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diff --git a/42145-0.txt b/42145-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..65c8308 --- /dev/null +++ b/42145-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5104 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42145 *** + + THE WORLD BEFORE THEM. + + A Novel. + + BY + MRS. MOODIE, + AUTHOR OF "ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH." + + + IN THREE VOLUMES. + + VOL. II. + + + LONDON: + RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. + + 1868. + + + + + LONDON: + Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street. + + + + +THE WORLD BEFORE THEM. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE MARTINS. + + +The cottage, in which the Martins resided, was a quaint-looking +white-washed tenement, which opened into the burying-ground of the +small Gothic church, within whose walls the prayers of many generations +had been offered up. It stood in an isolated position, on the other side +of the heath, and was approached by the same deep sandy lane, which ran +in front of the farm, and round the base of the hill, commanding a fine +view of the sea. + +A few old elms skirted the moss-covered stone-wall that surrounded the +churchyard, adding much picturesque beauty to the lonely spot, casting +their fantastic shadows in sunlight and moonlight upon the long rows of +nameless graves that clustered beneath them. These grassy tenements, so +green and quiet, looked the abodes of perfect peace, a fitting resting +place, after the turmoil of this sorrowful life, to the "rude +forefathers" of the little hamlet, which consisted of a few thatched mud +cottages, that clustered round the church, and formed a straggling +street,--the public-house in the centre, a building of more recent date, +being the most conspicuous dwelling in the place. + +This was the evening resort of all the idlers in the neighbourhood; and +standing near the coast, and only two miles distant from a large +sea-port town, was much frequented by sailors and smugglers, who +resorted thither to drink and gamble, and hear Jonathan Sly, the +proprietor, read the weekly paper, and all the news of the war. +Dorothy, in her walks to and from the parsonage, generally avoided the +public thoroughfare, and turned off through a pathway field, which led +to the back of the house, having several times encountered a gang of +half-drunken sailors, and been terrified by their rude gaze, and still +more unwelcome expressions of admiration. + +Dearly Dorothy loved the old church, in which she had listened with +reverence, from a child, to the word of God. + +Her mother had found her last resting-place beneath the sombre shadow +of an old yew tree, that fronted the chancel window. + +No sunbeam ever penetrated the dark, closely interwoven branches. No +violet opened its blue eyes amid the long grass and nettles that crowned +that nameless heap of "gathered dust." + +Dorothy had often cleared away the weeds, and planted flowers upon the +spot. They drank in the poisonous exhalations of the melancholy tree, +and withered and died. + +She tried rose bushes, but those flowers of love and light shared the +same fate. The dank prophetic-looking yew frowned them into death. + +Dorothy regarded all these failures with a superstitious awe, and +glanced at that lonely grave, from a distance, with baited breath, and a +strange chill at her heart. + +That giant tree, the child of past centuries, that stood watching over +it like a grim sentinel, seemed to her simple mind like an embodiment of +evil. It had no grace, no beauty in her eyes; she had even +sacrilegiously wished it levelled to the earth. It kept the sun from +shining on her mother's grave; the robin and linnet never warbled their +sweet hymns from among its heavy foliage. It had been planted by some +one in the very despair of grief, and the ghost of sorrow hovered under +its gloomy canopy. + +In spite of this morbid feeling, a strange sympathy with the unknown +parent often drew Dorothy to the spot. A visit to the churchyard had +been a favourite evening ramble with her and her lover, and, when tired +of their seat on the low stone wall, they wandered hand in hand down to +the sea-shore, to watch the passing sails, and to bathe their feet in +the glad blue waters. Even in the churchyard, love, not divinity, formed +the theme of their conversation; the presence of the dead failing to +repress the hopes and joys of their young gushing life. + +In her walks to the parsonage, Dorothy felt a pensive delight in +recalling every circumstance that had happened in these summer evening +walks with Gilbert Rushmere. They were of little moment at the time, +scarcely regarded; but absence had invested them with a twofold +interest. + +First love stamps upon the memory of youth its undying image; and from +trifles light as the thistle's down can erect for itself a monument +more durable than granite. + +What a halo of beauty it casts over the scenes in which its first sight +was breathed, its first vows fondly whispered, making the desert and +solitary places to blossom as the rose. + +Even those bleak salt marshes bordering the sea, over which the sea-gull +flapped her heavy grey wings, and which resounded to the pewitt's +melancholy monotonous cry, possessed a charm for Dorothy. + +From those marshes Gilbert and Dorothy drove up the cows to be milked. + +On the banks of that sluggish river that lay like a dead thing between +its slimy mud banks until filled by the tide, in which few persons could +discover anything to interest the imagination, the twain, when boy and +girl, used to fish for crabs with a small hooped net, after the tide had +retired. + +Those were happy times, full of sport and glee. How they used to laugh +and clap their hands, when the ugly spider-like creatures tumbled into +the trap, and fought and quarrelled over the bait that had lured them to +destruction. + +The old haunts, the well-remembered objects, however repulsive to the +eye of taste, were dear to Dorothy; they brought her lover nearer, and +she forgot the long stretch of sea and land that divided them. + +She never imagined that absence and the entire change that had taken +place in his mode of life could make any alteration in his views and +feelings with regard to herself; that it was possible that days and even +months could elapse without his casting one thought on her. + +Fortunately for Dorothy, she had so much to employ her hands during the +day, in order to get leisure to study in the evening, that it was only +during these solitary walks that she could live in the past and build +castles for the future. Mr. Martin, the good curate, had welcomed his +wife's young pupil with parental kindness, and soon felt a deep interest +in her. + +He was a slight feeble looking man, with a large head and still larger +heart. No sour gloomy fanatic, hiding disappointed ambition under the +mask of religion: but a cheerful, earnest Christian practically +illustrating his glorious faith, by making it the rule of life, both in +public and private. + +His religious impressions had been formed at a very early period by a +pious parent, and he was an only child. Early deprived of a father's +care, the good providence of God had watched over the widow and her son, +uniting them by that most holy of all ties, the love of Jesus. + +Before his mother was removed by death, she had the joy of beholding +Henry actively employed in the Divine Master's service; and she expired +in his arms, earnestly requesting him to hold fast his faith, and to +meet her in heaven. + +He had promised, with God's help, to do this, and had struggled manfully +with overwhelming difficulties to obey that solemn injunction. + +He had married in early manhood a woman he loved, without any reference +to worldly prudence; and though much physical suffering had resulted +from being poorly paid, and having to support a rapidly increasing +family on very inadequate means, Henry Martin was never heard to repine. +He was poor, but really a happy man. The cruse of oil and barrel of +meal, though often nearly exhausted, had still been supplied; and the +children, though meanly clad, and nourished on the most homely fare, +were healthy, loving and full of promise. + +The good curate declared with a full and grateful heart, that his cup +overflowed with undeserved blessings. He lived within his humble means +and was satisfied. But sickness came, and took from him a noble dutiful +boy, the very pride of his eyes and the delight of his heart; and +doctors' bills and funeral expenses had curtailed their means; and the +morning that Mrs. Martin paid her visit to the Hall was the first that +had ever seen the worthy man and his family reduced to plain bread. + +When Mrs. Martin communicated the unpleasant fact, he received it with +his usual trust in the providence of God. "We shall not be deserted, +Rosina; the Heavenly Father will give us daily bread. Have faith in +God." + +With a heavy heart, the poor wife had set off on her visit to the Hall, +determined to ask the assistance of Lord Wilton in behalf of her +husband. In this she was prevented, by the munificence of the noble +gentleman. On her return, she flung herself upon the breast of her more +trusting partner, and communicated the happy intelligence; weeping in +the very joy of her heart, while she informed him of the better +prospects in store for them. + +"Restrain these transports, my dear Rosina," he said, as he folded the +poor weeper to his kind heart, "or bring them as a thank offering to the +good God, who has so miraculously saved us from want. Let us kneel down +together, and while we return our sincere thanks for his great mercy, +let us beseech him to keep us humble in prosperity, lest this reverse of +fortune should render us proud and forgetful of our duty." + +Dorothy soon found herself quite at home with the good pastor and his +amiable family. Dearly she loved the little ones. Her solitary life had +given her few opportunities of cultivating the acquaintance of children, +or of drawing out their affections. To her simple womanly heart, nursing +the baby was a luxury, a romp with the older children, a charming +recreation, a refreshment both to soul and body, after the severer +labours of the day. + +When her evening lessons were concluded, the little flock would gather +round her knees, by the red firelight, to hear her sing in her melodious +voice, the ballads of "Chevy Chase," and "Lord Thomas and Fair Ellen," +or tell the story of "Hans in Luck," or the less practical fairy tale of +the White Cat. + +Harry, the eldest, a very sensible boy of nine years, greatly admired +the ballad lore, but was quite sceptical as to the adventures of the cat +princess. + +"I don't believe a word of it, Dolly," he said. "I never heard a cat +speak. My cat is nearly white, but she never says anything but mew. I +like the story of Hans, it sounds more like truth, for I think, I should +have been just as foolish, and made no better bargains than he did." + +"Oh," cried little Johnnie, "I love the story of the dear Babes in the +Wood, only it makes me feel so cold, when they lie down and die in each +other's arms, in that big and lonely wood. Do tell it again, Dolly +dear," putting his white arms around her neck, and kissing her, "I will +not cry this time." + +Harry was quite a genius in arithmetic, and had asked his father, as a +great favour, that he might instruct Dorothy in that most difficult of +all sciences to one possessing a poetical temperament. + +"Now, Dolly, you must get the pence table by heart, I found it harder to +learn than all the others. As to the multiplication table, that Rosey +calls so difficult, and is always blundering at, that's mere play," and +he snapped his fingers. "But this about the pound, shillings, and pence +is very hard." + +"Oh no, Harry, that is the easiest of all," said Dorothy, laughing. "I +have been used to add up money ever since I was a little child. Ask me +what so many pounds of butter, at such a price, any price you like to +name, comes to; and I think I can tell you correctly without table or +book." + +"But who taught you, Dorothy?" asked the wondering boy, after having +received correct replies, to what he considered, puzzling questions. + +"Necessity and experience," quoth Dorothy, "but I made a great many +mistakes before I got into their method of teaching, and was sure that I +was right." + +"Your mental arithmetic, Dorothy," said Mr. Martin, looking up from his +book, greatly amused by the controversy, "in its practical results is +quite as useful, or more so than Harry's. It serves the purposes of +every day life, which seldom involves great speculations." + +"Ah, but," said Dorothy, "my lessons cost me no little trouble. Father +scolded, and sometimes whipped me, when I did not make the money come +right, and I had to look sharp after it the next time; so you see I was +not so clever as you think me." + +"Everything that is worth having must be obtained with labour," said Mr. +Martin. "God has wisely ordered it so, not only in worldly matters, but +in the more important affairs of the soul. Saving faith never comes to +any one, without diligently seeking for it, earnestly praying for it, +and making it the first great object of life; and even then it will +remain a dead letter, without it reforms the character; and influences +all our dealings with our fellow-men. The sincerity of our faith lies in +deeds, not in words; for when we act as Christians, God works with us, +and proves the genuineness of our profession, by the fruit which it +brings forth." + +"Ah," said Dorothy, with a half-regretful sigh. "How I wish that I were +indeed a Christian." + +"May God confirm that wish, my dear child, and in so doing, confer upon +you the greatest blessing that he can impart to man." + +During the winter months, the Sunday-school was held in the curate's +kitchen, a large room, able to accommodate forty or fifty pupils. For +some weeks the attendance was very small, and gave little encouragement +to the teachers. + +In vain Mr. Martin addressed his congregation from the pulpit, and urged +upon them the importance of sending their children to be instructed; the +wealthier farmers disapproved of the movement, and the poor men in their +employ were too much afraid of being thrown out of work, by giving them +offence, to yield to his earnest pleading. His exhortations fell to the +ground unheeded; the children of the men employed at the Hall farm +alone complied with his urgent request. + +Mrs. Martin at length determined to take Dorothy with her, and visit +every cottage in the parish, and see how far they could prevail with the +mothers to allow their little ones to come once a week for instruction. + +They found everywhere great unwillingness, and abundant excuses. + +One woman, when urged to send a fine girl and boy to be taught, replied +very sulkily, + +"Bill has to keep farmer Pipers' 'oggs on Sundays--'oggs can't keep +theirselves." + +"But the girl," suggested Mrs. Martin. + +"Is it my Sally you want!" quickly replied the sturdy dame; leaning her +head on the top of the broomstick, with which she was sweeping the +house; and looking defiantly at the questioners. "She has to take care +o' the babby." + +"Cannot you take care of it, for an hour, after church is over, Mrs. +Carter, while Sally attends the school?" + +"No I can't," screamed the woman, at the top of her shrill voice, "and +don't mean to try. Sunday's the only day I've got, that I can call my +own, an' I go to see the neighbours, an' to hear the news. Yer should be +satisfied, Mrs. Martin, marm, that I go to hear yer husband preach once +a day, without wanting to take away the children, an' spoil em for work, +wi' yer book larnin' an' nonsense. So good day to you," and the coarse +vixen flung the door in the lady's face, and indulged within her own +castle in a hearty fit of laughter. + +"This is not very encouraging, Dorothy," said Mrs. Martin. "Lord Wilton +will find more difficulty in establishing his school than he +anticipates. It is hard to deal with these ignorant people; but their +rudeness must not discourage us from the performance of our duty." + +"If Mr. Martin will give out, after service to-morrow," said Dorothy, +"that he will instruct all the children who like to come from the next +parish, I think we should soon get plenty of scholars." + +"You would provoke them to jealousy." + +"Yes, and it will be sure to succeed. That woman who refused to send her +children just now, would let them come, rather than have another woman's +children from Storby enjoy the privilege she refused." + +Dorothy's suggestion was acted upon. The Storby people were invited to +send their children to Lord Wilton's school. The Hadstone folks were +provoked to emulation, and the next Sunday the school room was filled to +overflowing, and Dorothy and Mrs. Martin commenced their labours in +earnest. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +GILBERT'S GOOD FORTUNE. + + +Lord Wilton had been absent in London for several weeks. The Rushmeres +had received no tidings of Gilbert, and the time would have passed +drearily enough for Dorothy, but for her lessons and the increasing work +at the school. + +One bright March morning, Dorothy was alone in the big room at the Farm +spinning, and, as usual, pondering over the fate of her absent lover, +when her day-dream was disturbed by a sharp rap at the door from the +butt end of a riding-whip. + +The whirr of the wheel ceased, and Dorothy opened the door. It was Lord +Wilton himself, looking thinner and paler than when she had before seen +him. He raised his hat with a melancholy smile, as Dorothy stood +blushing and awe-struck on the threshold. + +"I bring you good news of your lover, Dorothy, and here is a letter from +the youth himself to his father, which came enclosed in one I have just +received from my son." + +Dorothy's colour went and came, as she took the letter from the +nobleman's outstretched hand. + +"Will your lordship be pleased to alight?" + +"Not to-day. My presence would spoil the delight of reading that letter, +which you will be sure to do the moment I am out of sight. But I must +tell you," he continued, bending down kindly from his horse, and +addressing Dorothy in a most earnest manner, "what, perhaps, Gilbert +Rushmere may omit to do in that letter, and which I know will please +you all." + +Dorothy raised her lustrous eyes to Lord Wilton's face, with a look of +eager inquiry, as he went on. + +"Tell Mr. Rushmere that his son behaved most gallantly in that terrible +battle. The ---- Regiment was in the very thick of the fight, and +suffered tremendously. When my son received the wound that struck him +down, young Rushmere bestrode the body, and finally carried it off on +his shoulders, under a heavy fire from the enemy. For this noble act he +has been promoted to the rank of a sergeant, but his advancement will +not end there. + +"What, in tears, Dorothy?" he added, in a softer tone, and regarding the +young girl with an air of melancholy interest. "I thought my news would +make you so happy." + +"So it does--so it does," sobbed Dorothy. "Oh, my lord, there are tears +of joy as well as of sorrow. If I did not cry my heart would burst," +and covering her face with her apron, Dorothy retreated into the house. + +"Happy girl," said Lord Wilton, as she disappeared, "how I envy her this +honest burst of natural feeling." + +"How rude Lord Wilton must have thought me," said Dorothy, when she +regained her composure. "Never once to inquire after the health of his +wounded son. And he so kind, as to take the trouble of riding up himself +to bring us Gilbert's letter." + +She looked wistfully at the precious document she still held in her +hand. "How I wish that father and mother were in. How I long to know all +that he has written in the letter." Here, she kissed it passionately. + +"His hand has been just there, when he wrote the direction. What joy to +know that he is alive and well--has acted like a brave man, and received +a brave man's reward. God has been very good to us, to cover the dear +one's head in the day of battle." + +The old clock struck twelve. Dorothy hurried to cover the table for +dinner. + +Rushmere and his man were in the field sowing barley, the boy following +with the harrows; her mother absent at the house of a sick neighbour. +She knew that dinner must be ready to a minute. Her mind was in such a +flutter of excitement, that she found the every day task very difficult +to perform. + +Every thing seemed to go wrong--the fire would not burn, or the pot boil +as quickly as usual, and Dorothy was hot and tired, when Mrs. Rushmere +came in. + +"You are late, my child," she said, throwing her bonnet and shawl upon a +side table, "hurry with the dinner. Father is washing his hands at the +pump, and the men are coming in. You must have been thinking of +something besides your work." + +"Oh, mother," returned Dorothy, as she placed the large round of boiled +beef upon the table. "Lord Wilton has been here, and gave me this letter +from Gilbert. I have such good news to tell you. It was that that put me +into such fluster, that I hardly knew what I was about. Had I not better +wait to read the letter until after the men are gone, and father is +comfortably smoking his pipe?" + +"Yes, certainly. A letter from Gilly! Lord Wilton brought it himself! +How kind--how good of his lordship. Quick, Dolly, with the potatoes and +dumplings. I will draw the ale. Let us get the dinner over as fast as +possible. I feel in such a tremor I shall not be able to eat a morsel." + +Never did a meal seem so long. The men, hungry with their work, ate with +a will, and when their appetite began to slacken, they discussed the +state of the land they had been seeding, and the probable chances of a +good crop. + +Dorothy and Mrs. Rushmere could scarcely control their impatience, and +thought that they meant to sit at the table for ever. At last they gave +over from sheer inability to eat more. + +"Well, master," said Sam Boyden, rising, "you'll be wi' us presently?" + +"Ay, by the time the horses have had their feed. By God's blessing, we +must finish putting in the crop afore night. It looks for rain, an' that +heavy clay wu'd be too claggy to harrow to-morrow." + +"I 'spect yer right, master," and hitching up his nether garments, and +lighting his short black pipe, honest Sam and his boy departed. + +Without waiting to clear the table, Dorothy drew the letter from her +bosom. "From Gilly, father," and she held it up before the old man, with +an air of triumph. + +The unlighted pipe dropped from the farmer's hand. + +"The Lord be praised! Then my dear boy is alive. Let us hear what he has +to say o' himsel.'" + +Dorothy broke the seal and read as follows: + + "My dear father and mother, + + "You will be surprised to find that I am in England once more, + and have not been to see you. But I have duties to perform that + will not allow me to quit my post. You will have read in the + papers a full account of the battle of Corunna, and the death of + our gallant commander, Sir John Moore. I was one of the soldiers + who helped to lay him in his grave. It was a sad sight. We all + shed tears. We had not time to make a coffin, we wrapped him up + in the glorious flag we had defended with our lives, which was + stained with the heart's blood of as brave a man as ever died + fighting for his country. + + "I have not time to tell you all our sufferings during our + retreat to the coast. The fighting was nothing to the hardships + we endured. But, thanks be to God, we are once more in dear old + England. + + "Our regiment was among the first that charged upon the enemy. + I felt a little cowardly, when the order was given for us to + advance. I thought of you and mother, and the tears were in my + eyes. When we got into the thick of it, and I saw my comrades + falling around me, it made a man of me at once. I could have + fought the devil. + + "In leading his troop to the charge, Lord Fitzmorris was in + advance of the men, and got surrounded by the enemy. We rushed + to the rescue, and put the rascals to flight, but not before the + Captain had fallen from his horse severely wounded. I saw that + he was still alive, and carried him to the rear on my shoulders + amidst a heavy fire. The men cheered--it was the proudest moment + of my life. I nursed him during the voyage home, and he is now + out of danger. For this act, which was prompted by the love and + esteem I had for him, I was made sergeant, in the place of Tom + Johnson, who fell in the battle. He was a fine jolly + good-tempered fellow--a great favourite in the regiment. I felt + sorry that I was a gainer by the loss of a valuable life. But + this is not all. When we arrived in England, I was presented + with a lieutenant's commission, purchased by Lord Wilton, as a + reward for the service I had rendered his son. I am now a + gentleman--an officer in His Majesty's service, and have been + congratulated on my promotion by all the officers in the + regiment. Our colonel himself was the first to shake hands with + me, and Lord Fitzmorris introduced me at the mess. I hope you + and dear mother will feel proud of your son. It was the best + thing I ever did, when I quarrelled with you all and left home. + I might have remained all my life a country hawbuck, trudging at + the cart tail. + + "The folks here make quite a lion of me, and say that I am a + handsome dashing fellow. I shall look out for a rich wife by and + by, when the war is over, and try to restore the fallen fortunes + of the old house. I have a young lady in my eye, to whom I was + introduced last night. She will have a fortune of six thousand + pounds when her uncle dies. She paid me many compliments, and + danced with me several times during the evening." + +A thick mist floated before Dorothy's eyes. She was seized with an +universal tremour, and made a convulsive grasp at the table to keep +herself from falling. + +"Why do you stop, girl?" cried Rushmere, impatiently, too much engrossed +by his own exultant feelings to notice the change that the last few +lines had produced on the poor reader. + +"Hush, Lawrence," said Mrs. Rushmere, who saw it all, and hastened to +pour out a glass of water for the pale, gasping, heart-stricken +creature, "you see she cannot help it." Then, in her kind, considerate +voice, she addressed Dorothy. "Go to your room, my dear child, and +compose yourself. I will try and read the rest of the letter to your +father." + +The shock had been electrical, thrilling through every nerve of her +body. It was so unexpected--such a reverse to the joyous feelings with +which she had opened the letter, that Dorothy was stunned, and as yet +hardly conscious of the extent of her misery. + +She took the glass of water mechanically, and drank the whole of the +contents. Pride came to her assistance. She could not bear that Mr. +Rushmere, whose stern eye was fixed upon her, should read all the +anguish of her heart. Choking down that bitter pang was not done without +a tremendous effort, but it was done and successfully. Her hands ceased +to tremble, and her voice became steady, as she read to the end of the +fatal letter. + + "We are busy raising recruits to fill up the blanks in the + regiment, and I am ordered on this service. Directly our + complement is complete, we embark for Spain, under the command + of Sir Arthur Wellesley. I shall not be able to run down to see + you; but remember me kindly to all the Storby and Hadstone + folks, and believe me to remain, your affectionate son, + + "GILBERT RUSHMERE." + +The dreadful task was ended. Dorothy quietly put down the letter on the +table, and left the room. + +"Wife," cried the old man, rubbing his hands, "that be glorious news." + +"It is a great mercy, Lawrence, that his life was spared," returned the +mother, thoughtfully. + +"Spared--his life spared. My woman, is that all you ha' to say at the +good fortin of our son? Think o' him as an officer--a brave man--and a +gentleman!" Wishing to flatter her female vanity, he added, with a +shrewd smile, "He wor a handsome, straight-built feller--he will look +well in his grand uniform." + +"Not dearer to me, Lawrence, than he was in his farm slop. I suppose his +promotion is all for the best," she continued with a sigh. "I shall be +satisfied if he brings back to us the same warm heart. King George may +have got a good soldier, and we may have lost an affectionate son. His +letter is not like my Gilbert--it does not make me feel so happy as I +expected." + +"You are thinking o' the lass now, Mary. You ought to rejoice, woman, +that he has given up all thoughts o' her. Such low notions wu'd not suit +him now. He seems determined to marry a lady, and build up the old +house." + +"The house is good enough for the old inhabitants, Lawrence. As to +Dorothy, she would be no disgrace to a richer family than ours." + +"It was kind o' presumptuous, dame, in her, to think o' marrying wi' our +son. But I see how the wind blows. You think a deal more o' the lass +than you do o' your brave son." + +"I should have thought better of Gilbert had he sent a kind word to +Dorothy, knowing, as he does, how much she loves him. The poor young +thing, my heart aches for her. I hope, Lawrence, you will have the sense +not to talk of him before her. It would be jagging a painful wound, +while it is yet fresh and bleeding." + +"Whist, woman, hold up, don't be arter telling me what to do, or not to +do. I'm master o'v my own house any how--an' o'v my own tongue, to boot. +I'm glad, right heartily glad that 'tis all off atween Gilbert an' +Dolly. Bless me," and he rose hastily from his chair, "I ha' quite +forgotten the barley--an' I hear Sam hollowing for me. Well, well, this +be the best news that ha' come to the house for many a long day." + +He left the room rubbing his hands, a fashion he had, whistling and +singing alternately a stave of a harvest song. + +"I'm ashamed of Lawrence," said his kind wife, looking after him with +the tears in her eyes. "To hear him singing like a boy, when he knows +how the little maid is suffering. Ah, well," wiping her eyes with her +apron, "it's no use talking--men never did, and never will understand +the feelings of us poor women. It's not in their hard rough nature, so +it's no use expecting any sympathy from them." And with a heavy heart, +in spite of the good news about her darling son, Mrs. Rushmere commenced +clearing the table of the empty platters. + +And what had become of Dorothy? She left the room scarcely conscious of +what she was doing, and, without hat or shawl, wandered out upon the +heath. Instinct guided her steps to the lonely hollow, in which had been +unfolded the first page in her life's history. There she was sure to be +alone. No curious eye would venture there, to mark her grief or probe +the anguish of her heart--the spot was haunted ground. + +There she sat down--not to weep--her sorrow had not as yet found the +blessed relief of tears. She could only press her hands tightly over her +heart, and from time to time moan piteously--"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" + +Every thing felt so blank and strange. There was such dull emptiness, +where a few minutes before there had been such bounding joy. + +It was long before a wave of thought broke in upon that deep dead calm; +or her mind awoke to the painful conviction of her utter bereavement--a +loss never again to be recovered in this cold unsympathizing world. + +Had Gilbert been dead--had he fallen in his first battle, with the +blessed consciousness that his last thoughts had been of her, the bitter +pang would have been endurable. He still lived, but was dead to her. +Nay, worse--he had ceased to love her--had forgotten her--did not +trouble himself even to mention her name, or send one kind word of +remembrance. + +This was no casual omission--it was evidently designed. The blow was +meant to strike home--to convince her that he had cast her off as a +thing not worth remembering, or only as a stumbling block in his path to +fortune. Had she deserved this? How full of bitterness was the thought. +She could not dismiss it from her mind--it was graven there with a pen +of iron. The reality was too certain to admit of excuse or palliation. +It had become fact. + +When he left his home in anger, she never imagined that it was with +her--that he really meant what he said. When she remained firm to her +duty--to the solemn promise she had given to his father, it was with the +idea that she was serving him, and she had sufficient faith in his +affection for her, to believe that he appreciated the heroic sacrifice. + +He had cast her off there and then--had relinquished her for ever. He +had asked her to leave the house with him, to become his wife, in the +very face of his father's anger; she had refused to accede to his +request, and he had taken it as a final decision. She realized it all +now. + +But who was to blame in the matter? Had it not been her own act? She had +stood firm to her word, and he had proved to her, bitterly proved to +her, that he could as obstinately adhere to his. + +But she had loved him--so faithfully, so well--had been so confident of +his fidelity, that she could not as yet bring herself to believe, that +he would part with her in that cold heartless manner. That he had left +his parents, his country, his home, all the happy associations of his +boyhood and youth, to be revenged on her. + +She who had sacrificed her own feelings to do what she considered to be +her duty. It was hard to think so meanly of Gilbert Rushmere. But he +deserved it. The bitterest pang of her grief lay there. + +He was no more worthy of her love. She must learn to forget. + +Even in these moments of humiliation Dorothy felt that she had acted +right, nor did she for an instant regret the course she had pursued. +This sense of rectitude was the only prop upon which she could lean in +her hour of desolation, but she found it, as every one will find it, a +column of strength. + +Hiding her crushed affections deep down in the silent chambers of her +soul, she bowed her knees to the Heavenly Father, and in solemn earnest +tones, besought the assistance of the Divine Comforter, to help her in +her hour of need, and teach her resignation. + +Who ever sought a healing draught from that life-giving fountain, and +turned empty away? If their faith was too small to receive the full cup, +some healing drops would reach the parched lips, to cool the burning +thirst, and reconcile them to a sorrowful lot. + +With Dorothy it was but a softening mist, a dew scattered by the spray +of a fountain, that reached the arid desert of her heart--but ah, how +magical were the effects. The hard resentful feelings which had been +gathering against her ungrateful lover, gradually melted, and she wept. + +Wept and prayed for the broken reed on which she had so long leant--the +idol of clay, at whose feet she had so long worshipped; and while she +forgave his desertion, she entreated of Heaven to bless him--to make him +a wise, good man, useful in his day and generation. + +The shades of night were closing fast around her, when Dorothy rose from +her cold resting place, and returned home to perform her usual domestic +labours. Her love was dead, but she had gained courage to bury it +decently and sadly, and without uttering one wail, that might break +upon the ears of the unsympathizing world. Her heart was the grave, +into which she could retire at any moment to weep--the funeral lamp was +ever burning--the sepulchre decked with flowers--and peace brooded +there--a dove with folded wings. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WHAT DOROTHY'S NEIGHBOURS SAID OF GILBERT'S DESERTION. + + +The news of Gilbert Rushmere's good fortune soon spread through the +parish. The farmer told it to his men in the field, the men told it, as +in duty bound, to their wives, and then it flew like wildfire from house +to house. + +Miss Watling invited her neighbours to tea, to talk it over, and have +her say upon the subject. + +In her front parlour, or tea room, as she called it, were assembled +several old friends. + +The first in place and dignity, Mrs. Barford, senior, to whom had been +assigned the large easy chair, with its commodious fringed cushion, and +well padded elbows. For the special use of her feet a footstool, covered +with a piece of coarse worsted work, which had been the pride of Miss +Watling's school days. + +The old lady looked very dignified in her best black silk gown and cap +of real French lace, and seemed to consider herself a person of no small +importance. + +Her daughter-in-law, who held a very subordinate position in the +estimation of the public, sat near the window, as red, as plump, as much +overdressed, and as vulgar looking as ever. + +A rosy, curly-headed, blue-eyed boy was lounging over his mother's +knees, pulling at her smart cap-ribbons, and beating all the stiffness +out of her gay muslin dress, by pounding it with his head. He was a +beautiful child, and seemed to have it all his own way. Mrs. Sly and +her daughter, Sarah Ann, a coarse black-browed lass of eighteen, and +Mrs. Martha Lane, who kept the small shop, and sold tapes, needles, and +pins, and other small wares in the village, made up the party. + +Neither Mrs. Rushmere, nor her adopted daughter, Dorothy Chance, had +been included in the invitation. + +Miss Watling looked round the room with a gracious smile, to ascertain +that her guests were all comfortably seated, before she introduced the +great topic, the discussion of which had formed the chief inducement in +bringing them together. + +"Well, ladies, I suppose you have heard the news? That Miss Dolly Nobody +won't be Mrs. Gilbert Rushmere after all." + +"I never thought she wu'd," said Mrs. Joe, looking up from the child's +sock she was knitting. "Gilbert know'd what he was about, when he run'd +away. It was just to get quit o' her." + +"I always said so from the first," returned Miss Watling, "but you all +had such ideas of the girl, that I could get no one to believe me." + +"I don't think Gilbert has behaved well," said Mrs. Barford, cautiously. +"Dorothy Chance is a good girl, and a pretty girl." + +"Pretty," sneered Miss Watling, interrupting her friend very +unceremoniously, "I could never see any beauty in the wench, with her +round black eyes and skin as dark as a gipsy's. I don't believe Gilbert +Rushmere cared a snap of his fingers for her." + +"I know, Nancy, that he was very fond of her," suggested Mrs. Barford, +"and you know it too; for I have been told that he made you his +confidant, and begged you not to press upon him the offer you made him, +of taking your farm on shares." + +This was said very quietly, but it was a home-thrust. Miss Watling +coloured up to the eyes. + +"I guess who was your informant, Mrs. Barford. Gilbert left that very +night, so you could not get it from him. The story is very worthy of +credit, is it not, coming from such a source?" + +"It is not true, then?" and the old lady put down her knitting, and +looked Miss Watling full in the face. + +"I did not say that," said Miss Watling, sharply. "It is partly true and +partly false. He did refuse my offer, and gave me his reasons for so +doing." + +"What were they?" asked several eager voices. + +"He wished to leave the country to get rid of his entanglement with +Dorothy. 'He could not marry,' he said, 'a girl so much beneath him.'" + +"And you advised him to go, Nancy?" + +"Yes, I did. I thought that it was the best thing he could do. And you +see that I was right." + +Mrs. Barford took up her work and smiled. + +"It was hard upon the poor old people for you to give him such +counsel--still harder upon the poor girl. It nearly killed them, and +went nigh to break Dorothy's heart. I cannot yet believe that he has +cast her off. Did any of you hear Gilbert's letter?" + +"Not read, but we heard the contents, ma'am," said little Mrs. Lane. +"Farmer Rushmere came into my shop yesterday for an ounce of +tobaccy--he's a great smoker. + +"'Mrs. Lane,' says he, 'my son Gilbert has been promoted for his gallant +conduct. He's an officer now in His Majesty's service, and is going to +marry a rich young lady in Lunnon, with a portion of six thousand +pounds.' These were the very words he said. 'Lauk, sir,' says I, 'what +will become of poor Dorothy?'" + +"And what did he say?" again demanded the eager voices. + +"'She must get over her disappointment the best way she can,' says he. +'The girl is no worse off than she wor; she will still have a home at +our house.'" + +"Very kind of him, I'm sure," said Miss Watling, "and she owes them so +much." + +"I think the debt is the other way," suggested Mrs. Barford. "Dorothy +has repaid them a thousandfold. She has been a little fortune to them, +and, besides her clothes, she receives no payment for her services. As +to Gilbert marrying a lady of fortune, it may be true, it may not; these +stories are always exaggerated. You all know that a great heap of chaff +only contains a third of wheat." + +"I have no doubt it's true," cried Letty. "I allers thought Gilly +Rushmere a right handsome feller." + +"I don't agree with you there, Mrs. Joseph," returned Miss Watling, to +whom the grapes had become doubly sour, "he was too red and white to +please my taste. His nose was turned up, and his hair decidedly +carrotty." + +The other women looked down in their laps and tittered; the same thought +was uppermost in all their minds. + +Mrs. Joe, who had no delicacy, and hated Nancy Watling, burst into a +rude laugh, and gave utterance to her's with the greatest bluntness. + +"All the parish said that you were over head and ears in love with +Gilbert, Nancy; that you made him an offer of marriage yourself; and +that he refused you point blank, for Dorothy Chance. Remember, I don't +say it's true, but for all that I heard it, and that you have hated both +of them like pison ever since." + +Miss Watling rose indignantly from her seat; her stiff black silk gown +rustling ominously; her skinny bony hand extended towards the insolent +speaker in defiance, her small bugle eyes eating her up with scorn. For +a moment her rage was too great for words; her wrath almost choked her. +The ferocious glare fell harmlessly upon little plump Letty, who +continued to stuff her boy with rich plum cake. She meant to anger Miss +Watling, and secretly enjoyed her discomfiture. + +"You insignificant, vulgar thing," at length hissed out the offended +lady. "How dare you insinuate such vile stories against my character? +Who and what are you, that you open your mouth against me? Every one +knows the situation you were in, when Mr. Joseph married you, which he +did to make an honest woman of you, and by so doing disgraced himself. +If I did not respect him and his mother, I would order you out of my +house, I would, I would, I would!" + +"Don't choke yourself, Nancy, and look so ugly at me. See how you +frighten the child. Don't cry, Sammy, eat your cake. That's a good boy," +patting his curly head. "Miss Watling won't bite you, child," and Letty +faced the now clenched hand and scowling brow of the injured lady with +an undaunted stare, and a most provoking smile on her red pouting lips. + +"Ignorant creature," gasped Miss Watling, sinking into her chair; "but +what can be expected of a dairy-maid? Mrs. Joe Barford, you are beneath +contempt." + +"Spit out your spite, Nancy. Hard words won't kill a body; I'm used to +them. But what's the use of all this fuss? I just told you what folks +said of you, and you can't take that, though you speak so hard of +others. People will talk--you talk--I talk, and one's just as bad as +t'other. In course you culdn't help Gilbert wishing to marry a young +maid, instead of an old one. That wor do fault o'yourn; we'd all be +young and handsum, if we could." + +This allusion to her age and personal defects was the unkindest cut of +all. Miss Watling put down her cup of tea, leant back in her chair, and +cried hysterically. + +Little Sammy looked at her, stopped eating, made a square mouth, and +began to roar aloud, + +"Take out that squalling brat," screamed Miss Watling, taking the +handkerchief from her face; "my head will split." + +"Don't be skeer'd, Sammy," said Letty, stooping to pick up the piece of +cake the child had dropped in his fright. "The woman's angry with ma; +she o'nt lump you." + +Miss Watling had wit enough to perceive that the little woman had the +best of the battle; that she might as well try to catch a flea in the +dark, as subdue the subtle venom of her tongue; so she thought it best +to give in; and wiping the tears, or no tears from her eyes, she drew +herself up with great dignity, and resumed the duties of the tea table, +not, however, without muttering quite audibly to herself. + +"Spiteful toad, I'll never invite her to my house again." + +"Nobody wants you," retorted Letty. "Just you try an' see if I be fule +enow to come?" + +It was well for Letty Barford that much of this speech was lost in the +prolonged roarings of Master Sammy whom the belligerent mother could +only pacify by promptly leading from the room. + +Though loath to leave the table and her tea unfinished, the little woman +went out rubbing her hands, and rejoicing in her victory over her +ill-natured adversary. Though Letty was not a whit behind Miss Watling +in spite and malignity, she had no feelings to be touched, no nerves to +be jarred or irritated. People might say what they liked to her; she +did not care as long as she could wound them again, and she went out +laughing at the skirmish she had had with the heiress. + +Directly the coast was clear and peace restored, Mrs. Barford, the +elder, took up the conversation. She felt a great liking for Dorothy, +and wanted to hear all she could about her. + +"I don't believe this story, Mrs. Lane, about Gilbert and the rich lady. +People always brag so, when any lucky chance happens to them, and old +Rushmere was always a proud man. Can any of you inform me how Dorothy +bore the news of her lover's promotion, and of his giving her up?" + +"He's not her lover, Mrs. Barford. You labour under a great mistake, +when you call him so. Did I not tell you, that it was all broken off +before Gilbert went away?" + +"I was told," said Mrs. Lane, in a confidential whisper, "that Dolly +fainted dead away after she had read the letter." + +"Only think of a dairy-maid, an unknown beggar's brat, giving herself +the airs of a fine lady," sneered the charitable Nancy. + +"She has her feelings, I suppose," said Mrs. Barford. "It must have been +a cruel blow, for I know the poor girl loved him with all her heart." + +"That she did, ma'am," continued Mrs. Lane, "and the more's the pity. +I'm afeard she loves him still, she looks so pale and thin; and the +bright eyes that were so full of joy and fun, have a mournful, downward +look. It grieves me to see the poor thing. But she never says a word, +never a word; and between ourselves, Miss Watling, Gilbert Rushmere +might have done worse." + +"Not without he had taken a woman off the streets. Just imagine Dorothy +Chance a captain's lady," said Miss Watling. "The girl's uncommon +handsome," continued Mrs. Barford. "I believe that she is born to good +fortune." + +"I suppose you have faith in the adage, 'Bad beginnings make good +endings.' I am sure her beginning was low enough, and bad enough." + +"Oh, Nancy, don't be so severe, we know nothing about that. I saw the +corpse of the mother; and though, to be sure, she was bundled up in +dirty, sorry-looking clothes, she had the smallest, whitest hand I ever +saw. It did not look like a hand that had ever dabbled in dirty work, +but had belonged to a real lady; and the ring we took off the finger was +a wedding ring, and of real gold. She must have prized that ring very +much; or I'm thinking that she would have sold it, to procure a night's +lodging for herself and her child. Dorothy is not like her mother, if +that woman was her mother; she has not a common look; she speaks, and +walks, and acts like one belonging to a better class, and I believe +that she will yet turn out to be a lady." + +"Now, Mrs. Barford, that do put me in mind of a conversation I had the +other day with Mrs. Brand, my lord's house-keeper," said Mrs. Lane. +"Mrs. Brand is an old friend of mine, and she told me--but pray, ladies, +don't let this go any further--she told me that my Lord Wilton was so +much struck with Dorothy, and her neat pretty ways, that he had her up +into his library, and talked with her for an hour or more, and he found +out a great resemblance between her and his mother. Mrs. Brand says that +the likeness is kind of miraculous, and my lord asked Dorothy a heap of +questions, and said that she should never want a friend while he lived." + +"Hem," responded Miss Watling, tapping her foot quickly on the floor; +"lords don't take notice of girls like her for nothing. Miss Dolly had +better mind what she's about." + +"Didn't you hear that she was going to school?" said Mrs. Sly, the +publican's wife, who had sat silent all this time, intently listening to +the gossip of the others. Mrs. Sly was an excellent listener, and by no +means a bad sort of woman, and much fonder of hearing than retailing +gossip. She was esteemed in the village as a nice quiet body, who never +said any ill of her neighbours, but Mrs. Sly never objected to hearing +others talk about them. + +"To school," said Mrs. Barford, sitting forward in her chair, and +opening her eyes wide; "I thought the girl could read and write. She and +Gilbert went together to Brewer's school down in the village for years. +Mrs. Brewer always said that Dorothy was the cleverest child she ever +taught." + +"Well, Mrs. Martin is teaching her now." + +"Oh, I knew she was helping our parson's wife in the Sunday school," +replied Miss Watling. "That absurd piece of folly that my lord wants to +thrust upon us." + +"Why, Nancy, you know nothing," said Mrs. Lane, cutting into the +conversation. "My lord is to give Mrs. Martin a hundred pounds a year to +teach Dorothy Chance to be a lady." + +"It's scandalous!" cried Miss Watling, turning livid with spite. "I +wonder Lord Wilton is not ashamed of himself, to try and stick up a minx +like that above her neighbours. It's no wonder that Miss Chance walks so +demurely into church beside the parson's wife, and holds up her saucy +head as if she was somebody. She's a wicked bay tree, yes she is, and +I'd like to scratch her impudent face." + +"She's a clever lass, and no mistake, and a good girl, too, that is, if +I may be allowed to be any judge of character," said Mrs. Barford, "and +I've had some sixty-five years' experience of the world. Of Dorothy's +father we know nothing, and, perhaps, never will know anything; but this +I do say, that Gil Rushmere was never comparable to Dorothy Chance, and +we all know that he came of decent parents." + +"I'm sick of hearing about her," cried Nancy, impatiently. "I believe +that she'll turn out just like her mother, and die in a ditch as she +did." + +"No, no, no," said Mrs. Barford, laughing, "you'll live to see her ride +to church in her carriage." + +"I wish I may die first!" + +"It is her fate," returned Mrs. Barford, solemnly. "Folks are born to +good or ill luck, as it pleases the Lord. If he lifts them into high +places, no one but himself can pull them down; if he places them in the +low parts of the earth, it is not in our power to exalt them. It's +according to our deserts. He who created us, knows the stuff of which we +are made before we are born; and he puts us in the right place, though +we may fight against it all our lives, and consider it the very worst +that could be chosen for us. I did not see it thus in my young days, but +I begin to find it out now." + +During this long oracular speech, the ladies diligently discussed the +good things on the table. Miss Watling hated people to preach over their +bread and butter; but Mrs. Barford had acquired the reputation of being +clever, and she dared not attempt to put her down, though she marvelled +at her want of sense in taking the part of a low creature like Dorothy. + +After the table had been cleared, the three other visitors proposed to +join Letty in the garden, and Mrs. Barford and Miss Watling were left +alone together. This was an opportunity not to be lost by the +ill-natured spinster, who determined to be revenged on Letty by making a +little mischief between her and her mother-in-law. + +"How do you and Mrs. Joe get on together now?" said she, drawing her +chair close beside the old lady; and speaking in a confidential +sympathizing voice. + +"Oh, much as usual; we are not very well sorted. Joe is contented and +that's the main thing. He is a rough fellow himself, and never had any +ambition to be a gentleman." + +"Letty with her vulgar tongue is not likely to improve her husband's +manners," said Miss Watling. "I am sure he is a gentleman to her. And +how can you, my dear old friend"--this was said with a gentle pressure +of the arm, and a look of great sympathy--"bear with the noise and worry +of _those_ children? The racket they make would drive me mad." + +Mrs. Barford shook herself free of the obtrusive hand and bridled up. +She did not approve of the very strong accent given to the word _those_. +It was an insult, and implied contempt of her son's family. + +A woman may listen complacently enough to remarks made against her +daughter-in-law, but say a word against that daughter-in-law's children, +and she is in arms at once. Those children are her son's children, and +to disparage them, is to throw contempt on her. Mrs. Barford thought +very little of Letty, but all the world of the little Letties, and she +was very angry with Miss Watling for her ill-natured remark. + +"The children are fine, healthy, clever children, of whom _some_ people +might be proud, if such belonged to them," she said, drawing her chair +back from the table, and as far from her hostess as possible. "But as +that is never likely to be the case, the less said about them the +better. The children are the joy of my heart, the comfort of my old age, +and I hope to live long enough to see them grow up honest independent +men." + +Here Mrs. Joe very opportunely opened the door, and master Sammy, +restored to good humour, came racing up to his grandmother, his flaxen +curls tossed in pretty confusion about his rosy face, his blue eyes +full of frolic and glee. + +"Ganma, horsey tome. Let's dow home." + +The old lady pressed him against her breast, and kissed his sunburnt +forehead, with maternal pride, thinking to herself, would not the +spiteful old thing give her eyes to be the mother of such a bright boy? +then aloud to him, "Yes, my dear boy, young folks like you, and old ones +like me, are best at home." She rose from her chair, and her rising +broke up the party. It was by no means a pleasant one. Everybody was +disappointed. The giver of the feast most of all. + +Dorothy Chance, it would have made your cheeks, now so calm and pale, +flush with indignant red; it would have roused all the worst passions in +the heart, you are striving from day to day to school into obedience, +had you been present at that female conference, and heard their estimate +of your character and conduct. Few know all that others say of them, +still less are they cognizant of their unkind thoughts. The young are so +confident of themselves, have such faith in the good opinion which +others profess to entertain for them, that they cannot imagine that +deceit and malice, envy and hatred, lie concealed beneath the mask of +smiling faces and flattering caresses. + +It is painful indeed to awake to the dread consciousness that sin lies +at the heart of this goodly world, like the worm at the core of the +beautiful rose; that friends who profess to be such, are not always what +they seem, that false words and false looks meet us on every side; that +it is difficult to discover the serpent coiled among our choicest +flowers. + +Dorothy was still a stranger to the philosophy of life, which experience +alone teaches; and which happily belongs to maturer years. But she had +tasted enough of the fruit of the forbidden tree, to find it very +bitter, and to doubt the truth of many things, which a few months before +appeared as real to her as the certainty of her own existence. + +Such had been Gilbert's love,--that first bright opening of life's +eventful drama. It had changed so suddenly without raising a doubt, or +giving her the least warning, to disturb her faith in its durability. + +How often he had sworn to love her for ever. Dorothy thought those two +simple words _for ever_, should be expunged from the vocabulary, and +never be applied to things transitory again. + +She had laughed at Gilbert when he talked of dying for love. She did not +laugh now. She remembered feelingly how many true words are spoken in +jest. + +A heavy cross had been laid upon her. She had taken it up sorrowfully, +but with a firm determination to bear its weight, without manifesting by +word or sigh, the crown of thorns by which it was encircled, which, +strive as she would, at times pierced her to the heart. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +REMINISCENCES. + + +"What is the matter with Dorothy?" asked Henry Martin of his wife. "A +great change has come over her lately. She looks pale, has grown very +thin, and speaks in a subdued voice, as if oppressed by some great +sorrow." + +"I think, Henry, it has some reference to her lover. Mrs. Barford hinted +as much to me the other day as we walked together from church. Don't +speak of it to her. She will tell you all about it in her own time." + +"He was a fine, well-grown young man," remarked the curate, "but very +inferior to her in worth or intellect. I have often wondered that +Dorothy could fancy him. But this trial is doubtless sent for her good, +as all such trials are. For her sake, I am not sorry that he has cast +her off." + +"It may be for the best, Henry, but such a disappointment is very hard +to bear, and though she never alludes to it, I know she feels keenly his +desertion." + +"It is singular," mused the curate, and speaking as if to himself, "the +deep interest that Lord Wilton takes in this girl. Do you know, Rosina," +turning to his wife, "I sometimes think that his regard for her is +stronger than that of a mere friend." + +"Why, Henry, you don't mean to insinuate that he wishes to make her his +wife. He is old enough to be her father." + +"And what if he be her father," continued Martin, in his abstracted way. +"To his sin be it spoken. Sit down, Rosina, and take up your sewing. I +want to have a serious talk with you about this matter. + +"I met Lord Wilton the other day riding in the vicinity of Heath Farm. +He drew up beside me, and asked how Dorothy was coming on with her +lessons. I spoke of her highly as she deserves. + +"He seemed strangely agitated. 'Martin,' he said, grasping my shoulder, +as he leant towards me from the saddle, 'you can do me no greater favour +than by making that sweet girl a good Christian. I wish you to educate +her thoroughly, both for earth and heaven, God bless her! I would give +all I possess to see her happy.' + +"He put spurs to his horse, and rode off at a reckless pace, like one +who wished to get rid of painful recollections. I thought--but I may +wrong him--that some connection existed between him and Dorothy, of +which the world was ignorant, which would account for the deep +melancholy that always clouds his face. Lord Wilton is a kind man, a +benevolent man, but some hidden sin is wasting his frame, and robbing +him of peace." + +"Has Dorothy any idea of this?" + +"None, I am certain, and mark me, Rosina. This is a mere fancy of my +own. You must not mention what I have said to her." + +"Certainly not." + +The good man walked to the window, and looked abstractedly across his +small garden plot for a few minutes, then returned as suddenly to his +seat. + +"Rosina," he said, looking with a half smile at his gentle partner, +"these suspicions with regard to Dorothy, brought back to my memory a +strange story. You will not be jealous, my dear wife, if I relate to you +a tale of boyish love and its disappointments. It happened many years +before I saw or had learned to love you." + +"Henry, that is a sad cut to my vanity," returned his wife, laughing, "I +always had flattered myself that I was your first love. However, I +promise to give you a fair hearing, and will not be affronted, until I +know the end of your story. But what connection it can have with Dorothy +Chance puzzles me." + +"There may be none. It is only mere conjecture, as I said before. Of the +probabilities I will leave you to judge. + +"My father was curate of the neighbouring sea-port town during the few +years of his married life. He conducted the morning and evening service, +in that large beautiful old church that stands on the edge of the cliff, +and had to walk over to Hadstone in the afternoon, through all weathers, +to preach in our little church here. It was hard work, and very poor +pay, his salary amounting, like mine, to eighty pounds a-year." + +"How did you contrive to live, Henry?" + +"Not very luxuriously. Sprats and herrings were plentiful, however; my +mother was an excellent manager, the neighbours were kind, and I was an +only child; my parents worthy, pious people, and I a happy, hopeful boy. + +"We lived in a little cottage near the sea, just before you turn into +the main street. The first house in that street, and the one nearest to +us, was occupied by a Mrs. Knight. + +"She was an old woman, and must have numbered her threescore and ten +years, when we came to Storby. She kept a small shop, confined entirely +to the sale of French kid gloves, French laces, silks, shoes, and such +articles of women's wear. + +"It was always suspected that these were smuggled goods, but Mrs. Knight +was patronized by all the ladies in the place, and most likely, bribed +the excise officer, a drunken, worthless fellow, to keep her secret. + +"This woman, had been the wife of a trading captain, who sailed between +that port and London, and old people who knew her in her young days, +described her as having been a very handsome woman; but a darker, more +repulsive-looking being I never saw. She had a terrible temper, and was +morose and miserly in the extreme. I had read in the Bible of the witch +of Endor, and I always fancied that she must have resembled Mrs. Knight. +She seldom spoke to me, but when she did I felt a tremor creep through +my limbs. + +"She carried on a flourishing trade during her husband's life. His ship +was lost in a heavy gale on the coast, and she was left a widow with one +son. + +"This happened long before my time. + +"Mrs. Knight's great ambition was to make a fortune, and bring up her +son John a gentleman. In both these projects she was disappointed. + +"John Knight was born with marine propensities, and insisted on going to +sea. + +"After many desperate battles with the lad, of whom, however it appears, +she was passionately fond, for he was eminently handsome, she gave a +reluctant consent, and he went as junior mate in an East Indiaman. + +"A voyage to the East Indies and back, in those days, could not be +accomplished in less than eighteen months; and during those long +intervals, Mrs. Knight toiled on at her illicit trade, to make money for +this beloved son. + +"While he was absent, an only sister died, a widow in poor +circumstances, who on her death-bed sent for Mrs. Knight and implored +her to take under her protection her daughter, a young girl of sixteen, +as she had no friends by the father's side, who could or would do so. + +"After some demur on the part of Mrs. Knight, she gave the required +assent, and the poor woman died in peace, and Maria returned with her +aunt to Storby. + +"The girl was very pretty, brisk, clean and handy; could read and write, +and was a good accountant; and the aunt began to think that her advent +was quite a godsend in the little shop. Maria was an especial favourite +with the customers, and was so obliging and useful that even the cross +aunt often spoke of her as quite a treasure. + +"All things went on smoothly until John Knight returned from sea; and, +finding a cousin in the house of whom he had never before heard, and +that cousin a pretty winning creature, he naturally fell desperately in +love with her, and wished to establish a closer relationship between +them. + +"Seeing that the girl was on good terms with his mother, and that their +own position might be considered in the lower walks of life, John lost +no opportunity to make himself agreeable to Maria, till the young folks +were over head and ears in love. + +"Some neighbours, who thought that the match had been agreeable to all +parties, complimented Mrs. Knight on her son's approaching marriage with +her niece. + +"Then the clouds gathered, and the storm burst upon the luckless pair. +Mrs. Knight raged, John swore, and Maria cried. The rebellious son +declared that he would marry the girl he loved, in spite of all the +mothers in England; that if she refused her consent, and persuaded Maria +to yield obedience to her unreasonable demands, he would leave England +for ever, and never let her hear from him again. + +"This threat did frighten the cold, hard woman. There was only one thing +she loved in the world, and that was her son. For him she toiled and +took no rest, saving and accumulating to make him rich, and now he was +going to frustrate all her plans for his advancement by marrying a girl +who was a beggar depending upon her bounty. What was to be done? She +saw that he was determined to have his own way, that violent opposition +to his wishes would only make him obstinate, that she must use some +other means to circumvent his wishes. + +"She accordingly let the subject drop, forbidding either of them to +mention a word of it to her again; and John went off to visit a shipmate +who resided in the country, hoping to find his mother in a better temper +when he returned. + +"He was to be absent a month, and Mrs. Knight took this opportunity of +informing Maria that her services were no longer required, and if she +did not leave the town immediately and seek service elsewhere, it would +be the worse for her. That she had acted most ungratefully in daring to +inveigle the affections of her son; and that she would never forgive her +to her dying day. + +"The girl wept and entreated, said that she knew no one in the town, who +would take her in; that she had no money, and on her knees promised her +aunt, that she would never marry John without her consent, if she would +only for this once forgive an offence which was quite involuntary on her +part. + +"John was so handsome, and had been so kind to her, that +she had fallen in love with him without knowing it. Her aunt had not +warned her that she was not to look at him or speak to him, or she would +have been more circumspect. + +"Mrs. Knight was deaf to reason and nature. She had been a young woman +herself, and might have been in love, but it seems she had forgotten all +about it, and, after venting upon her niece all the pent up wrath she +was afraid of bestowing upon her son, she turned the poor girl into the +streets. + +"Fortunately for Maria, she had received a very tender note that morning +from John, by the hands of a sailor who was returning to his friends at +Storby, and the man informed her of the place where her lover was to be +found; for he had left the house in a rage without telling his mother or +Maria the name of the parties with whom he was going to stay. + +"The town was a sea-port thirty miles distant, and she walked the whole +way without a penny in her purse, or a morsel to eat. When she got to +the house where young Knight was staying, she sat down on the door-step, +overcome with shame and fatigue, and began to cry. John, returning from +a frolic with a set of jolly tars, found his mistress sitting alone in +the street, half dead with cold and fright. The next morning he got a +license, and went to church with her and married her, in the face of the +whole congregation, for it was Sunday. + +"A week after, Mrs. Knight was standing at the door of her shop, not +very well satisfied with the turn things had taken, and wondering what +had become of Maria, whom she missed more and more every day from +behind the counter, when a chaise drove up to the door, and John Knight +led his bride up to his mother, and introduced her as his wife, with an +air of genuine triumph. + +"'You don't dare to tell me, John, that you have married Maria?' + +"'She is my wife, mother, I insist upon your receiving her as your +daughter.' + +"'You can't force me to do that, John. She shall never set her foot in +my house again.' Mrs. Knight scowled defiantly at the young married +pair. + +"John answered, with great good humour, 'Nonsense, mother, listen to +reason. Your being angry cannot undo the knot the parson has tied. Death +only can do that. We are one. If you turn out Maria, you turn out me. +You ought to be obliged to me for bringing home your niece safe and in +her right mind. You turned her into the streets, without a penny in her +pocket to buy a morsel of bread, or to pay for the shelter of a roof, +the orphan child of your sister. She might have been ruined. God ordered +it otherwise--be thankful that he has saved you from a greater sin. And +now kiss and be friends, or you and I, mother, part upon this threshold +to meet no more on earth.' + +"The threat of losing him--her idol, was enough to terrify Mrs. Knight +into submission. She promised to forget the past, and to be kind to her +daughter-in-law, if her son would only consent to remain at home. The +women kissed one another. + +"Oh, women, women! How often, Judas-like, you betray your best friends +with a kiss. As long as John remained at home, things went on smoothly +enough. Maria was very attentive to Mrs. Knight, and as she did not +scold her, she was content to put up with her sullen humour for her +husband's sake. + +"This hollow peace between the mother and daughter did not last long. +The three first months of matrimonial life glided away only too +quickly. John Knight received orders to join his ship, which had taken +in her cargo, and was expected to sail in a few days. + +"Sad news it was to the two young creatures, who were all the world to +each other. The parting was like death to them. Mrs. Knight alone was +tranquil, and received the intelligence with an air of indifference. She +arranged everything for John's departure, and left the husband and wife +to spend the last hours of their union in undisturbed sorrow. + +"A long perilous voyage was before John Knight. He felt not a little +down-hearted at leaving Maria with his mother. He did not exactly like +the ominous peace she had maintained with her daughter-in-law. It was +not natural--not, at least, to her, who was wont to let her wrath find a +voice, and speak in terrible tones on all occasions; and but for Maria's +advice to the contrary, he would have hired a lodging for her at a +distant part of the town. She was likely, too, to become a mother. He +was doubtful how Mrs. Knight would receive the expected stranger. He +knew that she hated the noise of children, and he feared that Maria +would have a poor time of it during his long absence. + +"The young wife had none of these apprehensions. She was quite willing +to believe that the old woman's anger towards her had died a natural +death, and that she, Maria, was indispensable to the comfort of the +mistress of the house, and her presence necessary for the well-doing of +the shop. + +"John was at length persuaded that all was right, but he yielded the +point very reluctantly. + +"Before leaving the house, he solemnly confided his young wife to the +care of his mother, and begged her to treat her as a daughter for his +sake. + +"The old woman promised nothing, but seemed hurt that he should +consider it necessary to urge upon her so earnestly such a request. + +"'Did he expect,' she said, angrily, 'that she was going to murder the +girl the moment that he was out of sight?' + +"John's ship had not sailed many days before the hatred Mrs. Knight had +so long concealed came into active operation, and she commenced a series +of aggressions against her daughter-in-law, that rendered her life +miserable, and slowly and surely undermined her constitution. + +"She had to endure vehement reproaches, and all the scornful contempt +that a strong, harsh nature can bring to play upon a timid, sensitive +mind, that cannot fail to be weakened and borne down in the unequal +struggle. + +"Maria did not, however, yield. She bore the attacks of her vindictive +enemy with wonderful courage, offering a firm and silent resistance to +her imperious demands, while she accorded a willing obedience to +whatever was not cruel and unreasonable, leaving the old woman no +grounds of complaint, and often turning her malicious attacks upon +herself by pretending not to see them. + +"She had a double motive for acting entirely upon the defensive, the +welfare of her husband, for she knew that her aunt was rich, and that of +her child, whose advent she looked forward to as a recompense for all +her troubles. + +"This longed-for, but dreaded event, at last arrived, and Maria became +the mother of a female child, to the increased dissatisfaction of Mrs. +Knight, who said, + +"'That even in this matter Mrs. John was determined to spite her, by +having a girl. She knew how she hated girls.' + +"Maria was too much engrossed with her new treasure to heed these +ungracious complaints. It was a beautiful healthy infant, and she had +come through the trial so well, that she had every reason to be +thankful. + +"The old woman, for a wonder, was kinder to her than she expected, and +spared no expense in providing her with good and nourishing diet, and +the attendance of an excellent nurse, though she still grumbled at the +sex of the child. + +"About ten days after young Mrs. Knight's confinement, she was found one +morning dead in her bed. The nurse said that she was quite well when she +went to bed, had eaten a bowl of gruel, and laughed and chatted with her +about the baby, kissing it frequently, and declaring that it was the +picture of John. + +"The nurse scolded her for talking so much, took the baby from her, and +bade her go to sleep. She slept in the same bed with her mistress, and +took charge of the child, that its mother might not be troubled with it +during the night. + +"Early in the morning, when the nurse awoke, she spoke to young Mrs. +Knight, and told her that the babe wanted her; receiving no answer, she +grew uneasy, and sitting up in the bed, discovered that the poor girl +was dead. + +"The alarm was instantly given; the neighbours poured in; two doctors +rushed to the rescue; old Mrs. Knight wept and wrung her hands, while +the women filled the house with shrieks and lamentations. + +"No suspicion was aroused by the appearance of the dead. The corpse +presented the happy, tranquil aspect of one who had died in sleep, while +under the influence of some pleasing dream. It was not the age for +chemical investigations. No one suspected any foul play, and no evidence +was sought for to prove that such had been the case. Maria Knight was +consigned to her early grave without any question being raised of her +right to be there. She had died, the coroner said, "by the visitation of +God," and the sympathizing neighbours, and the pitiful women were +contented. + +"Mrs. Knight had a wet nurse for the child, and gave the dead mother a +very handsome funeral; though no one ever heard her express the least +regret for her untimely death. + +"'As for the child,' she said, 'if it had been a boy, and like John, she +could have loved it. It was the image of its mother, she wished it had +died with her, for she never liked her; and it was hardly to be expected +that she should feel any great affection for her child.' She named the +child Alice, after her sister. She had had enough of the name of Maria, +and did not wish to have it recalled to her memory. + +"People marvelled at the hard, cold heart, that could transmit hatred to +the second generation; but they all had experienced the uncongenial +nature of Mrs. Knight, and merely shrugged their shoulders, and said, +'It was just like her; what would John Knight say, when he came home.' + +"But John Knight never came home. Never heard of the death of his young +wife, or the birth of his child. His ship was lost at sea, and all hands +perished. + +"The arrow launched by the hand of Heaven went home to the cruel +mother's heart; for months she raved over the loss of her son, and only +recovered her reason to become more cruel and grasping than ever. Her +idol of flesh had perished. She now set up one of gold, and all that +remained of human softness in her nature, became as hard as the metal +which composed her new divinity. + +"She took very little notice of the orphan babe. She had tolerated it +while her son lived; but he was gone, and the hated mother alone +survived in the child. She never caressed it, seldom spoke to it, or of +it, and always treated it with the most marked neglect. + +"The extreme beauty of the little girl deeply interested the sympathies +of my dear mother, who was one of the kindest women on earth; her large +maternal heart, yearning over everything in the shape of a child, +especially if that child was ill-used and an orphan. + +"She often sent me to Mrs. Knight, to invite Alice to spend the day with +her; that the children might have a good romp in the garden together. + +"I was just four years older than Alice, but very small for my age. She +was a healthy, well-grown child, there did not look more than the +difference of a year in our respective ages. I had neither sister nor +brother, and these visits from our little neighbour were hailed by me +with intense pleasure. + +"What a sweet child she was, with such a pair of clear, laughing blue +eyes, such a happy, dimpled, innocent little face, yet brimful of mirth +and mischief, and then, such wealth of golden brown hair, falling all +round her rosy cheeks in showers of shining curls. She was my darling, +my precious pet, and she would answer to no other names. I fell in love +with her as a boy, and for years I only felt alive and happy in her +presence. + +"Hand in hand we roamed the beach to look for shells and bright stones, +or wandered about the green common at the back of the town, among the +gay furze bushes, hunting for the first violets. + +"Mrs. Knight stood somewhat in awe of my father. Violence loves to +contend with violence; it can only be subdued by gentleness and +patience. My father's amiable qualities opposed to her fierce anger, +were arrows in the hand of the giant, silently and surely they +demolished the bulwarks of pride and hatred behind which she sought to +entrench herself. + +"She was civil to my mother, and though I shrank from the stern, sharp, +scowling face, she sometimes condescended to pat my head, and call me a +pretty boy. + +"I had once seen her beat Alice very severely, for having mislaid her +bonnet; and I never saw Mrs. Knight without longing to beat her after +that. + +"Cross as she was to other people, she never hindered our happy +meetings, and I ought to have felt grateful for that favour. + +"My father grew so fond of the beautiful child, that he offered to teach +her gratis. Mrs. Knight was too proud to accept this at his hands; but +she sent the child to school with us, and paid liberally for her +education. + +"We now sat upon the same form, learned from the same books, shared in +the same amusements, and had but one heart between us. + +"Childhood lives in the present, it remembers little of the past, and +the future stretches before it like a summer sea, bounded by the heavens +and bright with sunbeams. The morrow will be fair as to-day, it never +anticipates a storm, or thinks of the possibility of change. Alice and I +were always to live together, the idea of separation found no place in +our thoughts. + +"Time rolled on, I had just completed my fifteenth year, when it pleased +God to remove my dear father--a blow so sudden, so unexpected, that for +a long time my poor mother and I were plunged into the deepest sorrow. + +"He was a good man. I loved him without fear, entertaining for him the +most profound respect and veneration; and feeling the fullest confidence +in his attachment to me. + +"This was my first grief, and if Alice had not been always near me to +wipe away my tears, and inspire fresh hope into my fainting heart, I +hardly think I should have survived the shock, and, for some months +after the occurrence of the sad event, was threatened with consumption. + +"My mother struggled bravely with her sorrow, for my sake. Our means +always limited, became doubly so now. It was perhaps a mercy that we +were called upon to work; not allowed to sit idle, and waste the +precious time in unavailing regrets. Action is the best antidote for +grief, occupation deadens suffering by forcibly detaching the mind to +pursue other objects, which gives birth to new hopes as a necessary +consequence. + +"My mother opened a school for young ladies, and worked hard at her new +vocation. + +"An uncle, who was in a large wholesale business in London, exerted his +influence to get me into Christ Church School, and was successful. + +"Then came the parting with my mother, and dare I say it, worse still, +my separation from Alice. + +"It was a heart-breaking affair on all sides. I pitied my mother most, +for she loved as keenly and had less of our sympathy, which as love is +generally selfish, was almost entirely centred in our own sorrow. + +"Boy as I was, I felt a sad presentiment that Alice and I were never +destined to be so happy again, but the actual parting, so full of +anguish to us, was not without its gleams of joy. + +"It was the first of May, but we had not given that circumstance a +thought, though its return in other years had always been hailed with +delight. The day was fair and beautiful; the grass emerald green, and +starred with myriads of daisies; the hedge-rows white with fragrant +blossoms; the birds, happy lovers, singing glad carols from every bush +and spray, the air soft, the heavens full of light fleecy clouds, +floating in a sky of pearly blue. + +"We sat down among the tufts of golden broom, upon a green slope at the +far side of the common, where the high land that bounded the coast, +gradually descended till it was lost in the long line of level marshes, +through which the slow river dragged its sluggish length to the sea. + +"It was a lonely spot; only frequented by the herds that fed upon the +common; we had little dread of interruption. The public road was more +than a mile distant; and it was a rare occurrence for anyone to pass +that way. Here, no prying curious eyes could look upon our grief; we +might indulge in the luxury of woe to the uttermost, without fearing a +reproof for excess. + +"Holding each other by the hand, we wept and bemoaned our sad fate, +until we had no tears left to shed. Then we looked mournfully into each +other's eyes, without uttering a word, entranced and full of speechless +affection. In this eloquent silence, the long hours rolled on, all too +short for us, until the church clock tolled six. + +"I was to leave by the coach for London at seven. The sound, as it +boomed along the hollow cliffs, startled us. Our dream of love was over. +The terrible reality of the parting stared us in the face. + +"'Henry, we must go home.' sobbed Alice. 'You have still to bid your +mother good-bye. She will be waiting for us.' + +"These were the first words we had spoken, to each other. + +"I wanted to tell Alice all the love I felt for her, though I was +certain that she was as well acquainted with the fact as I was myself; +and of her affection for me I entertained not a doubt, but I wanted to +hear her promise to love me and only me, for ever and ever, and to +return the blessed assurance given to me, with interest, but my tongue +was tied. I could not put my thoughts into language, the very intensity +of my passion rendered me dumb. + +"We walked home silently together; my mother met us at the door. She too +had been weeping, for her eyes were red and heavy. + +"The tea was waiting for us on the table, but how could we eat? My +mother did not press us, neither did she chide our long absence. She +looked at us kindly through her tears. + +"'Poor things!' I heard her murmur to herself. 'It is their first +grief.' + +"At any rate, we had her warm sympathy. + +"She had packed my trunks during our absence, and they were in the +passage ready corded for the coach; before we were aware of it, the +stage rattled up to the door, there was no time left for love pledging +now, or heart-breaking farewells. + +"One long, fond embrace from that dear mother. One kiss, the last I ever +received from my child-love, and we parted, I to embark upon the stormy +ocean of life, and Alice to return a sad and lonely creature to her +miserable home, and the tender mercies of her harsh grandmother. + +"A few weeks after I left S----, one of those strange incidents, which +sometimes occur in life, separated us more effectually. + +"The Lady Dorothy Fitzmorris, the mother of the present Earl, was then +living at the Hall. Her eldest son--for Lord Wilton was not the +heir--commanded a regiment in America during the War of Independence. +His brother Edward served as captain under him. Both were fine promising +young men, they were her only children. + +"Her husband, Sir Thomas Fitzmorris, had been dead for some years. The +title of Wilton did not belong to the Fitzmorris family, but came +through her ladyship's father. + +"Sir Thomas had a younger brother, Gerald, who was a distinguished +officer in the army. I was for several years tutor to his sons. His wife +ran off with a General Dallas. A duel ensued. Gerald Fitzmorris was shot +by the man who had dishonoured him; and his wife followed her paramour +to India. This brief story of the family is necessary for the better +understanding of my story. How often have I wished that I had never +known one of the name." + +"Don't say that, Henry. It sounds like ingratitude when the Earl has +been so kind to us," said Mrs. Martin. + +The curate answered with a sigh, and continued his narrative. + +"Well, the Lady Dorothy was an excellent woman, greatly beloved in the +parish, for she was very kind to the poor, and was ready to help any one +that stood in need of her assistance. She was a very beautiful woman. +When you see Dorothy Chance, you have a striking likeness of her +ladyship; but without the dignity and nameless grace which generally +belongs to the high born lady. + +"Lady Dorothy happened one day to be in Mrs. Knight's shop, and Alice +was behind the counter. Struck with the wonderful beauty of the young +girl, she inquired of Mrs. Knight who she was, and when told that it was +her grandchild, she complimented the old lady on her possessing such a +treasure. + +"'Treasure,' quoth Mrs. Knight, with a scornful glance at the object +of the great lady's admiration. 'I set small store by such a treasure. +She has been a source of trouble and sorrow to me since the hour she +was born. I should only be too glad to give her to any one who thought +such a treasure worth having.' + +"'Will you give her to me?' said my lady, as she observed the eyes of +the lovely girl running over with tears. 'I want a person of her age, to +attend upon me. I will pay her well, and have her educated according to +her station.' + +"'Your ladyship may take her, if you have a fancy for her. She will be +prouder of being your servant than she is of being my child.' + +"So my sweet little Alice was transplanted like a lovely wild flower +into the Hall garden, and was soon lost to her early friends. + +"My mother wrote me all about her favourite's good fortune; but the news +gave me little pleasure. From that hour I had a presentiment of that +which in after years actually came to pass. + +"My uncle was in a good business in London, and he always invited me to +spend my vacations with him. He had too large a family of his own, to +help me in any other way; but he always contrived that my dear mother +should meet me at his house during the holidays, and share with me his +liberal hospitality. + +"After my term of scholarship expired, I was entered as a servitor at +Cambridge, and studied hard to obtain my degree, and get into holy +orders. + +"My mother was growing old, and her health was failing. I was anxious to +give her a home, and release her from the fatiguing life in which she +was engaged. + +"Seven years had passed away since Alice and I parted. My mother had +long ceased to mention her in her letters; but her memory was as fresh +in my heart as ever. + +"The hope of her becoming my wife, directly I was able to support her, +had been the great object of my life. It had supplied me with the energy +and perseverance, in which physically I had always been deficient. I +returned to the home of my childhood, full of happy anticipations. I was +no longer a boy, but a thoughtful, studious man, with no stain upon my +reputation, having earned a high character both at school and during my +college life. + +"Oh; well I remember the first time I saw Alice after my return to +S----. She was in Lady Dorothy's carriage, seated beside her ladyship, +with a beautiful infant in her lap. + +"I raised my hat as the equipage passed. She did not recognize me. I do +not think she noticed me at all. The hot blood flushed my face. +Mortified and cut to the heart, I hurried home. + +"My mother seemed to comprehend what had happened. + +"'You have seen Alice?' she said. + +"'Yes, but she did not see me.' + +"'It is as well,' she returned coldly. 'Alice is no longer a +simple-hearted child. The false position in which she has been placed +has made her proud and vain. It would have been better for her to have +remained with her cross, disagreeable grandmother, than to have been +tolerated by the high born and wealthy.' + +"I felt angry with my mother for speaking thus of Alice. I thought it +harsh and unkind. + +"The glimpse I had caught of her face had rekindled the old fire in my +heart. She was a beautiful, elegant, fair woman. The very beau ideal of +my long dream of love, and should yet be my wife, if it were possible +for me to make her so. + +"With some trepidation, I asked my mother what position she filled at +the Hall, and whose child it was she held in her arms? + +"'I cannot exactly answer your question,' she said. 'She is neither +regarded as a servant, nor yet as one of the family. She is generally in +attendance upon my lady, and takes care of her little grandson.' + +"'To which of her sons does the child belong?' + +"'To the youngest, Captain Edward, who is now at the Hall. His young +wife died in child-bed, and people talk largely of his admiration for +his mother's pretty _protégée_.' + +"I sprung from my chair. 'Mother, mother!' I cried. 'Do you mean to +drive me mad? This low village tattle is unworthy of you.' + +"'I fear that there is some truth in these reports,' said my mother +quietly. 'Alice used to speak to me when we met, and make affectionate +inquiries about her old playfellow; but for the last three months, she +passes me without recognition.' + +"'That looks strange. But however appearances may be against her, I +cannot and I will not believe anything to her discredit even from your +lips.' + +"I seized my hat, and walked up the road at an excited pace, and never +slackened my speed, till I reached a stile that led through the park. + +"I don't know what took me in that direction. I was unconscious of the +fact, until I found myself there. It was the last spot in the world in +my then mood, to which I should have bent my steps. But once there, the +place seemed congenial to my feelings. + +"I crossed the stile and plunged into a wilderness of shade, glad to +find myself in gloom and solitude. + +"After a while, the dark grove widened, the sunlight pierced the +branches and danced upon the ground, and leaving trees and shadows +behind, I emerged into an open lawn-like space as smooth and green, as +velvet turf and moss could make it, and reclining under the one huge +oak, that towered up like a giant in the centre, I saw her whom I least +expected to see, and who at that moment occupied all my thoughts. + +"The recognition was mutual. But when I called her by name and hurried +forward to meet her, she started up like a frightened doe and fled. + +"I did not follow; my mind was distracted with doubt. A jealous agony +filled my soul. I staggered to the spot she had occupied, threw myself +beneath the tree, and burying my face in my hands wept long and +bitterly. + +"In this abandonment of grief and love, a voice, a man's voice, +whispered near me: + +"'Alice, my dear Alice.' + +"I raised my head and looked the speaker in the face. I did not know +him personally then. I know him now. It was Lord Wilton. Captain Edward +Fitzmorris, in those days. His faced kindled to a deep red. He muttered +something about 'people intruding upon private property,' and walked +hastily away, and I returned to my mother bearing in my heart the bitter +conviction of the truth of her remarks. + +"The next day I left S----. + +"It was not long before I got a letter from my mother, which informed me +that Alice had been dismissed from the Hall in disgrace, and had +returned to her grandmother, who, finding that she was likely to become +a mother, and that she obstinately refused to name the father of her +child had driven her from the door, and the unfortunate girl had +wandered away, no one knew whither. + +"My mother had tried to discover her retreat, but could obtain no trace +of her. It was the general report of the town that she had walked into +the sea when the tide was coming in, and suffered the waves to flow over +her. + +"Her fate still remains a mystery. + +"Suspicion pointed to Captain Fitzmorris as her probable seducer. For my +own part, I never had any doubts upon the subject. He left England, as +attaché to a foreign embassy, a few months before her dismissal from the +Hall, and never visited this part of the country until lately. + +"Sir Thomas, his elder brother, was killed in battle; Earl Wilton, his +uncle, died shortly after, and Captain Edward inherited, through his +mother, his title and immense wealth." + +"But, my dear Henry, I do not see what connection all this has with +Dorothy Chance," said Mrs. Martin. + +"Well, wife, if you do not, I do, for I believe that Dorothy is the +daughter of the Earl by Alice Knight. Her age agrees exactly with what +would have been the age of that child. The description of the mother +bears a strong resemblance to that unfortunate creature, and then her +striking likeness to the Earl and his mother is something more than a +coincidence. But you have not heard my story to the end. + +"Mrs. Knight died some ten years ago. On her death-bed, she confessed to +me that she had poisoned Maria in that bowl of gruel; that she believed +that the poor vagrant found dead on the heath was Maria's child, for on +the night of the storm she had seen her apparition, in a dream, and +awoke in a terrible state of mental agony, in the firm conviction that +her cruel conduct had been the cause of her grandchild's death. + +"The next day she went with a crowd of neighbours to farmer Rushmere's +to see the corpse of the poor woman; which though unrecognized by them, +she was certain, after making due allowance for her destitute condition, +was the body of Alice Knight. As a sort of atonement, for her crimes +and barbarous cruelty to this unfortunate creature, she left the large +fortune she had accumulated to the child of this vagrant, if it could be +satisfactorily proved that it was the daughter of Alice Knight. If after +the lapse of thirty years it remained unclaimed, it was to form a fund +for the relief of mariners shipwrecked upon this coast." + +"Now, Henry, this makes your story as clear to me as daylight," said +Mrs. Martin, "can't you prove Dorothy's identity and claim the fortune +for her?" + +"Ah, my dear wife, there lies the difficulty. Who is there to prove it? +It all rests on circumstantial evidence, which, though it can, +and has brought many a neck to the gallows, is very insufficient when it +relates to claiming fortunes. + +"I don't think that it would conduce to Dorothy's happiness, the +possession of a large fortune. The girl is much happier as she is. +While the money applied to the relief of the destitute seamen would do a +great deal of good. + +"I had always been haunted by a horrible suspicion," continued the +curate, "that Mrs. Knight had murdered Alice. Her confession cleared up +that doubt for ever. For though her harsh treatment, I have every reason +to think, overwhelmed the poor girl in difficulties that led to her +untimely death, it is a satisfaction to know that she did not actually +perish by her hand." + +"A poor satisfaction, Henry. Did the cruel old woman die penitent?" + +"Her end was without hope. An agony of remorse. A presentiment of +certain punishment, and no recognition of the Saviour. Rosina, it was an +awful death. God is a God of mercy, but if his word is true it was +impossible for that soul to be saved. A full conviction of guilt +without repentance is the saddest state which a human creature can +experience, and such was hers. If we wait patiently, time will bring to +light the hidden things of darkness. The crimes committed by her in +secret were revealed amid the shadows of the dark valley. + +"I cannot repeat the ravings of that unhappy woman. They were too +shocking to retain in one's memory; only to think about them, seemed +like blasphemy. I never recall that night, when I watched and prayed +beside her death-bed, without a shudder, and whispering to myself, But +for God's grace I might have been like her. Oh, save me righteous Jesus +from the death of the wicked. It is only thou that makest one sinner to +differ from another. Without thee, we can indeed do nothing." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +DOROTHY BECOMES RECONCILED TO THE LOSS OF HER FIRST LOVE. + + +A fortnight had scarcely elapsed, before Gilbert wrote again to his +parents. The letter contained a hurried farewell, penned a few hours +before his regiment embarked for Spain. There was no message for +Dorothy, her name was not mentioned, and the omission was evidently +intentional. + +How little Gilbert Rushmere suspected the share that Dorothy had had in +his advancement, that but for her, he might have remained a private in +the ---- regiment during the term of his military service. So short +sighted are we poor mortals--that the very means adopted by Lord Wilton +to secure Dorothy's union with the man she loved, by exciting his +ambition and avarice, had brought about their separation, and that, too, +more effectually than Mr. Rushmere's unreasonable objections to their +marriage. + +A few days after Gilbert left England, Dorothy accidentally encountered +Lord Wilton on the heath. + +She was thinking of Gilbert, but not with the sad tearful tenderness +that his desertion had hitherto called forth. His marked neglect had +caused a reaction. She felt indignant at his conduct. His silence was +not only cruel, it was insulting, and implied that he no longer deemed +her worthy of a thought. + +In order to maintain her self-respect, she could view it in no other +light, and would endeavour to meet it with the indifference and contempt +it deserved. + +Hate him she could not, nor did she wish to do so; but her love for him +had subsided into a very tranquil stream; no longer leaping over every +obstacle that impeded its course, with the headlong impetuosity of +youthful passion. + +She could now speak of Gilbert to his parents without tears choking her +voice, and think of him calmly when alone. The wound he had inflicted on +her heart, however painful to bear in its first agony, was surely and +slowly healing itself. + +Nature is a great mental and bodily physician, if people would only let +her perform her mysterious operations alone; injudicious interference +causes all the danger, and often destroys the reason and life of the +sufferer. + +But it was to describe Dorothy's interview with Lord Wilton, and not to +moralize on love and disappointment that we commenced this chapter. + +The nobleman dismounted from his horse, and accosted his _protégée_ with +his usual kindness, and inquired with great earnestness of look and +tone, "If Gilbert Rushmere had been down to see her, and if she was +pleased with his promotion." + +The first question she promptly replied to in the negative. His lordship +seemed surprised and annoyed. "With regard to his promotion," she said, +"his parents could but be pleased and gratified, and the young soldier +spoke of it with the deepest gratitude." + +"But what do you think of it, Dorothy? Will his good fortune make you +happy?" + +The young girl's lips quivered. She grew very red, then turned as pale +as ashes, but mastering her emotion, she answered with tolerable +self-command. + +"I hope so for his parents' sake." + +"Not for your own, Dorothy." + +Dorothy's voice dropped almost to a whisper, as she stammered out: "Oh, +my lord, don't ask me, I have really not the courage to speak about it." + +"But, my dear girl, I must know the reason of this distress. I thought +you and Gilbert were one?" + +"I thought so once." She looked down and pressed her hands tightly over +her breast. "My lord, Gilbert Rushmere has forgotten me." + +"The traitor." + +"Do not blame him too severely, my lord. Perhaps I have been too harsh +in my condemnation. It is not his fault that I placed too high an +estimate on his character, was too confident in his love. He has only +acted according to his nature. He has not deceived me, I have suffered +my affection for him to blind my eyes to his faults." + +"My noble girl, I cannot suffer you to excuse him by taking the blame of +such selfish, heartless conduct on yourself." + +"Ah, my lord, we are all more or less selfish and the creatures of +circumstance; while I continued to love Gilbert, his desertion seemed to +me very dreadful; the anguish it gave me was almost more than I could +bear, but now when it is all over, and I can think of it calmly, I see +it in a very different light. While we lived in the same house, learned +from the same books, and worked together in the same fields, there was a +natural equality between us. But since Gilbert has acquired a higher +position, associated with well educated people, and seen more of the +great world, he feels a superiority over me, of which he was before +entirely ignorant. He has advanced, while I remain in the same position +in which he left me, a servant, in his father's house." + +Lord Wilton winced. "An adopted daughter, I thought." + +"Ah, my lord! truth is truth. I may deserve to be so considered, and as +far as dear Mrs. Rushmere is concerned I enjoy the love and confidence +of a child. With the old man I am only his servant." + +Lord Wilton sighed heavily. Dorothy's speech evidently pained him, but +he made no comment upon it. He walked on by her side for some minutes in +silence. "And what led you to conclude that Gilbert Rushmere had +forgotten you?" + +"Simply, my lord, because he has ceased to mention me in his letters, +and talks of marrying some one else." + +"Very conclusive reasons, my poor child. But are you certain that this +is no jealous freak on your part, but really a deliberate act of +desertion on his?" + +"I never was jealous of Gilbert in my life," and Dorothy drew herself up +with no little dignity, "my faith in his love was too great for that." + +"Which makes your present disappointment harder to bear." + +"Yes, my lord," and Dorothy drew a long sigh, "but I feel it less than I +did a month ago. The heart knows its own bitterness; a stranger cannot +enter into its joys or sorrows. So the Scriptures say. I do not quote +the passage correctly, but it is something to that effect. My mind has +been more tranquil, since I knew for certain that I could never be +Gilbert Rushmere's wife." + +"He may see his folly, Dorothy, and return to his first love." + +"My lord, that is impossible. Love is a stream that always flows onward; +it never returns to fill the channel that it has deserted and left dry. +You might as well try to collect the shower that the thirsty earth drank +up yesterday. Love once dead, can never revive again or wear the same +aspect that it did at first, for the spirit that kindled it is gone, and +what you once adored is only a silent corpse." + +"You are resigned to the loss of your lover?" + +"My lord, it is all for the best. Gilbert was the idol to whom I gave +the undivided worship of my whole heart. God in his mercy saw fit to +dash it in pieces. Let us leave the fragments in the dust, and speak of +them no more." + +"So young and so wise," mused the Earl, regarding his companion with +intense interest. "How have you learned to bear so great a sorrow with +such heroic fortitude?" + +"I employed my hands constantly in useful labour, which kept me from +pondering continually over painful thoughts. There is no better remedy +for acute sorrow. I have always found it so; it gives strength both to +the body and mind. But it was not this alone, my lord, which reconciled +me to my grief." She paused a moment. Lord Wilton waved his hands +impatiently. + +"Go on, Dorothy, I am listening intently. What was your next step?" + +"I sought the advice and assistance of a higher power than my own. I +laid my poor broken heart in the dust at His feet, and poured the +anguish of my soul before Him. He heard my bitter cry, 'Save me Lord, +for I perish,' and lifted me out of the deep waters as they closed over +me. From that hour, I have clung to Him for help with the same +confidence that a little child clings to the bosom of its mother. I know +and feel that all He does is right, and that He does not causelessly +afflict the children of men." + +"The difficulty is in recognizing that our trials and sufferings are +from God," said the Earl, "God the all merciful. I fear, Dorothy, that I +should find your remedy very inefficient when applied to an incurable +sorrow." + +"Ah, do try it, my lord," said Dorothy, with great earnestness. "It may +be slow in its operations, but in the end it never fails. There is no +sorrow that is _incurable_, if you will only bring it to the foot of the +cross, and lay it down there. It will melt away from your soul, like the +mist before the rising sun--and when you contemplate the blessed Saviour +in His terrible death agony, and remember that He bore it all for such +as you, your sufferings will appear light indeed when compared with His, +and you will learn from Him the truth--the glorious truth that will set +you free from the bondage of sin and the fear of death. That makes +slaves and cowards of us all." + +"Softly, my dear girl. I want the faith to realize all this. Do you +speak from your own experience, or only repeat the lessons taught you by +Henry Martin?" + +"I speak of that which I have known and felt," said Dorothy, +emphatically. "Of that which has taught me to bear patiently a great +affliction, that has reconciled me to a hard lot, and brought me nearer +to God. I can now bless Him for my past trials. If I had never known +trouble, I should never have exchanged it for His easy yoke, or felt a +divine peace flowing out of grief." + +"I do not doubt your word, Dorothy. I am a miserable man, overwhelmed +with the consciousness of guilt, without the power to repent." + +"Oh, my lord, this cannot be, and you so good and kind. If you are a +bad man, where in this world shall we look for a righteous one?" + +"My poor child, you know little of the world, and still less of me. You +esteem me happy, because I am rich and high-born, deriving from my +wealth and position the means of helping others who are destitute of +these advantages. There is no real merit in this. I cannot bear to +witness physical suffering; and give from my abundance that I may be +relieved from the sight of it." + +"But you confer a benefit upon the poor by relieving their necessities, +which must be acceptable in the sight of God." + +"I fear not. Infinite wisdom looks deeper into these things than +short-sighted men, and the motive which induces the act is of more value +in His sight than the mere act. I have more money than I can use, and +possess every luxury and comfort that gold can buy. It is no sacrifice +to me giving to the poor. I really lose nothing, and my vanity is +pleased by the admiration they express at my generosity; I often feel +deeply humiliated by the self-approbation induced by these trifling +donations." + +"I wish there were more people in the world like your lordship." + +"Dorothy, Dorothy! you see before you a wretched conscience-stricken +creature, who would gladly give all that he has in the world for the +peace of mind you say that you enjoy. You, like the rest of my +neighbours, think me little short of perfection, for to most people the +outward and tangible is always the real. But, alas, I know myself +better. Listen to me, Dorothy, while I give you a page from my life's +history, which will show your benefactor in a new light." + +Dorothy looked wonderingly up into her companion's face. His brow was +knitted, his lips firmly compressed, and the sorrowful expression of his +pale face almost bordered on despair. She shuddered, and tears +involuntarily filled her eyes. Was this new idol going to resolve itself +into a mere image of clay? If he were no better than other men, where in +this world would she find truth? Dorothy was grieved and perplexed, but +she walked on in silence till the Earl again spoke. + +"I confide more willingly in you, Dorothy, because, like me you +have realized the great agony of having loved and lost. Yes, I loved as +my own soul a young girl as pure and artless as yourself. She held a +dependent and subordinate situation, and was far beneath me in rank. But +beauty is a great equalizer, and I never for a moment considered that +noble creature my inferior. I sought her love, and won her whole heart, +but circumstances prevented me from taking her by the hand, and publicly +acknowledging her as my wife to the world, and I sacrificed to the +Moloch of wealth and power her happiness and my own, and blasted for +ever the only wealth she possessed, a pure and unsullied name." + +"Oh, my lord, how could you do so?" + +"Ah! how indeed. I ask myself a thousand times a-day the same torturing +question. The fear of what people would say, Dorothy--the dread of +poverty--of loss of caste--for I was not at that time an elder son, made +me a coward and a fool. I left her--left the woman I adored to struggle +through the difficulty in which I had placed her, single-handed and +alone. + +"I was appointed _attaché_ to a foreign embassy, and left England for +several years, and was only recalled to inherit my present title, and +all the large property that fell to me by the death of an uncle, and +that of my eldest brother. No longer deterred from doing her justice by +the base fear of losing these advantages, I sought her in her old home, +my mother having dismissed her in disgrace from her service. Here I +found that her cruel grandmother had driven her forth into the streets, +and all traces of her had been lost. For seventeen years I have sought +her sorrowing through the world, to make reparation for my selfishness +and cruelty; but her fate remains a mystery, and the only clue that I +have obtained of her probable history, fills my mind with shame and +remorse. I can no longer wipe this foul stain from her memory if I +would. + +"You look at me in surprise and horror, Dorothy. Can you still think me +a good and great man. See how you have been deceived in your +estimate of me." + +Tears were in the Earl's eyes and on his pale cheeks. Dorothy looked +down to hide her own. + +"My lord," she said, in a soft low voice, "you have been very +unfortunate, and perhaps are less guilty than you think yourself, and +oh, I pity you with my whole heart." + +Involuntarily she took his hand and pressed it to her lips, and he +caught her in his arms and clasped her to his heart, his tears falling +over her like rain. + +"My dear child, my only friend, God bless you for your kind sympathy. Is +there any hope for a sinner like me?" + +"My lord," she whispered, "there is more joy in Heaven over one sinner +that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons that need no +repentance. Receive this great truth into your heart, and you will find +the peace you need." She spoke with such earnestness, that a gleam of +hope shot into the sad eyes of the Earl. + +"Dorothy, I will think over your words." + +"Pray over them, my lord; we must not only will, but do the thing that +is right." + +"Will you pray for me, Dorothy?" + +"I have always done so, my lord, since the first hour we met, and you +expressed such a kind interest in a poor friendless orphan girl." + +"Look upon me always as a friend--a father, Dorothy; you know not the +strong tie that unites my destiny with yours. Perhaps you will know one +day, and pity and forgive me for the injury you have received at my +hands." + +"My lord, you did your best to serve me. How could you imagine that +Gilbert could act as he has done? The blame, if there is any, rests +entirely with him. It cannot cancel the vast debt of gratitude I owe to +you." + +"You owe me nothing, Dorothy. My earnest desire is to see you good and +happy." + +A look of wondering curiosity stole over the young girl's face. He spoke +to her in riddles, but she knew the difference in their respective +stations to ask him questions. + +He evidently read her thoughts, and suddenly turning the conversation, +spoke to her in more cheerful tones. He inquired about her studies, and +what progress she had made in them. How she liked the books he had +provided for her instruction, and what sort of reading she preferred. +She answered with enthusiasm: + +"That the books had but one fault, they made the labours of the house +and field less agreeable, for she would like to be reading them all +day." + +"I expected as much," said the Earl, with his usual sweet smile. "I wish +to give you the means of earning your living in a more refined and +useful manner. There are plenty of hands to work in the world that +belong to people who have little or no brains in their heads, and such +people make the most profitable farm servants. Nature has bestowed upon +you a quick intellect, and to labour in the fields is to bury the +talents entrusted to your care, in the dust. By the way," he continued, +"Mrs. Martin tells me that you have a fine ear for music, and a powerful +melodious voice. It would gratify me highly to hear you sing." + +"Oh, my lord," said Dorothy, blushing rosy red, "what pleasure could +such a voice as mine give a gentleman like you? I only sing to amuse the +children, and wile away the time when I am at work." + +"You must leave me to be the best judge of that. If you feel timid, +which is but natural, just sit down on this sloping green bank, and +consider me a child, while you sing some little simple air." + +Dorothy felt all in a tremor, but he looked so kind that she did not +like to refuse, so she did as she was bid, and sat down on the grass at +his feet, and with her eyes fixed intently upon the daisies, sang a +little ballad very popular in those days, commencing with "Over the +mountains and over the moor." + +Her voice, at first tremulous with emotion, soon gained strength, and +she sang with a sweetness and pathos that would have drawn down +tremendous applause from a public audience. The Earl listened with rapt +attention. + +"Excellent!" he cried. "Mrs. Martin was right. Here is an admirable +talent that must be cultivated. Should you like to learn to play upon +the piano?" + +Dorothy's eyes literally shone with delight. "Oh, my lord, it would make +me so happy." + +"That is enough. I will order a good instrument from London. It will be +your property. Mrs. Martin will give it a place in her house, and when +you gain any proficiency, you can repay her kindness by teaching her +children. A good pianist can always command a comfortable +independence." + +"And who will instruct me?" asked Dorothy. + +"That matter is easily settled. You know old Piper, who plays the organ +in the church. He has but one idea, and that is music, which absorbs his +whole intellect. A fool in almost everything else, he is yet a splendid +musician. He will rejoice in such a promising pupil." + +"He is a strange, odd creature," said Dorothy. "If he is to be my +master, it will be hard to keep from laughing. He came one day to Mr. +Rushmere, to get him to buy tickets for a concert. Father was making a +riddle to separate some large peas from a different sort that were much +smaller, that had got accidentally mixed in the granary, and spoiled the +sample of both. The old man stood and looked at him for some time, then +said so innocently, + +"'Now, sir, can't you make that 'ere machine to let out all the large +peas, and keep the little 'uns behind?' + +"How father laughed, and told him that his idea was so clever, that he +advised him to take out a patent for his invention. He took the joke as +a great compliment, and went away rubbing his hands, highly delighted +with his mechanical skill." + +"You must try to listen to his wise speeches, Dorothy, with a grave +face. Odd as he is, the old man is a great favourite of mine, for he +taught me, when I was a lad, to play on the violin, and put up with all +my wild tricks with the greatest good humour. One day he requested me to +pay more attention to time, as I was apt to trust too much to my ear. + +"'What is time?' I demanded very pertly, and purposely to quiz him. + +"'Time,' said he, repeating my words with a look of bewildered +astonishment, as if he doubted my sanity. 'Why, Master Edward, time is +time. When a person has played a piece in time, he feels so neat, so +clean, and so satisfied with himself.' I did not attempt to keep my +gravity, but ran laughing out of the room. + +"Time has not changed the queer old man a bit. The other day I sent him +a fine hare: two hours after, I was riding with another nobleman through +Storby, when, who should turn the corner of Market Street but old Piper, +bearing in his hands a great red earthenware dish, covered in with +paste. When he saw me, he stopped just before our horses, and, making me +a profound bow, tapped the dish with his hand, calling out in a jocular +voice: + +"'Thank you, my lord, for pussie! she is safe here, under _cover_, and I +am now going to dine like a prince.' + +"The bystanders laughed. How could they help it; my friend fairly +roared, and I felt rather mortified at the old man making such a public +demonstration of his gratitude for such a small gift." + +Dorothy enjoyed the anecdote, and laughed too. "I have no doubt we shall +get on famously together, for I will set my whole heart to the work." + +The Earl shook her heartily by the hand, and rode off in good spirits. +The little episode of the music, and the eccentricities of Dorothy's +future master, had won him from his melancholy. A week had scarcely +elapsed before Mrs. Martin brought Dorothy the joyful intelligence that +the piano had arrived; that Mr. Piper was tuning it, and had pronounced +it a first rate instrument, and the children were all wild with delight. + +This was a new epoch in Dorothy's life. She employed every spare moment +in mastering the difficulties of the science, and enchanted old Piper +with the attention she gave to his prosaical instructions. "Her face," +he said, "might make a fortune, but her voice was sure to do it. He was +no great judge of beauty, had never courted a woman in his life, and was +too old to think of it now. But he was a judge of music, and he was +pretty sure that she could not fail in that." + +Mr. Rushmere did not approve of this new encroachment on what he +considered his natural right in Dorothy; though for some months he was +kept in profound ignorance of the turn her studies had taken, and even +when he at last made the discovery, he was not aware that Lord Wilton +was the delinquent that had robbed him of her time. Lord Wilton had +furnished Dorothy with money to pay for the hire of a girl, to take +charge of the coarser domestic drudgery; still Lawrence Rushmere +grumbled and was not satisfied. He wondered where and how the girl +obtained her funds, and whether she came honestly by them. Mrs. +Rushmere, who was in the secret--for Dorothy kept nothing from her--told +him "that it was part of the salary paid by the Earl to Dorothy for +teaching in the Sunday school." This was the truth; "and that he ought, +instead of constantly finding fault with the poor girl, to rejoice in +her good fortune. Dorothy was growing more like a lady every day, and +was so good and clever that he should consider her a credit to the +house." + +"I thought a deal more on her," quoth the old man, "when she was dressed +in homespun and was not above her business. Those silly people are +making a fule o' the girl, turning her head with vanity and conceit. +Wife, you can't make a purse out o' a sow's ear, or a real lady out o' +one not born a lady. They are spoiling the girl an' quite unfitting her +for an honest labourer's wife." + +At this moment the object under dispute came tripping into the room, +dressed in a simple muslin gown with a neat coarse straw bonnet tied +closely under her soft round chin. Mrs. Rushmere glanced up at the +lovely smiling girl, so graceful in all her movements, so artless and +winning in her unaffected simplicity, and quite realized her husband's +idea, that she was not fit for a ploughman's help-mate. + +"Well, Doll, lass, what's up at the parsonage?" cried the farmer. "Your +face is all of a glow and brimful of summat." + +"Our old vicar is dead, father; Mr. Martin has just got the news." + +"Bless my soul, Mr. Conyers gone? Why he be a young man to me," and he +pushed his hands through his gray locks. "What did a' die of, lass?" + +"Apoplexy--it was quite sudden. He had just eaten a hearty dinner, when +he fell down in a fit, and never spoke again." + +"Ah, them parsons generally die o' that. They be great yeaters, and the +stomach, they do say, affects the head. It seems like putting the cart +afore the horse, don't it, dame?" + +"I ran up to tell you," continued Dorothy, "that Mrs. Martin sends her +best compliments to you, father, and would esteem it a great favour if +you would allow me to stay all day at the parsonage, to help her prepare +rooms for the use of the new vicar, who is going to board with her, and +is expected down to-night." + +"Whew," cried Rushmere, snapping his fingers. "I think Mrs. Martin had +better keep you altogether. She's a clever woman to make use of other +people's servants. I have a great mind to send you back to tell her that +I won't let you go." + +Dorothy was silent. Experience had taught her that it was the best +policy never to answer her father in these moods. Left to himself his +better nature generally prevailed. + +"And who be the new vicar, Dolly?" asked her mother, who seldom failed +in getting her adopted child out of these scrapes, by diverting her +husband's attention to another object. + +"Mr. Gerard Fitzmorris, a first cousin of my lord's." + +"I knew his father," said Rushmere, "when he was raising a regiment +here, to fight the rebels in Ireland. He was a bad man. A drunkard an' a +gambler, and got killed in a duel. His wife ran away with another +officer. He followed them to France, challenged her seducer, an' got the +worst of it. His death was no loss to the world, or to his family. So, +so, this is his son. Poor stuff to make a man o' God out on' one would +think." + +"Children do not always inherit their parents' vices," suggested Mrs. +Rushmere. + +"It would be bad for the world if they did. But somehow I ha' found that +they often bear a strong family likeness," muttered the farmer. + +"Well, girl, an' when do the new parson commence his work?" + +"He will read himself in next Sunday morning. Mr. Martin says that he is +an excellent preacher, and a real Christian. Not one made so by +education, and from having been born and brought up in a Christian land, +but from conversion, and an earnest desire to be of use in the church." + +"Humph," said Rushmere, "this is the way they generally cant about every +new parson. In a little while, they find out that these converted +sinners are no better nor the rest on us, only they think themselves +more godly. And you girl, don't you go to pull long faces and cant like +them. It is not by words but by deeds, that a man will be justified at +the last." + +"Both would prove insufficient, father," suggested Dorothy, "without the +grace of God. If men could save themselves, our blessed Lord's death was +a useless sacrifice." + +"Oh in course, you know better nor me, Dolly. If you go on at this rate, +you'll be able to teach parson his duty." + +Dorothy laughed, and seeing him once more in a good humour again, put in +her plea, of helping Mrs. Martin prepare for her guest. "If not a good +act, it would be a neighbourly one," she said, "I will be back in time +father, to get your supper." + +"But don't let these pious folk spoil you, lass. Dorothy Chance will +soon be too great a lady, wi' her musical nonsense and book larning, to +step across father Rushmere's threshold." + +Dolly ran back and kissed the old man. + +"What's that for, Doll?" and the yeoman laughed and opened his eyes +wide. + +"For calling yourself my father. You have not spoken of me as your child +for so long. I thought you meant to disown me altogether." + +Dorothy looked so sweetly and spoke so pleasantly, that the old man's +anger vanished in her smile. + +"Go thy ways, Dolly, thou art a good wench. I love thee well, and thou +know'st it. If I be crusty, it's no new thing to thee, who know'st my +nature far better, nor I do mysel'. Like old Pincher, my bark is a great +deal worse nor my bite." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +DOROTHY DOES NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH THE VICAR AT FIRST SIGHT. + + +Dorothy was not long in retracing her steps to the parsonage. She found +Mrs. Martin up to her eyes in business, taking up carpets, shifting +furniture, and giving the house a thorough cleaning from top to bottom. +The curate, who was generally very helpless on such occasions, and +decidedly in everybody's way during these domestic ordeals, was busy +stowing away books and papers out of the reach of mops and brooms. + +"Now, Dorothy, which do you think will be the best room to give Mr. +Fitzmorris for his study? The one over the parlour that looks to the +south, and has such a nice view of Lord Wilton's plantations, or the +east chamber, which has such a fine prospect of the sea? Men are always +fond of the sea." + +"It looks bleak and cold over that long dreary stretch of flat salt +marshes," said Dorothy, examining the landscape from both windows with a +critical eye. "I think he will prefer the sunny room that looks to the +south. I know I should." + +"We can but change it, Dorothy, if it should not be to his taste. But I +have thought of another difficulty, which cannot be so easily remedied. +What of the piano?" and she turned an anxious eye on Dorothy. "How will +he be able to write his sermons with the eternal thumping of the +children on the instrument? It will be enough to drive a nervous man +from the house." + +"How, indeed?" said Dorothy. "We must move the piano." + +"But where?" + +"To the Farm." + +"By no means. You provoking little puss! It is the only handsome piece +of furniture in the house." + +"We can place it in the dining-room, and only practice when he is absent +on parish business. If he is such a good, kind man as he is represented, +he will do all in his power to accommodate the females of the +household." + +"We will try that plan. But what about the noise of the children?" + +"The children are very quiet, and always do as they are bid. I am sure +no reasonable person can find fault with them." + +The women chatted and worked on merrily, and before the church bell +tolled six, the south room was arranged entirely to their own +satisfaction. The windows were draped in snowy white, the casements +shone clear as the air, and tables, and chairs, and book-stands had +received an extra polish from the indefatigable hands of Dorothy, and +she commenced the arrangement of two large boxes of books that had +arrived by the London carrier, in the cases which had been forwarded for +their reception. + +This last labour of love she performed very slowly, stopping to peep +into every volume as she dusted it. The Latin and Greek authors were +quickly disposed of, and the huge tomes of divinity scarcely attracted +any notice, but some fine works on botany and natural history chained +her attention. The plates were so beautiful that, in spite of sundry +implied remonstrances from Mrs. Martin, who was fidgetty lest the vicar +should arrive before all was completed, she could not resist the +temptation of looking at them, and even called in Harry and little +Johnnie to share her delight. + +"I like the lions best," said little Johnnie. "I don't care for that big +pussie-cat with the green eyes and the long tail. It looks as if it +could scratch," and he put his fat fingers vigorously down upon the +Bengal tiger. + +"Yes, and eat you afterwards," said Harry. "I don't like lions and +tigers. I love these beautiful flowers, they make me think of the +angels, they look so pure and lovely, and darling Dorothy loves them +too," and he leaned his head back upon Dorothy's white arm, and looked +earnestly up into her smiling face. Dorothy pressed the little curly +head fondly against her breast. + +"Harry, we will get Mr. Fitzmorris to tell us all about the pretty +flowers; I don't know our favourites with these hard names. Flowers are +among God's best gifts to man. They have wonderful secrets of their own, +and, besides the innocent pleasure they give to every true heart, +possess in themselves a remedy for almost every disease. That reminds me +that I have yet to fill the china vase for the table. Come and help me, +Harry, for your tastes and mine always agree." + +The two happy children, for Dorothy was still a child in heart, ran down +into the garden, hand in hand, and soon selected a splendid bouquet of +sweet spring blossoms, which Dorothy grouped with artistic taste, and +left in the centre of the table. A beautiful object, which put the +finishing touch to the exquisitely neat adornments of the small +apartment. She did not wait for the arrival of its future occupant, but +took her way home through the lonely lane that wound round the heath to +the Farm. + +"I wonder what sort of a man he is?" said Dorothy, thinking of the new +vicar, "whether he be old or young, plain or good-looking. If he +resembles the Earl, I cannot fail to like him. Lord Wilton, though +getting up in years, is the most interesting and the handsomest man I +have ever seen." + +Her speculations were abruptly dispelled, by a large Newfoundland dog +brushing past her, and she looked up and blushed to find herself face +to face with a strange gentleman, whose clerical dress left no doubts in +her mind as to his identity. + +The person she was thinking about was before her. + +He was a man of middle stature, not stout, but with a strong muscular +frame and the unmistakable bearing of a gentleman, who stopping directly +in her path, asked in a very unromantic and practical manner, "if he was +in the right road that led to the parsonage?" + +Dorothy answered with some confusion, as if she suspected that the +stranger had read her thoughts. + +"That the next turn in the lane would bring him in sight of the house." + +With a brief "Thank you," Mr. Fitzmorris raised his hat, and passed on. + +Dorothy was dreadfully disappointed. Was this the man for whom she had +arranged that beautiful vase of flowers? Judging from appearances, he +would be more likely to throw them out of the window as a nuisance, than +see anything to admire in them. What a different person he was to the +picture she had drawn of him in her mind! He did not resemble the Earl +in the least. He was not handsome. His features were strongly marked and +even stern for his age, for he could not have counted more than thirty +years, if indeed he were as old. + +His complexion was coldly fair, the blue tints predominating over the +red, which gave a general pallor to his face not at all relieved by the +flaxen hair that curled in short masses round his ample forehead. His +eyebrows of the same colour, were strongly defined and rather bushy, +beneath which flashed out glances of keen intelligence, from a pair of +large eyes, vividly blue--they were remarkable eyes, which seemed to +look you through at a glance, and which once seen, could not easily be +forgotten. + +He took no particular notice of Dorothy, and scarcely waited for her +answer to his abrupt inquiry. + +"I don't think I shall like him at all," said Dorothy, her natural +vanity rather piqued by his nonchalance. "He looks clever, but proud and +stern. A poor substitute, I fear, for our dear Henry Martin, with his +large heart and gentle benevolence. Mr. Fitzmorris looks as if he could +fight with other weapons than the sword of the spirit," and Dorothy +closed the farm gate very emphatically behind her. + +"Well, Dorothy, what of our new vicar?" asked Mrs. Rushmere, like most +old folks eager for the news. "Have you seen him?" + +"Yes," replied Dorothy, with a tone of great indifference. + +"And what is he like?" + +"No one I have ever seen." + +"Is he handsome?" + +"Decidedly not." + +"Is he clever?" + +"He looks intelligent, but I can't tell, I only saw him for a moment. He +stopped me in the lane to inquire his way to the parsonage; I should +scarcely know him again." + +Dorothy tripped off to her own chamber, to avoid further questions, and +to take off her muslin dress, and substitute a more homely garb in which +to cook Mr. Rushmere's supper. + +The next morning was the day for receiving her music lesson. Dorothy +felt very much disinclined to walk to the parsonage to take it; though +she knew that old Piper would be raging mad at her want of punctuality. +She had no wish to encounter Mr. Fitzmorris, or meet again the keen +glance of his wonderful eyes. It was evident that he considered her a +very inferior person, and Dorothy's pride had progressed with her +education, and she began to feel that she was not undeserving of a +certain degree of respect from persons who might happen to move in a +higher class than her own. + +Not being able to frame a plausible excuse for her absence from the +cottage, she was compelled to put on her bonnet, and dare the ordeal she +so much dreaded. + +It was a lovely morning in the middle of May, and she gathered some +branches of hawthorn in full blossom for the children as she went along. + +On coming up to the small white gate, that opened into the lawn fronting +the parsonage, she saw Mr. Fitzmorris seated on the grass, under the +shade of the tall bowering sycamore tree that grew in the centre of it, +with all the little ones gathered about him, laughing and romping with +them to their hearts' content, his laugh as loud, and his voice as +merry and joyous as the rest. + +Could this be the cold, proud looking man she met in the lane last +night? His hat lay tossed at a distance upon the grass, the noble head +was bare, and wee Mary was sticking bluebells and cowslips among the +fair curls that clustered over it. A glow was on the pale face, and the +eyes sparkled and danced with pleasure. + +"Dorothy! Dorothy!" screamed all the little voices at once. "Here comes +our dear Dorothy! Do come and play with us under the tree." + +Dorothy smiled and shook her head at them, and almost ran into the +house. + +"And who is your dear Dorothy, Harry?" asked Mr. Fitzmorris, looking +after the pretty apparition as it vanished. + +"Oh, she's such a darling, next to papa and mamma, I love her better +than anything in the world," said Harry with enthusiasm, "and I know +she loves me." + +"I'm sure, Harry, we all love her as much as you do," said Rosina. "But +you always want to keep Dolly all to yourself. She does not love you a +bit more than she does me and Johnnie." + +"That she don't," cried Johnnie. "She loves me more than you all, for I +sit on her lap while she tells us pretty stories, and Harry's too old to +do that." + +"I should rather think so," said Mr. Fitzmorris, laughing and looking at +Harry, a tall boy of nine years. "I think Johnnie's plea is the best. At +any rate, he contrives to get nearest to the young lady's heart. But why +are you all so fond of her? Do you love her for her pretty face?" + +"Not for that alone," returned Harry. "But she is so kind, she never +says or does a cross thing, and always tries to make us happy." + +"Then she deserves all the love you can give her. It is a blessed thing +to try and make others happy." + +Just at that moment the grand notes of the old hundredth floated forth +upon the breeze, and became a living harmony, accompanied by Dorothy's +delicious voice. Mr. Fitzmorris rose to his feet, and stood with +uncovered head: the smile that had recently played upon his lips giving +place to an expression of rapt devotion, as if his whole heart and soul +were wafted towards heaven in those notes of praise. + +"It is Dorothy who is singing. She sings in our choir," said Harry. + +"Hush," returned the vicar, placing his finger on his lip. "We are +'before Jehovah's awful throne.' Wherever you hear that name mentioned, +you are upon holy ground." + +The boy drew back awe-struck, and for the first time in his young life, +realized the eternal presence of God in the universe. + +After Dorothy's lessons were over, Mr. Fitzmorris asked Mrs. Martin to +introduce him to her young friend. + +"I hope you are not vain of that fine voice?" he said, taking a seat +beside her. + +"Why should I be? I can hardly call it mine, for I had no choice in the +matter. It was a free gift." + +Mr. Fitzmorris regarded the youthful speaker with a look of surprise. +For the first time it struck him forcibly that her face was very +beautiful, while its earnest, truthful expression conveyed the more +pleasing impression that it was one of great integrity. + +"A free gift," he said, repeating unconsciously her words. "To be used +freely, I hope, in the service of the glorious Giver, and not as a means +of obtaining the applause and admiration of the world?" + +"Not very likely, sir. My world is confined to a small sphere. It was +only the other day that I found out that I had a voice worthy of being +used in the choir. I used to sing to please my father, and to lighten my +labour when at work in the field." + +"At work in the field!" and Mr. Fitzmorris glanced at the elegant form +and taper fingers. "What business had you working in the fields?" + +"I am poor and dependent," said Dorothy, laughing, though she felt a +great awe of her interrogator; "and the children of poverty are seldom +allowed the privilege of choosing their own employments." + +"But your appearance, Miss Chance, your language, even the manner of +your singing, seems to contradict the humbleness of your origin." + +"What I have said is true," returned Dorothy. "I should be sorry if you +thought me capable of misrepresentation." + +"You must not be so quick to take offence where none is meant," said Mr. +Fitzmorris, quietly, as Dorothy, who felt rather wounded, rose to go. +"Sit down, my good little girl, and listen to reason." + +Dorothy thought that he had no right to question her so closely; he +seemed to read her thoughts, and she neither resumed her seat nor spoke. + +"You think me very impertinent, Miss Chance. You forget that, as your +future pastor, I feel no small interest in your welfare; that the care +of souls is my special business; that it is nothing to me whether you be +poor or rich--all are alike in the eyes of Him I serve, whose eternal +image is impressed, irrespective of rank or wealth, as strongly upon the +soul of the peasant as upon that of the prince. Those alone are poor in +whom sin has obliterated this Divine likeness. If you are rich in the +Master's love, you are doubly so in my eyes, for I love all those who +love the Lord Jesus with sincerity." + +The smile that now lighted up the pale, stern features of the young +vicar, made them almost beautiful. Dorothy felt the power of that calm, +noble face, and reproached herself for the unjust prejudices she had +entertained for him. + +"I have spoken very foolishly," she said, and the tears came to her +eyes. "Will you, sir, forgive my presumption?" + +"I have nothing to forgive," and he looked amused. + +"Oh, yes, you have. When I first saw you I thought you looked cold and +proud, and acting upon that supposition, I was determined not to like +you. This, you know, was very wrong." + +"Not so wrong after all. You are a good physiognomist, Miss Chance. I +was once all that you imagined me to be, and it takes a long while to +obliterate the expression which the mind stamps upon the countenance in +our early years. What made you alter your opinion so quickly?" + +"A light which passed over your face, which I believe can only come from +Heaven." + +"I wish you may be a true prophet, Miss Chance." + +"Oh, sir, don't call me by that ugly name. Let it be plain Dorothy." + +"Well then, Dorothy, now there is peace between us, sit down and tell me +who first discovered that you had a fine voice." + +"Lord Wilton." + +"Lord Wilton!" Mr. Fitzmorris almost started to his feet. + +"He met me one day upon the heath, and told me that he had learned from +Mrs. Martin that I had a good voice, and asked me to sing to him." + +"And you complied with the request?" + +"Certainly." + +"Don't you think that it was a strange request for a nobleman to make to +a poor country girl? Do you know, Dorothy, what Lord Wilton is?" + +"Yes, Mr. Fitzmorris, the best friend I ever had in the world." + +"Dorothy, the friendship of such men is enmity to God. Lord Wilton is a +man of the world. A man without religion, who is haunted continually by +the stings of conscience. Such a man rarely seeks the acquaintance of a +young girl beneath him in rank, for any good purpose." + +"Ah, you wrong him! indeed you do," cried Dorothy. "He wishes me to be +good and happy, and to look upon him as a friend and father; and I love +him as such. He placed me under Mrs. Martin's care, that I might be +instructed to help her in the Sunday-school. Would a bad man have done +that? For Mrs. Martin and her husband are among the excellent of the +earth!" + +"A great change must have come over him. When I last saw him, but that +is some years ago, he was all that I have represented him." + +Mr. Fitzmorris walked to the window, and stood with folded arms, +apparently in deep thought. + +There had never been much intimacy between his branch of the family and +Lord Wilton's, though they were first cousins. Their mutual uncle had +left an immense fortune to the Earl, which Gerard's father thought +should have been equally divided. He did not consider that he had been +fairly treated in the matter, and accused the Earl of having undermined +him in the good graces of the titled millionaire. + +These family quarrels are very bitter, and their pernicious effects are +often traceable through several generations. + +It was not of this great family disappointment that General Fitzmorris +was thinking, for he was very indifferent about wealth, only regarding +it as a useful means of doing good. He was mentally glancing over +several passages in the Earl's life, in which his conduct had been +severely censured by the public, when the seduction and subsequent +suicide of a beautiful girl adopted by his mother, had formed the theme +of every tongue. + +And who was this beautiful country girl, this Dorothy Chance, that he +should take such an interest in her education. He was afraid the old +leaven was again at work, and he was determined, if possible, to +frustrate his designs. + +"Is your father one of my parishioners, Dorothy?" he said, again +addressing her. + +"Yes, sir, my adopted father." + +"Are you an orphan?" + +"My mother is dead. My father, I never knew; I don't know whether he be +living or dead. But please, sir, don't ask me anything about it. Mrs. +Martin can tell you my strange history. I did not mind hearing about it +once, but now it gives me great pain." + +"I should be sorry to distress you, Dorothy," he said, coming over to +where she was standing, her hand resting on the piano. + +"I wish to be your friend." + +"I believe you, Mr. Fitzmorris, but I cannot be your friend, if you +speak ill of Lord Wilton." + +"I will only speak of him as he deserves. If he is a regenerated man, I +shall rejoice to give him the right hand of fellowship. And now, good +morning, Dorothy, I have much to do before the duties of the Sabbath. I +shall see you again shortly." + +Mr. Fitzmorris left the room, and Dorothy returned to the farm. + +On her way thither, she pondered much on what had passed between her and +Mr. Fitzmorris. His conversation had filled her mind with a thousand +painful doubts and fears. Could there really be any impropriety in her +intimacy with Lord Wilton? and was it possible that he could be such a +person as Mr. Fitzmorris described? Then she recalled the Earl's own +confession. The fearful manner in which he had accused himself of crimes +committed in his youth against some one, whom he had loved and injured, +and robbed of her fair name. But he had not spoken of her as his wife, +but as one whom he had been ashamed to own, and had deserted and left to +perish. + +This was cruel and cowardly to say the least of it, but she, Dorothy, +had pitied him so much, had mingled her tears with his, and actually +wept in his arms. + +Dorothy was frightened at having allowed her sympathy to carry her so +far. She had acted foolishly; she saw, when it was too late, the +imprudence of such conduct. If any one had passed them at the time, Miss +Watling, for instance, what a story she would have had to tell. Her +character would have been lost for ever. Was not this fancied +illustration of her indiscretion more conclusive than any argument that +Mr. Fitzmorris had used? + +She felt miserably uncomfortable and ill at ease. In vain she repeated +St. Paul's words, "To the pure, all things are pure." There was another +text that seemed to answer that, "Avoid all appearance of evil." And +would not malicious people raise an evil report about her, if they saw +her frequently walking and talking with a man so far above her in rank +as Lord Wilton? + +Dorothy had boundless faith in the purity of his motives, in the +sincerity of his friendship for her. But would the gossips of Hadstone +see him with her eyes, or judge him with her heart? Alas, no. Dorothy +shuddered at the danger which threatened her. But how could she avoid +it. Could she tell Lord Wilton that she would lose her character if she +was seen speaking to him? Would it not be base ingratitude to her noble +benefactor? No. She would let things take their course. She was certain +that his intentions were good and honourable, that it would all come +right at last. She wished that she had never seen Mr. Fitzmorris. He had +made her unhappy, and she had yet to learn that he was a better man than +the Earl. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +MR. FITZMORRIS. + + +The next morning the parish church was thronged to overflowing, to hear +Mr. Fitzmorris go through the ceremony of reading himself into the +office of vicar. This he did in an earnest and impressive manner, as one +deeply conscious of the responsible situation he had been called to +fill. He read the articles of the church in a clear, calm natural voice, +without the least tinge of affectation or display. + +In the sermon that followed, he addressed his congregation, with the +affectionate earnestness of a brother anxious to guide them into the +paths of righteousness and peace. "He'll do. That he will," said old +Rushmere to Joe Barford, as they left the church together. "He talks +like a sensible man and a Christian. I shan't begrudge paying the small +tythes to the like o' him." + +"Well neebor, I thinks a mighty deal more o' measter Martin," responded +Joe. "I doon't take to these big folks a' doon't. It doon't seem nataral +to me for lords and jukes to go up into a pulpit, an' hold forth to the +loikes o' us." + +"He's neither lord nor duke. Though his mother was a yearl's darter an' +a bad one she wor. It's one o' God's mysteries, how such wicked parents +can have good children." + +"He mayn't be as good as a' looks," quoth Joe. "I'll give yer my 'pinion +on him twelve month hence." + +Joe was a bit of a democrat, and having lost _caste_ himself, was very +bitter against every one who held a higher position. + +Miss Watling was determined to patronize the new vicar. He was not bad +looking, and a bachelor. To be sure he was a younger brother and not +over gifted with the mammon of unrighteousness; but on this latter +clause, she based the hope that he might be on the look out for a rich +wife, and it was just possible, that his choice might fall upon her. She +loitered in the porch gossipping with a friend until he left the church, +and then said loud enough for him to hear, + +"_I call him a divine young man._" + +Gerard Fitzmorris passed out, without the least idea that he was the +hero of this fine speech. His mind was so occupied with other thoughts, +that he neither heard nor saw the speaker. Letty Barford did not like +the new parson at all. + +"He was tew stiff," she said, "and wanted to introduce new fashions into +the church. He troubled himself, tew much about people's souls as if +they did not know how to take care of them without consulting him. If +he came talking to her about her sins, she wu'd just tell him to mind +his own business, and leave her to go to heaven, or t'other place, her +own way." + +Dorothy listened to all these remarks in silence. The eloquent discourse +she had just heard had made a deep impression on her mind. She thought a +great deal more of Mr. Fitzmorris since she had heard him in the pulpit, +and felt convinced, in spite of her former prejudice, that he was a man +of God. + +She wished that Lord Wilton had heard him preach, and tell the story of +his own conversion with such humble earnestness. It had affected her to +tears, and she could not sufficiently admire a man of his rank and +education unveiling the struggles of his own heart, that his fellow men +might be benefitted by the confession. + +Lord Wilton was in London; he had been called away suddenly to meet his +son who had left the army on the sick list, and was reported by the +surgeon of the regiment as being far gone in consumption. + +"It will be a dreadful blow to the Earl, if he should lose his son," +said Mr. Martin, as he walked home from church with the vicar. "In such +case who would be the heir?" + +"My brother Francis." + +"And where is he at present?" + +"That would be a difficult question to answer. Here and there and +everywhere. Like most young men of the world, where ever pleasure or +love of excitement leads him. Should this title fall to him, I fear it +would be the very worst thing that could happen to him." + +"That does not necessarily follow." + +"My dear friend, an increase of wealth to men of very dissipated habits, +seldom leads to improvement. It only gives them a greater opportunity of +being wicked. I would much rather the Earl married again." + +"That is not at all likely. He seems to have outlived all human passion. +His hopes and affections are entirely centred in this son." + +"How dreadful is the rending asunder of ties that bind us closely to the +earth," said Mr. Fitzmorris. "I speak from painful experience--but it +must be done to bring us to God with whole and undivided hearts. It is +only through much suffering, mental or physical, but generally both +combined, that men come to a knowledge of their own weakness, and the +all-sufficiency of Christ, to satisfy the cravings of the soul, for a +higher and more perfect state of existence." + +"By the hints you threw out in your sermon, Mr. Fitzmorris, I was led to +imagine that your own conversion had been brought about by some heavy +affliction." + +"Yes, I have felt the deep anguish of offering up a bleeding heart upon +the altar of duty. But oh, how great has been my reward! what joy and +peace has arisen out of the very sorrow that was at first so +overwhelming. What a blessed light sprang out of that dense darkness, +when the Holy Spirit first illumined, with irresistible splendour, the +black gulf of despair in which my soul lay grovelling. Though keenly +conscious of my lost state, I was totally unable to express my wants and +desires in prayer. + +"A humble instrument was sent to aid me in that terrible conflict. A +rude, uneducated man, but a sincere Christian, who had recently entered +my service, and who watched by my sick bed when all my friends forsook +me for fear of infection. He it was who opened up to me the sublime +truths of the Gospel, and taught me to pray. + +"To me, he became more than a friend or brother, my father in Christ. I +loved him as only a son new-born to life could love such a benefactor. +When I recovered from that terrible fever, he took it and died. + +"Oh, what a triumph was that death! How serenely he rendered up his +simple soul to his Creator, and entered the dark river with a smile upon +his lips, and the light of Heaven upon his brow. Whenever my faith grows +weak, I think of Harley's death-bed, and become as strong as a lion +ready to battle for the truth against a whole world combined." + +"You are no bigot either, Fitzmorris." + +"I abhor it in any shape. Religion was meant to make men happy, not +gloomy, morose, and censorious, condemning others because they cannot +think as we think, or see any particular advantages in the forms and +ceremonies that we deem essential. It is only in modes of worship that +real Christians differ. I always endeavour to look beyond the outward +and material, to the inward and spiritual." + +Henry Martin was very much of the same way of thinking, but he was not +such an enthusiast as Gerald Fitzmorris, and, perhaps, lacked the +mental courage to avow it. + +For some weeks, Mr. Fitzmorris was so much engaged in going round the +two parishes of Hadstone and Storby, for he had been inducted into both, +and getting acquainted with the church members, that Dorothy could go +and practice her lessons without any fear of meeting him. + +Storby, being a sea-port town containing several thousand inhabitants, +offered a larger field of usefulness, and the Hadstone folk were left +almost entirely to the care of Henry Martin, Mr. Fitzmorris occasionally +preaching and inspecting the Sunday school. + +There was no evening service at Hadstone, and the distance to Storby +being within the compass of a pleasant walk, the Martins and Dorothy +generally walked over to listen to the vicar's eloquent preaching. + +Every day he grew in their affection and esteem; he was so kind and +cheerful, so amiable to the children, and so contented with Mrs. +Martin's humble arrangements for his comfort, that she often told +Dorothy that he was a "treasure of a man." + +He was generally up for a morning walk by five o'clock, when he never +failed to call the children, telling them to come with him to the fields +and learn wisdom. + +Dorothy had several times joined the party, and been a delighted +listener to his lessons in natural history. He never failed to lead +their minds upward from the contemplation of the works of the Creator, +to the Creator himself, making religion a beautiful, holy, and practical +thing. + +"The Lord's kingdom is a world of wonders," he said; "the more we study +nature, the greater He becomes in our eyes, the more insignificant we +seem in our own. Look around you, dear children. The Heavens declare the +glory of God. David learned that sublime lesson ages ago. The seasons +and their changes present a constant succession of miracles to those who +study them with the eye of faith. On every side we are encompassed by a +cloud of witnesses to testify of the Divine love, the inexhaustible +contrivance, and the infinite wisdom of the Deity. + +"Look at this exquisite little flower, its tiny petals so minute that a +rude touch would blot them out of existence; yet examine them in this +microscope, and behold how perfect they are--'that Solomon in all his +glory was not arrayed like one of these.'" + +"But some things are very ugly," said Harry. "I hate snakes and toads." + +"Both, though repulsive in our eyes, are not without their beauty. The +toad has a sparkling eye, and the snake is graceful in his movements. +The swiftness and agility with which he glides over the ground, presents +a wonderful illustration of the mechanical skill of the great +Contriver." + +"Oh," said Dorothy, "there is no pleasure to me so great as observing +the works of God in his creation." + +"You are right, Dorothy, to encourage such sentiments. The love of +nature is a sinless enjoyment, in which angels share. Nature is a +material embodiment of divine truth, and if studied rightly, brings the +mind into communion with the great Father, whose Spirit lives through +all. Yea, even inanimate substances, or those which we consider as such, +obey His commands and work out His will. This, to our finite +comprehension, is unintelligible, but nothing is without its +significance to Him whose Spirit exists in every atom that His wisdom +has called into being. + +"Despise not the lowest forms of life, for His power is shown as fully +in the smallest insect, as in the lordly being who bears His image, and +calls himself man. + +"Can you look at anything, however mean, as made in vain, when it +required the mind of a God to give it a place in His universe? + +"Oh that man could comprehend the perfect unity that exists between God +and His works. From the least to the greatest, if one among them had not +been necessary, it would never have been formed, for the Creator does +nothing in vain. There is no waste in the Divine economy. He gathers up +the fragments so that nothing is lost, but renews them in other forms to +suit His own purpose. Thus the chain of existence runs on through the +long ages of eternity, and not one link is broken, though the law of +change operates on all." + +"Now, Harry, you must not abuse toads and snakes any more," said Rosina, +"for they are as much God's creatures as we are, and I hate to see you +kill them, when they are not doing you any harm." + +"Well said, little Rosey," and Mr. Fitzmorris patted her curly head. +"'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.' Cultivate +purity of heart, and universal benevolence, which are very acceptable in +the sight of the good Father. And that reminds me, dear children, that I +have work of another sort to do, and must not loiter away the precious +time among the green grass and the sunbeams any longer." + +"The day is so pleasant--everything looks so lovely," said Dorothy, "I +agree with the poet, 'Methinks it is good to be here.'" + +Reluctantly they all rose from the green hill-side to return to the +parsonage. Rosey and Johnnie, as the youngest of the party, claiming the +right to walk with Mr. Fitzmorris. Dearly the children loved him, for he +taught them with a gentle authority, which, while it inspired awe, +greatly increased their affection. "You are a great friend to the +working classes, Mr. Fitzmorris," said Dorothy, as they walked over the +heath. + +Dorothy loved to hear him talk, and wanted to engage him in +conversation. + +"Our blessed Master was one of them," he said cheerfully. "They are +peculiarly His people, for like the birds of the air, they live under +His especial providence, and are generally more thankful recipients of +His bounty than the rich. I despise the man, be his rank in life what it +may, who is ashamed of honest labour. Industry is a healthful recreation +both for the body and mind, and is the genuine parent of honesty. Our +good Hannah More has said, that 'cleanliness is next to godliness,' but +poor people must be industrious before they can afford to be clean. The +three united form a beautiful harmony." + +"I suppose that that is the reason, Mr. Fitzmorris, that you work so +much in the garden, and in papa's potato field, instead of going out +visiting like other folks?" + +Mr. Fitzmorris laughed heartily. + +"I enjoy a little healthy work for its own sake, Harry, when it does not +take me away from necessary duties. I have seed to sow, and visits to +make that you wot not of. A wise man has said, and I fully endorse the +sentiment, that 'The Lord's kingdom is a kingdom of uses.' 'My Father +works hitherto, and I work,' said the blessed Master. If duty calls you +to work, work as he worked--not merely for your own advantage, but for +the benefit of others. While labouring at any profitable employment, +never forget the poor and destitute, whose wants may be alleviated by +your diligence." + +"I wish you would teach me, Mr. Fitzmorris," said Dorothy, "how to work +less for myself and more for my fellow creatures. It must be a blessed +thing, when it makes you so happy." + +"I have my sorrows, too, Dorothy," he said, with a sigh. "But they are +of a less personal nature than they were formerly. I grieve for those +near and dear to me that cannot understand the peace and freedom that I +have found; that will not believe that the religion of Jesus enlarges +the heart, till it could encircle the world in its wide embrace. To +those whose eyes have been miraculously opened to the light of truth, +the condition of the wilfully blind is sad indeed." + +The cheek lately flushed with exercise, was very pale now, and the +wonderful eyes moist with tears, and he walked some paces quickly in +advance of his companion, then turning back, he said in his usual kind, +but rather abrupt manner: + +"Dorothy, if you wish to take a lesson from me, and see how I work, +come to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock, and I will show you a new +method of employing your time." They were now opposite the curate's +garden, and Dorothy turned up the lane and retraced her steps to the +farm. + +Exactly as the clock struck four, she rapped at Mr. Fitzmorris' study +door. He was ready to receive her, his hat and gloves lay on the table +beside him, and a small carpet-bag lying on the floor. He closed the +book he was reading, and rose to meet her. + +"I am glad to see you so punctual, Dorothy; it is a valuable quality. I +hate to wait for any one, and still more, that any one should wait for +me. You remember that awful parable of the five foolish virgins. I never +read it without a secret fear, lest death should find me with no oil in +my lamp. But we will talk as we go along, if you are not afraid of +trusting yourself with me?" + +"Mr. Fitzmorris, how can you imagine such a thing?" and Dorothy looked +up in his face as if to reproach him for her supposed want of faith. + +"I should not blame you a bit, Dorothy Chance, after the long lecture I +read you about your imprudence in meeting Lord Wilton alone on the +heath. You must think me a great hypocrite for taking you out alone with +me. But Mrs. Martin has made me acquainted with your history, and I +respect you for defending the character of the man who has, indeed, +proved himself to you, a sincere friend, who from Henry Martin's account +of him, I trust is slowly, though surely, striving to enter the straight +gate that leads to heaven." + +"Oh, Mr. Fitzmorris, you are so good and truthful, it is impossible to +be angry with you long; and I was angry with you for speaking so harshly +of poor Lord Wilton, but I love you all the better now, for confessing +so frankly that you were in error." She held out her hand as she spoke. +Gerard took it, and pressed it reverentially. + +"We are friends then?" + +"Yes. I hope for ever." + +"Amen!" said her companion heartily; "and now, little one, no more +sentimentality, but let us go to work." + +Shouldering the carpet-bag across his stick, the vicar led the way over +the lawn, and on to the heath. + +"Where are we going?" asked Dorothy, not a little amused at the decided +manner in which her companion took to the road. + +"Do you know a place called Hog Lane, at the bottom of the heath, on the +east side, where it slopes down to the salt flats?" + +"Yes, I have been there looking for the cows with Gilbert." + +"And who is Gilbert?" + +Mr. Fitzmorris suddenly faced about. He was walking still ahead, and +cast such a sharp penetrating glance at Dorothy, that she felt her face +crimson, and her knees tremble with agitation. + +"Is he your brother, or your sweetheart?" + +"Neither, Mr. Fitzmorris. He is the son of the kind people who brought +me up." + +"And you never took a fancy to each other. Eh, Dorothy?" + +"Oh, yes, we did," returned Dorothy, with great simplicity. "But that is +all off now, and he is going to marry somebody else. I did love him with +my whole heart and soul, and it caused me the greatest anguish of mind I +ever experienced, to try and forget him. It's all for the best, Mr. +Fitzmorris, but it was hard to realize the dreadful truth that he had +ceased to love me." + +She turned aside to hide her tears. + +Gerard was shocked that his careless speech had given her so much pain, +for of this part of her history Mrs. Martin had not spoken. Perhaps she +was afraid by so doing that she might lessen the interest which she +perceived that Mr. Fitzmorris felt in Dorothy. + +"Forgive me, Dorothy, I spoke at random. How little we understand the +might of words, their power of conferring pleasure, or giving intense +pain. Do dry these tears; the sight of them quite unmans me. By-and-by, +when we are better friends, you will tell me all about it, and we can +sympathize with each other." + +"And you have known that great heart sorrow?" sobbed Dorothy. + +"In its deepest, fullest sense, Dorothy Chance. But the loss of my +earthly love gave birth to one of a higher and nobler character--the +love of Christ--which has made me happy, indeed. May the same blessed +balm, my poor girl, be poured into your wounds." + +"They are closing," returned Dorothy. "It is only now and then, when +some casual observation brings it to my mind, that they open afresh." + +"Oh, the might of words," again sighed her companion. "But let us banish +all such melancholy reminiscences. See, yonder is the entrance to Hog +Lane, a very dirty unromantic spot;" and he pointed out the location +with his stick. A row of low dilapidated cottages, fronting the marsh. + +"Who owns this property?" + +"It belongs to Miss Watling. The people who live in these hovels are her +tenants." + +"It well deserves the name of Hog Lane. I must have some talk with that +woman, and try and persuade her to repair the houses. They are not fit +habitations for pigs." + +"She is so fond of money, you will scarcely get her to do anything to +make them more comfortable," said Dorothy. + +"Well, if she steadily refuses, I must do something to them myself. The +house just before us, and to which we are going, has such a broken roof, +that the rain falls upon my poor dying old friend, as he lies in his +bed. I will call upon her, and take her out to see him, which cannot +fail to win her compassion." + +Mr. Fitzmorris rapped at the half-open door of the first house in the +row. A feeble voice bade him "come in," and Dorothy followed her +conductor into a small dark room, dimly lighted by a few broken panes of +glass. + +An old man was lying on a flock bed that stood in a corner of the room, +beside which a little girl was seated knitting. The furniture of the +room consisted of the aforesaid bed, a ricketty table and the +three-legged stool which the small individual occupied. Various +discoloured pieces of crockery, and a few old cooking utensils were +ranged on a worm-eaten shelf. The old man's face wore an expression of +patient endurance. It was much wasted and deadly pale. His dim eyes +brightened, however, as Mr. Fitzmorris approached his bed. "Well, my +dear old friend," he said, in his deep tender voice, and taking one of +the thin hands that lay upon the ragged patchwork coverlid, in his own. +"How is the Lord dealing with you to-day?" + +"Graciously," was the gentle reply. "I have not suffered such acute pain +in my limbs, and my mind has had a season of rest. I feel nearer to Him, +and my heart is refreshed and comforted. I know that the Lord is good, +'that His mercy endureth for ever,' thanks be to your reverence, for the +care you have taken of my soul. If you had not been sent to me like a +good angel, I should have died in my sins, and never come to a knowledge +of the truth." + +"Ah, you will forget all the bodily suffering when the glorious day of +your release comes, you will then own with trembling joy, that it was +good for you to have been thus afflicted. But where is Rachel, Jones?" +he continued, looking round the room. "In your helpless state, you +cannot well be left alone." + +"Please, sir, mother is gone to Storby to buy bread," said the little +girl. "She left me to take care of neighbour Francis, during her +absence." + +"How long has she been away?" + +"Since the morning." + +"And my poor old friend has not been turned in his bed all day?" + +"Ah, it's very weary lying in the one position for so many hours," +sighed the paralyzed man. "But I have borne it as patiently as I could." + +Stepping up to the bed, Mr. Fitzmorris raised the sufferer in his strong +arms, adjusted his pillows comfortably, and turned him gently on his +side, with his face to the open door, that he might be refreshed with a +view of the country beyond. Then taking a little flask from his +carpet-bag, he gave him a glass of wine, and handing another bottle to +Dorothy, he told her to go into the next house, and warm the broth it +contained at Martha Brown's fire. When Dorothy returned with a bowl of +rich broth, she found the vicar sitting on the bed, reading to the old +man from a small pocket Bible. The rapt look of devotion in the sick +man's face, and the heavenly expression which played like a glory round +the calm brow of the vicar would have made a study for a painter. + +Dorothy paused in the door-way to contemplate it. To her it was a living +picture of beauty--and when, after the chapter was concluded, and in his +sweet solemn manner, Mr. Fitzmorris said, "Let us pray," she knelt down +by the humble bed, and upon the broken floor, and prayed with all her +heart. + +What a simple touching prayer it was that flowed from those gracious +lips; it seemed to embody the spiritual wants of all present--but when, +on rising from his knees, Mr. Fitzmorris proceeded to feed the old man, +who was utterly incapable of helping himself, she could not restrain +her tears. + +"Oh, let me do that," she said. + +He answered her with his quiet smile. + +"Not to-day, Dorothy. To me it is a blessed privilege to administer to +the wants of a suffering servant of Christ. When you have experienced +the happiness it imparts, you will go and do likewise." + +On leaving the impotent man, he paid a visit to the three other +dwellings, which were all comprised under the one roof. + +To Martha Brown, a widow with six young children, he gave a Bible and a +tract. For she had been a mechanic's wife, had seen better days, and +could read and write. After speaking words of comfort and cheering, he +slipped into her hand money to buy shoes, and a new suit for her eldest +boy, whom he had recommended into a gentleman's service, but the lad +wanted decent clothing before he could accept the offer. This the good +Samaritan generously supplied. "The Lord bless you, sir," said the +woman, putting her apron to her eyes. "I hope Jim will never disgrace +the good character your reverence has given him." + +Rachel Jones, the occupant of the third cottage, a farm labourer's wife, +was out. She was regularly paid by Mr. Fitzmorris for attending upon +Thomas Francis, whom his benevolence had saved from the workhouse--a +fate which the poor old man greatly dreaded. + +The last cabin they entered was more dirty and dilapidated than the +three other dwellings; its tenant, a poor shoemaker, who patched and +re-soled the coarse high-lows used by the farm servants. He was a +middle-aged man, with a large, half-grown-up family of squalid, +bare-footed, rude girls and boys. His wife had been dead for several +years, and his mother, an aged crone, bent double with the rheumatism, +though unable to leave her chair, ruled the whole family with her +venomous tongue. "She is a very uninteresting person," said Mr. +Fitzmorris, in a whisper to Dorothy, as he rapped at the door, "but the +poor creature has a soul to be saved, and the greater her need, the more +imperative the duty to attempt her conversion." + +Before the least movement was made to admit the visitors, a shrill, +harsh voice screamed out, + +"Ben! Who be that at the door?" + +"New parson, and Farmer Rushmere's gal." + +"And why don't you open the door?" + +"'Cos I don't want to. I'd rather they went away." + +"Open the door immediately," screamed the old beldame, "or I'll strip +the skin off you." + +"When you can get at me," laughed the insolent lad. "Why don't you +hobble up and open the door yoursel'?" + +Mr. Fitzmorris put an end to this disgraceful colloquy, by walking into +the house. The shoemaker was absent; no one but the old crone and her +grandson, a young, surly-looking ruffian of fourteen, was at home. + +"Well, Mrs. Bell, how are you this afternoon?" + +"Oh, just the same. Aches and pains--aches and pains. Now in my arm--now +in my leg--then again in every bone in my body. What a thing it is to be +old and poor, and surrounded by a lot of young wretches, who laugh at +your sufferings, and do all they can to worry and vex you." + +"You draw a poor picture of domestic comfort," said Mr. Fitzmorris, +sitting down beside her. "But why do you suffer your grandchildren to +behave in this undutiful manner?" + +"Lauk-a-mercy, sir, how can I help it?" + +"Are you kind to them?" + +"No," said the boy. "Granny's never kind. She scolds, and rates, and +swears at us from morn till night, and then she's riled if we swears +agin." + +"You hear what your grandson says, Mrs. Bell. Is his accusation true?" + +"It be none of your business, whether or no," returned the woman, with a +scowl. + +"Ah, but it is my business. God sent me here to convert sinners, and +without you listen to the message of mercy he sends to you through me, I +fear, at your advanced age, that you will find yourself in a very bad +way. How old are you?" + +"Eighty-four." + +"So old, and no nearer heaven. Why, my poor old friend, you have no +reasonable expectation to live one day beyond another." + +"I shan't die the sooner for your saying so." + +"Nor live one day the longer--both casualties are in the hands of God. +Do you ever pray?" + +"I never was taught a prayer." + +"Shall I pray with you?" + +"Just as you please." + +"Well, I do please. But first listen for a few minutes to the Word of +God." + +He read several of those remarkable invitations to sinners, which few +can hear for the first time unmoved, and then knelt down beside the old +reprobate, and prayed so earnestly for God to touch her heart, and lead +her to repentance, that her hard nature seemed humbled by his eloquence. + +When he rose to go, to his infinite surprise and joy the boy stole to +his side. + +"Oh, sir, are you _sure_ that those awful words you read to Granny are +true?" + +"Yes, my son, God's truth." + +"And will he save a bad boy like me?" + +"Certainly, if you repent, and seek him with all your heart and soul. +The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin." + +"And will you come again, and teach me how to love Him and pray to +Him?" + +"Yes, with pleasure. Can you read?" + +"No, sir." + +"Come to Storby Sunday-school, and I will teach you." + +"That I will, right gladly. But, oh, sir, I know that I have been a very +wicked boy." + +"So are all men who live without God in the world. If you wish really to +lead a new life, begin by leaving off swearing, and treat your old +grandmother more respectfully. It may please God to make you an +instrument in His hands for her conversion." + +"I will try," said the lad. "Oh, I be glad, glad, that you came to the +house." + +Mr. Fitzmorris was glad too, or his face belied him. He slipped a few +pieces of silver into the old woman's hand, to procure her some tea and +sugar, and went on his way rejoicing. + +"See, my dear young friend," he said to Dorothy, when they were once +more on their road home, "how rich a harvest God often reaps from the +most unpromising fields. The seed sown in that boy's heart may yet bear +fruit for heaven." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +DOROTHY'S FIRST LETTER. + + +Dorothy formed many plans for future usefulness during her walk home, +nor had she the least suspicion of the different field in which her +labours of love would be required. + +Mrs. Rushmere had for several months complained of a sharp stinging pain +between her shoulders, caused by a very small and apparently +insignificant tumour. "Too small," the old lady said, "to make a fuss +about." She had, however, several times lately remarked to Dorothy, +"that the provoking thing caused her much inconvenience." + +Always having enjoyed excellent health, Dorothy was very ignorant of +the nature of diseases, but thinking that something must be wrong with +her mother, she had urged her very strongly to show the cause of her +uneasiness to Dr. Davy, the medical practitioner of Storby. This the old +lady had promised to do, but had put it off from day to day. When +Dorothy returned from her walk with Mr. Fitzmorris, she was greatly +alarmed at finding Mrs. Rushmere in her bed, with traces of tears still +wet upon her cheeks. + +"My darling mother, what is the matter?" cried the affectionate girl, +stooping over the bed and kissing her tenderly. "Are you ill?" + +"More in mind than body," returned the good woman, trying to smile. "Oh, +Dolly, dear, that tumour pained me so this afternoon, that I got father +to drive me over to see the doctor." + +"Well, and what did he say?" asked Dorothy, eagerly. Mrs. Rushmere's +lips quivered. + +"Dolly, I don't like to tell you. It will grieve you sore." + +Dorothy looked alarmed, and turned very pale, as she clasped her +mother's hand tighter in her own. + +"He said it was a cancer." The old lady spoke slowly and with +difficulty. "That it had been suffered to go too far, and at my age any +operation in such a dangerous part was useless." + +There was a long pause, only broken by the low sobbing of the two women. + +"I don't mind dying, Dolly dear," continued Mrs. Rushmere, gathering +courage to speak at last. "But oh, my pet! it is such a cruel death." + +"May God give you strength to bear it, my dear mother," said Dorothy. +"This is sad news; it cuts me to the heart." + +"I hope I may be spared to see Gilly again," continued Mrs. Rushmere, +for a moment forgetful of her sad fate. "The doctor said that I might +live for months, or even for years; but I only want to live long enough +to look into his face once more." + +After lying very still for a few minutes, she turned piteously to +Dorothy, and continued-- + +"Dolly, if Gilbert should repent of his unkindness to you, would you +forgive him?" + +"Dear mother, I have done that long ago. How could I ask God to forgive +me, and harbour resentment against anyone?" + +"But would you marry him, if he wished it?" + +Dorothy was silent. She felt in her heart that she no longer wished to +be Gilbert Rushmere's wife, yet she did not wish to agitate Mrs. +Rushmere, by giving a flat negative to her question. + +Her inward retrospection was interrupted by Mrs. Rushmere sinking back +on her pillow, and gasping out, in a faint voice, + +"Dorothy, you no longer love him?" + +"Dear mother, these are useless and cruel questions. Gilbert will never +put me to the trial of refusing him." + +"But if a' did?" + +"The answer to such an inquiry rightly belongs to the future. I know no +more than you do how I might act. I trust in God that He would guide me +to do what was right." + +"And will you promise, Dorothy, not to leave me, till it is all +over--till--till they have laid me in the clay?" + +"That I can promise with my whole heart. Yes, dearest, best friend, set +your mind at rest on that point. I will nurse you, and do everything +that lies in my power to help you, and alleviate your sufferings. How +could you imagine for a moment the possibility of your Dolly leaving +you?" + +"Ah, what a jewel that foolish boy threw recklessly way," sighed the +good mother, as her adopted daughter left the room to make her a cup +of tea. + +A few days after this painful interview, the mail brought the news of +the battle of Vittoria having been fought. Great was the public +rejoicings on the occasion; a glad shout of triumph rang through the +British Isles, proclaiming the victory their warlike sons had achieved. +It was only in those homes to which the messenger of death brought evil +tidings of the loved and lost, that the voice of joy was mute. + +Dorothy ran over to Jonathan Sly's to borrow the paper to read to old +Rushmere, and in the list of the killed and wounded, found that +Lieutenant Gilbert Rushmere had lost his right arm. + +"Oh, father!" she cried, and suddenly stopped. + +"Well, girl, out wi't. Dost think I'm not a man, that I can't bear the +worst? Is Gilly killed?" + +"No, thank God! but--but--he has lost his right arm." + +"Lost his right arm! He had better ha' lost his life than return a +cripple from the wars. Don't you see, girl, that this will put a stop to +his promotion, an' make an idle pensioner of him--when, in these +stirring times, he might ha' risen to be a general officer. +Dear--dear--dear! This is a terrible calamity. My boy--my brave boy!" + +"Don't tell mother a word about it, father, it would kill her in her +weak state," urged Dorothy. + +"It won't vex her, Dorothy, as it does me. She has no ambition for her +son. She would sooner ha' him sitting beside her with his one arm, so +she had him safe at home, than know that he was commander o' the British +army abroad. It will be as well to say nought about it, Dorothy, if you +can keep it from her. My dear old woman--the loss o' her will be bad +enough, wi'out this fresh trouble. Lost his right arm! Oh, my poor +Gilly!" + +Badly as Gilbert had behaved to her, Dorothy could better have borne the +loss of her own arm. She still loved him well enough to feel truly +grieved for his misfortune. + +To a man of Gilbert's active habits, the want of that arm would be a +dreadful calamity. She could not bear to think of the empty sleeve, +hanging so uselessly beside his tall athletic figure. In all rural +sports be had always been foremost, and never failed to carry off the +prize. What would they do without him on the cricket ground--their best +bat? What at the ploughing matches, where he had always turned the +straightest furrow? In the hay and harvest fields, where he had no +equal? Even in the boat races he had always pulled the best oar. And +when his discarded love thought of these things, she retired to the +solitude of her own chamber, and wept bitterly. + +She thought that Lawrence Rushmere ought to have felt more grateful to +God for sparing the life of his son. But the old man had been in the +habit of speculating so much upon his rising to hold a high position in +the army, that he could scarcely as yet realize the destruction of all +his ambitious hopes. + +This, together with the growing weakness of his wife, who, to do the old +man justice, he loved better than anything in the world, tended much to +sour his temper, and render it no easy matter to live at peace with him. + +Directly Gerard Fitzmorris heard, through Mrs. Martin, of the troubles +in the Rushmere family, he hastened to offer them the consolations of +religion, and the sympathy of a true and benevolent heart. His pastoral +visits were duly appreciated by the poor invalid and Dorothy, to whom +they afforded the greatest comfort. + +Mrs. Rushmere was a woman after the vicar's own heart. Her gentle +resignation and genuine piety filled him with respect and admiration. He +treated her as an affectionate son would do a beloved mother; soothing +her in moments of intense suffering with his kind ministrations, and +strengthening her mind with the blessed promises of the Gospel, to bear +with submission the great burthen that had been laid upon her. + +"The heavier the cross," he would say, "the brighter the crown. The more +meekly it is borne, the sweeter will be the rest at the end of the +journey." + +Then he would join his fine mellow voice with Dorothy in singing the +beautiful, though now forgotten, verse in the evening hymn: "For death +is life, and labour rest." Even the blunt farmer's hard nature was +softened by his touching prayers. + +Mr. Fitzmorris did not exactly approve of Gilbert's loss being kept a +profound secret from his mother. + +"I hate all concealment," he cried. "The simple truth is always the +best. You had better let me break it to her, than run the risk of her +hearing it accidentally from another. The shock of seeing him with the +empty sleeve, would give her more pain than if you were to make her +acquainted with the facts." + +Still, neither Dorothy nor Mr. Rushmere could be persuaded to follow his +advice. + +A very few days had elapsed before Dorothy deeply repented not adopting +his judicious advice. + +Though her disease was rapidly progressing, and Mrs. Rushmere was +becoming daily weaker, she was still able to occupy the room below, +propped up by pillows in her easy chair. The sight of all the household +arrangements, and the inmates going to and fro, amused her, and often +made her forgetful of the pain she was suffering. + +One morning while Dorothy was absent in the outer kitchen, preparing +some broth, Miss Watling, who had learned the extent of Gilbert's +injuries, called upon Mrs. Rushmere to condole with her on the event, +and pick up any bit of gossip she could with regard to Dorothy. + +"Ah, my dear Mrs. Rushmere!" she cried, hurrying up to the easy chair, +in which the old lady was reclining half asleep. "I am so sorry to find +you sick and confined to the house. But you must not fret about Gilbert, +indeed you must not. Directly I was told the dreadful news, I said to +Mrs. Barford, 'Lord a' mercy, it will kill his poor mother.'" + +"What about Gilbert! What dreadful news?" cried Mrs. Rushmere, starting +from her half conscious state, and grasping the thin bony arm of her +visitor with convulsive energy. + +"Why, surely they must have told you that he was badly wounded in the +great battle of Vittoria." + +"Badly wounded. A great battle. Oh, my son! my son!" and the distressed +mother fell back in her chair in a swoon. + +At this moment, Dorothy entered with the broth for the invalid. One +glance at the death pale face of Mrs. Rushmere told the whole story. She +put down the basin and hurried to her assistance. + +"Oh, Miss Watling!" she said in a deprecating voice. "See what you have +done?" + +"And what have I done? told the woman what she ought to have known three +weeks ago." + +"We had been keeping it from her," said Dorothy, "because she was not +strong enough to bear it." + +"And pray, Dorothy Chance, if a lady may be permitted to ask the +question, what is the matter with her?" + +"She is dying," sobbed Dorothy, "of cancer in the back." + +"How should I know that? I am not gifted with second sight." + +"You know it now," said Dorothy, "and as she is coming to, it would be +better for you to leave me to break the whole thing more gently to her." + +"Oh, of course, you are the mistress here, and I am to leave the house +at your bidding. I shall do no such thing without my old friend Mrs. +Rushmere turns me out." + +Dorothy cast a glance of mingled pity and contempt upon the speaker. +Just then, Mrs. Rushmere opened her eyes, and met Dorothy's anxious +sympathizing glance. + +"Dorothy, is he dead?" she asked in a faint voice. + +"No, dearest mother. Do compose yourself." + +"But is he mortally wounded? Tell me, tell me, the whole truth!" + +Dorothy sank on her knees beside the chair, and passed her arms round +Mrs. Rushmere's waist, so that her head could rest upon her shoulder, +while she whispered in her ear. "He lost his right arm in the battle." + +"And you did not tell me?" + +"We wished to spare you unnecessary pain, dear mother." + +"I know you did it for the best, Dorothy--but all this time, I would +have prayed for him. A mother's earnest prayers are heard in heaven." + +"That's downright popery, Mrs. Rushmere," chimed in the hard woman. + +"What does she say, Dorothy?" + +"Oh, dear mother, it is a matter of no consequence. Do take your broth +before it is cold. You have been greatly agitated. You know the worst +now, and God will give you comfort." + +Dorothy placed the broth on a little table before her, wishing in her +heart that she could hit on some plan to get rid of their unfeeling +visitor. + +"Gilbert will have to leave the army now," said Miss Watling. "But I +suppose he will retire on half pay, and have a good pension. But were +the government to give him a fortune, it would scarcely repay a fine +young fellow for the loss of a right arm." Mrs. Rushmere dropped her +spoon upon the floor and shivered. + +"For the love of charity, Miss Watling, don't refer to this terrible +subject--you see how it agitates Mrs. Rushmere. There, she has fainted +again. I will have to send off for the doctor." + +"That is another hint for me to go. This is all one gets by trying to +sympathize with vulgar, low people." And the angry spinster swept out of +the room. + +Her place was almost immediately filled by Mr. Fitzmorris. A look from +Dorothy informed him how matters stood. He drew his chair beside Mrs. +Rushmere's, and took her hand in his. + +"Mother, this is a severe trial, but you know where to seek for help. +There is one whose strength can be made perfect in human weakness. Come, +dry these tears, and thank God for sparing the life of your son. +Remember, that he might have died in his sins--and be thankful. +Dorothy," he said, glancing up into the sweet face that rested on the +top of her mother's chair, "fetch Mrs. Rushmere a glass of wine, and +warm that broth again. I mean to have the pleasure of seeing her eat +it." + +"You are so good--so kind," said Mrs. Rushmere, a wintry smile passing +over her pale face. + +"Nonsense, my dear Madam. No living creature deserves the first term. +Even our blessed Lord while in the flesh rejected it. 'There is none +good but God,' was his answer to the young man who preferred his great +possessions to that blessed invitation, 'Come and follow me.' + +"But I really have good news for you; news which Lord Wilton kindly sent +to cheer you. Gilbert's arm was amputated above the elbow, and he is +doing very well. Is already out of the hospital, and on his way home. +Now, have you not every reason to be thankful, when so many mothers have +to mourn for sons left for the wolf and the vulture on the battle +plain?" + +"I do not complain," sighed Mrs. Rushmere. "Oh, God be thanked! I shall +see him again." + +A burst of tears relieved her oppressed heart, and when Dorothy returned +with the broth, Mr. Fitzmorris watched the patient eat it with evident +satisfaction. + +"She is better now," he said; "I will read a few sentences and pray with +her; and then, Dolly, dear, you had better put her to bed. She has had +enough to harass her for one day." + +The circumstance of Mr. Fitzmorris calling her "Dolly, dear," though it +might only have been a slip of the tongue, trifling as it was, sent a +thrill of joy to her heart. + +When he rose to go, he beckoned her to the window, and put a very large +letter into her hand. "This was enclosed to me by Lord Wilton. He is +about to accompany his sick son to Madeira for change of air--the +physician's last shift to get rid of a dying patient." + +Dorothy put the letter in her pocket, secretly wondering what it could +be about. She had no opportunity of reading it before she went to bed, +as Mrs. Rushmere required her attendance far into the night, and the +whole management of the house now devolved on her. + +How eagerly she opened the letter, when, after a thousand petty +hindrances, she at last found herself seated at the little table in her +own chamber. Enclosed within the letter was a large sealed packet, upon +which was written, "only to be opened, if I never return to England." + +The letter ran thus:-- + + "My dear Dorothy, + + "I cannot leave England without bidding you farewell. You are very + dear to me, so dear that words could scarcely convey to you the + depth and strength of my affection. Do not start, my child--I can + see the look of profound astonishment in the dear black eyes--I am + not in love with you. The passion that bears that name, the passion + that a lover feels for the woman he adores, whom he desires to call + his own before all others, has long been dead in my heart, and lies + buried with the loved and lost in a nameless grave. + + "The love that unites me to you, my dear Dorothy, though widely + different, is not less holy in its nature, and flows out of the + unutterable tenderness that a parent feels for a beloved child. + Oh, that I could call you my child before the whole world. + + "Here, while watching beside the sick bed of my only son, the + heir of my titles and estates, who, I fondly hoped, would carry + down my name to posterity, and knowing that his hours are + already numbered, my heart turns, in its sore agony, to you, the + daughter of my choice, for sympathy and consolation. Do not deny + me this, my dear young friend: write and tell me so; write just + as you think and feel. I long for the simple utterances of your + pure and guileless heart, so refreshing to my weary spirit, + tired with the unmeaning hollow professions of the world. + + "We sail for Madeira to-morrow, I do not entertain the least + hope that it will benefit Edward's health, but the change of + scene and climate may amuse him on the one hand, and mitigate + his sufferings on the other. + + "Oh, Dorothy, how deeply I regret that you will never see this + dear son. You who would have loved him so well, and who + resemble him in many things so closely. Let us hope that we may + all meet in another and better world. + + "I am glad to hear that you have a friend in Gerard Fitzmorris. + We have never been thrown much together, on account of the feuds + and jealousies which, unfortunately, existed between the two + families, but I have every reason to believe that, unlike his + father and brother, the young vicar of Hadstone is an excellent + man; one in whom, on any emergency, you may place the utmost + confidence. I say this because I apprehend some trouble in store + for you at home. + + "I have learned from my son that Gilbert Rushmere, in order to + secure a young lady of fortune whom he met in London, while on + the recruiting service, married her before he went back with the + regiment to Spain. It turns out that the young lady in question + deceived her lover on this point, and it is more than probable + that, on his return from abroad, he will go down to Heath Farm + with his wife. + + "I fear, my dear Dorothy, that this will be everything but an + agreeable arrangement for you, and I have provided a home for + you with Mrs. Martin in case you should find it so. I likewise + enclose a draft on the county bank for fifty pounds of which I + beg your acceptance, and which either my cousin Gerard or Mr. + Martin can get cashed for you. The sealed packet you must lay by + _very carefully_, as upon it may depend the recognition of your + parentage. Perhaps it would be safer for you to deposit such + important documents in the hands of Mr. Martin or Fitzmorris. + Should I live to return, their contents will be of little + importance, as you can then learn them from my own lips. + + "Do not grieve over your lover's marriage, but believe with me + that it is a providential thing, the very best that could happen + in your position. + + "And now, farewell, beloved child. Keep me in your thoughts, and + remember me ever in your prayers. I have not forgotten our + conversation on the heath. From reading daily that blessed volume + to my dear Edward, I have derived more peace and comfort than my + troubled spirit has known for years. + + "Your attached friend, + "EDWARD FITZMORRIS. + "London, July 14th." + +Dorothy read the letter over several times. Bewildered and astonished, +she scarcely knew what to make of its contents. Though it had informed +her of the marriage of Gilbert, she had not shed a tear or felt the +least regret. She could meet him without sorrow for the past, or hope +for the future. He was far, far removed from her now. They were placed +wide as the poles asunder. She could speak to him without hesitation, +and answer him without a blush. He was no longer anything to her. He was +the husband of another. But then his marriage. It seemed to have been +one of deceit and trickery, and she felt sorrow for him. But after all, +had he not been rightly served? He had married a woman without love, for +her money, and had not obtained the wealth for which he had sacrificed +himself and her. + +Dorothy felt that there was a retributive justice even in this world; +that if Gilbert had acted uprightly he would not have been punished; and +when she thought of the misery such a disappointment must have inflicted +on his proud heart, and the loss of the strong right arm, that might +have won him an honourable and independent position, she fully realized +how severe that punishment had been. + +From the news of her lover's marriage, which to her was so unexpected, +she turned to ponder over the contents of the Earl's letter, or those +portions of it that related to herself and him. Inexperienced as Dorothy +was in the conventionalisms of the world, she could not but feel that +there was some strange mystery hidden under the terms of endearment, so +profusely heaped upon her. A vague surmise leaped across her brain. +Could it be possible that she was anything nearer to him than a friend? +She laughed at her presumption in supposing such a thing, but the idea +had made an impression on her mind that she could not banish. + +Sudden and extraordinary as his attachment had been to her, she never +had for a moment imagined him as a lover. She always thought that his +regard was the pure offspring of benevolence, the interest he took in +her story, when backed by the strong likeness she bore to his mother. +Now she asked herself whence came that singular resemblance? Her own +mother was a fair woman, every person that had seen her agreed in that. +How came she with the straight features and dark eyes of the Earl and +his mother? And then she turned the sealed packet over and longed with +an intense desire, which amounted to pain, to read its contents and +solve the strange mystery which was known only to him. + +A keen sense of honour forbade her to break the seal. The temptation to +do so was the strongest she had ever experienced in her life. She sat +pondering over these things, heedless of the long hours that slipped by, +until the first rays of the summer sun had converted into diamonds all +the dewdrops on the heath. It was too late or rather too early then to +go to bed, so changing her afternoon muslin for a calico working dress, +she roused the prentice girl to go with her to the marshes and fetch +home the cows. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +DOROTHY MAKES A "CONFIDANT" OF MR. FITZMORRIS. + + +Dorothy was undecided in what manner to break the news of Gilbert's +marriage to his mother, to whom she well knew the intelligence would be +everything but welcome. Fortunately she was spared what she foolishly +considered a humiliating task. + +The walking post from the village beyond Hadstone in the shape of a very +spare wrinkled old woman, whom all the boys in the neighbourhood +considered a witch, left a letter at the door on her way to Storby, for +Mrs. Rushmere. + +"This is from Gilbert," said Dorothy, as she examined the seal and +superscription. "But no, the hand is not his. Some one must have written +it for him, (and she remembered the lost arm), his wife perhaps." The +writing was that of a woman, and the letter was neatly folded and +sealed. Gilbert's letters were short and ill-shaped, and closed with a +great blotch of discoloured wax pressed down with a regimental button. +The epistle was evidently none of his. + +She had left Mrs. Rushmere in the easy chair, talking with her husband +about Gilbert's misfortune. They were still pursuing the same theme, +when she reentered the room. + +"A letter for you, dear mother, with the London post-mark. One shilling +postage. The old woman is waiting for it at the door." + +Mrs. Rushmere gave her the money, bidding her quickly return, and read +the letter. It was, as Dorothy suspected, from Gilbert's wife. + + "Dear Madam, + + "I write at the desire of my husband, your son, Lieutenant + Rushmere." + +"Hold!" cried the farmer. "Gilbert married. I'll not believe a word +on't. He'd never get married without telling us about it, or giving us a +jollification at the wedding. Tut, tut, girl, 'tis all a hoax." + +"Go on with the letter, Dorothy, and let us hear what the woman says for +hersel'," said Mrs. Rushmere. "It may be true after all." + +"I think you will find it so," returned Dorothy, who had been glancing +over the first page. + + "You will be sorry to hear that he lost his right arm in the + battle of Vittoria, but is now in a fair way of recovery, and as + well in health as could be expected. He is very anxious to visit + his home and his parents again, and if nothing happens to + prevent our journey, we shall be with you the day after to-morrow + by the London mail. Mr. Rushmere need not trouble himself to + send a conveyance to meet us at the coach. My mother will + accompany us. I bring my own servant, and the luggage + consequently will be heavy. Lieutenant Rushmere proposes to hire + a post-chaise to carry us on to Hadstone. Hoping, dear madam, to + meet you and Mr. Rushmere in good health, + + "I remain, yours truly, + "SOPHIA RUSHMERE." + +Dorothy folded the letter, and the three exchanged glances. "His wife, +and mother, and servant. Where are they all to be stowed?" asked +Dorothy, who did not like the formal tone of the letter, and the cool +manner in which the lady had included her mother and servant in the +visit. "Well, Dolly, dear, we must contrive to make them comfortable," +cried the good mother, rubbing her hands, and rejoicing in the near +prospect of beholding her son. "Gilbert has taken us by surprise, both +in regard to his marriage and this visit; but the mother and daughter +may turn out very agreeable people, and be willing to submit to a little +inconvenience." + +"I hope it may be so, dear mother, for your sake; I will do my best to +accommodate the party, but I want to know how it is to be done. There +are only three sleeping rooms, and the attic, in the old house." + +"The servant gals can sleep together," said Rushmere, "in the attic. +Gilbert and his wife can occupy his own room; and the old missus may +share your bed." + +"The good lady may not approve of sleeping with a stranger." + +"Oh, dang the old mother! she might ha' waited till she was invited. +What the dickens did they want to bring her for?" + +"I can stay with Mrs. Martin during their visit," suggested Dorothy. "As +they bring their own servant, and our Polly is a very willing creature, +my service will no longer be required." + +"It is natural, Dorothy, that you should object to meet Gilbert's wife," +said Mrs. Rushmere, thoughtfully; "and if we could possibly do without +you, I would advise it strongly." + +"And who's to wait upon you, Mary," asked Rushmere, angrily. "Gilbert's +naught to Dorothy now. I don't see the necessity of her running away +just when she be most wanted." + +"I could sleep and take my meals at Mrs Martin's, and attend to dear +mother's requirements as well as I do now. But, indeed, indeed, I should +feel much happier away. At least," she added, in a broken voice, "for +the first few days." + +"Let it be so," said Mrs. Rushmere, kindly pressing her hands. + +"Thank you, dearest mother, for the permission; I will go, but not +until I have arranged everything for their comfort. And one thing I must +request of you, father, that you never treat me as a servant before +Gilbert's wife." + +"Oh, if you mean to take yourself off, Dolly, you may as well go +altogether. Gilbert's wife's a lady; she won't put up with airs from the +like o' you." + +"Ah, there it is, father, you are kind enough when we are alone, but the +moment any one comes into the house you treat me as an object of +charity, especially if you think them rich and well-born. But I tell you +candidly that I have too much self-respect to bear it any longer. If you +cannot value my love and faithful services, I have friends who stand as +high in the world's estimation, who do. You may find Gilbert's wife a +woman more to your taste, but she will never be a better daughter to you +than I have been." + +"Nobody found fault with you, girl, that you should go off in a tantrum +about naught. It's only just your envy of Gilly's rich wife, that makes +you saucy to me. In course, as my son's wife, she must be a person of +more consequence in the house than ever you can be. It's neither kind +nor grateful o' you to be talking of leaving your mother when she be +unable to help herself." + +Mrs. Rushmere cast a pleading look at Dorothy, to take no notice of this +ungracious speech. He had an ugly habit, she often said, of undervaluing +his best friends before strangers which sprang out of an overweening +sense of his own importance, and a wish to exalt himself at the expense +of others. + +Dorothy took Mrs. Rushmere's hint, and left the room to prepare for the +arrival of the bridal party. She was vexed with herself for resenting +Mr. Rushmere's coarse speeches, and pressed Lord Wilton's letter which +she had in her bosom, more closely against her heart. While she +possessed the esteem of such men as the Earl, Henry Martin, and Gerard +Fitzmorris, why need she mind the ungenerous sarcasm of an illiterate +man. + +Calling Polly, the parish apprentice, to her aid, she set diligently to +work, and before the dinner hour arrived, their united efforts had made +the two chambers fit for the reception of their expected inmates. + +Dorothy did not mean to share her bed with Gilbert's mother-in-law, and +though she felt much regret in leaving the dear little room she had +occupied for so many years, she greatly preferred sleeping alone in the +attic. Thither she removed her little store of books, her pots of +geraniums and fuchsias, the small trunk that held her clothes, and a few +keepsakes she had been given by the kind Martins. What to do with the +check she had received from Lord Wilton, she did not know. She was +astonished that such a small slip of paper could stand for such a large +sum of money. She felt dreadfully afraid of losing it, and determined +to show it to Mr. Fitzmorris, and ask him to keep it for her, together +with the mysterious sealed packet, which she had a great longing to +read. "And I am afraid I shall do it, if it remains in my own +possession," she said, "though I know it would be very wicked." + +When the rooms were put in order, and everything looked as clean and +bright as new pins, as Polly said, Dorothy led Mrs. Rushmere upstairs to +inspect them, and see if they were entirely to her satisfaction. + +"They look like yourself, my darling Dorothy," said Mrs. Rushmere, +falling on her neck and kissing her. "Neat and beautiful. Oh! my beloved +child, you don't know how I feel for you. How much I dread the coming of +these strange women. It do seem to me so odd that he should marry all on +a suddent, an' never tell us a word about it. An' he so weak an' ill, +from the loss o' his arm." + +"Oh, but he was married before he left England the last time, which +accounts for his sending no message to me in his letter." + +"Why, Dolly, did the wife write that? I never heard you read a word on't +in her letter?" + +Dorothy was dumb-foundered, she had quite forgotten that Lord Wilton was +her informant, and to get out of the scrape into which she had fallen, +for she abhorred all concealment, she thought it best to show Mrs. +Rushmere the Earl's letter. + +Sending Polly downstairs to prepare the dinner, she made her mother take +a seat on a lounge by the window, while she read the important document, +and shewed her the mysterious sealed packet, and the draft for the +money. + +Mrs. Rushmere made her read it twice over. It was a long time before she +spoke. She sat lost in a profound reverie. + +"Mother," said Dorothy, "you will not mention what I have read to any +one. Neither to father nor Gilbert." + +"Poor Gilly," sighed the mother, "how blind he has been to reject the +gold and take up with the dross, and exchange a real lady for a cunning +impostor. He ha' given himself away for a brass farthing. Well, Dorothy, +you have had your revenge, and bitterly will father and son repent o' +their obstinate folly." + +"We will talk no more of that, mother. It was a painful experience, but +it is past and gone. The Lord did not intend me to be Gilbert's wife. +'The lot is cast into the lap, but the choosing of it is from Him.' I +feel this day happy and grateful that it is so." + +"You may well do that, Dorothy. Your fortunes, will, indeed, lie far +apart. Oh! my child, when I think of all that he has lost, of all that +might have been his, it is enough to break my heart." + +"Mother, I don't understand you." + +"No, nor is it fit you should. But I see, I know it all. Time will +bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and when I am in the dust, +Dorothy, and you are a great lady, remember how dearly I loved you. +Loved you while poor and friendless, and gathered you into my heart as +my own." + +Mrs. Rushmere's head was now resting upon Dorothy's bosom, and she was +weeping bitterly. + +"Mother, I am so sorry I showed you that letter, it has grieved you so +much; but I have never kept anything from you. I did not like to conceal +my correspondence with the Earl. Do you think it would be improper in me +to answer his letter, and accept that money?" + +"You must do both, Dorothy. You owe him both love and obedience. You +have given me your confidence, I will give you mine. I feel certain that +you be his daughter." + +"Mother!" + +"Whether by marriage or imprudent love, remains yet to be told. But +time will prove that I be right." + +"Ah, how could that poor starved creature be an Earl's wife?" and +Dorothy shuddered, as if an arrow had suddenly pierced her heart. + +"How, indeed?" continued Mrs. Rushmere. + +"There was a wild story afloat some years agone, of his having seduced a +beautiful girl adopted by his mother. She went home to her grandmother +in consequence, and the cruel old woman turned her into the streets, an' +she was never heard of again--folks did say that she walked into the sea +when the tide was coming in, an' destroyed hersel'. No one but God +knows." + +"But I could not love Lord Wilton if I were that miserable lost +creature's daughter," cried Dorothy, wringing her hands. "Oh mother! +mother! it would be worse than being called the beggar's brat that +farmer Rushmere picked up on the heath. If I thought that I were his +child through that infamous connection, I would spurn him and his gift +from me as accursed things!" + +She took the packet from her bosom, and was about to put her threat into +execution. Mrs. Rushmere stayed her hand. + +"Dorothy, what be you about? Supposing your mother to have been his +wife, you may be destroying the proofs of your legitimacy. As Lawrence +would say, 'cutting your own throat.'" + +"True," said Dorothy, frightened at her own rashness. "How wrong it is +of any one to act without thinking. This wedding-ring, after all, may be +a true witness that my poor mother was an honest woman." + +"At any rate, Dorothy, it is useless for you to try and puzzle out the +truth; even if so be that you hit upon it, without farther evidence you +could not satisfy yoursel' that it was so. But be sartin sure o' this, +that mystery and concealment are generally used to cover crime. If Lord +Wilton had acted rightly, he would not have been afraid of owning his +wife to the world. Selfishness and sin must lie at some one's door, and +women--the poor creatures--when they love, generally fling their all +into the scale, regardless of consequences. + +"But there's the dinner-bell, my pet, father will be rampaging if he +comes in and finds us talking here." + +After Dorothy had given Mrs. Rushmere her tea that evening, and got her +comfortably to bed, she tripped across the dreary heath by the light of +the July moon to see Mrs. Martin, and tell her all that had transpired. + +She found no one at home but Mr. Fitzmorris, who was walking up and down +the lawn, with a closed book in his hand, in which he could no longer +see to read. He looked up, as the little gate swung to, and came forward +to meet her. "Oh, Mr. Fitzmorris, you are the very person I wanted to +see. I am so glad to find you alone." + +He looked into the sweet face with an inquiring glance, but seemed +suddenly struck with its unusual pallor. + +"Dorothy, something has happened to annoy you. I can read that face of +yours like an open book. _You_ could not deceive any one." + +"I hope I may never be tempted to try. But oh, Mr. Fitzmorris, I was +sorely tempted last night to do a very dishonourable thing." + +"And did the tempter succeed, Dorothy?" + +"No, though I had not the courage to say 'get thee behind me Satan.' But +if you will sit down under this tree, I will tell you all about it, and +the many anxious thoughts that are passing through my mind." + +"I am hardly old enough, Dorothy, to be a father confessor." + +"But I have as much confidence in you, Mr. Fitzmorris, as though you +were as old as Methuselah." + +Gerard laughed heartily. + +"As you have inducted me into this office, Dorothy, make a clean breast +of it." + +"But it is no laughing matter," quoth Dorothy, "I found it sad and +serious enough." + +She then informed him of the contents of Lord Wilton's letter, and +showed him the check for the fifty pounds, and the mysterious sealed +packet. He listened very attentively. + +"It is too dark under the trees, Dorothy, to examine these important +papers. Come with me into my study. There we shall be free from +interruption." + +When once in the sanctum sanctorum, into which no one ever intruded but +Mrs. Martin, and that only once-a-week, to dust the furniture and +arrange his books and papers, the vicar lighted his candles, and +bidding Dorothy take a seat in the big leather arm-chair, he went to the +table and read Lord Wilton's letter. + +To Dorothy's great surprise, he made no comment on its contents. + +"You wish me to take charge of this packet?" he asked. + +"If you will be troubled with it. But what do you think of the letter, +Mr. Fitzmorris?" + +"A great deal, Dorothy, but the contents are too sacred to be lightly +talked about. Have you any idea of the relation in which this man stands +to you, my young friend?" + +"I scarcely dare guess," and Dorothy, bowed her head on her hands and +burst into tears. + +"That he is your father there can be no doubt." + +"Oh, sir, how can I love him as a father, if I be the child of sin and +dishonour?" + +"Still, Dorothy, he is your father," said Gerard, solemnly taking the +hand that trembled in his own, "the author of your being; as such, +however erring, he has a right to claim from you the love and duty of a +child. That he truly loves you, and is anxious to repair, as far as now +lies in his power, the injury he has inflicted upon you and your poor +mother, is touchingly evident. My dear little cousin, (what a thrill of +joy shot through Dorothy's heart as he called her so,) it is not for us, +who are all sinners in the sight of a holy God, lightly to condemn +another. No one knows how they would themselves act when placed in +situations of strong temptation. The best of us are so much the +creatures of circumstances, that we ought to pity rather than pronounce +harsh judgment against the fallen. + +"Take this unhappy father to your heart, Dorothy, and cherish him there. +You may be an instrument in the hands of God for the salvation of his +soul." + +"I do love him," sobbed Dorothy, "but I want to respect, to venerate +him, to look upon him as the dearest living tie next to God in my soul. +The first time I ever saw him, when he was so kind to me, a poor, +uneducated country girl, I felt drawn towards him by a strong, +mysterious instinct--if I may so call it--and whenever I have met him +since, my love for him, and the deep interest I felt in his sorrow, +although perfectly unconscious of the cause, acquired new strength." + +"The voice of nature asserting her solemn claims upon your heart. To +drown this voice, Dorothy, would be to close your ears to the +commandment which tells us to honour our father and mother." + +"What shall I do? Oh, tell me, how to act towards him;" and the +supplicating black eyes were raised to his, gleaming through tears. + +"Write to him, Dorothy, freely, fully, confidentially. Let there be no +secrets between you. He claims your sympathy; give it to him with your +whole heart. Think how much he needs it, watching day by day the sick +bed of his only son. Hoping, fearing, still praying for his recovery, +yet inwardly conscious that the feeble flame of life flickers to its +close. Remember, that in a few weeks at the farthest, you will be all +that remains to him in the world." + +"Oh, I feel ashamed of having felt any bitterness against him," said +Dorothy. "It was cruel, it was sinful. How I wish I could console him +for the loss of that dear son. The brother," he says, "that is so like +me, whom now, I shall never see." + +"Oh, yes, Dorothy, you will see him. His life is but one act in the vast +drama of Eternity. But we will turn from this sad subject, and speak of +Lord Wilton's kindness and forethought for your comfort, in providing a +home for you with Mrs. Martin, in case you should find the company of +these strange women, who are coming to the farm to-morrow, +disagreeable." + +"It was very good." + +Both remained silent some minutes. Mr. Fitzmorris took Dorothy's hand, +and said with deep earnestness:-- + +"Dare I ask my young friend how she bore the news of Gilbert's +marriage?" + +"You will think me very unfeeling, Mr. Fitzmorris; I felt glad--felt +that I could meet him with perfect composure. That it was God's will +that it should be so, and I was satisfied. But the thought of meeting +his wife was really painful. This you will consider foolish pride on my +part. But to me such a meeting is humiliating." + +"If she be the woman that the Earl represents, you need not feel humbled +by her bad, or exalted by her good opinion. Treat her with Christian +benevolence, and avoid all discussions that may lead to angry words. I +think it would be hard for any one to quarrel with you, Dorothy." + +"But you don't know me, Mr. Fitzmorris. All black-eyed people are +naturally fierce. I was on the eve of quarrelling this very morning +with father." + +"A very hard matter, I should think, to keep from quarrelling with him," +said Mr. Fitzmorris, laughing. "But, Dorothy, if you can live in peace +with these people, until Lord Wilton's return, I see no actual necessity +for your leaving the farm, while your doing so might give rise to +unpleasant scandal. Besides, what would that sweet woman, your dear +mother, do without you? Keep at the post of duty, little cousin, as long +as you can." + +"Then you think I had better return." + +"Decidedly, I shall call and see Mrs. Rushmere, whenever I can command a +spare moment, and you can let me know from time to time, how you get on. +Now, put on your bonnet, and I will see you home." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE ARRIVAL OF THE BRIDAL PARTY. + + +Dorothy felt happier, for having opened her mind to Mr. Fitzmorris, she +went early to her humble chamber and slept soundly. + +The bridal party was expected a little before twelve, which was the +usual dinner hour; but in order to prepare a more luxurious repast in +honour of the strangers, and to give the ladies time to change their +dresses, the dinner was postponed until one. Dorothy was busy all the +morning making cakes and pies, and preparing fowls and other dainties +for their especial benefit. + +Polly was in high spirits, grinning approbation, and watching all her +young mistress's operations with intense delight. + +"I hope they will like the dinner," said Dorothy. + +"Lauk, miss, how can they help it wi' all them bootiful junkets. I never +seed sich loads of nice things a' cooking in all my life. My, I'm +thinking how the old measter will tuck into that grand plum puddink." + +"Now mind and keep the pots boiling, Polly, and a good clear fire to the +roast beef." + +"Eh, never you fear, Miss Dolly, I'll cook 'em prime." + +Dolly proceeded to arrange the dinner table with exquisite neatness. She +had just concluded her preparations and made her simple toilet, when a +post chaise, the roof loaded with trunks, dashed up to the house. + +Pincher, who had been restlessly following his young mistress from the +kitchen to the big hall during the morning, as if he had a right to +inspect all her operations, rushed out and greeted the arrival of the +bridal party, with a torrent of angry barking. Mr. Rushmere, in his best +Sunday suit, hurried to the carriage to receive his long absent son. + +Mrs. Rushmere was not as well as usual, and was much agitated by the +expected reunion. She was reclining in her easy chair, near the window, +where she could get the first sight of the party without being seen. +Dorothy was leaning over the back of the chair, dreading the effect of +her first interview with Gilbert and the introduction to her +daughter-in-law might have upon the weak nerves of the mother. + +"Silence your confounded barking, you unmannerly cur," cried the farmer, +kicking poor honest Pincher from between his feet, "and don't go and +skear the women folk." + +"Oh, my dog! my beautiful Jewel," screamed a shrill female voice, "that +ugly brute will kill my pet! Here, Martha," calling to a coarse, vulgar +dumpy-looking girl, who sat beside the driver on the box, "come down +quick, and take care of my dog." + +The girl left her lofty perch, in her descent showing a pair of legs +that would have beat the world-renowned Mullengar heifer hollow, and +taking a white curly little poodle from the arms of her mistress, +sulkily waddled with him into the house. + +"What, Pincher! The good old dog," cried a well remembered voice. "Come +here, sir, and speak to your master." + +The dog fairly leaped up into Gilbert's arms, and said, "How do you do," +as plain as a dog could do. + +"Father, how are you?" holding out his left hand. "As hale and hearty, I +see, as ever. Will you help out the ladies, while I go and speak to +mother?" + +"That's my Gilly," said Mrs. Rushmere, half rising from her chair. "God +bless him." The next moment she was sobbing on his shoulder. + +"Good God, what's the matter with mother? Dear mother, how ill you look; +speak to me, mother." + +"Leave her to me, Mr. Rushmere. She has been ill for some weeks. The joy +of seeing you again, is too much for her," said Dorothy, bathing the +hands and temples of the invalid with sal volatile. + +"Dorothy Chance, can that be you?" cried Gilbert, gazing in astonishment +at the beautiful young woman before him. "Well, wonders will never +cease. I left you a buxom country girl, I return after a few months and +find you a lady. Have you no word for an old friend?" + +"Gilbert, I am glad to see you back, for your mother's sake. I wish you +much joy of your marriage." + +Gilbert felt hurt and humbled. + +At that moment, old Rushmere striving to do the amiable, ushered the two +ladies into the room, just as Mrs. Rushmere regained her +self-possession. + +"My dear," said her husband, leading Mrs. Gilbert up to his wife, "let +me have the pleasure of introducing you to your daughter." Mrs. Rushmere +held out her hand, and the younger female bent down and kissed her. + +"I'm a very sick woman, my dear. You must excuse my not rising, but I am +very glad to see you. I hope you will make yersel at home; we be but +simple country folk." + +"So I perceive, ma'am. I dare say we shall soon be friends." + +"This is Mrs. Rowly, wife," said the farmer, introducing Mrs. Gilbert's +mother, an ordinary looking woman of fifty; vulgar and gaudily dressed. +"I hope we shall all get better acquainted soon." + +This ceremony was scarcely over, when Mrs. Gilbert asked, with a +supercilious air, to be shown to their apartments, as she was tired with +her long journey, and wished to lie down for an hour or two before +dinner. + +"Martha," she said, addressing the girl, who had been staring about her +with the white poodle in her fat arms. "Give Jewel a bath, his coat is +quite dusty, and when he is dry bring him up to me. I am afraid that +horrid, vulgar-looking cur will hurt him." + +"Dinner will be on the table in half-an-hour, Mrs. Gilbert Rushmere," +said Dorothy, hardly able to keep her gravity. + +"Gracious! at what hour do you country people dine?" and she pulled out +a gold watch. "It is just half-past twelve. I could not eat a morsel so +early in the day. We always have been accustomed to get dinner at six +o'clock." + +"That may do for fashionable Lunnon folks," muttered old Rushmere, "but +it won't do here. If you can't yeat a good dinner when 'tis ready, I +will." + +"My wife will soon accommodate herself to country hours," said Gilbert, +laughing. "The fine, fresh air has made me very hungry. So, when you +have changed your dress, Sophy, I shall be glad to eat my dinner." + +"The dinner can be put back for an hour," said Dorothy, "if it would +suit Mrs. Gilbert better." + +"She must learn to take things as she finds them," said Gilbert, casting +a significant look at his wife. "I know of old, that father never will +wait for his dinner." + +"Not for King George!" cried Rushmere, slapping his knee with vigour. +"A' never could see any sense in spoiling good food." + +"But you know, Mr. Rushmere," said the young lady, in a soft dulcet +voice, and sheathing her claws, as a cat does, in velvet, "it requires +time for town-bred people to accommodate themselves to fashions so +totally unlike what they have been used to. You must have patience with +me, and I shall soon get into your ways." + +"All right," returned Lawrence, rather doggedly. "I be too old to learn +new tricks--an' what's more, a' don't mean to try." + +"Nobody wants you, father," said Mrs. Gilbert, giving him a very small +white hand. + +"Let's kiss an' be friends then," quoth Rushmere, pulling her face down +to him, at the risk of demolishing all the flowers in her gipsy hat, and +imprinting on her cheek a salute, that sounded through the room like the +crack of a pistol. + +The young lady drew back and laughed, but she cast a side-long glance at +her mother, which seemed to say, "the vulgar fellow, how can I tolerate +him?" + +Happily unconscious of his newly-found daughter's private sentiments, +Mr. Rushmere rubbed his hands together in great glee, exclaiming, in a +jocular manner, + +"That's your sort. I like to be free an' easy wi' friends. It's no use, +my dear, putting on grand airs with folks that don't understand 'em." + +"I believe you are perfectly right," replied Mrs. Gilbert, with another +peculiar glance at her mother. "The Bible says, I think, 'that it is no +use casting pearls before swine.'" + +Then turning to Dorothy, upon whose rosy mouth an expression rested very +like contempt, she said, "Will you show us the way upstairs? I suppose +that even in the country you change your dresses before dinner?" + +Happily for Gilbert his father had not heard the latter part of his +wife's speech, and the insult it implied. The old man's good sense and +judgment had been laid to sleep by that Judas-like kiss. + +"Your wife, Gilly," he said, as she disappeared up the old staircase, +"is a fine woman, an' a lady, if ever I saw one. Not very young, +though--eh, Gilly? Atween twenty-five and thirty," poking his son in the +ribs. "Just the proper age to make a man a good, prudent wife. Well, my +boy, I wish you much joy with her, long life, health, prosperity, an' +plenty o' fine, stalwart sons to carry _his_ name down to posterity," +pointing to the soldier of the covenant. "Come, let us take a glass o' +fine old ale on the strength 'ont!" + +"And what does mother say?" and the soldier went across, and sat down +beside the poor pale invalid. + +"I wish you may be happy, my dear Gilbert. The sight of that empty +sleeve sadly takes from the joy of seeing you." + +"Yes, it is a cruel loss, and yet I am rather proud of it, mother. It +was lost fighting for my country. It happened just in the moment of +victory, when the shouts of my comrades resounded on all sides. I hardly +knew what had happened till the excitement was over, for I believe I +shouted as loud as the rest." + +"Come here, Gilly, and tell me all about it," cried Rushmere, getting a +little elevated with that long draught of old ale. + +"Hurrah, my boy! My brave boy! You be a true Briton an' no mistake. I +honour the empty sleeve. It is the badge o' a hero. Lord Nelson wore it +afore you." + +While the parents were asking of their son a thousand interesting +questions about the war and his future prospects, Dorothy had conducted +the two ladies to their sleeping-rooms. + +Mrs. Gilbert looked round the humble adornments of the chamber, with a +very dissatisfied air. The place appeared less attractive for being +cluttered up with trunks and band boxes, which always give an air of +discomfort to a chamber of small dimensions. + +"What miserable cribs," she observed, shugging her shoulders. "Does the +house afford no better accommodation?" + +"This is the best and largest sleeping room. It was always occupied by +your husband till he went abroad." + +"By Lieutenant Rushmere," said Mrs. Gilbert, correcting her. "Stow those +trunks away into the dressing-room, and that will give us more space to +move about." + +"There is no dressing-room." + +"No dressing-room!" exclaimed both the women in a breath. Dorothy shook +her head. + +"They can be placed in the passage, Mrs. Gilbert, if you wish it. Shall +I call up your servant to remove them?" + +"Certainly not. She has my dog to feed and attend to. Cannot you do it +yourself?" + +"_Certainly not_," said Dorothy, repeating her words, "I am not a +hireling but an adopted daughter of Mrs. Rushmere's, with whom I have +resided since my infancy." + +"Oh, indeed. I thought there were no fine ladies in the country," +sneered the spurious aristocrat. + +"Not without they are imported from London," said Dorothy, with an air +of nonchalance, as she left the room. + +"Mamma! mamma!" cried Mrs. Gilbert, raising her hands. "Did you ever +hear such impertinence? I'll soon get that jade out of the house. I +wonder Gilbert never told us a word about this creature, and he was +brought up with her." + +"I think Gilbert Rushmere has behaved very ill in bringing us down to +this outlandish place," said Mrs. Rowly, turning from the glass. "After +all his bragging and boasting, you would have imagined it a baronial +castle at least, and his mother a titled lady." + +"If I had known what sort of people they were, I never would have +married him," said Mrs. Gilbert. "I thought him handsome and rich, and +there he is--a useless cripple, with nothing for us to depend upon but +his paltry pension." + +"Now you are here, Sophy, you must make the best of it. You know how we +are situated. You cannot live elsewhere." + +"And to have that stuck-up girl always in the house--a spy upon all +one's actions. It's not to be thought of or tolerated for a moment. I +wonder what sort of people there are in the neighbourhood. I shall +positively die of dulness, shut up with these illiterate low-bred +creatures." And the bride continued grumbling and complaining, until +Polly announced that dinner was on the table. + +Polly had had her troubles in the kitchen with Mrs. Gilbert's maid, who +was about as common a specimen of humanity as could well be imagined, +rendered doubly ridiculous by a servile apeing of the fine manners of +her mistress. + +She was a most singular looking creature; her height not exceeding five +feet, if that, and as broad as she was long. Neck she had none. Her huge +misshapen head was stuck between her shoulders, and so out of proportion +to the rest of the body, that at the first glance she appeared +strangely deformed. + +She had a flat, broad, audacious face, with a short pert nose in the +centre of it, which was hardly elevated enough to give her a profile at +all. Her eyes were small, wide apart, and perfectly round, and she had a +fashion of fixing them on any one's face, with a stare of such +unblushing effrontery, that she literally looked them down. Insolent to +the poor and unfortunate, she was the most submissive sneak to those +whom she found it her interest to flatter and cajole. + +She had in this manner got the length of her young mistress's foot, as +the common saying has it, and by worming herself into her confidence, +had been the recipient of so many important secrets, that Mrs. Gilbert, +afraid that she might betray her, let her have her own way, and do as +she pleased; consequently, she had to put up with her insolence and +contradiction, in a manner that would have been perfectly humiliating +to a person more sensitive. + +This creature was made up of vanity and self-conceit. She would talk to +others of her splendid head--her beautiful high forehead--her pretty +hands and feet. It was hardly possible to think her in earnest; and for +a long while Dorothy imagined this self-adulation arose out of the +intense contradiction in her character, her mind being as ill-assorted +as her body. But no, it was a sober fact. Her audacity gave her an +appearance of frankness and candour she did not possess, but which often +imposed upon others; for a more cunning, mischief-loving, malicious +creature never entered a house to sow dissension and hatred among its +inhabitants. + +Clever she was--but it was in the ways of evil--and those who, from the +insignificance of her person, looked upon her as perfectly harmless, +often awoke too late to escape the effects of her malignity. She had +watched with keen attention the meeting between the Rushmeres, while she +stood apparently as indifferent as a block to the whole scene, with the +white poodle hanging over her arms. + +She guessed, by the sad expression that passed over the sick mother's +face, when introduced to her mistress, that she read that lady's +character, and was disappointed in her son's wife. The girl was +perfectly aware how weak and arrogant her mistress was, and she laughed +in her sleeve at the quarrels she saw looming in the future. + +For Dorothy, she felt hatred at the first glance. Young, good and +beautiful--that was enough to make her wish to do her any ill turn that +lay in her power. How easy it would be to make her vain proud mistress +jealous of this handsome girl. What fun to set them by the ears +together. Had she only known that Gilbert had recently been the lover of +the girl, whose noble appearance created such envy in her breast, the +breach between him and his wife would sooner have been accomplished than +even her cunning anticipated. + +She was rather afraid of old Rushmere, whom she perceived was as +obstinate and contradictory as herself. But he could be flattered. She +had proved that the hardest and coldest natures are more vulnerable to +this powerful weapon than others. + +Martha Wood, the damsel whose portrait we have attempted to draw, +stepped down into the kitchen to perform a task she abhorred, and wash +the pampered pet, whose neck she longed to wring, and some day, when a +favourable opportunity occurred, she had determined to do it. + +"Are you the kitchen girl?" she said to Polly, who she saw was an easy +going, good-natured creature. + +"That's what I'se be." + +"What queer English you speak," said Martha, dropping her fat bulk into +a chair. "It's the fashion here. Your master and mistress speak the +same." + +"I do'ant know what a' means," said Polly, pouring the water off the +potatoes. "My master an' mistress are moighty kind folk, I can tell +yer." + +"Oh, I dare say, but London is the place for girls to live well, and get +well paid." + +"I do'ant care for the pay, so I be well fed an' comfortable," responded +Polly. Then happening to cast her eyes upon Jewel, she exclaimed. "La! +what be that?" + +"A lap dog." + +"What sort o' a dawg? a' looks for a' the world loike a bundle o' wool. +A fooney dawg," and she ventured to touch its head with her forefinger; +"wu'll a' bite?" + +"Bite, no he has not spunk in him to do that. I want you to give him a +bath." + +"A what." + +"Put him in a tub of warm water, and wash him with soap and a flannel." + +"Wash a dawg wi' warm water. I'll see him drownded in it, fust," said +Polly retreating to her potatoes. "I never washed a dawg in a' my life." + +"Do it for me this once, there's a dear kind creature," cried Martha, +coaxingly, who wanted to establish a precedent and get the brute by +degrees off her own hands. "I am so tired with my long journey." + +"Tired wi' riding all night in a grand coach," laughed Polly, "a' only +wish a' had sich a chance." + +"Will you wash Jewel for me, there's a good girl?" + +"No, a' won't," cried Polly, standing on her dignity. "Sich jobs belong +to Lunnon servants. Us country folk be above stooping to sich dirty +work. A' wud put soap inter's eyes, 'an choak um', by letting the water +get down un's throat." + +"Get me some warm water then, an' a piece of soap," said Martha sulkily. + +"Yer must get it yersel, for a' must hurry up with the taters." + +The crafty Martha found for once, the simple country girl had got the +master of her. + +"Never mind," thought she; "I will make her wash him yet." + +When Polly returned to the kitchen, she found her London friend on her +knees beside the keeler, in which she generally washed her dishes, +cleansing the dust from Jewel's woolly coat. The dog looked a pitiful +spectacle shivering in the water, his hair out of curl and clinging to +his pink skin. + +"What an objeckt he do look," said Polly. "A' never seed any think so +ridiculus. Why do'ant yer let the poor beast alone?" + +"He's a pest, I hate and detest him," said Martha giving the poodle a +vicious shake, "but the job has to be done. Give me a cloth to rub him +dry, and hand me that basket to put him in." + +"Why do you put 'um in the basket?" asked the wondering Polly. + +"Till he gets dry by the fire, or else he would crawl among the ashes +and make himself as dirty as ever." + +"Well, I hope our Pincher won't find him out. He'd toomble ow'r the +basket, an' chaw him up in a minit." + +"I should like to see him do it," said Martha, more in earnest than +joke. "He would get what would keep him quiet, I think. Who's that plain +dark girl, Polly," she said, looking up from the dog, "that your old +mistress calls Dorothy?" + +"A plain dark gal. Miss Dolly plain. All the gentlemen calls her a +booty. A's a great sight handsomer than yer mistrus, wi' her low +forehead that ha' scarce room for her eyebrows. Sich small cunning +looking eyes, an' a nose as long as the pump handel, an' thin sich a big +bony cross looking mouth. I 'spose yer think she be handsomer than our +dear Miss Dorothy." + +"Well, I did not say that; two blacks don't make a white," and Martha +laughed heartily. "I never said she was a beauty, and I only wish she +heard you describe her. She has a very low mean forehead, not like +mine that the gentleman who visited our Institution said was +_magnificent_." + +"Doth that mean bold an' imperdent?" said Polly. + +"Do you think I look bold and impudent?" Martha was on her feet in a +moment, her eyes flashing, and her fists half clenched. + +"I thought that wor what yer meant by magnificent, I do'ant understan +yer fine Lunnon words," and Polly looked at her companion's angry face, +with the utmost innocence. + +"You are a poor ignorant creature," returned Martha. "My parents gave +me a good education, and nature a fine intellect. I need not care for +what you think of me." + + +END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. + + + + +Transcriber's Note: Although most printer's errors have been retained, +some have been silently corrected. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World Before Them, by Susanna Moodie + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42145 *** |