulted by landowners on the nature -of such improvements, which they hoped -would lead to an augmentation of rents. -Mr. Drury soon became much in request for -valuations of stock and crops in cases of -farms passing from one tenant to another, -in matters of drainage and manures, and -treatment of woods,—and in all these departments -he was really extremely skilful. -He attended public meetings in different -counties of an agricultural character, and -made speeches which went through the newspapers -far and wide.</p> - -<p>It was soon made known by himself that -he had been consulted by Sir Roger Rockville, -Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, Sir Timothy -Sheepshanks, Lord Rancliffe, the Earl Manvers, -and others, on the condition of their -estates. Not one of them, however, we are -well informed, could be brought to listen to -cropping all their fences close, and knocking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> -down all their hedge-row trees, except Sir -Benjamin Bullockshed, and one or two of his -neighbours. In the rest, Mr. Drury said, -the old feudal notions of things were too -strongly rooted to allow of their ridding their -lands of any trees. Mr. Woodburn, when -he heard that Mr. Drury had actually become -the steward of Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, -and was going to display his science on his -farms, blessed his stars that that estate lay -at some distance, and that the odious disfigurement -and stripping bare of nature -would not often offend his eyes.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, Mr. Drury, in the late -autumn, had certainly a fine rick-yard and -cattle-yard to show. His sheep were in fine -condition, and he had an ample supply of -turnips and mangel wurzel for winter feed. -He had also sown several acres of carrots -for his horses and cattle, then a matter of -wonder and curiosity to his neighbours, as -applied to that purpose, having before been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> -thought of only for culinary use. With the -working-men, the labourers of the neighbourhood, -Mr. Drury was by no means in favour. -He had brought with him a great variety of -machinery, thrashing and winnowing machines, -tedding and raking machines, which -at that day, when such machinery was little -known, were looked upon as all intended to -supersede manual labour. They were beheld -with an evil eye, and the indignant -labourers were heard to wish that the earth -would open and swallow up these godless -and man-starving inventions. Besides this, -Mr. Drury kept a very sharp eye on every -man who worked for him. He had a bailiff, -or headman, who timed all the men as they -arrived in the morning, and noted the exact -minute down, and a half, or even a quarter -of an hour, on any day was deducted at the -end of the week. He was always riding -about on that tall roan horse of his, and so -continually at their heels, or ready to drop upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span> -them at any minute. They nick-named him -Drury the Fire-eater, and wondered what -they had done that the devil had sent him -into their country.</p> - -<p>The following spring a circumstance occurred -which pre-eminently delighted not -only the labourers, but the farmers around, -and in no small degree Mr. Woodburn himself. -Mr. Drury had written so much on the -necessity of cleaning, dressing your fields, of -extirpating to the utmost every species of -couch-grass and weed, and that your growing -crops should be as free from them as your -gardens; he had made so many cutting remarks -on the slovenliness of some of the -neighbouring farms, and characterised the -style of cultivation thereabout as lax, that it -was with singular pleasure and merriment -that they observed several of his corn crops, -and one six-acre field in particular, as thickly -mixed with docks as if the seed had purposely -been sown half-and-half. There was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span> -a going and riding from all quarters to -witness this wonderful sight. It was the -talk at market, and Mr. Drury was accosted -with much country wit on the occasion. “Is -that,” asked farmers, “a part of your new -plans, Mister Drury? Are these a new sort -of carrots of yourn?” Carrots being just -introduced by Mr. Drury, this was received -with much laughter. Mr. Drury replied -angrily, and in the words of Scripture, “An -enemy hath done this.”</p> - -<p>But who was this enemy! It was certain -that Mr. Drury had his enemies in abundance -amongst the labourers; but these men were -too regularly engaged in hard work to collect -such a quantity of dock seed, and to sow it -so completely. There was a touch of ingenuity -in it, too, which seemed beyond their -habitual dulness. The suspicion turned in -another direction.</p> - -<p>In the autumn, on proceeding to get his -potatoes, it was discovered by the men that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> -rows had been extensively plundered, by the -potatoes being extracted from the sides of -the rows, the tops being left standing, and -the earth at the sides carefully put back -and trampled hard. There was ingenuity -there, too.</p> - -<p>Mr. Drury not only set a man to watch at -night, but he watched with him, and they soon -captured, in the fact, a sort of half-witted, -wandering vagabond fellow of Castleborough, -named Ned King. This Ned King, a thin -shangling fellow, dirty and ragged, and -seldom without a pipe in his mouth, was -reckoned only half-witted, but, at the same -time, he had a cunning about him of no -ordinary calibre. He was accustomed to -ramble the streets, and early in the morning -turn over with his feet or his hands, as carefully -as a hen scratching in the chaff at a -barn-door, the dust and scraps of paper -swept out of the shops. It was said that he -had occasionally recovered thus one-pound<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span> -and even five-pound notes. It was certain -that one day, in a main street, he was seen to -stoop down and pick up a half-guinea in -gold. A person close behind said, “That is -mine!” “Oh!” said Ned, keeping the -piece in his closed hand, “is yours a straight -or a crooked one?” The man immediately -imagined that it must be a crooked one, or -so stupid a fellow would not have thought of -it. “A crooked one, to-be sure,” said the -man. “Then it is not yours,” added King, -opening his hand, “for this is straight;” and -the claimant disappeared amid the jeers of -the people.</p> - -<p>Ned being caught, begged hard to be let -go, saying, he would make Mr. Drury -amends; but such was not Mr. Drury’s -creed. He was for the most summary -punishment of all such depredators, and -King was carried before the magistrates, -and thence to the House of Correction for -three months. The extraordinary crop of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span> -docks on Mr. Drury’s farm was no sooner -talked of, than many people recollected -seeing King here and there all round the -country collecting, as he said, bird-seeds of -different sorts; but they noticed him particularly -gathering dock-seeds, which he said -were for birds, but which nobody had ever -known collected for such a purpose. It was -shown by some of King’s neighbours that -he had whole sack-bags of such seeds in his -possession during the winter. But his having -collected such seeds, and his having whole -bags of them, did not prove that he had -sown Mr. Drury’s corn-fields with them. -There was no moral doubt whatever that he -had done it; but it had been done so -adroitly, that no one had ever seen him about -Mr. Drury’s farm at night. He must have -done it in midnights when every soul was -fast asleep.</p> - -<p>Mr. Drury had him up before the magistrates; -and brought plenty of evidence of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span> -having collected dock-seed for six or seven -miles round, and of his having sacks full of -it; but when the magistrates called on him -to show how he had disposed of it, Ned -grinned, and said, “How was he to know? -He was always selling seeds and yarbs -(herbs) to all sorts of people, and he did not -know their names.” The old proverb of any -fool taking a horse to water, and not all -England being able to make him drink, was -verified in Ned’s case. Nobody could convict -him, and he was too shrewd to convict -himself. The magistrates were compelled to -dismiss him with a threat, and everybody -said Mr. Drury had better have let Ned alone, -he would do him some other ill-turn. And -this soon appeared to be the case, for Mr. -Drury’s field-gates were continually found -wide open in a morning, and cattle and sheep -let in or let out, and the greatest damage done. -Sheep and cattle were found eating up and -treading down the corn crops, and his horses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span> -were gone off, and were discovered in some -neighbouring parish.</p> - -<p>In this case the able and acute Mr. Trant -Drury had found his match in the half-witted -Ned King, the fool of Castleborough, -much to the delectation of farmers and -labourers all round Woodburn.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">WOODBURN AND ROCKVILLE AT WAR.</p> - - -<p>Once more spring; and though many -things had occurred to sadden the hearts -once so light at Woodburn, there were yet -days there when something of the old charm -seemed to come back. There were hearts -and minds all the more bound together by -sympathy in sorrow, and by a common -endurance of the petty enmity of proud and -ignorant neighbours. One fine May Sunday -evening, Mr. and Mrs. Degge had come in -to tea at the Grange. Sir Henry Clavering -was there; and after tea a walk was proposed -down by the river-side to a copse, -where two nightingales were continually -heard, evening and night, singing against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> -each other in marvellous rivalry. Mr. and -Mrs. Degge, Sir Henry, George, Ann, and -Letty, set out for this walk. A more delicious -evening never shed its charms on such -a company. A light breeze blew the odours -of legions of flowers towards them as they -slowly wandered down the valley. They had -then to cross some fields, and pass through a -farm-yard, before reaching the copse in question. -These fields and this copse were on -Sir Roger Rockville’s land; and as they -approached the gate leading into the fields, -they saw, to their surprise, a board erected, -declaring that there was no road that way. -As this was, and always had been, a road far -beyond the memory of man, and as no legal -measures had been taken to stop it, the -gentlemen were quite confident that it could -not be legally stopped. They, therefore, -went on, passed through the farm-yard, saw -no one, and reached the copse.</p> - -<p>As they were standing beneath some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> -trees just within it, and were listening to the -songs of the emulative birds, suddenly a gun -was discharged over their heads, and one of -the birds fell at their feet. In the greatest -astonishment and indignation, the three -gentlemen rushed towards the place whence -the discharge came, but could discern no one. -The ladies had picked up the poor little -musician, now with its feathers dabbled with -its blood, and all its wondrous music hushed -for ever, and were in the highest state of -pity and resentment.</p> - -<p>The party took its way back in a mood of -extreme exasperation at the barbarous deed, -which they attributed to some one of Sir -Roger’s keepers, and that the poor bird had -fallen a martyr to the baronet’s known feelings -against them. As they entered the -farm-yard, two young men came towards -them, one having a gun on his shoulders. -This one addressed the party without any -sign of courtesy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> - -<p>“Did not you see the board up by the -gate?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!” it was replied. “We saw it, but -it has no business there. This is an old -road, and has not, to our certain knowledge, -been legally stopped.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you,” said the young man, in an -excited tone, “there is no road—never was a -road, and no one shall come this way.”</p> - -<p>“Pray, who are you, young man?” said -Sir Henry Clavering.</p> - -<p>“Who am I? I am the son of the tenant -here.”</p> - -<p>“Then let me tell you,” said Sir Henry, -“that I am Sir Henry Clavering, a magistrate. -This is Mr. Degge, another magistrate, -who must have heard of any intention -to stop this road by legal means. You young -men are new here,—your father has only -entered on this farm at Lady Day. We are -old inhabitants, and know that this has -always been a road.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t care,” said the young farmer, -“who you are. I tell you there is no road -here. I am ordered by Sir Roger to let -nobody pass here, and I won’t, and”—clapping -his gun with one hand, as the other -rested it on his shoulder—“if any one comes -after this notice, I’ll give him what shall -prevent him coming again.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” said Mr. Degge, “what -you are saying and doing? With a gun in -your hand, menacing death or disablement -to any one coming upon a lawful road?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know what I say; and if you -want to know more, this is my legal adviser”—pointing -to the other man, who had a town -look about him.</p> - -<p>“So,” said Mr. Degge, “you are a -lawyer; and do you approve of such language -as this?”</p> - -<p>“I say,” replied the lawyer, “resist force -by force.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Mr. Degge, “you are a very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> -dangerous and unlawyerlike adviser, and this -matter cannot rest here.” And with that -the party walked on.</p> - -<p>On inquiry, it was found that the lawyer -was the brother of the young farmer, and a -mere lawyer’s clerk in Castleborough. Sir -Henry Clavering immediately wrote to Sir -Roger Rockville, detailing what had taken -place, and requesting to know whether these -proceedings were really sanctioned by him. -In reply, Sir Roger said that the road -through the farm-yard in question was a -great nuisance, and he had told the farmer -that he might get it stopped if he could, but -that he had not authorised him to use any -menace or violence. Sir Henry requested to -know whether Sir Roger denied the ancient -right of road, and whether he had ordered -the board to be put up? To these questions -Sir Roger gave no reply. Sir Henry and -Mr. Degge, therefore, issued a warrant for -the farmer to appear before the bench, on a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> -given day, in order to have him bound over -to keep the peace.</p> - -<p>When the day arrived, it was found that -never had there been so full an assembly of -magistrates for years. It was evident that -Sir Roger had mustered all his friends. The -man was called up, and charged by Sir Henry -Clavering with the menaces already mentioned. -He replied, that he had only done -as he was ordered by his landlord. Sir -Henry looked round, but though Sir Roger’s -friends were there in great force, he himself -was absent. As the man swore positively -that Sir Roger had ordered him to turn -everybody back, and, if they would not go, to -use force, and had sent the warning-board -for him to put up, Sir Henry produced and -read Sir Rogers letter, declaring that he had -not authorised the farmer to use any menace -or violence. This was a poser, and the responsibility -of the act was thrown wholly on -the man, who was declared by Sir Henry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> -to be perjured. He added, that he should -prosecute him for the perjury; but he now -demanded that he should be bound to keep -the peace towards every one for twelve -months, under a very heavy penalty. But -here the united power of Sir Henry and Mr. -Degge failed against the whole bench, who -were unanimous in declaring that it would be -quite sufficient if the young man promised -that he would not thus offend again. And -on a ready promise on his part, he was discharged.</p> - -<p>Mr. Degge told the magistrates that they -had taken a very heavy responsibility upon -themselves, as, from what he had seen of the -young man’s temperament, he believed him -to be so excitable that, under the least provocation, -he might do some serious mischief to -some one, and that he should, for public -security, feel himself compelled to sue for -a mandamus requiring them to show cause -for neglecting the very necessary precaution<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span> -of binding the delinquent to keep the -peace.</p> - -<p>This announcement produced an evident -damp on the assembled justices; but the man -was already discharged, and there was no -help for it. But even before Sir Henry could -issue a warrant to summon the man to answer -the charge of perjury, a fresh encounter had -produced a repetition of the very same conduct -in him. All the people of the neighbourhood -were incensed at the clandestine -attempt to stop this road, and made constant -use of it, though round about, in going to -Rockville; and in a very short time the effect -of the reiterated irritation of this popular opposition -had produced actual insanity in the -young farmer, whose mother, it was found, -was already confined in a lunatic asylum, -and whither he himself had to be conducted. -This melancholy visitation of course stopped -all proceedings on the part of Sir Henry and -Mr. Degge, even against the magistrates. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> -road was left peaceably open; but the condition -of mind originated by this constant -clashing of views betwixt what might be -called the Woodburn and Rockville parties, -was one very prejudicial to the happiness of -the neighbourhood, and ominous of results of -no agreeable kind.</p> - - -<p class="center">END OF VOL. II.</p> - - -<p class="center fs80">BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - - -<div class="transnote"> -<h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p> -pg 8 Changed locked herself in her bed-room to: bedroom<br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 22 Changed comma to period end of: honour and all affection</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 43 Removed repeated word of from: one of of the toll-bars</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 77 Added quote after: everybody go to church.</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 92 Removed unnecessary quotes before: “I think,” added Thorsby</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 101 Changed imagine the déjeûner to: déjeuner</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 130 Changed duty battling wtih to: with</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 131 Removed unneeded quote after: might be different.</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 136 Added a comma after: abandon an ardent lover</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 145 Changed if you considerth at to: consider that</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 151 Removed quote after: wish to see them.</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 154 Removed quote after: roof and care?</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 169 Changed that of Edmund Barington to: Barrington</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 171 Changed nothing which can unncessarily to: unnecessarily</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 174 Added quote before: I must hasten</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 191 Removed quote after: seen the effect of that,</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 205 Changed word s to as: But s it is done</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 246 Removed word to from: soon returned to her attention</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 271 Changed hedges and hedgerow to: hedge-row</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pg 272 Changed and fell hedgerow to: hedge-row</span><br> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Other hyphenated and non-hyphenated words left as written.</span> -</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODBURN GRANGE, VOL. 2 OF 3 ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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