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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42165 ***
+
+  THE WORLD BEFORE THEM.
+
+  A Novel.
+
+  BY
+
+  MRS. MOODIE,
+
+  AUTHOR OF "ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH."
+
+  IN THREE VOLUMES.
+
+  VOL. I.
+
+
+  LONDON:
+
+  RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
+
+  1868.
+
+
+
+
+  LONDON:
+
+  Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD BEFORE THEM.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+DOROTHY AND HER LOVER.
+
+
+"But, Dolly! father will never give his consent, you know that;" said a
+male voice behind the hawthorn hedge, that skirted the deep, sandy lane
+that led to Heath Farm. The tone, reproachful and irritating, in which
+this was spoken, was answered in a sweet, calm voice.
+
+"Until he gives his consent, his frank, free consent, Gilbert, I cannot,
+and _will not_ be your wife."
+
+"You are just as obstinate as the old man."
+
+"Ay, and as proud. But don't think for a moment, Gilbert, that I blame
+your father. Were I in his place, I might think just as he thinks. If he
+has higher views for his son than a marriage with a nameless girl like
+me, his son should be the last to find fault. Don't let love blind you
+to facts. Look them boldly in the face, as I do. I cannot forget what I
+am, and what I owe to your father. The happy life I have led here from a
+child, made me forgetful of the great debt until"--and here the calm
+voice faltered--"the reproaches of last night brought it all fresh to my
+mind, and I saw how ungrateful I had been to my benefactor, in giving
+the least encouragement to you."
+
+"Yes, I shall not soon forget the cruel insult he put upon you. It was
+mean and cowardly, to say the least of it. He might be proud to call you
+his daughter, and his daughter you shall be, in spite of him."
+
+"There are two words to that bargain," and that voice now spoke sternly
+and decidedly, "two voices that speak in my heart--the voice of love
+pleading for you; the voice of conscience, demanding of me to act
+rightly. Which shall I obey?"
+
+No answer was given to this appeal.
+
+The speakers came forward to the stile; the young farmer with the fork
+over his shoulder, with which he had been making hay; his companion, a
+girl of seventeen, with the rake in her hand, her broad, coarse straw
+hat dangling from her arm, her raven ringlets thrown back from her fine
+sun-burnt face, which glowed with healthy exercise.
+
+The lovers had been working together through the long June day. This was
+the first time that either had spoken upon a subject that was uppermost
+in their thoughts, which had lain like a heavy weight upon their hearts,
+and rendered them unusually reserved to each other. They had worked in
+silence and apart, expecting the explanation which they knew must come,
+which both wished, yet each secretly dreaded, and put off until the
+last moment, as if by mutual consent.
+
+The hay was all cocked, they could no longer linger in the field; and as
+they strolled homeward, Gilbert had broken the ice, and spoken in such
+an abrupt and decided manner, that it had aroused in his companion a
+spirit of resistance; and confirmed her in the course which, after long
+and painful consideration, she had determined to adopt, not to accept
+the hand of her lover against the wishes of his father.
+
+The young people leant for a few minutes on the stile, beneath the shade
+of a large ash tree--the only tree of any magnitude in the heathy lane
+before them. They would have made a good study for an artist, had an
+artist been at hand to sketch them and their surroundings.
+
+The sun had sunk behind the common fronting them, which formed a steep
+ridge against the horizon; and seemed to separate them from the rest of
+the world. The road led to an old fashioned, high gabled farm-house at
+the foot of the hill; the only tenement visible from that lonely spot.
+
+A little brawling brook crossed the road, and threaded its silvery way
+through the low meadow which had been the scene of their labours;
+singing and prating to the flowers that bent over its tiny waves, as
+they wound their course down to the sandy beach, to add their mite to
+the vast world of waters.
+
+The sides of the lane were skirted with high furze bushes. The short
+strip of velvet sod that bordered the road, blue with harebells,
+interlaced with tufts of purple heath; and the high common glowed like
+an amethyst in the red rays of the setting sun.
+
+The near proximity to the sea hindered a softer growth of herbage, but
+the spot was not deficient in picturesque beauty; and the deep bass
+voice of the unseen ocean gave an additional charm to the rugged
+landscape.
+
+To the young and loving, nature is always beautiful in the most homely
+garb; and as the delicious perfume of the new mown hay floated out upon
+the warm evening air, our young folks, who had never known a brighter
+spot, thought it divine--an Eden of flowers and freshness.
+
+There was nothing remarkable in the appearance of the young farmer; but
+his fellow-worker possessed no ordinary share of beauty, and in her own
+peculiar way was a remarkable person.
+
+They were simple country folks, who had been brought up in the old house
+at the foot of the hill. They had spent their lives together in that
+secluded spot, and had been, and still were, all the world to each
+other.
+
+Gilbert Rushmere was the son of a well-to-do yeoman, whose forefathers
+had owned and cultivated the farm that extended for a hundred acres in
+breadth, on either side of the road, for many generations. The old
+family records shewed that the Rushmeres had, during the reign of the
+Lancastrian line of Plantagenets, been a family of considerable repute
+in the county of----. That Nicholas de Rushmere had been lord of the
+manor of Hadstone, and resided in the old baronial hall that still
+raised its proud head above the oak forest that skirted the western
+horizon, though hid from view by the steep common in front of the lane,
+in which his rustic descendant stood.
+
+A strong, active, young fellow, of three and twenty, was Gilbert
+Rushmere; with ruddy cheeks, blue eyes and homely features; the latter,
+however, rendered very agreeable by the frank, honest expression they
+wore, which had secured for him the good-will of his neighbours.
+
+Some people are born to be popular among the class to which they belong.
+Not so much from any merit peculiarly their own; but from inheriting
+from nature a happy physical temperament, a willingness to please and
+to be pleased, with every one with whom they fall in company.
+
+Such men are always prized more highly than they deserve; if educated,
+they push their way into situations of comfort and independence, with
+very little effort. Society likes their genial companionship, and they
+are favourites with, and favoured alike by young and old.
+
+Gilbert was one of those petted individuals who carry the good-will of
+others by storm. Young fellows in his own grade repeated his sayings and
+imitated his doings, and he was the chief man and oracle among them at
+fair or market.
+
+He had received the scanty education generally bestowed upon the sons of
+small yeomen at the beginning of the present century. He could read and
+write, and cast accounts, but in good truth, he preferred the labours of
+the field to poring over books, and could do a hard day's work without
+grudge or grumbling, could plough a straight furrow, and master a
+high-spirited horse; and was considered the best cricket player in the
+county. In the eyes of his companion--and oh! what splendid black eyes
+they were--he was without doubt the cleverest, handsomest, and dearest
+man in the world.
+
+Of Dorothy Chance--for so the young girl was called--a few words must be
+said, in order to explain the conversation, which the reader has
+overheard, between her and her lover.
+
+Fifteen years prior to the commencement of our story, Dorothy had been
+found by farmer Rushmere on the wild common fronting them. It was the
+early dawn of a bright summer day, succeeding a night of terrific storm
+and darkness. The farmer was abroad earlier than usual, to see if his
+weanling calves had sustained any injury from the down-pouring of the
+pitiless thunder shower.
+
+Passing through a deep hollow in the heath, his attention was drawn
+towards a clump of furze bushes, by the faint cries of a child. Thinking
+that it might belong to some neighbour, had wandered from its home, and
+been overtaken by the storm, he hastened to the spot.
+
+A little head suddenly appeared above the wet heather-bells, then as
+quickly disappeared, and all was again quiet. The frightened little one,
+on seeing a stranger approaching, nestled more closely into the cold
+bosom, on which she had slept, during the terrible tempest of the past
+night.
+
+"Is it a child, or a fairy?" muttered the good man, as the apparition
+vanished into the earth.
+
+"Here Towser!" whistling to his sheep dog, who followed close at his
+heels. "Find this stray lamb for thy master?"
+
+The sagacious animal pounced upon the terrified child.
+
+"Mamma! mamma!" screamed the frightened little one, as Rushmere tried to
+lift her from her hiding place, under the tattered cloak of a young
+woman, whose slight emaciated form lay shrouded in the wet heather.
+
+The farmer slightly stirred the prostrate sleeper with his foot.
+
+"Woman--Thou beest a sound sleeper--Wake up, and see to thy bairn, and I
+will gie thee both a good breakfast."
+
+The figure remained motionless. There was no answering voice or sound.
+
+The farmer stooped down, and raised the shabby bonnet from the face of
+the woman to examine her more carefully.
+
+He stepped hastily back, his cheeks, before so fresh and ruddy, were now
+blanched with a deadly pallor.
+
+The poor marble statue at his feet can no longer respond to the cries of
+her famishing child. She is cold, is dead.
+
+A forlorn victim of want--perhaps, of vice, overtaken by night and
+storm, rendered feeble by disease and famine, unable to battle with the
+hostile elements, has died unknown and unheeded in that lonely spot. No
+human ear heard her cries for help, no pitying voice soothed her last
+agonies. No friendly eye marked the despairing love which clutched to
+her chilling bosom the tender form of her sleeping child, when during
+the bitter conflict with death, she implored the Heavenly Father to take
+them both.
+
+She was still very young, not over twenty years of age; and, though
+squalid and dirty, and clothed with the filthy rags that vice bestows
+upon her degraded victims, her shrunken features retained even in death
+some semblance of former beauty. Her hands were small and white, and
+delicately formed; and seemed to have been little accustomed to hard
+work or out-door drudgery.
+
+A plain gold ring encircled the third finger of the left hand. There was
+no money in her pockets, nothing that could give the least clue to who,
+or what she had been. It was painfully evident to the most casual
+observer, that she had died of absolute starvation.
+
+Poor houseless wanderer! She had found at last a safe home--a soft bosom
+on which to pillow her aching head, and still the wild beatings of her
+breaking heart.
+
+"Bless my soul! but this is a bad business, a bad business," muttered
+the farmer. "I wonder how it all com'd about."
+
+The innocent child put its wasted arms around its mother's neck, and
+tried to awaken her with its caresses, kissing pale lips that could
+never kiss again, and warbling unintelligible baby language into an ear
+locked by eternal silence.
+
+The man's rugged nature was touched by the pitiful sight. Tears filled
+his eyes, as he lifted the living child from the dead bosom to which it
+obstinately clung. The ragged cloak, with which maternal love had
+endeavoured to shield its offspring from the fury of the storm, became
+holy as the white robe of an angel.
+
+"Poor lass I Thy last thought was for thy child. May the good Lord shew
+the same mercy to thee."
+
+So farmer Rushmere took the little foundling to his home, and adopted
+her as his child; and buried the unrecognized stranger, at his own
+expense, in the picturesque burying-ground of the small gothic
+ivy-covered church that stood on the other side of the heath.
+
+The little girl they conjectured to be between two and three years of
+age. She could only lisp a few broken words. All they could learn from
+her, in answer to their oft-repeated questions, was, that the poor dead
+woman was "Mammy," and that she herself was "Mammy's Dolly;" so the good
+man and his wife, to make sure of her being a Christian, re-baptized
+this stray lamb from the world's great fold, and named her Dorothy
+Chance. An odd and somewhat unromantic name, but very significant of the
+circumstances under which she was found.
+
+A fortunate chance it was that brought Dorothy beneath farmer Rushmere's
+roof. From that day, the good Providence that had watched over her,
+blessed his basket and his store, and made every undertaking to prosper
+in his hands.
+
+Had he found a crock of gold, the treasure would have been of less value
+in the homestead than the services of Dorothy proved to its inmates in
+after years.
+
+Mrs. Rushmere, a kind, simple-hearted woman, had but one child, a boy,
+some six years older than Dolly. She had always wished for a daughter,
+to share with her the domestic labours of the farm, and her desires had
+met their fulfilment when the orphan child of the vagrant was thrown
+into her arms.
+
+The little maid grew and prospered under her maternal care; and became
+the pet and darling of her adopted mother. At fifteen years of age she
+was able to perform all the labours required in the house, besides
+helping in the field during the busy seasons of hay-time and harvest.
+
+Slight in figure and graceful in all her motions, Dorothy was,
+nevertheless, strong and active. Sickness had never blanched the warm
+glow on her cheeks, or dimmed the brightness of her large, lustrous
+eyes. Healthy, happy, cheerful, it was a pleasure to listen to her clear
+ringing voice, to enter into the spirit of her joyous laugh; to feel
+that a creature, so free from care and guile, hovered like a good angel
+about your path.
+
+Without the sunshine of Dolly's presence, the old homestead would have
+been a gloomy prison, surrounded by that lonely desolate heath, and its
+inmates weary plodders along the dusty high-road of life.
+
+The Rushmeres kept no servants, male or female. The farmer and his son
+did all the out-door work, leaving to Mrs. Rushmere and Dolly the
+management of the dairy, the rearing of calves and poultry, and the
+spinning of flax and wool.
+
+Once a week, Dorothy drove a light tax-cart to the market town, some
+five miles distant, to dispose of her eggs, cheese, and butter. The
+excellence of these latter articles had gained for their maker quite a
+reputation; they always commanded the highest price, and brought no
+small gain to her adopted parents.
+
+Dorothy's reputation, however, was not confined to her skill as a
+dairy-maid; she was considered the prettiest girl in those parts; though
+her beauty was not a perfect model of what art has chosen for its
+highest types.
+
+Her eyes were dark and expressive, surmounted by a smooth forehead and
+black arched eyebrows, soft as velvet, and quite eastern in their hue
+and texture. Her nose was straight and well-formed, but the rosy mouth,
+full of white even teeth, and graced by two charming dimples, which
+continued to smile after the honest, gay peal of laughter had died away
+upon the dewy lips, was far too large for the required standard of
+female beauty. Her cheeks and chin were softly rounded and bronzed by
+the sun to a warm brown tint, reminding one of the rich colouring of
+ripe autumnal fruits.
+
+After all, the beauty which gladdened every eye lay in the expression of
+the whole countenance; in the harmony that reigned in every feature;
+which, when lighted up and animated by the spirit within, was
+irresistibly pleasing--a picture full of sense, goodness, and warm
+confiding affection.
+
+Lovers our little Dorothy had by the score, though she was never seen
+but at church or at market. Many a young farmer in the neighbourhood
+would have deemed himself a fortunate fellow, could he have persuaded
+Dorothy to become his wife. And Dorothy was not averse to
+admiration--few women are; but she was too young, and too much occupied
+by household matters, to cast one thought on matrimony. Her life,
+hitherto, had glided on so smoothly, that she was not aware that her
+love for Gilbert exceeded the affection that a sister might own for an
+elder brother, who had always treated her with tender confidence and
+kindness, until his importunities had suddenly awakened her to the fact,
+and pressed the conviction home to her heart, that they were something
+more than brother and sister to each other. Still, on Dorothy's part, it
+was more a love springing out of long association and deep-rooted
+esteem, than the passion generally recognised by that name. She could
+have given him up to another, without any very severe pang, if she
+thought by so doing, it would have been for his happiness.
+
+This state of things was not destined to last long. The peace of
+families is subject to sudden interruptions, as well as the peace of
+nations. The noblest qualities of the heart often have their birth amid
+scenes of domestic strife, as the devotion and patriotism of the
+soldier are strengthened by the horrors of the battle-field.
+
+Old Rushmere had raised an unreasonable persecution against his son on
+Dorothy's account. This circumstance had made her feel a deeper interest
+in Gilbert, and had quickened her friendship into love.
+
+Though good and worthy in his way, the old man was avaricious, and
+possessed an enormous amount of family pride. This latter quality was
+based, not upon the position in the county which his family then held,
+but upon that which it had once occupied. Gilbert was his only child,
+the last of the old stock; and he cherished a parental hope, that his
+boy, by industry and a wealthy marriage, might restore its ancient
+respectability. Such dreams, however improbable of fulfilment, are
+natural enough.
+
+He loved Dorothy, but he did not wish her to be Gilbert's wife; he
+regarded her in the light of a daughter, knew her worth, and the
+advantage of her presence in the house; but expected Gilbert to feel no
+deeper interest in her than that of a sister, and was quite indignant
+that he would not acknowledge an imaginary tie of kindred.
+
+He had been a prudent, hard-working man himself; and though Heath Farm
+was not remarkable for the goodness of its soil, consisting mostly of
+wild, uncultivated heath land, he had contrived to lay by a handsome sum
+of money, and hoped to see his son one day a gentleman. And what was
+Dorothy? Perhaps the bastard of a beggar. Such an alliance was not to be
+tolerated for a moment, in connection with the last scion of his name
+and race.
+
+Rushmere blamed his innocent wife for having encouraged the growing
+attachment between Gilbert and Dorothy, in no measured terms of
+displeasure; and having caught this disobedient son in the very act of
+kissing the ruby lips of the orphan, he told him in hot anger before her
+face--"That if he persevered in that nonsense, he would cut him off
+with a shilling; and turn her out of the house to find a living on the
+heath where he first picked her up."
+
+The good wife remonstrated. In the humour her spouse was then in she had
+better have remained silent--she told him, that he was harsh and unjust.
+I am afraid she called him a fool, for abusing the young people after
+that fashion--she insisted that Dorothy was the best girl in the county;
+that she loved her as her own life; that Gilly was a wise man in wishing
+to secure such an excellent wife; that he might search England through,
+and not meet with such a bonny lass; that she would rejoice at their
+marriage, and give them her blessing with all her heart.
+
+This praise of her favourite, though quite sincere on Mrs. Rushmere's
+part, and fully merited by Dorothy, was very impolitic at such a moment;
+it exasperated the angry old man, and made matters worse.
+
+Gilbert, backed by the imprudence of his mother, did worse. He made use
+of very violent language to his father, and said and did many undutiful
+things.
+
+"He was a man," he said, "and of age to please himself--he meant to be
+his own master--he did not care a fig for his father's opinions and
+prejudices, and he would marry Dorothy, whether he liked it or not."
+
+There is no knowing how the quarrel might have terminated--for Rushmere
+was an obstinate, self-willed man like his son--had not the innocent
+cause of the disturbance, instead of crying and wringing her hands, or
+dropping down at his feet in a dead faint, like any other heroine of
+romance, quietly stepped up to the exasperated farmer, and, laying her
+hand upon his arm, said in her pleasant, cheerful voice.
+
+"Don't be afraid, father. He shan't marry me without your consent, so
+don't be angry and abuse us all; for which you will be sorry an hour
+hence. Listen now to me. I love Gilbert. I believe that he loves me. I
+love you and mother also. I do not intend to vex or grieve you by any
+conduct of mine; nor do I mean to leave you, now you are both infirm and
+old. I am young and strong, and better able to work than you are. If you
+turn me out of the house by one door, I will come in at the other. I owe
+you a large debt of gratitude, which I want to work out--so do not talk
+of sending me away. God gave you to me for parents. I have no other, nor
+friends beside you in the wide world."
+
+Her lips quivered, but, quickly regaining her composure, she went on.
+"Hear me, father, while I promise you faithfully, before God and you
+all--and you know, father, I never told you a lie--that I will not marry
+Gilbert without your consent and approbation--your full, free, hearty
+consent." She held out her hand--"Will that satisfy you?"
+
+Obstinate as he was, the girl's frank honesty conquered the angry old
+man. He took the proffered peace-offering, and shook it warmly.
+
+"Ay, lass! I will e'en take thee at thy word. You are more dutiful than
+yon chap. I cannot so easily forgive him."
+
+"But you must forgive him, father. Angry people are not aware of all the
+hard things they say to each other."
+
+"True for you, girl. I have naught to say agin you, Dolly; I might get a
+worse daughter. But there are some ugly drawbacks to that bargain."
+
+"Don't name them, father,"--and Dorothy raised her small hand
+beseechingly. "I know them well enough,"--tears now glistened in her
+eyes, she turned her head away,--"I never felt that I was so poor and
+friendless before." Then kissing the old man, she ran out of the room.
+Gilbert's "O shame, father," and Mrs. Rushmere's "God bless the dear
+child," following her hasty retreat.
+
+Dorothy was deeply moved, but was only too glad to be the means of
+restoring peace to the belligerents she had left.
+
+It was a few days after the bursting of this domestic thunder-cloud,
+that Gilbert and Dorothy were thrown alone together. Mr. Rushmere had
+been called away to the town on business, and the lovers had been
+working all day in the hay-field. Gilbert was not at all satisfied with
+the promise Dolly had given to his father; he thought himself slighted
+and ill-used. He had been anxiously watching for an opportunity to talk
+it all over. Dorothy, anticipating his intentions, had carefully kept
+aloof.
+
+There was no getting out of the way now, and she was forced to listen to
+the renewal of his suit; and to parry, in the best way she could, his
+passionate appeals to her to revoke the promise she had given to his
+father.
+
+They walked silently down the lane together, Gilbert sullen and
+mortified, Dorothy pitying but resolute. Gilbert at last spoke.
+
+"If you loved me, Dolly, you could not talk about it in that cool way,
+and sacrifice my happiness to gratify my father's foolish pride."
+
+"I mean to keep my word, Gilly. We are both young. We can afford to
+wait."
+
+"A pleasant prospect, truly."
+
+"Is it not better than disobeying your parents, or my leaving them,
+which I must do, if you continue to press me on this subject."
+
+"Dorothy, Dorothy! how cold you are. Now don't preach, and talk to me
+about duty and patience, and all that. I can't stand such cant, when my
+heart is breaking. How can I hold my peace?"
+
+"Then you wish me to go?"
+
+"Dolly! do you mean to drive me mad?"
+
+"Not quite--I think you would be dangerous,"--and Dorothy laughed
+merrily. Gilbert winced at the joke. She did not wish to provoke him to
+anger, but to make him see things in a more cheerful light.
+
+"Gilly," she continued, quite serious now, "do you not see the necessity
+of yielding to your father's wishes? It is the only way by which you can
+even hope to see me your wife. He will surely separate us if you
+obstinately resist his will. Think how painful it would be to part. How
+dear mother would grieve after her little Dolly--to say nothing of
+Gilbert,"--with a sly bewitching glance.
+
+"Mother could not do without me. She could not manage the dairy, and do
+all the housework alone. Your father will come round by and by. He is
+sometimes stern, and appears unfeeling, but you know that in the main he
+has a kind heart. No good can come from opposing him. If you forget your
+duty, I must not forget mine. Your father wants you to marry a rich
+wife, as I told you before,--not a poor girl, who has not even a name
+that she can lawfully call her own."
+
+"I can remedy that evil, Dorothy, by giving you mine."
+
+"A gift that will be joyfully accepted, Gilly, when seconded by your
+father's approval. Till that can be obtained, let us talk of something
+else."
+
+"This subject is nearest my heart. I have no words for any other." He
+looked upon her bright face, a dubious expression flittering over his
+own. "Old men can't live for ever--he may die!--I shall then be free to
+please myself."
+
+Dorothy was shocked. She waved her hands impatiently. "Don't talk of his
+death. It is dreadful to anticipate happiness from such a sad event.
+Father is as likely to live as either of us--is hale and strong--with a
+back unbent, and a step as firm as your own. Oh, Gilbert, I did not
+think that you were so selfish. I love the dear old man. God grant that
+he may live for twenty years!"
+
+"And you expect me to remain single all that time, Dolly,--do you call
+that reasonable? I will not do it, even to please you."
+
+"Do not wait for me, Gilly, if you can get a better _chance_," said
+Dorothy, striving to call up a smile upon his gloomy face. Her lover was
+in no laughing humour.
+
+"Provoking girl. I cannot make you understand the state of my feelings.
+I shall die, Dolly, if you cruelly persist in refusing to be my wife."
+
+"Of love! Gilbert?" This was said with a comical air of doubt, and a
+half smile, which sent a ripple of laughter over the charming face.
+
+"Ay, lass--of love."
+
+The ripple now broke into a wave of joyous merriment.
+
+"Gilly, did you ever know a man or woman that died for love?"
+
+The lover looked puzzled.
+
+"I can't exactly say that I have. I have heard of such
+unfortunates--have seen chaps very miserable about their sweethearts,
+when they were contrary, or were fond of some one else--and have read
+about it in books."
+
+"Do you believe everything you read in books, Gilbert?"
+
+"To be sure I do--what were they written for else? Do you think that a
+sensible man would waste paper and ink, and his precious time in
+printing off lies?"
+
+"I am certain, Gilly, that some books are only written to make people
+laugh. I am no scholar, and can't read half as well as you, yet I know
+that much. Do you think the book you were reading out to father the
+other night--the one you know that you bought of the pedlar--all about
+the little men and women with the hard names--was a real history?"
+
+"Gulliver's Travels."
+
+"Do you believe that true?"
+
+"Of course I do."
+
+Dorothy clapped her hands and laughed heartily.
+
+"You ought to be a good Christian, Gilbert."
+
+"Why, lass?"
+
+"For great is your faith. But--hark!--is not that the old clock in the
+kitchen clapping seven? We must not stand here gossipping any longer, or
+father will be after us to hurry our motions. Mother has the supper
+ready by this time. If you are not hungry, I am. I have not yet found
+out the way to live upon love."
+
+"Oh, Dolly!" sighed the young man.
+
+Dorothy, already out of hearing, had vanished into the old-fashioned
+house at the bottom of the hill.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+HEATH FARM.
+
+
+The farm-house was one of those quaint, picturesque old buildings, which
+have long ago vanished from our public thoroughfares, and is only to be
+found in remote rural districts, approached by narrow cross-roads. Its
+high gables and chimneys, its bay windows, projecting several feet
+beyond the wall, and filled with diamonded panes of glass set in lead,
+and guarded by heavy iron stanchions, told a tale of past centuries, and
+carried you back to the feudal times, when every man's house was
+literally his castle, and presented a hostile front to the traveller.
+
+A pointed porch, composed of very small dark red bricks, grey and rusty
+looking from the lichens which encrusted them, sheltered the front
+entrance from the bleak easterly winds, which swept over a long range of
+salt marshes, from the sea. A massy oak door opened from the porch, into
+a long square hall, paved with broad flag stones, in which the family
+generally assembled to take their meals.
+
+Through that ancient doorway a band of Cromwell's soldiers had once
+passed, and been regaled at the huge oak table that held the centre of
+the floor. Silver flagons had foamed with nut-brown ale; and "success to
+the brave defenders of England's rights--and confusion to all
+tyrants"--had been drank 'mid uproarious shouts, that made the old
+rafters overhead, ring again.
+
+Sir Lawrence Rushmere, the head of the family in those days, had been a
+person of some importance during the great struggle that revolutionized
+England, and laid the foundation of her present greatness.
+
+A staunch adherent of the stern Protector, he had furnished a number of
+horses and arms at his own cost, for the use of the Commonwealth, and
+brought his own strong arm and stout heart to advocate the good cause.
+For the active part he took in the contest, his descendants had to
+suffer no small amount of robbery and wrong after the Restoration. The
+larger portion of their estates were forfeited to the crown; and the old
+house and two hundred acres of poor heathy waste land was all that
+remained to the impoverished family.
+
+The old dining-hall had shared in the general decay, and been shorn of
+all its ancient honours. Like the cobbler's stall in the old song, it
+served the present occupants for "kitchen and parlour and all." It was
+the room of general resort, into which all the offices pertaining to
+the farm opened, and in which all the lighter labours of the house,
+such as spinning and weaving, were carried on.
+
+A small, dark, highly-polished spinning-wheel, such as is used in the
+eastern counties for converting the fine white flax into thread,
+occupied a conspicuous place along the wall; and, during the short
+winter days, kept up a perpetual whirring sound, which formed a pleasant
+accompaniment to the gay blithe voice of Dorothy, as she sang some local
+ditty, while the fine thread grew beneath her fingers.
+
+The wide fire-place nearly extended across the upper end of the hall,
+with its broad hearth-stone, huge iron crank, and hooks, bright brass
+dogs, and white brick settles, telling of warm yule fires, and abundance
+of country cheer.
+
+A practical illustration of the same might be seen in the rows of fat
+hams, and rounds of hung beef that dangled from the beams that crossed
+the low ceiling: interspersed with strings of onions and savory
+pot-herbs--and, as if by way of variety, separated by hanks of white and
+coloured yarn.
+
+A picture in oils, painted upon wood, and by no means a bad specimen of
+the arts, hung over the carved oak mantel--the half-length portrait of a
+fine soldierly looking man. This is the soldier of the covenant--the
+grim Roundhead, Sir Lawrence Rushmere--for so his enemies called him.
+Look at him well. His bold honest English face deserves a nearer
+scrutiny. Examine his broad brows, his large clear blue eyes, his firm
+nose, and resolute mouth, before you call that man a traitor.
+
+He has drawn the sword he holds in his hand in what, after mature
+consideration, he considers the right cause, and being once fully
+convinced that it is so, has thrown his whole heart and soul into the
+struggle. If you can overturn a rock whose roots are embedded in the
+depths of ocean, you may hope to turn him from his purpose.
+
+This old family portrait is held in great reverence by his last
+descendant, who bears his name; and though degenerated into a rude half
+educated tiller of the ancestral acres, Lawrence Rushmere thinks himself
+a great man, while looking upon the noble portrait of his remote
+progenitor.
+
+The old high-backed arm-chair, so richly carved, in which the farmer
+smokes his pipe after the labours of the day are over, is always placed
+fronting that picture.
+
+He sees a great resemblance between himself and the brave soldier of the
+covenant, and draws the attention of every stranger that comes to the
+house to the picture, by asking, "if they do not remark the likeness?" A
+harmless vanity, which amuses without giving offence, and he generally
+ends by saying,
+
+"Yes, Sir. That brave knight was my great, great grandfather, and he has
+often sat in this very chair in which I am sitting now. It shall never
+go out of the family while there's a Rushmere left to fill his place."
+
+Look at those long rows of pewter dishes and platters that grace the
+shelves. These too are relics of a former age. No doubt the said Sir
+Lawrence has taken many a good dinner off them. Yet no one points them
+out as objects worthy of notice, though they are kept as bright and
+clean as if required for daily use. They have been completely laid upon
+the shelf half a century ago.
+
+The rest of the furniture of the room is as old as the Protectorate;
+especially that large Venetian mirror, in its beautiful frame of ebony.
+What a prize for a modern antiquary.
+
+Poor simple Mrs. Rushmere and Dorothy have not the most remote idea of
+its value. The old lady thinks it a very becoming glass, which makes
+people look much handsomer than they really are, and Dorothy
+contemplates her sweet face in its mysterious depths, and speculates on
+all who have done the same, and wishes that she could call the sleepers
+from their graves, and make them pass in review before her.
+
+What a multitude of strange faces, and still stranger fashions, they
+would bring again to light!
+
+Dorothy sometimes pursues this idea, till she grows afraid of her own
+conceit, and turns away from the mirror, as if she really saw the
+spectres she had conjured up.
+
+But the crowning glory of the place is a large dome-shaped cupboard,
+which fits into a corner of the spacious room, and fills it from the
+floor to the ceiling. It opens with a single door, the outside of which
+is a fine picture by some old master, representing the judgment of
+Solomon. The reverse side, when the door is opened suddenly, calls forth
+a cry of surprise, and not unusually of terror, from the spectator.
+
+There stands our first father, in the naked deformity of sin, in the
+very act of eating the forbidden fruit, with a face so full of remorse
+and agony, that it chills the heart of the gazer with its unmitigated
+horror.
+
+Though used to this terrible picture from a child, Dorothy could never
+look at it without a shudder. When Gilbert and she were children, and
+behaved amiss, Mrs. Rushmere had only to threaten to shut them up in the
+cupboard with father Adam, and it brought them instantly to their
+senses.
+
+The shelves of this mysterious piece of furniture were filled with Japan
+china. Real "chaney"--as good Mrs. Rushmere called it--which, like the
+ebony-framed mirror, had belonged to the family in its bygone days of
+wealth and importance. These gorgeous tea-cups were never used but on
+high-days and holidays, or on the advent of any particular visitors.
+
+Such an unusual event had just taken place, and a mild looking old lady,
+in a plaited cap and brown stuff gown, was going to and fro, from the
+open cupboard to the table, arranging some of the exquisite china cups
+and saucers on a carved wooden tray, and bringing sundry delicate cakes
+and biscuits, of Dorothy's own making, from their hidden receptacles, to
+do honour to the evening meal. The table was covered with a snow-white
+damask cloth, manufactured by the same skilful hands, and boasted a good
+supply of fine wheaten bread, and the fresh cheese and butter, for which
+the Heath Farm had become famous, under the said damsel's
+superintendence.
+
+The guest for whose especial benefit all these preparations were made,
+was a very great person indeed--at least, in the eyes of these simple
+country folk--and Mrs. Rushmere was all fuss and excitement to set
+before her the very best the house afforded.
+
+Stephen Watling, a near neighbour and landed proprietor, whose farm
+joined their own, had died suddenly, in the very prime of life, a few
+weeks before, and his only sister had come into possession of the
+property.
+
+From keeping her brother's house, she had become the mistress of it in
+her own right, and merged plain Nancy into Miss Watling, or as her
+country neighbours said,
+
+"Had put on her Sunday gown, and had nothing to do now but hold up her
+head high, and sup her soup out of a silver spoon."
+
+The heiress was not a very prepossessing looking individual. The sudden
+acquirement of wealth had served to increase an innate vulgarity,
+rendered more conspicuous by an arrogant assumption of superiority. She
+affected airs of consequence, which made her company everything but
+agreeable to those who had known her in a subordinate situation.
+
+Miss Watling was on the wrong side of thirty, bony and sharp featured,
+with small and snaky looking black eyes, a sallow complexion, loud
+voice, and most repulsive manners. Her affectation of extreme youth was
+so absurdly ridiculous, that it made her appear older and uglier than
+she really was.
+
+Ever since her unexpected good fortune, Mr. Rushmere had secretly
+contemplated Miss Watling as a very eligible wife for his son. He had
+not as yet dared to broach the subject to that refractory individual, as
+he dreaded no small amount of opposition--or even to hint at it to his
+wife, who, he well knew, favoured his attachment to Dorothy, and with
+whom the rich spinster was no favourite; but he was thinking it over all
+day long, and calculating the worldly advantages to be derived from the
+union of the two estates.
+
+It would make Gilbert a rich man at once. As to the difference of age,
+that was a mere trifle, more than counterbalanced by the lady's superior
+wealth.
+
+True, she was very plain--he could not deny that--but beauty, after
+all, was only skin deep, and would not, according to the homely adage,
+"_buy beef_." His son was a handsome young fellow, and he felt certain
+that Miss Watling was not indifferent to his personal attractions. It
+would be a capital match, and his son would be a downright fool to let
+such an opportunity of securing a rich wife slip through his fingers.
+
+Thus age and avarice can always over-leap barriers which, to the young
+and romantic, are insurmountable.
+
+From the master of Heath Farm Miss Watling received the most cordial
+welcome, and was easily persuaded to lay aside her bonnet and shawl, and
+take tea with the family.
+
+To judge of the lady's grief by the ultra blackness of her mourning
+garments, you would have supposed that no gleam of joy could ever enter
+her afflicted heart again. All crape and bombazine from head to foot,
+she presented to the spectator a ghastly exterior of hopeless sorrow.
+
+"And so poor Stephen is gone," said the simple Mrs. Rushmere. "Who would
+have thought of his leaving us so suddenly? The last time he was here he
+looked the picture of health and contentment. Well, well,--we must all
+go some of these days. But the death of such as he--it seems so
+shocking. A man in the very prime of life--it is surely a great loss to
+the parish. You, Nancy, who were his only relative, must feel it sorely.
+The house must be very lonesome to you, wanting the master."
+
+"It was dreadful, Mrs. Rushmere, to be taken without a minute's warning,
+to think of his poor neglected soul. He never cared about religion. He
+was so entirely taken up with his worldly concerns, it makes me very
+uncomfortable to think what may become of him in the other world," said
+the bereaved sister.
+
+"God is merciful," sighed the old lady.
+
+"It is of no use trusting to mercy, without repentance," was the sharp
+rejoinder, "and he had no time for that."
+
+"He was a kind man to the poor, Nancy. A good neighbour and a regular
+church-goer, honest and industrious--let us hope that these qualities
+will be taken into account. It is not for sinful creatures like us to
+condemn a man, because it pleased the Almighty to call him suddenly out
+of the world."
+
+"Works--mere works," and Miss Watling shrugged her shoulders
+emphatically. "For my part, I have no hope of his salvation. If he had
+faith, he put his light under a bushel, for no one in the house ever saw
+it. But he is gone, and has left me, a young unprotected female, to
+struggle alone in this wicked world."
+
+"Why, surely, Nancy, you be old enough to take care of yourself?"
+returned the good woman, with more truth in her look and accent than
+was agreeable to her visitor. "You be some years older than he."
+
+"You are mistaken, ma'am," said Miss Watling, "he was a grown up man
+when I was a _little_ girl at school."
+
+"Oh, my dear!" cried the provoking old lady, "it is of no use your
+telling me that. Why, don't I know all about it. I was with your mother
+when you were born. It is just thirty-five years ago, last May. You were
+a sharp cross little thing, and you gave your mother a world of trouble.
+I have often heard her say, that she never had the sound of your crying
+out of her ears, or got a whole night's rest, for the two first years of
+your life. You were turned of six before Stephen was born. You pouted
+and sulked, and had a great fight with nurse, for bringing a nasty boy
+into the house. Don't I remember it all, and how your father laughed at
+your tantrums.
+
+"'Little maid's jealous of boy,' he said, 'she won't have it all her
+own way now.'"
+
+Mrs. Rushmere had touched a tender point. She knew that her visitor was
+dreadfully sensitive about her age; but she was so much disgusted with
+the unfeeling piece of cant, in which she had just indulged about her
+brother, that she did it to punish her for her cruelty and hypocrisy.
+
+"You have an excellent memory," said Miss Watling, wincing under the
+infliction. "Such reminiscences, however, are neither polite nor
+agreeable. It would be unbecoming in me to contradict so old a woman as
+you, for it is impossible for me to recall events which happened in my
+infancy."
+
+Miss Watling was angry, but she kept in her wrath. She had no intention
+of quarrelling with the Rushmeres. She swallowed that bitter pill about
+her age in the best way she could, and anxious to get rid of the
+disagreeable dispute, in which she was sure to come off second best,
+she asked Mrs. Rushmere how she liked her mourning.
+
+"The bombazine," she observed, "is very fine--the crape, the best I
+could procure in Storby. As I had to go into mourning for Stephen, I
+thought I would do the thing genteelly. Besides, shabby black is so mean
+and unbecoming."
+
+Mrs. Rushmere glanced coldly at the crape scarf her visitor held up for
+her inspection.
+
+"It does well enough for those who wear their grief upon their sleeve.
+One little bit of heart mourning is worth it all."
+
+Before the wearer of the sables could frame a reply, Dorothy opened the
+door and looked into the room, but quickly withdrew her head, when she
+saw by whom it was occupied. Mrs. Rushmere followed her to the door.
+
+"Where is Gilly?"
+
+"Just cleaning himself up a bit, and changing his working slop. He will
+be here in a minute. Don't wait for me, mother. I have the cows to milk.
+I can get my supper by and by."
+
+The owner of the bright face vanished, Mrs. Rushmere poured out the tea,
+and the small party gathered about the table.
+
+Gilbert came in presently--glanced coldly at the visitor, made a stiff
+country bow, and took a seat by his mother, and as far from Miss Watling
+as he possibly could. He never had liked her when plain Miss Nancy, but
+since she had got a handle to her name, her airs and affectations had
+filled him with disgust.
+
+"Do you suffer that young person, Mrs. Rushmere, to call you mother?"
+asked Miss Watling, with a sneer upon her thin upper lip. "Surely it is
+taking too great a liberty."
+
+"Oh, not at all. You forget, Nancy, that she is my adopted daughter,
+that I look upon her as my own child. The dear knows I could not love
+her better if she were."
+
+"Well, my dear madam, there's no accounting for tastes." Nancy Watling
+thought that it was her turn to say something spiteful. "I see nothing
+to admire in that girl. Is she not the beggar's brat that Mr. Rushmere
+picked up upon the heath?"
+
+"So she be," muttered Lawrence, half aloud from his own chair.
+
+"No fault of hers," said Gilbert, flushing up. "She has beauty and sense
+enough to have been the daughter of a king."
+
+"Rather a vulgar princess," giggled Miss Watling. "She looks what she
+was born to be--a servant!"
+
+His mother caught the flash of her son's eye, and pinched his knee under
+the table, to keep him quiet; then finding that her hint was not likely
+to cool down his rising passion, and hearing a pet cat mewing for a
+morsel of the repast, she screamed out--
+
+"Mind, Gilly! you great blundering fellow. You have trod on pussy's
+tail, and she will be sure to scratch you."
+
+"I'll take good care of that," said Gilbert, deceived by his mother's
+innocent stratagem, "by turning her out of the room. Dolly has made such
+a pet of that beast, she has become quite a nuisance."
+
+He rose and put out the unoffending cat, and peace was once more
+restored.
+
+The farmer, who had been sitting upon thorns during the dispute,
+inwardly cursing his wife's want of tact and plainness of speech, and
+his son's rudeness, thought it high time to put in a word or two, and
+direct the conversation into a new channel.
+
+"What do you intend to do with the farm, Nancy? Will you let it, or
+carry on the business yourself?"
+
+"Well, my old friend," said Miss Watling, folding her hands in her lap,
+and looking down demurely, "that is the difficulty. I am exceedingly
+puzzled what to do. I came here this afternoon on purpose to consult
+you, though I knew what a busy time it was with you during the hay
+harvest. I am so young and inexperienced, and so ignorant of
+agricultural matters, I should make a poor farmer. I know nothing about
+cropping lands, milking, or churning. I was given an education quite
+above such pursuits."
+
+Gilbert glanced up from the tea-cup he held in his hand, a comical smile
+passing over his face, though he said nothing. Miss Watling seemed to
+interpret his thoughts, for she positively looked down and blushed.
+
+Did she forget, at that moment, how often Gilbert had helped her, when a
+boy, to drive home the cows from the salt marshes, and sat and whistled
+on the meadow stile, while she milked them--or was she conscious of
+uttering an untruth?
+
+Gilbert was determined to plague her a little, by jogging her memory.
+
+"Nancy," he said, "you do yourself great injustice. If you don't
+understand the farm business, I don't know who does. Why, you were
+always considered the best spinner and weaver in the parish. Remember
+how often you used to scold me for tangling the yarn, when you were
+spinning on the great wheel. I was mortally afraid of the big thrashings
+you threatened me with, and trusted more to my heels than to your
+generosity and forbearance. Those were jolly times. I wonder you can so
+easily forget them, and try to thrust such nonsensical fibs down our
+throats."
+
+This sally drew forth a general laugh, in which Miss Watling joined as
+heartily as the rest.
+
+"Gilbert do you call that good manners, to contradict a lady? Where,
+sir, did you get your schooling?" said the former sharply.
+
+"Among simple country folk, father. I did not mean to contradict Nancy,
+only to remind her of past times."
+
+"Oh, I don't mind what he says, Mr. Rushmere. He was always a saucy
+boy," returned the lady, striving to smile pleasantly.
+
+"She takes it better than I expected," thought Gilbert. "It is as good
+as a play to hear her attempt to act the fine lady. How polite father is
+to her. I wonder what they are driving at?"
+
+"You had better let the land, Nancy," said Rushmere, after a few minutes
+thought, in answer to her protestations of ignorance as to agricultural
+matters.
+
+"I won't do that," said Miss Watling, briskly, "I should be sure to be
+cheated by my tenants. A woman can't follow the plough, or go into the
+stable, to see if horses are properly cared for, and they are deceived
+and taken in by every one. Consider my youth and inexperience."
+
+"Take a husband to help you out of the difficulty."
+
+"Yes, if I could find a good one."
+
+"I think I could recommend a smart, honest, good-looking fellow to your
+notice," said Rushmere, chuckling and rubbing his hands. "One who can
+work hard, and who would do justice to the land."
+
+"Now I hope to goodness father does not mean me. His foolish joke has
+actually brought colour into the old maid's face," thought Gilbert, who
+listened with intense interest to the conversation, hardly knowing
+whether to be affronted or amused.
+
+The farmer knew very well what he was about, and did mean him; and was
+rejoicing in the prospect of a successful negotiation on his behalf.
+
+"I was not thinking of matrimony," said Miss Watling. "There is plenty
+of time for that. It is not every one to whom I would trust myself and
+my property. I assure you, Mr. Rushmere, that I shall be very particular
+in my choice of a husband. But I was thinking that if I could get a
+steady industrious young man to farm the place on shares, and look after
+my private matters, it would answer my purpose better than letting it
+upon lease."
+
+Gilbert made a great clatter with his knife and fork, to conceal the
+laugh that he could not repress. He now saw what Miss Watling was
+driving at, and he felt certain that he was "the man."
+
+"Does she think me a goose? She and her affairs may go to Jericho, for
+what I care," whispered the unambitious young fellow to his mother.
+
+"To be sure--to be sure, Nancy," said the farmer. "You are a woman of
+sense, and see things in the right light. It would be an excellent
+chance for Gilly. It is high time for him to be doing something for
+himself. I can hire a labourer in his place, to work the farm. What do
+you say, Gilbert, to Miss Nancy's proposal?" This was accompanied by a
+shrewd look to his son, indicating plainly enough what he expected him
+to say. "Can you and the lady agree?"
+
+"I fear not, sir. I hate all partnership concerns. I have been too long
+my own master to submit to a mistress. Besides," he added, with a droll
+smile, that showed all his splendid white teeth, "I am _too young_ to
+fill such a responsible situation."
+
+"Oh, not at all, Mr. Gilbert," returned the anxious lady, looking full
+into Gilbert's handsome face. "You need not let that stand in the way.
+Brought up to the business all your life--born, I may say, to be a
+farmer, you cannot want experience. I should only be too happy to
+entrust the property to your care. You shall be your own master--have
+everything your own way. Manage the land to please yourself. Any
+interference on my part would be quite unnecessary. If you are not too
+proud to accept my offer, I am sure that we shall get on famously
+together."
+
+"Thank you--thank you, Nancy--Miss Watling, I should say," returned
+Gilbert, coldly. "In a pecuniary point of view, it might turn out a good
+thing; and I know several young fellows who would jump at it. I have no
+wish to enter into such an engagement, and must decline it altogether."
+
+"Why, sir, why?" cried old Rushmere, in an angry tone. "Are you mad,
+sir, or a fool?"
+
+"I am my father's son," said Gilbert, turning to the door. "It does not
+suit my inclinations. I have other reasons, which I do not choose to
+discuss here."
+
+"If you should change your mind, Mr. Gilbert, let me know," returned
+Miss Watling, deeply mortified. "I will defer advertising in the papers
+until next week."
+
+"Thank you, Miss Nancy," said the farmer. "My son is a wilful young
+man--he will think better of your liberal offer."
+
+"There is little danger of my changing my mind," said Gilbert, sulkily.
+"Miss Watling, you may advertise for a bailiff as soon as you like."
+
+"Stop, Gilly," cried his mother, as he was about to leave the room, "it
+is getting dark, you must see Miss Watling safe over the common."
+
+Gilbert wished her at the bottom of the brook. He saw plainly that her
+proposal boded him no good; that his refusal was highly displeasing to
+his father, and would call forth a storm of anger against himself and
+Dorothy; and with a very bad grace, he yielded to his mother's request,
+to see the cause of the mischief safe to her own door.
+
+"I wish these troublesome women would stay at home and mind their own
+business," he muttered, as he stalked on ahead of the lady, who
+diligently gathered up her glossy sables, to keep them out of the dust
+of the lane. "What right had she to come and set father and me by the
+ears together?"
+
+At the farm-gate they met Dorothy, fresh and blooming as a rose, with a
+pail in each hand foaming to the brim with milk. Gilbert nodded to her
+as they passed on.
+
+"You have excellent cows, Mr. Gilbert," remarked Miss Watling, scowling
+at the pretty milk-maid, "and a capital dairywoman."
+
+"Yes, everything depends upon that," said the young man.
+
+"You, of course, consider her a treasure." Miss Watling had quickened
+her steps, and was now at his side, and as she spoke she looked
+spitefully back at Dorothy.
+
+"Of course I do. We derive much profit from her skill. The farm yields
+but a poor return in grain. We depend mainly on the flocks and herds.
+How many cows do you milk now, Miss Nancy?"
+
+"_I_ milk! what a question!"
+
+"Ah, I suppose you have forgotten how to do it," and Gilbert looked
+mischievously at her, from under the broad brim of his coarse straw hat,
+which had been plaited and put together by Dorothy's dainty fingers. "I
+remember the time when we were all young together,"--and he
+laughed--"that is, before you came in for the big fortune, when you
+thought it a great compliment to be called the best milker in the
+parish. I should like to hear you talk like a sensible woman."
+
+"But times are altered since then, Gilly," said Miss Watling
+confidentially, and slipping her arm within his. "I can still milk the
+cow, or act the lady, with old friends. But one has, you know, to assume
+a little dignity, or no one would suspect me of being a rich lady."
+
+"Still less with the dignity--which suits you as little as a court dress
+would me. But I respect you now, Nancy, for speaking the honest truth.
+I thought you had given yourself up to the other thing altogether. Look
+you, Nancy. I believe you wish to be my friend. Will you be angry with
+me, if I speak the honest truth?"
+
+Miss Watling's heart fluttered a little.
+
+"What can you want to say to me, Gilly--Is it any thing very
+particular?"
+
+"Yes--very particular, at least as far as I am concerned."
+
+"About the proposal I made to your father?" with a smile.
+
+"The same."
+
+"You mean to accept it?" speaking joyfully, and pressing his arm
+tenderly.
+
+"Oh, no, no," cried Gilbert, shrinking from the caress, "quite the
+reverse. I decline it at once, and for ever; and I beg, Nancy, that you
+will never broach the subject to me, or to father, again. Old folks
+don't see with our eyes, or feel as we feel; they always forget when
+they were young themselves. The spring and summer of life is gone with
+them, and the autumn with its golden fruit is all they care about, and
+wish us to procure at any cost. What does a young fellow want with
+money, while he is full of health and warm blood, and has enough to
+enjoy himself?"
+
+"But why should you refuse a good offer?" said Miss Watling, only half
+comprehending the meaning of Gilbert's roundabout way of introducing a
+disagreeable subject.
+
+"Simply, because it is not a good one for me. I don't like it, and will
+have none of it. I am happy where I am, and don't want to change my
+situation." He stopped suddenly, and took Miss Watling's hand. "Will you
+be my friend, Nancy?"
+
+"Can you doubt it, Gilbert?"
+
+"Well, then, I love Dorothy Chance."
+
+Miss Watling dropped her hand, as if it had come in contact with a hot
+coal.
+
+"Love--Dorothy--Chance!" and the hard mouth writhed convulsively.
+Gilbert's eyes were bent upon the ground; he did not see the twitching
+of the malignant face; and was not even conscious that she had withdrawn
+the black kidded hand from his own--or the conversation would have come
+to a sudden stop.
+
+"Yes," he continued, "I love Dorothy Chance with all my heart and soul,
+and mean to make her my wife as soon as a good opportunity offers.
+Father don't like the match, though he likes the girl. He loves money,
+and he wants me to kneel down with him and worship the golden calf. I
+won't do it. If I can't have Dolly, I'll have no one else. That's the
+plain downright truth, Nancy Watling. Do you wish me to take your farm
+on shares now?"
+
+"Certainly not, Mr. Gilbert Rushmere," drawing herself up, with a
+withering air of spurious dignity. "If you can forget your good old
+family, and stoop so low as to marry a girl that your father picked out
+of the dirt, you may stay at home with her. I don't want to have
+anything to do with you. I don't wonder at Mr. Rushmere not giving his
+consent to such a vulgar connection. It is enough to break the honest
+heart of the poor old man. His only son, too--the last of his name. Mr.
+Gilbert Rushmere, you astonish me!"
+
+"I have heard all these arguments before," said Gilbert, sorry for his
+misplaced confidence, when it was too late. "I consider them mere words,
+and take them for what they are worth. I thought it would be best to act
+like a man, and give you my real reasons for rejecting your kind offer.
+I have satisfied my conscience, and I leave you to think of me as you
+like. But here we are at your gate, Nancy, so I will wish you good
+night."
+
+Nancy Watling deigned no reply to his farewell salutation, but walked
+indignantly across her moon-lighted lawn. She felt mortified,
+disappointed, and decidedly belligerent. True, she had not made him an
+offer of marriage, but it was tantamount to it; and he had despised
+both her and her money, and all for a penniless black-eyed dairy-maid,
+who might be his father's daughter for aught he knew to the contrary.
+
+It was a strange story, at any rate, his finding the dead woman and the
+child out on the heath. She remembered what the village gossips had
+whispered about it, at the time, and she determined to publish a new
+edition of the long-forgotten scandal.
+
+She would be revenged on Gilbert, for the insult he had passed upon her,
+let it cost what it might. As for Gilbert, what need she care about
+him--if he did not accept her and her farm, another would. He was a rude
+brute, a vulgar, low fellow, to treat any lady as he had that night
+treated her. If he married that base-born creature Dorothy, no
+respectable person would ever enter the house.
+
+While such uncharitable thoughts were passing through Nancy Watling's
+small, narrow mind, Gilbert, glad to be rid of his disagreeable charge,
+took his homeward path across the heath. Sometimes he stopped--not to
+admire the cloudless beauty of the sky--he was a careless observer of
+the beauties of nature--but to put his hands to his sides, and laughed
+with uncontrollable merriment.
+
+He was amused at his own cleverness--rejoicing over the adroit manner in
+which he had got rid of the odious woman, and her self-interested offers
+of service.
+
+"I am rid of her at last. I'm thinking she'll come after me no more. I
+don't approve of women giving such broad hints to us men folk. It was as
+good as asking me to be her husband. I can tell black Nancy that she's
+no wife for Gilbert Rushmere. Does she think that I would sell myself to
+age, ill-temper and ugliness, for all the money in the Bank of England?
+I would rather go to church with Dolly in homespun, than ride in a
+carriage beside that shrivelled piece of tanned leather. How Dolly will
+laugh when I tell her how affectionately the old thing hugged my arm! A
+partnership with her, ha, ha! is it not rare fun to disappoint her
+matrimonial speculations?"
+
+To Dorothy, this visit of Miss Watling's to the farm proved everything
+but a laughing matter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+A FAMILY QUARREL.
+
+
+Dorothy found Mr. Rushmere chafing with passion, when she returned to
+the big room to take her simple supper of bread and milk. Gilbert's
+conduct to Miss Watling had cut him to the quick, and thrown down in a
+moment the fine castle in the air which he had been for weeks building
+for his son's especial benefit.
+
+The sight of Dorothy, whom he looked upon as the real cause of his
+bitter disappointment, stirred his generally sluggish nature to its
+depths, and his rage burst out with the vehemence of a volcano, caring
+nothing for the mischief and ruin which might follow its desolating
+course.
+
+He upbraided her with inveigling the affections of his son, and making
+him rude and undutiful to his parents--reiterating his threat of sending
+her off to seek her own living, and cursing the unlucky hour he brought
+her to the house.
+
+He said so many hard and cruel things, that Dorothy was roused at last.
+Leaving her supper untasted upon the table, she went across the room to
+Mrs. Rushmere, who was standing before the window, with her back to her
+husband, weeping bitterly. Dorothy put her arm across her shoulder, and
+spoke in a low voice, meant to be calm, but which trembled with
+suppressed emotion.
+
+"Mother, I am no longer wanted here. I will go and seek service
+elsewhere to-morrow."
+
+"Dorothy, my child, you are not in earnest. You cannot mean what you
+say?"
+
+"Father wishes it. I believe that it will be better for all parties. You
+are my only friends; the only parents I have ever known. God, who reads
+my heart, knows the love I feel for you both, but--but,"--and here poor
+Dolly broke down, and flinging herself into the kind woman's
+outstretched arms, they mingled their tears together.
+
+"She is right--quite right," said the old man, too angry to be touched
+by the grief of the weeping women. "She has been here long enough. It is
+time she should go."
+
+"And where is the poor child to go?" asked the wife, pressing Dorothy to
+her warm maternal breast. "Have you the feelings of a man, Lawrence,
+after she has shared our home for so many years, and been to us a
+dutiful and loving daughter, to turn her out upon the wide, wide world."
+
+"She shall go," was the dogged reply to his wife's appeal.
+
+"Don't distress yourself, mother, on my account," whispered Dorothy. "I
+am young and strong. I can work for my living. Never fear. God will
+raise me up friends, and find me another home." Then turning to Mr.
+Rushmere, she addressed him with the calm dignity which was natural to
+her.
+
+"Father, after all the benefits I have received from you we must not
+part in anger. If I have been in fault, God knows that I have erred
+through ignorance, that it was wholly unintentional on my part. I
+acknowledge now, what I did not understand before, that I am not a fit
+mate for your son. I have given up all idea of being his wife. Speak to
+me, father. Say that you forgive me, and let us part in peace."
+
+She slid down on her knees before the stern old man, as he sat sullenly
+in the big arm-chair, and looked imploringly into his face. Her rosy
+cheeks were deadly pale now, and wet with the tears that flowed
+unceasingly from her large black eyes.
+
+Rushmere felt rather ashamed of the violent language he had used--he
+softened a little, and replied in a gentler tone,--
+
+"Dolly, you are a good girl. You know I love and respect you, but you
+cannot marry my son. I should feel degraded if you were Gilbert's wife."
+
+The blood rushed in a hot tide into the girl's pale wet face, and yet
+she shivered as if an arrow had pierced her heart. With a low moan her
+head sunk upon the old man's knee, and she shook and trembled with
+violent emotion.
+
+"Go," and Rushmere laid his large hand upon the bent head, with all its
+glossy ebon ringlets--"Go, and God bless you."
+
+Dorothy rose from her knees.
+
+"Your wishes shall be obeyed, father. I will go, as you desire it. Only
+let me stay this night beneath the roof that has sheltered me so long.
+I will seek a new home to-morrow. And now, good night. Oh," she cried,
+in a tone of bitter anguish, "how hard it is to part from all we love.
+To bid you good night for the last time, in the dear old home."
+
+Their eyes met. The old man drew her down to him and kissed her.
+
+"You must go, Dorothy. I am sorry to part with you, but I do so for
+Gilbert's sake."
+
+"Who talks of parting? What does all this mean?" cried Gilbert, who had
+been standing some minutes unobserved in the doorway, hurrying forward.
+"Who is going away? What is the matter with mother and Dorothy, that
+they are crying like babies?"
+
+"Gilbert," said Mrs. Rushmere, sorrowfully, "it is Dorothy who is going
+to leave us."
+
+"Where is she going?"
+
+"To see service."
+
+"Good God! Mother, are you all mad? What will you do without her? How
+can you suffer her to go?"
+
+"I cannot prevent it, Gilbert. It is your father's doing. Ask him."
+
+Gilbert turned wrathfully, and faced the old man. They glared upon each
+other like two angry wild beasts.
+
+"So, this is your doing, sir. You thrust an unprotected young girl out
+of your house, because she happens to be dear to me! Now, mark my words,
+for I mean to abide by what I say. If Dorothy is driven from her home on
+my account, I leave it also--leave it, never to return while you live.
+Don't cry, mother. Don't shake your head, Dorothy. I am in earnest--so
+help me God!"
+
+"What do you say to that, Lawrence?" cried Mrs. Rushmere. "Do end this
+disgraceful scene and listen to reason."
+
+"I say," and Rushmere spoke in a voice of thunder, "that he is an
+undutiful son, a disgrace to his family; that he may go as soon as he
+likes; the sooner the better; that I never wish to set my eyes upon him
+again. That's what I say, dame!"
+
+He shook his fist in Gilbert's face, and his brow grew dark with violent
+passion.
+
+Dorothy glided round to the back of the chair. She was afraid of his
+falling down in a fit. She now fronted her angry lover, and she silently
+pointed down to his agitated father, and made imploring gesture for him
+to leave the room.
+
+Gilbert read her meaning in her terrified eyes. He was determined not to
+go, but to tell his father a bit more of his mind.
+
+"Speak to him, dear mother; he will heed what you say."
+
+Mrs. Rushmere shook her head sorrowfully.
+
+"It is of no use attempting to reason with angry men. It only makes
+matters worse. To contradict an obstinate man in a rage, is to add fuel
+to the fire. Go to your bed, Gilbert, your father will forget all about
+it to-morrow."
+
+"I don't care whether he does or not. My mind is made up. If he is
+indifferent to my happiness, and unjust to the woman I love, I will no
+longer work like a slave for him. From this hour I am my own master."
+
+He turned and held out his hands to Dorothy.
+
+"Come, Dorothy, darling, come with me. Let us seek our fortunes in the
+world together. Here we have no longer a home. See if this strong arm
+cannot win one for you."
+
+"I have been the cause of all the trouble, Gilbert. Be reconciled to
+your father, and let me go my way in peace."
+
+"How! Do you reject my offer, Dorothy?" He spoke in tones of suppressed
+anger. "You surely will not refuse to become my wife!"
+
+"Yes--under existing circumstances. I will never bring sorrow under the
+roof that has sheltered me," said Dorothy, firmly, without daring to
+raise her eyes to her lover's face.
+
+"Look at me, Dorothy. Look at me straight in the eyes, and then tell me
+that you mean what you say."
+
+Dorothy raised her eyes to his, swimming in tears, her lips quivered,
+but she replied, in a voice more decided than before.
+
+"Gilbert Rushmere, I cannot be your wife. It is cruel to ask me, in the
+face of your father's anger."
+
+"It is enough." He folded his arms and smiled disdainfully. "I shall not
+ask you again. I have sacrificed everything for you--and this is my
+reward."
+
+He went up to Mr. Rushmere, and held out his hand. He was desperately
+angry with Dorothy.
+
+"You hear her, father. She has refused to be my wife."
+
+"She's a sensible girl," said the farmer.
+
+"Perhaps she is," and Gilbert laughed bitterly. "May she never have
+cause to repent of her decision. A different course, however, might have
+made us happy."
+
+"You have agreed to give him up then, Dorothy?" said Rushmere, eagerly
+eyeing the trembling girl.
+
+Dorothy did not speak. Words rose to her lips, but to have given them
+utterance would have choked her. Gilbert answered in her stead.
+
+"Yes, sir. She has yielded to your wishes--and we have nothing more to
+say to each other. Are you satisfied?"
+
+"Quite, quite, my son," and the old man grasped his hand warmly. A
+slight sound, like a suppressed sob, broke the stillness of the great
+hall. Gilbert looked round. Dorothy stood firm and erect behind his
+father's chair, her right hand grasping the frame, her large eyes wide
+open and fixed on vacancy, her features rigid, her face as white as
+that of a stone statue.
+
+His heart smote him. He knew the purity of her motives, he saw how she
+suffered, but his pride and vanity were alike wounded;--he would not
+yield an inch--he would punish her for the decided manner in which she
+had rejected his offer. He did not doubt her love, but in that evil mood
+he had ceased to love her himself.
+
+"Gilbert, I am glad you acknowledge the folly of your conduct," said the
+farmer, breaking the painful silence. "When you don't see the girl, you
+will soon forget her, take my word for it. Out of sight out of mind.
+There's much truth in those old proverbs."
+
+Gilbert again glanced up at Dorothy, to see how this speech affected
+her.
+
+She was no longer in the room.
+
+A few minutes later, the tramp of a horse's hoofs sounded on the
+pavement of the court-yard. Dorothy had sought refuge in her own
+chamber from a scene she was no longer able to endure. She had sunk down
+beside the bed, her head was buried in the pillow; she was sobbing
+wildly. That sound broke painfully upon her ear--it was the climax of
+her agony. She started to her feet. She sprang to the window, and flung
+wide the casement, stretching out her arms with a despairing gesture, as
+she caught a glimpse of Gilbert's retreating figure.
+
+"Gilly, Gilly!" she cried, "come back and speak to me. Tell me that we
+do not part in anger. That you will forgive your poor broken-hearted
+Dolly!"
+
+The gate swung back on its hinges--the figure had vanished into the
+night.
+
+"He is gone--he does not hear me," sobbed the distracted girl. "I shall
+never, never see him again."
+
+She threw herself on the floor, and prayed that God would end her
+life--that she might die in the old house and never see the light of
+another day. This was her first great life-trial. She had tried to bear
+up against it, to submit with patience to her bitter grief, but her
+fortitude had all deserted her now, and she wept with such an
+abandonment of sorrow, as if her whole being would dissolve in tears.
+
+This could not last long. After awhile she sat upon the floor, and tried
+to comprehend the misery that had overwhelmed her; to think more calmly
+of her situation, and the forlorn prospects of the morrow; to hope, that
+her fears respecting Gilbert were unfounded; that he had ridden out on
+pleasure or business; perhaps, to get over his passion by violent
+exercise. She had known him to try that remedy before. It was foolish of
+her to look only at the dark side of things.
+
+"He could not leave her in that way if he loved her as she loved him.
+No, no, it was cruel of her to imagine such a thing. It was not to be
+wondered at that he was vexed with her for refusing him, before his
+parents, as she had done. But how could she help it, without breaking
+her promise to his father. Surely he must remember that, and exonerate
+her for her seeming indifference."
+
+And then, her mind wandered away to her mother; and she wondered why she
+should stand between her and her marriage with Gilbert.
+
+She had often heard the farmer tell the story--and a sad story it was,
+and never failed to bring the tears into her eyes; but she had never
+connected the tale with disgrace or infamy, or thought it possible that
+she could be blamed for the poverty, or even guilt, of parents she had
+never known.
+
+How could any one prove that her mother was a bad woman, or that she was
+base born? Was not that mother's wedding ring, at that moment, pressing
+her finger? She, Dorothy, might be the child of sorrow, but who should
+dare to say that she was the offspring of shame?
+
+The poor girl's heart began to warm towards this mysterious unknown
+mother; all her womanly instincts were aroused to defend her memory; and
+she felt indignant that Mr. Rushmere, who had acted so nobly by her, and
+her orphan child, should be the first to cast a reproach upon her.
+
+In spite of her simple reasoning, Dorothy keenly felt that the dubious
+circumstances in which she had been found, must give a colouring to her
+future life; and would not prove a letter of recommendation in helping
+her on in the world.
+
+While she was pondering these things in her heart, there came a gentle
+tap at the door, and Mrs. Rushmere, in her night-cap and bed-gown
+entered.
+
+"What, Dorothy, darling, not abed yet. Alack, I cannot sleep a wink
+myself, so as sorrow loves sympathy, I came to have a chat with you. Do
+you know that Gilbert is gone? He took his own young horse, and rode
+off at full speed. What can he be after at this time o'night? Still,
+child, I am right glad that he is gone, and given father time to get
+over his anger. When he comes back, which he will early in the morning,
+the old man will have forgotten it all--for he dearly loves his son,
+though he be cross with him, and with us all, now and then."
+
+"But will Gilbert return?" and Dorothy fixed her eyes, with such an
+eager inquiring glance on Mrs. Rushmere's face, that the startled little
+woman said, "it made her blood run cold."
+
+"Return?--Yes, that he will. I have no fears about him. The hay must be
+carted to-morrow. Gilly never neglects his business. Besides, he shook
+hands with his father, and seemed reconciled to giving you up. It's all
+right between them now. You had better go off early in the morning,
+Dolly, before he gets sight of you, or the love fit will come on
+stronger than ever."
+
+"Ah, dear mother," sighed the girl, terribly afraid that her lover was
+lost to her for ever, "no fear of that." Her head sunk between her hands
+for a few minutes, but, recovering herself, she turned quickly to Mrs.
+Rushmere.
+
+"I cannot go before I have milked the cows, and done the morning's work
+for you. Oh, mother, mother, what shall I do without you? Who is there
+in the world to love and care for me now?"
+
+"Don't fret, Dolly dear, and go to cry the eyes out of your head. You
+look as pale as a ghost. Things never be so bad, as at first sight they
+seem."
+
+"True, mother," said Dorothy, perseveringly wiping away the rebellious
+tears, which would find their way down her pale cheeks, do what she
+could to hinder them, "but what is to become of me? Where am I to go?"
+
+"I have been planning that for you, dear child," returned the kind
+woman. "You know, my old friend, Mrs. Barford, who lives six miles over
+the heath, on the other side of Hadstone. She will be right glad to take
+you in for my sake. My mother and her mother were first cousins, and
+Jenny and I went to school together. She is none of your idle
+ill-natured gossips, but a real kind motherly woman."
+
+"I like the old lady, but her son and his wife are very rough people,"
+suggested Dorothy.
+
+"Never you mind that. You go to Mrs. Barford; she owns the farm, and is
+the mistress, and tell her all your trouble. Say that I sent you. She
+knows you too well to suspect you of coming to her with a lie in your
+mouth, or that you have done anything amiss."
+
+"But how do you know, for certain, that she will take me in?" asked
+Dorothy.
+
+"Well, Dolly, dear, I have heard that you can never be sure of anything
+in this world, but if Jane Barford is living I feel no doubt about it.
+Her daughter-in-law is only just about, after her confinement, and has a
+baby to take care of, and they are not well able to keep a girl. Jane
+does little herself in the house, and I know that they will be right
+glad of your help during the busy time."
+
+"Is the younger Mrs. Barford a kind person?"
+
+"I know almost nothing about her. She looks good-natured enough at
+church, beside her husband and her fine little boys. She was only a
+servant girl, up at the Hall Farm, when Joe Barford married her, which
+was a sore vexation to his mother, who had been decently educated at the
+same school with me, while this poor ignorant lass did not know a letter
+in the book. She is not a very good housewife either. She is tidy
+enough, but very thriftless--mean, without the power of being
+economical. Joe made but a poor match, and though he works hard enough
+himself, they can barely make both ends meet, after paying Mrs. Barford
+her thirds."
+
+This short history was everything but satisfactory to Dorothy. She
+seemed to comprehend in a moment the discomfort and misrule in the
+Barford establishment.
+
+"Mother," she said, after a few minutes thought, "I do not think I shall
+suit these Barfords, and I don't think, from your description of them,
+that they will suit me. Had I not better seek a place at Storby?"
+
+"Dolly, you be ignorant of town life, and know nothing about town work.
+You go to Mrs. Barford, as I tell you, and bide with her, till I can
+send you word from home. Things mayn't be so pleasant as they be here,
+but you make yourself as comfortable as you can. Your father is not a
+hard hearted man; when his passion is over he will be the first to want
+you back. He will only find out your real value, Dolly, when you are
+gone. As for me, darling, you are as dear to the old mother as her own
+flesh and blood. Don't you know that?"
+
+Dorothy's arms closed tightly round Mrs. Rushmere's neck, as she faintly
+whispered,
+
+"Yes, ah, yes. It needs no words to tell me that."
+
+"Then keep up your heart, child, and trust in God. All things done by
+Him happen for the best. Maybe I shall yet live to see you Gilly's
+wife."
+
+This last remark recalled poor Dolly's grief, and she fell to crying
+worse than before.
+
+"Now, go to bed, Dolly, and try to get a little sleep. Remember what the
+good book says--'Sorrow may last for a night, but joy cometh in the
+morning.' We may be worriting ourselves for nothing after all."
+
+The kind honest sympathy of this true friend roused Dorothy from her
+stupor of grief. Raising her head from Mrs. Rushmere's supporting arms,
+she promised to attend to all her injunctions, and reconcile her mind to
+her altered lot. The women parted for the night, and Dorothy laid her
+aching temples on her pillow, and soon fell into a deep and dreamless
+slumber.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+DOROTHY'S DEPARTURE.
+
+
+The sun had just risen when Dorothy unclosed her eyes. Everything looked
+bright on earth, and in the heavens, in the early flush of that lovely
+June morning. The perfume of the honeysuckle and briar rose, that
+clasped the old porch in their fragrant embrace, and climbed to the very
+roof of the house, mingled deliciously with the scent of the new mown
+hay. Who, looking abroad into the sweet face of nature, at that pure
+still hour, which an old poet has felicitously named "the bridal of the
+earth and sky," could believe in the wickedness and depravity of the
+human portion of her children.
+
+In great cities, enveloped in the miasma of moral depravity, this
+depressing conviction comes home to the heart of the thinking and
+religious inhabitants, where not an hour in the diurnal circle is
+unmarked by crime,--it is only in the solitude of the country that
+nature puts on a virgin grace, and man forgets in her august presence
+the stern reality and withering blight of sin.
+
+In spite of the great sorrow that lay at her heart, the earth had not
+lost the freshness of Eden for Dorothy, and she had still faith in the
+goodness of her fellow-creatures. She sprung lightly from her bed, sorry
+that the birds had not roused her an hour sooner, for she had a great
+amount of work to do that morning.
+
+She had forgotten all the anguish of the previous night, until it was
+brought back to her remembrance, by the dull aching sense of weariness
+that pressed upon her heart and brain.
+
+Slowly and painfully she realized it all.
+
+The reflection of her pale face in the glass startled her. The sunken
+eyes, the tangled masses of raven hair, the look of exhaustion and
+hopeless woe.
+
+Can that be Dorothy--that wan image of despair? The laughing happy
+country girl--what havoc a few hours has made in that gay warm heart!
+
+A new life had dawned upon her; the bright and beautiful had vanished,
+and clouds and storms had gathered over the glad morning of her
+existence. She must now strengthen her heart for the great moral
+conflict between good and evil, and fight vigorously with the cares and
+temptations of an evil world.
+
+"God help me!" she cried, "I feel a poor, weak, miserable creature, I
+that thought myself so strong. May He give me courage to bear up against
+this great trial, and teach me to lead an honest, virtuous life."
+
+Brief as the prayer was, it gave her strength, and she set about her
+usual morning work with energetic earnestness of purpose, anxious to do
+all in her power for Mrs. Rushmere, before she left her.
+
+The cows were milked, the poultry fed, a large cheese made and in the
+press, and the week's butter churned and dressed for market before the
+family met at the breakfast table.
+
+Dorothy cast a hurried glance round the room. Her heart sank within her.
+Gilbert's place was vacant, and the fear that had distressed her so much
+on the previous night returned with redoubled force. Then, again, hope
+whispered, "He is in the stable preparing the horses for the field.
+Maybe he has gone to the meadow, to see if the hay is dry enough for
+carting. He would come, at any rate, to bid her good bye."
+
+"How we shall miss our good, industrious Dorothy," said Mrs. Rushmere,
+to the farmer, as he took his seat at the table. "She has been hard at
+work for me since daybreak. I shall never find another to supply her
+place."
+
+"Aye, wife, but Gilly would never be settled as long as she bides here.
+When the plough has been put into the field, it is of no use drawing
+back from the furrow."
+
+"As a man sows, so shall he reap," replied Mrs. Rushmere. "The crop of
+trouble you have been sowing for yourself and me, Lawrence Rushmere, is
+likely to produce a plentiful harvest. You have made two young happy
+creatures, very miserable. May God forgive you, but I can't say amen to
+your doings. I have spoken my mind, however, upon the subject, and now
+we will say no more about it. Dolly, it is time that you were upon the
+road: the day is hot and the path dusty, and you have a long lonely walk
+before you."
+
+Dorothy cleared off the table, and went to her own room to pack up her
+clothes, and prepare for her journey. There was no finery in her
+wardrobe, a few neat cotton gowns for summer wear, and homespun for the
+winter--that was all.
+
+She felt very sorrowful as she smoothed the homely garments, and placed
+them in a small leathern trunk. "Oh," she thought, "shall I ever be
+happy again?" and she wished, though she felt it to be a sin, that she
+had died with her poor forlorn mother on the heath. Before her little
+preparations were completed, she was joined by Mrs. Rushmere.
+
+"Don't cumber yourself, Dolly, with that big trunk. You look tired
+now--that heavy luggage will break you down altogether. Put a few
+necessaries into a bundle, just for present use. You will not be away
+long, take my word for it. I will send the cow-boy over with the trunk,
+should I prove a false prophet. Father is coming round. He seems
+restless and uneasy like. He feels that he has been too hasty, but like
+most of the men folk, is too proud to own it. I should not wonder,
+before the end of the week, that he goes to fetch you back himself."
+
+"I am proud too, mother. Perhaps I may refuse to come."
+
+Mrs. Rushmere looked at her in surprise.
+
+"Dorothy, don't say that."
+
+The glance of the hitherto meek girl filled her with wonder.
+
+"Yes, dear mother, and I mean it too. The trodden worm, I have heard,
+will turn again--and my heart has been trodden into the dust. Our first
+parents never returned to Eden after they had been driven out."
+
+"Lauk-a-mercy, child, you don't mean to compare yourself with them, or
+call this poor place Paradise? They would have been glad to come back,
+had God seen fit to recall them."
+
+"Mother," said Dorothy, solemnly, "there is only one thing which could
+bring me back to Heath Farm. If Gilbert should not return."
+
+"Gilbert not return! Whatever put such an unlucky thought into your
+head, Dorothy. Return, aye, surely he will, if he be not back already.
+It is such a beautiful day for the carting. He would never suffer that
+fine crop of hay to be spoiled; and father, with no one here to help him
+to bring it in. He would never act so foolishly to spite you. No, no, he
+will be home soon. I have no fear of that."
+
+Dolly was less sanguine. She did fear it. A vague presentiment of evil
+was at that moment pressing heavily on her heart. She knew that Gilbert,
+when roused to anger, was stubborn and wilful; that the spirit of
+resistance was as strong in him as in the old man; that he was but a
+second edition of his father. But she saw it was best to keep her fears
+to herself; that what she had already hinted, had frightened the kind
+little woman, and filled her with alarm about her son.
+
+"It is a pity that father had not kept in his displeasure until after
+the busy time was over," she said, in her simplicity. "It is so hard to
+leave you, mother, to do all the summer work. I hardly know how you will
+get through it alone."
+
+"Passion costs money, child, but it is of no use talking about it now. I
+shall have to hire a girl in your place. I am too old for the stooping
+and lifting. Oh," she continued, with a sigh, "what a pleasant world it
+would be, if it were not for the bad tempers of the people in it. I hear
+Lawrence calling to us in the court below. You had better go to him,
+Dolly, and bid him good bye, before he takes the team to the field.
+Dear, dear, what can keep Gilly? What shall we do without him?" and she
+cast a dreary look from the window up the road.
+
+Dorothy took up her bundle, and embracing Mrs. Rushmere, with her whole
+heart and soul in that last kiss, ran down into the paved court below.
+
+She found Mr. Rushmere busy adjusting and sorting divers pieces of
+harness.
+
+"Confound the fellow," he muttered, in vexed tones, "for taking himself
+off, just at a time when he knew that I would miss him most. What the
+deuce has he done with Dobbin's dutfin?"
+
+"It's in the barn, father," cried Dorothy, in a cheerful voice. "He took
+it there to mend it. I will get it for you in a minute."
+
+Away ran the light-footed girl, ever ready to render a service to the
+old man, and to shield Gilbert from blame. In a few minutes she
+returned, with the missing article in her hand.
+
+The farmer watched her as she came up, and a deep regretful sigh burst
+from his lips.
+
+"Well, 'tis a bonny lass. I don't blame Gilbert much for loving the like
+o' her. She is pretty enough, and good enough, to be my daughter--but,
+then,--her mother. God knows what she may have been--and what's bred in
+the bone, they say, is hard to get out of the flesh. She was handsome
+too--if she had not been so wasted with misery--though the girl is no
+more like her than I am like the moon. She was fair as a lily, with
+bright golden hair, and bore no resemblance to this dark-eyed,
+black-browed wench. If I could only think that she had been an honest
+woman, I should not care. But there's the difficulty. My Mary thinks me
+a hard-hearted man. I know she does, and that I have acted unkindly by
+Dolly, but I have done it for the best, and she will think as I do by
+and by. It is right that she should quit. I have kept her these many
+years for naught. She can now take care of herself."
+
+"Father, I am going. May God bless and reward you for all your kindness
+to me," said Dolly, with quivering lips, as she dropped the piece of
+harness at his feet.
+
+"Stop," cried Rushmere, putting his hand into his pocket, and drawing
+forth a heavy yellow leathern bag, "you must not leave me without a
+penny in your purse, to buy you a night's lodging," and he slipped three
+guineas into her hand, and drew her towards him and kissed her.
+
+Dorothy's first impulse was to return the gold. She thought better of
+it. The sum was not large, and he could afford to give it, and she had
+honestly earned every fraction of it. She might want a little money; she
+had none of her own, so she thanked him heartily for his gift, bade him
+good bye, and walked away as fast as she could, to hide her tears.
+
+Her path to Mrs. Barford's farm lay down the sandy lane, and then back
+of the house, six miles over the heath in a westerly direction, and away
+from the coast.
+
+The morning was pretty far advanced, and she could not reach her place
+of destination before noon. She had many misgivings in her mind about
+these Barfords, and what sort of reception she was likely to receive
+from them.
+
+She did not know much about them. She had seen and spoken with them
+occasionally, both at market and at church. They were a grade below the
+Rushmeres; were without even the plain education that she had received
+at the village school, and spoke the common dialect of the county. Mrs.
+Barford had held a better position, she had heard her mother say, but
+she had made a low marriage--her son a lower one still; and though the
+farm was good, and they enjoyed a tolerable competence, they were not
+received into the society of the yeomen of a better class. They were no
+favourites with Gilbert, who had pronounced them decidedly vulgar--a
+common term of reproach in the mouths of persons who have themselves no
+great claims to gentility.
+
+Mrs. Barford might, or she might not, believe Dorothy's statements; the
+latter began to think that the whole affair would have a bad look, and
+justly excite the suspicion that she had done something wrong, or Mrs.
+Rushmere, who was known to be very fond of her, would not have consented
+to her leaving them in such an abrupt manner.
+
+Dorothy's mind had been too much agitated by the sudden blow that had
+fallen upon her, to give her position a calm consideration; and now,
+when she thought it over, she inwardly shrunk from the disagreeable
+investigation that it involved. If she had not promised Mrs. Rushmere to
+follow her advice, her path would have been to the sea-port town, about
+two miles distant, and not over the heath to the west of Hadstone. It
+was, however, of no use drawing back now, and with a heavy heart she
+commenced her journey.
+
+As she proceeded up the lane, she paused at the stile where she and
+Gilbert had held their last conversation. She fully expected to meet him
+there, and lingered for some minutes under the shade of the ash tree,
+and looked anxiously up and down the road, wondering how he could let
+her leave the farm, without intercepting her, to say a last good-bye.
+
+Poor Dorothy. How bitterly she repented having sacrificed so much, out
+of a foolish sense of gratitude to his father. Ought not Gilbert's
+happiness, she reasoned with herself, to have been dearer to her than
+all the world beside? Could a heavier punishment have fallen upon her,
+by yielding to his request to become his wife, than she was now called
+upon to endure?
+
+The old man could only have turned her out of doors for disobeying him,
+and he had done that, and left her friendless in the world, without
+Gilbert's love to console, or Gilbert's arm to win for her another home.
+Had not her very integrity brought about the thing she dreaded? And when
+she thought on these things she wept afresh.
+
+The next turning in the lane would hide the old house from her view. She
+stopped and looked at it through her blinding tears. It was the home
+that had sheltered her orphan childhood; she had never slept a night
+from under its moss-grown roof. Its walls contained her world--all that
+she most loved and prized on earth. It was a bitter agony to bid it
+farewell, perhaps for ever--to see the dear familiar faces and objects
+no more.
+
+And Gilly--what had become of him? Fear knocked loudly at her heart,
+whenever she asked of it this agitating question. She looked for him at
+every field-gate, at every turning of the lane, and could not believe it
+possible that they were thus to part.
+
+Climbing the steep hill that led up to the heath, an old Scotch terrier,
+who had been her playmate from a child, sprang suddenly to her side with
+a joyful bark.
+
+"You, Pincher, would not let me go without saying good-bye. You, at any
+rate, will miss poor Dolly, if she be forgotten by all beside."
+
+Pincher looked wistfully up in her face, and seemed to understand that
+something was wrong with his mistress. Was he conscious of its deadly
+paleness--of the tears that flowed down it? He certainly had never seen
+that joyous laughing face look so sad before, and redoubled his
+caresses, to assure her of his sympathy, whining and licking her hands.
+
+In moments of utter bereavement who has not felt, to the heart's core,
+the tender attachment of a faithful dog? It is only when overwhelmed
+with sorrow and forsaken by the world, that we know how to value the
+humble love that abides with us till death.
+
+"Poor brute," sighed Dorothy, patting his shaggy head, "we have had many
+happy days together, old dog, and I meant to take care of you and
+cherish you as long as you lived, but it seems that we must part. Go
+home, Pincher. Go home, sir. It is not lucky for anything to love me."
+
+Pincher had no idea of going home. For once the dear familiar voice
+commanded in vain. The old dog stuck to her like a burr, and she had not
+the heart to take up a stick to enforce obedience. So the twain walked
+on very lovingly together, Dorothy gazing sadly and fondly at every
+well-known object in her path.
+
+The brook babbled to her like an old friend; the blue harebells nodded
+their heads in the breeze, and silently seemed to say good-bye. She
+gathered a bunch of the lovely flowers, and hid them away, on her bosom,
+to remind her, when far away, of all she had loved and lost.
+
+Crossing the heath, her pathway lay near the spot where she had been
+found, clinging to the bosom of her dead mother. She turned off the road
+to look at it. The golden furze bushes glowed as brightly and smelt as
+sweetly in the morning air, as when Lawrence Rushmere first lifted her
+up from her cold bed of wet heather.
+
+She had often visited the spot before. Now, it seemed invested with a
+peculiar interest. Like that unknown mother, she too had become a
+houseless wanderer, seeking for a home and shelter from a hard unfeeling
+world.
+
+"Poor mother," she thought, "in my days of careless happiness, how
+little I thought of you,--still less could I comprehend the sorrow that
+crushed the life out of your heart. Now I feel--I understand it all.
+Shall I never know your sad history, or who was my father? It hardly
+ever struck me before, that I must have had a father. Who? and what was
+he? Is he living or dead? Oh, shall I ever, ever solve the cruel
+mystery?"
+
+A chill seemed to strike through her. She checked these useless
+inquiries; they gave rise to painful and humiliating conjectures. It was
+better, perhaps, that she should never be enlightened, and drying her
+tears, she regained the path across the heath and hurried on.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+DOROTHY'S NEW FRIENDS.
+
+
+It was noon when Dorothy entered the gate that opened upon the
+grass-grown avenue, that led up to the farm-house. It was flanked on
+either side by a row of lofty elms, from which the rooks were cawing
+lustily, as they tended their sable offspring, in the huge unsightly
+nests that swung on every bough.
+
+The people were just returning from the hay-field to their dinner, and
+it seemed so natural to Dorothy to hear them calling to the horses, as
+the load of hay, fresh and fragrant, swept past on its way to the rick.
+
+The farm-servant, who walked beside the load, with his fork over his
+shoulder, stared at her, and plucked the front lock of his hair, by way
+of salutation.
+
+Dorothy went up to him, and asked, "if his old mistress was at home?"
+
+"Ya'as. She be to whome, an' young meastress too. A' be seek wi
+sha'aking ague. I'm thinkin' she'll be right glad to see you, Dorothy
+Cha'ance." And the team moved on, and poor Dolly, more ashamed of her
+errand than ever, went into the house.
+
+She found that the younger Mrs. Barford was not in from the field, but
+an old crone, who was rocking the cradle, told her "to go straight up to
+the old woman's chamber," and Dorothy, glad to escape from the farmer
+and his men, went up accordingly.
+
+She found the sick woman wrapped up in a warm dressing-gown, reclining
+languidly in a large easy chair. She was a fine looking woman of sixty,
+but the disagreeable disease under which she was labouring, rendered
+her sallow and hollow-eyed, and added a ghastly lengthiness to her
+straight features.
+
+She received Dorothy with much kindness; bade her sit down and tell her
+the news; and how they all were at Heath Farm; and why she (Dorothy) had
+taken such a long walk in the heat of the day, and at such a busy time;
+adding, with great self-complacency, "that she supposed her old friend,
+Mary Rushmere, had heard she was ill, and had sent Dorothy to learn how
+she was."
+
+Dorothy was obliged to undeceive her on that point, though she expressed
+great concern to find her unable to leave her chamber, and, encouraged
+by the friendly countenance of the invalid, she explained the cause of
+her visit, and offered her services gratis, in return for the protection
+of a home.
+
+Mrs. Barford, who knew the value of those services to her former
+employers, not only accepted them with great satisfaction, but promised
+to remunerate them as they deserved.
+
+"Take off your things, Dorothy, and make yourself contented. It's an ill
+wind that blows nobody any good. Letty has just had another baby, and
+her dairy-maid got married and left at this busy time, and I'm sick and
+good for naught. I look upon your coming as a special providence, for
+every body knows what a good industrious girl you be."
+
+"I will try my very best to serve you," said Dorothy. "I am a good
+nurse, and it will give me much pleasure to wait upon you. I never had
+the ague, but I am sure it must be a weary thing."
+
+"The fit has just left me, Dorothy. I feel better now. You must tell me
+that story again. So Rushmere did not wish his son to marry you?"
+
+"I don't wonder at that," said Dolly, sadly; "but dear mother wished
+it."
+
+"And well she might. A clever industrious woman, let her rank be what it
+may, is a treasure to a farmer. Gilbert showed his good sense in
+wishing to secure such a wife. Larry was always proud and uppish, and
+carried his head a foot higher than his neighbours. I was sorry when
+Mary Horton married him. He has made her a better husband than I thought
+he would. He need not blame Gilbert for marrying for love, it was the
+very thing he did himself. Mary had no fortune but her pretty face."
+
+"She is the best woman in the world," said Dolly, energetically. "I feel
+as if I never could love her enough, or repay her for all she has done
+for me. Father was very good and kind, too, till Gilbert took this
+unfortunate fancy for me."
+
+"You have no fancy for him, then?" and the old lady pinched the velvet
+cheek of the earnest girl.
+
+"Of course, I have," answered Dorothy, with amusing simplicity. "If I
+did not care for him, I should have no cause to be here."
+
+Mrs. Barford laughed.
+
+"Now tell me, child, what were Lawrence Rushmere's principal objections
+to such a suitable match for his son?"
+
+In spite of the character bestowed upon her by her old friend, Mrs.
+Barford dearly loved a bit of gossip. She had been confined to the house
+a month, and there had been, as a natural consequence, a great dearth of
+news.
+
+"He wanted Gilly to marry Miss Watling. She has money and land. I have
+none."
+
+"Marry Nancy Watling!" cried the invalid, rubbing her hands together, in
+a sort of ecstacy. "Ugly, ill-tempered old Nance--well, that's a capital
+joke. Lawrence must be in his dotage. Does he think that he can force a
+handsome jolly young bachelor, like his son Gilbert, to marry the like
+o' her? Why the woman is old enough, Dolly, to be your mother--and what
+said Nance?"
+
+"I think she wished it very much."
+
+"No doubt she did."
+
+"She offered her place to him to farm on shares, and said that she
+wanted a smart young man to take charge of her affairs. It was his
+refusal that made all the trouble."
+
+For a sick woman, to be sure, the ague fit had left its victim for that
+day, and she was feeling better. Mrs. Barford laughed very uproariously.
+
+Just then, her son came in to hear how she was, and what he should send
+up for her dinner. His good-natured wide mouth expanded into a broad
+grin, as he stood with a clownish air at the door, staring at Dorothy,
+without advancing a step.
+
+"Why, mother, you be in a mighty foony humour. I 'spected to find ye's
+croonin an groaning in fit this morning. What did lass say, to make ye's
+laugh out so loud?"
+
+"Shut the door, Joe, and come here," said his mother, still laughing.
+"What do you think. Nance Watling has been turning everything upside
+down at the Heath Farm. She made proposals to Gilbert for a sleeping
+partner."
+
+"Oh, no, ma'am. Not quite so bad as that," put in Dorothy, thinking that
+her new friend was not adhering strictly to the truth. "He was to go
+shares with her in the farm."
+
+"Pshaw! child. I can see through her tricks. It all comes to the same
+thing. Why she made an offer to Joe here before he married."
+
+"Yes, that a' did," simpered Joe, "I dare say she'd deny it now. She
+wanted to ha' me, whether a' wud or no. And what said old man?"
+
+"He wanted Gilly to close with her offer."
+
+"O coorse--he thought o' her big fortin. Old Larry is fond o' the
+money."
+
+"Gilbert kicked up, it seems," continued Mrs. Barford, "and would have
+none of the old maid. He wanted to take this lass. Lawrence flew into a
+rage, and turned the poor girl out of the house. The wife, who knows her
+value, sent her straight to me. She will be of rare service during these
+busy times to Letty and me."
+
+"That a' wull," responded Joe. "Coome along, Dolly, an' speak to my
+missus. The dinner will be 'a waiting, an' times money here. Mother
+can't ye's drink a pint o' yell an pick a bit o' bacon?"
+
+The sick woman shook her head, with an air of disgust.
+
+"Dolly will bring me a glass of cowslip wine and a bit of dry toast. I
+don't feel like eating yet."
+
+"Dang yer cowslip wine," quoth Joe, "it's poor trash, the yell would do
+a' more good."
+
+"It's bad for the bile, Joe. This ague makes a body very squeamish. But
+go to your dinner, children, and don't keep the men waiting. Dorothy,
+you can attend to me by and by."
+
+Dorothy smoothed her black locks, which the wind and her quick walking
+had scattered over her face, and followed her jolly conductor down to
+the kitchen.
+
+The homely but substantial dinner was smoking on the table, and Joe's
+wife was already in her place at the head of the board.
+
+A short stout matron of thirty, with yellow hair, blue eyes, and a very
+rosy face; her features were coarse, and their expression everything but
+pleasing; her whole appearance decidedly common and vulgar. Four young
+boys ranging from five to thirteen years of age, were seated on either
+side their mother, and formed very respectable olive branches; healthy
+merry looking fellows, with eyes brimful of fun and mischief. A wicker
+cradle, in which the youngest scion of the house was sleeping, stood
+beside Mrs. Barford, number two; so that if baby stirred during the
+repast his mother could keep him quiet, by moving the cradle with her
+foot, while attending to the wants of her household.
+
+Joe fronted his better half at the foot of the table, in his shirt
+sleeves; tall, bony and hard featured, his honest jovial face tanned to
+a swarthy red; he presented a fair specimen of a common tiller of the
+soil; his three working hands, who sat near him, were far more civilized
+in their appearance than the master of the house.
+
+As they came trooping in, and tumbled into their seats, Letty Barford
+called out, in a shrill voice.
+
+"Don't make such a clatter there, or yo'll waken up the babby. Joe, I
+wonders at ye, keepen the dinner waiting so long. The old woman upstairs
+shu'd ha' more sense. An' who is this gall ye ha' brought with you?"
+scowling at Dorothy. "I'm thinken I've seen her face afore."
+
+"It's Miss Chance, from Heath Farm," said Joe, in a very subdued voice,
+his large grey eye quailing beneath the fierce inquiring gaze of his
+wife.
+
+"Miss.--We have no misses here," she muttered, in an audible aside. "Sit
+down, Dorothy Chance, Ye'r welcome to what we ha'; not 'specting company
+you'll find no junkets at table."
+
+Dorothy, who neither liked the looks of the speaker, nor her harsh
+voice, mechanically obeyed; and the great business of dinner commenced.
+
+Such a clatter of knives and forks, such an earnest addressing of each
+individual to the important task of satisfying his hunger, that few
+words were spoken during the meal.
+
+Beans and bacon, cabbage and brown hard dumplings, formed the bill of
+fare, which the men washed down with plenty of table beer.
+
+Dorothy had been used to such homely diet, and, in spite of her grief,
+ate a tolerably hearty meal, not having tasted food since she had dined
+on the previous day.
+
+"That's right, lass! doan't fret aboot sweetheart, but get a good
+dinner. There's plenty o' men left in the country," said the yeoman,
+drinking off his glass of foaming ale, and nodding to Dorothy. "There's
+my Dick, an' he wor only ten year older, I'd gi him to yer, wi a right
+good wull--that a' wud."
+
+Dorothy blushed scarlet, the men burst into a loud haw, haw; and Master
+Dick, glancing at the strange girl, said, with a saucy air--
+
+"When I wants a maid, I'll please mysel," a declaration which all
+present seemed to consider very witty.
+
+The dinner was at last concluded, and men and boys went off to the
+hay-field, leaving Dorothy alone with Mrs. Joe and the baby.
+
+With great reluctance she communicated to the coarse common-minded
+woman, the unfortunate circumstances that had brought her to the house,
+taking care to give the relation in the most matter-of-fact language.
+
+Mrs. Joe listened to the tale with an air of stolid indifference, though
+secretly glad of the chance that had brought such an excellent
+work-woman into the house. She was a poor manager, and possessed no
+capacity for anything beyond keeping her husband and children remarkably
+clean. Her butter and cheese had no repute at market, and she generally
+had to dispose of these important articles of farm produce for an
+inferior price.
+
+"Well," she said, with a most provoking air of distrust, "yours do seem
+a strange story. I hope it may be all true. How'dsomever, that be no
+consarn o' mine. I be right glad you be come. Maybe, you'll teach me
+your method o' makin' cheese an' butter. Yours wor allers the crack o'
+the market. I ha' had that ere butter o' your'n thrown up in my face a
+hunder times."
+
+"I will take charge of the dairy, Mrs. Joseph, if you wish it?"
+
+"Doan't call me, Mrs. Joseph. I doan't want any o' those quality names
+here. I'm allers called Letty. If a' wull take care o' the cows, it will
+save me a world o' trouble. The children are all lads, an it's little
+help they gi' a body, they keeps un allers washing an' mending, an'
+fretting un's heart out about thar mischief. Then old uman's so ugly
+about the rows they make, toombling over chairs an' stools, an' yapping
+when thar hurt, my heads a'most split wi' noise. I did hope that young
+'un in cradle wu'd ha' proved a lass, but 'tis a man child, an' a fine
+whopping boy too, amaist big enough, and strong enough, to go to
+plough."
+
+Here Letty drew the coverlet from the face of the sleeping babe, and
+displayed his chubby proportions with maternal pride.
+
+"That's some 'at like a babby--he's a credit to the farm."
+
+"What a lovely child," cried Dorothy, as the sleepy little fellow,
+barely a month old, lazily opened his blue eyes, and stretched himself
+and yawned in the most healthy and approved fashion. "What have you
+called him?"
+
+"Hain't taken un to parson yet. A mean to call 'un Thomas, arter my own
+feather. Mother do think that she ha' a right to name all the bairns,
+but I mean to ha' my own way for once."
+
+"Tommy and I are sure to be friends," said Dorothy, lifting the child
+from the cradle. "I dearly love babies--it will be play nursing him."
+
+The mother laughed.
+
+"Ye'r dearly welcome to sich play. If you bide here, ye'll ha' lots
+on't. But what of the old missus upstairs.--What'll she ha' for dinner?"
+
+Dorothy had forgotten all about the cowslip wine and the toast, and
+procuring these delicacies from Mrs. Joe, she hastened with them back to
+the sick chamber.
+
+"Out o' sight out o' mind," said the invalid, good-naturedly. "I
+thought, Dolly, you never meant to come. What has kept you since
+dinner?"
+
+"I had to tell Mrs. Letty the reason why I left the farm."
+
+"An' what did she say?" asked her companion, with an eager look.
+
+"I think she scarcely believed me," returned Dorothy. "She almost said
+as much."
+
+"Oh, you must not mind her. She is a rude envious creature, an' as
+jealous o' her husband as she can be. You must mind how you speak to
+him, or you'll get scissors. I have to keep Mistress Letty in her place,
+the vulgar low thing that she is, or I should have a poor time of it, if
+I let her have her own way. She is actually jealous of the natural
+affection Joe has for me, an' he's the best tempered fellow in the world
+to put up with her nonsense. But I'm mistress here, an' she's obliged to
+draw in her horns. You'll get on very well with her, if you only show
+her a bold front; for, after all, she's a big coward, her bark is worse
+than her bite."
+
+While drawing this unprepossessing but true character of her
+daughter-in-law, Mrs. Barford went on leisurely sipping her cowslip
+wine.
+
+"I hope we shall be friends," said Dorothy, "we all have our faults, and
+so many young children are a great trial of temper; I shall be able to
+relieve Mrs. Letty of the trouble of the baby, and do most of the indoor
+work. It will be better than my going out into the fields with her
+husband and the men."
+
+"You are just right. Now run down and clear away the dishes. I feel
+quite comfortable. Reach a pillow from the bed, Dolly. Just put it
+here, to the right side of the chair. Now the house is quiet, I shall
+get a nice nap."
+
+Here Master Tommy thought fit to try the strength of his lungs, and
+began squalling lustily.
+
+"Drat the child!" cried Mrs. Barford, using her son Joe's favourite
+expletive, "he allers chooses to be wide awake when I want to go to
+sleep. Do try, Dolly, and keep him still. You will find plenty to do
+down stairs between this and supper time." Coiling herself round in the
+comfortable chair, the old lady settled herself for a nap, and Dorothy
+ran down to clear away the dishes and relieve Letty from the care of the
+babe.
+
+A week passed away, Dorothy thought it as long as a month. There came no
+word from the farm, and she concluded that Gilbert had returned to his
+accustomed duties; and that even Mrs. Rushmere had become reconciled to
+her absence.
+
+Another week, and still no news of Gilbert.
+
+Dorothy, by this time, was thoroughly acquainted with her new place; had
+got used to the people and the cattle; and was a great favourite in the
+family, from Master Dick down to little Sammy, who sat upon her lap of
+an evening to hear her tell him a story before he went to bed, Mrs.
+Letty forming the only exception. She could not bear to hear her
+mother-in-law praise Dorothy, but she found her too useful to quarrel
+with lightly, and confined her dislike to a watchful scrutiny of her
+words and actions, and a curt rude manner in giving her orders.
+
+Dorothy would have felt this want of common courtesy very keenly, had
+not her mind been occupied with a deeper cause of anxiety, and she
+neither resented nor took the least notice of Mrs. Joe's ill manners,
+beyond setting her down in her own mind as a selfish unfeeling woman,
+with whom she could never be on friendly terms, and whose company was
+very disagreeable.
+
+One day she was passing through a passage that led from the kitchen to
+the dairy. Joe and his wife were in earnest conversation in the kitchen;
+the door was open, they did not see Dorothy, and she could not help
+overhearing what they were talking about.
+
+"Doa'nt b'lieve a word on't. The girl's a good modest girl. She never do
+trouble herself aboot men folk."
+
+"Phew!" hissed forth the little wife.
+
+"People are mighty good till they be found out. She's a sly one--she be.
+I doa'nt swallow that story o' her'n. Depend upon it, man, it be a big
+lie fro' beginning to end. She doa'nt fool me wi' the like o' that.
+Farmer Rushmere wu'd not turn her out for naught."
+
+"Dang it! Letty, I know summut o' women folk. I'd as soon suspect mother
+o' the like as Dorothy Chance. A nicer, quieter girl never comed into a
+house."
+
+"O coorse, Joe, she be all perfection in yar eyes," and Mrs. Joe began
+to whimper. "These still 'uns be allers the worst. Wait awhile an'
+you'll find out who's right. I hate the wench, wi' her cunning black
+eyes lookin a body through. She be a deep un--she be."
+
+Here the matrimonial colloquy ended, and Dorothy hurried on to the
+dairy. She put down her pails, shut the door, and began to ponder over
+what she had heard.
+
+What could Mrs. Joe mean? What had she done? Of what did she accuse her?
+She felt inclined to go back and demand an explanation. Then, the old
+adage rushed into her mind. "Listeners seldom hear any good of
+themselves," and she was no match in a battle of words with such a woman
+as Mrs. Joe; so she determined to take no notice of what she had heard,
+but to seek another situation as soon as she could.
+
+Dorothy felt very wretched, and set about churning that evening with a
+heavy heart. Her faith in the goodness of human nature was very much
+shaken; she had conscientiously done her duty to her employers, and this
+was her reward.
+
+Saturday was the market-day at Hadstone. Dorothy dressed the butter--it
+was a prime article--and packed a panier of fresh eggs, before she went
+to bed that night, thinking that her services would be required to sell
+them in the morning. She wanted much to go to town, in the hope of
+hearing some news about the Rushmeres, and to obtain, if possible,
+another service, for she felt it was impossible to remain much longer
+where she was.
+
+Unfortunately for her, this was Letty's holiday. The only day in the
+week, except Sunday, that she could learn the news of the parish.
+Dorothy felt cruelly disappointed, but she said nothing, and helped
+Letty, as carefully as usual, to pack the baskets into the light cart.
+
+In her best bonnet and black silk spencer, (they wore spencers in those
+days instead of jackets) her light flaxen hair disposed in round curls,
+her gay chintz gown spotlessly clean; the younger Mrs. Barford looked a
+comely country wife. Dorothy gave her the whip, and ran ahead to open
+the gate that led into the road.
+
+"Mrs. Barford," she said, in a hesitating voice, "do not forget to make
+inquiries about the old folks at the farm, and whether Gilbert has
+returned. I do so wish to know. I should feel more happy and settled
+like."
+
+"Never fear lass. I'm dying wi' curiosity to larn all I can aboot them."
+She smiled significantly and glanced furtively at Dorothy.
+
+"Old Mrs. Larks wull tell me every thing. She allers picks up all the
+news. Mayhap, you may hear more than wull please you."
+
+Dorothy felt mad with herself for asking her to inquire about her old
+friends, and Mrs. Letty commenced giving her instructions about the
+household during her absence.
+
+"Now mind, Dolly, an' take care o' the babe, an' put no sugar in a's
+milk. An' see that the men ha' their dinner in right time; an' doant put
+tew many plooms inter thar doomplins, for 'tis carting day, 'an they
+'spect plooms. An' keep the old woman from scolding the lads. She'll be
+sure to be peeking an' perking inter every thing the moment my back's
+turned. I shan't be whome afore 'tis time to milk cows. An' mind an' be
+here to open the gate when I coomes back."
+
+Crack went the whip and away floundered the old horse through the gate.
+Dolly, after watching his progress for a few minutes down the hill, with
+a heavy sigh and a boding anticipation of evil tidings, returned slowly
+to the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+NEWS OF GILBERT.
+
+
+The elder Mrs. Barford, the real mistress of the house, for the farm
+belonged to her, and she shared the profits with her son; had quite
+recovered from the ague, which she attributed to the good nursing and
+care of Dorothy. She and her son's wife were not on very good terms.
+
+Mrs. Barford, as a country heiress, had received a boarding-school
+education, and was very superior to Letty in every respect. Her mother
+died when she was very young. After her father's death, which happened
+before she was out of her teens, she had married the bailiff, who
+farmed the estate for her benefit. A good looking, but totally
+uneducated man.
+
+He despised what he called book-larning, and suffered his only son to
+grow up as ignorant and clownish as himself. This had been a deep
+mortification to Mrs. Barford, but as it had originated in her own
+imprudence, and she had no one to blame but herself, she wisely held her
+tongue about it. It was not until after Joe brought home his vulgar
+wife, that she was practically taught to feel the degradation that her
+mésalliance had brought upon her once respectable family.
+
+While Dorothy was alone with her that morning, she informed Mrs. Barford
+of the conversation she had overheard between her son and his wife, and
+asked her if she knew what it meant?
+
+The old lady was as ignorant of the matter as herself. She was very fond
+of Dorothy, who, she said, was the only person in the house she could
+talk to, and was very angry with Letty for having indulged in such base
+suspicions.
+
+"It is just like her," she said. "Nobody knows the trial I have had with
+her, since Joe brought her here to be the plague of my life. Don't heed
+her, Dorothy. She is a cantankerous creature, who never has a good word
+to say about any one. I am mistress here, and you shall stay as long as
+I please, without asking her leave. She did not bear the best of
+characters when my poor boy was fool enough to marry her. Dick was born
+five months after, which brought a scandal upon the house; and it is
+allers those sort o' folks that are the first to find fault with others
+who are better and prettier than themselves. She is a poor shiftless
+thing, and indifferent to every thing but her own comfort."
+
+Much as Dorothy disliked Letty, she thought that little comfort could be
+extracted from continuous hard work, and the care of five children, the
+youngest a baby; her very want of method made her labours less effective
+and more fatiguing.
+
+Without, perhaps, being aware of it, the elder Mrs. Barford was very
+selfish and exacting; she added a good deal to Letty's domestic
+drudgery, and never did the least thing herself, beyond continual
+fault-finding and scolding the children.
+
+Dorothy had tried her best to relieve Letty of half her burthen, and in
+return had been made a bone of contention between them. Mrs. Barford
+wanted her to wait entirely upon herself, and was jealous of her doing
+so much for Letty; and Joe, who endorsed all that his mother did and
+said, had widened the breach, by admiring Dolly's pretty face, and
+extolling her superior management.
+
+It was hard to keep the peace between them all.
+
+Dorothy had been so much engrossed by her own troubles, that she had
+taken little notice of their occasional bickerings; it was only since
+yesterday that she had imagined that she was in any way the cause of
+their quarrels,--hitherto she had gone about her work little heeding
+them. This day in particular, the old lady was cross and hard to please.
+The baby cried, wanting its mother, and refused to be fed. The younger
+boys were troublesome, and the day oppressively hot. Dolly was sadly put
+about, to attend to them all and cook the dinner. It was a relief when
+Joe and the men came in from work.
+
+"The beef an' cabbage," Joe said, "wor cooked prime." He wished "the
+missus wud go out every day, an' leave lass to cook the dinner." The
+ploom dumplings, however, were not so much to his taste.
+
+"Doll," he said, "do you call e'es suetty things ploom dumplins? I see
+no plooms in 'em. It dew put me in mind o' a story feather used to tell,
+o' a stingy missus, who made a pudden for the men in harvest, an' put
+one ploom in ter middle on't; an' while men wor quareling aboot who
+shu'd ha' the ploom, a wasp flew away wi' it."
+
+A chorus of haw haws, showed how delighted his fellow-clowns were with
+farmer Joe's story.
+
+Dorothy felt annoyed, though she laughed with the rest.
+
+"I should have made the dumplings with more fruit in them, master, only
+Letty cautioned me not to be extravagant with the plums."
+
+"I thought as much," returned Mrs. Barford, rather spitefully. "Letty is
+fond of saving in a small way. Stopping the cask at the spigot, and
+letting out at the bunghole, as my father used to say. Take it as a
+general rule, Dorothy, when men work hard to feed them well."
+
+"The old missus for ever," shouted Nat Green, one of the farm servants.
+"She wor a prime hand at a pudden anyhow."
+
+"Ah, ha," said Joe, who happened to be in a very jocular mood, "that
+reminds me o' a terrible thrashing I once got from mother. I was a
+youngster about the size of Jack there; we wor in the thick o' the
+harvest, it wor carting day, an' all hands on the farm mortal busy,
+mother wanted plooms for the pudden an' ther wor none to send to shop
+but I, so she calls me to her, an' gees me a shilling.
+
+"'Joe,' she says, 'run down to the village and buy two pund o' plooms o'
+Mr. Carter; be quick, for I be in a mighty hurry, and I'll gi' you a
+ha'penny when you come back.' I wor right glad o' the chance. 'Twor
+aboot a mile, an' I run'd the whole way, an' bought the plooms.
+
+"Says Mr. Carter, says he, 'doan't eat them by the way.'
+
+"I shu'd never have thought o' that, foreby he had held his tongue. As I
+coomed whome a hole broke in the paper, an' plooms coomed tomblin out,
+one arter another; an' I kept yeating an' yeating till thar wor half
+gone. Dang it, I wor sceared. What shu'd a' do? Mother wor awful in them
+days aboot stealing, so I sat doon on bank by road side, an' thought it
+well over, an' by gosh, I hit on a plan I thought wud get me oot o'
+scrape."
+
+"Well, feather," called out Master Dick, opening wide his round blue
+eyes, "what did a' do? Did granny find it oot?"
+
+"That she did, boy. I opened the parcel, an' bit ev'ry ploom in two."
+
+"You were about as wise then, Joe, as you be now," suggested Mrs.
+Barford, who, like the children and Dolly, was listening intensely to
+the story.
+
+"But what did granny say?" again demanded the boy.
+
+"She asked how they coomed in that state? I pretended I did not know.
+That was just the way I got e'm from Mr. Carter.
+
+"'You lie,' quoth she, 'an' are a big fule into the bargain. Come here
+an' I wull teach you how to tell the truth.'
+
+"An' she took an ashen stick, an' she loomped I, an' thrashed I, till a'
+went off limping to bed.
+
+"'Lie thar, Joe, till the morn,' says she, 'an' take your time to find
+out how many two halves make put together.'
+
+"Lauck, a lauck, how my bones ached! It wor all right, howsomever; I
+never put my haund to stealing again."
+
+The boys regarded their grandmother with a look of awe. The men returned
+to the field, and Dorothy busied herself with household matters till the
+sun went down. She was in a fever of impatience for Letty's return from
+the town, and worked as hard as she could to keep down her heart and
+drown thought.
+
+"What keeps Letty," said Mrs. Barford, putting aside her knitting, and
+going to the door, "she is later than usual. Now she has some one to do
+her work she will stay gossiping about the town till dark night. When
+you have milked, Dolly, run to the avenue gate, and see if she be
+coming."
+
+The round red moon was slowly rising behind the trees, and Joe and his
+men had finished their supper, and brought the last load of hay into the
+yard, before Dolly had cleared away and finished milking.
+
+Without staying to take a cup of tea with Mrs. Barford, she tied on her
+bonnet and ran down to the avenue gate, just as old Captain came
+lumbering up to it.
+
+"Dolly," cried his mistress, "be that you?"
+
+Dorothy threw open the gate.
+
+"I 'spose you all thought I wor lost. I ha' strange news for you,
+Dorothy."
+
+"Bad or good?" asked Dolly, in a voice scarcely above her breath.
+
+"Bad enough. This be what I heard in the market. That you, Dorothy
+Chance, had played the fule wi' Gilbert Rushmere. That the old folk
+turned you off for your bad conduct. That Gilly run'd away, to get rid
+on ye, an' went an' listed for a soger, an' be gone to forin parts. An'
+the old woman be quite crazed, an' well nigh dead wi' grief, an' has not
+been out o' bed for a fortnite. That Rushmere goes cursing and swearing
+about the house, an' wishing you in the bad place, an' that he had never
+seen your black face. That's the news I heard, and for sartin it be bad
+enough an' no mistake."
+
+Dorothy's colour went and came as she clung to the gate for support.
+"You cannot believe that of me, Mrs. Letty. You cannot have the heart to
+believe it," she gasped out, in a tone of entreaty, appealing to the
+heart and conscience of her accuser. "It is false! cruelly false! I
+never did aught amiss with Gilbert in my life."
+
+"Folks say it's true, at any rate," retorted the little souled creature,
+with a malignant glance of triumph at her pale trembling victim. "I
+tould you I never did 'blieve that cock an' bull story wi' which you
+gulled mother an' Joe. It didn't sound probable like--it didn't."
+
+Joe's wife rode slowly up the avenue, to communicate what she had heard
+to the assembled household, leaving Dorothy at the gate crying as if her
+heart would burst.
+
+The cruel and unjustifiable conduct of her lover, the distress of his
+parents, and her own desolation, was almost more than she could bear;
+and when to all this suffering was added the abominable slander just
+uttered by her unfeeling mistress, the weight of undeserved injury that
+pressed upon her brain was maddening. It changed all the benevolence of
+her nature into wrathful bitterness and unmitigated contempt.
+
+A word had never before been breathed against her character. She had
+always been spoken of as a modest good girl, and pointed out as a model
+for imitation to all the young women in the parish,--and the base
+calumny just spoken by Letty Barford, and her evident satisfaction in
+repeating it, filled her with more grief, than even the sad news of
+Gilbert's enlistment.
+
+"What shall I do!" she cried. "I cannot stay here. I cannot hold up my
+head among these people with all this shame cast upon me."
+
+In a few minutes her resolution was taken. "I will go home," she sobbed,
+"and hear the truth from their own lips,--they must need help in their
+present distress. Who can feel for them like me, whose heart is bleeding
+from the same wound. Mother knows my innocence--she will pay no heed to
+these wicked stories. Yes, I will return to her this very night."
+
+She drew herself up proudly, wiped away her tears, and walked with a
+firm step back to the house, tied up her few things in the bundle, and
+entered the kitchen with the courage that conscious integrity can alone
+give.
+
+Men, women, and children, were gathered together in the middle of the
+room, all talking at once.
+
+"Hush!" said Letty, glancing towards the door, as Dorothy came in.
+"Here's my lady herself."
+
+"Dolly," cried the yeoman, "Dolly, lass, I do'ant 'blieve one word o'nt.
+It's all a malicious invention of Nance Watling's. Face it out, Dolly.
+I'll stand by you at ony rate."
+
+"I want no one to take my part, Mr. Barford," returned Dorothy, her
+spirit rising as she spoke. "I don't care who invented or who believes
+such a vile story. It is false. I can live it down."
+
+"That's right, my girl, take it with a high hand," retorted Letty, who
+concluded that Dorothy's speech was levelled at her. "It makes a body
+laugh, when a beggar's brat gi'es hersel' sich airs."
+
+"For shame, Letty," said the old lady, whose faith in Dorothy's goodness
+had been a little upset by her daughter-in-law's relation, but who still
+regarded her with affection. "What harm has poor Dolly ever done to you?
+Those who have glass windows of their own," she added, in an aside,
+"should be the last to throw stones."
+
+"To show you all that I am innocent," continued Dorothy, taking no
+notice of Letty's insulting speech, which she considered infinitely
+beneath answering, or Mrs. Barford's doubtful sympathy, "that I am not
+afraid of meeting my dear foster parents, I shall go home this very
+night." Her black eyes flashed, the colour deepened in her cheeks, and
+the hitherto quiet girl looked sublime in the intensity of her disdain.
+
+"I think you are right, Dorothy," said Mrs. Barford, who foresaw that
+there would be no peace with Letty if she remained. "If the old people
+will receive you again, home is the best place for you. I would not stay
+here to be insulted by Mrs. Letty, let the story be true or false."
+
+"Who wants her?" shrieked Mrs. Joe. "The sooner she goes the better."
+
+"She be'ant a' going alone ow'r that lonesome heath," said the
+compassionate Joe, who could not bear to see a pretty girl in distress,
+and who could not look in Dorothy's indignant face and believe her
+guilty, "if I drive her whome mysel."
+
+"You'll do no sich thing, Mr. Joe Barford," cried Letty, putting her
+arms akimbo, and stepping between her husband and Dorothy. "I 'spose you
+want to run off wi' the brazen-faced minx?"
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Barford," said Dorothy sternly. "I am able to take care
+of myself. There is nothing to fear."
+
+"Nothing to fear," repeated Joe, lifting his hand with a gesture of
+astonishment. "Why, lass, the place is haunted. Did'st never hear that?"
+
+"Yes, wi' her precious mother's ghost," sneered Letty. "Like mother,
+like child."
+
+Dorothy started. She cast upon the speaker a look of ineffable contempt,
+and left the house without a word of parting to its inhabitants, never
+stopping for a moment till she gained the high road. "Good heavens!" she
+cried, when once more alone, and beneath the wide canopy of the night,
+"are these people fiends, that they rejoice in the supposition of my
+guilt, and condemn me on mere hearsay, without the least proof that I
+have committed this great sin?
+
+"Is this human nature, of the wickedness of which I have heard so much,
+and which I found so hard to believe. I will never trust to kind looks
+and flattering words again. I tried to serve these people to the best
+of my ability; they all seemed pleased with me and spoke me fair, yet
+the first breath of evil that assails my character has turned them into
+bitter enemies. If this be life, how much better to--!" The rest of the
+unspoken sentence her better reason silenced.
+
+This was only one of the many hard lessons people learn in the world.
+Dorothy was as yet a novice to the world and its crooked paths, and she
+felt indignant at the sorry treatment she had received from it during
+the past few weeks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+MIDNIGHT ON THE HEATH.
+
+
+Dorothy walked on at a rapid pace for upwards of an hour: the night had
+now fairly closed in upon her; the moon shone bright, and the air was
+warm and balmy, but the road was long and lonely; not one solitary
+cottage was to be found beside her path, after she turned into the
+upland road that led across the heath.
+
+People of limited education, born and brought up in out of the way
+country places, are apt to be superstitious. Dorothy was not above the
+common weakness of her class. Ghost stories, dreams and presentiments,
+not to say anything of bewitchments and distempers, caused by the
+withering glance of the evil eye, were subjects that generally formed
+the topic of conversation round the winter hearth, and were devoutly
+believed as truths, by the simple narrators, who derived from them an
+inexhaustible fund of amusement.
+
+This fear of the invisible world, so inherent in simple natures, has
+been implanted for a wise purpose. It keeps alive a consciousness of the
+immortality of the soul, which otherwise might be disregarded by those
+who are separated by poverty and distance from coming to the knowledge
+of revealed truth.
+
+As Dorothy hastened on, some of the wild legends she had heard from
+childhood glanced through her mind. The tide of angry feeling that had
+raised her above fear, was fast subsiding, and a thousand weird fancies
+flitted through her brain. She began bitterly to repent having refused
+the honest yeoman's blunt offer, to see her safe over the long lonely
+upland waste, stretching out into the far distance, which lay so still
+under the moonshine before her.
+
+It was too late to go back. She could not think of that now--but she
+could not help owning to herself that she was horribly afraid, and she
+ran along the steep rugged path as fast as if she had been pursued by a
+host of evil spirits.
+
+Something sprang up against her. She gave a loud scream.
+
+It was Pincher, who had missed her from the kitchen, and had followed
+upon her track.
+
+Dorothy kissed the dear old dog in her excess of gratitude--his presence
+gave her courage. Who has not felt the comfort and companionship of a
+faithful dog at night, and on a lonely road. Dorothy felt that she was
+safe now, she had a trusty friend to protect her, who, if need be, would
+lay down his life to defend her.
+
+The girl and her four-footed companion walked on lovingly together
+beneath the broad light of the moon, conversing to each other in their
+own peculiar way.
+
+They had now mounted the steep ridge of the heath that commanded a fine
+view of the ocean, which lay heaving and gleaming like molten silver
+against the horizon, sending up a deep, mysterious voice through the
+stillness of the night.
+
+How grand it would have appeared to Dorothy at any other time, for her
+soul, simple and innocent as that of a little child, was steeped in the
+poetry of nature, which the Divine Mother alone whispers to the good and
+pure of heart. Now, the mournful music made by those coming and
+retreating waves, breaking the death-like silence which reigned around,
+filled her mind with a chilling dread.
+
+She was fast approaching the deep hollow where her mother died, and the
+terrible words that had dropped from Joe Barford, that it was haunted by
+her ghost, rushed into her mind, filling it with an ungovernable fear.
+
+"What if she should see her apparition?" She stopped--irresolute what to
+do. Her own shadow in the moonlight made her start and scream. She tried
+to run past the spot, which lay in deep shadow to the right, but her
+feet seemed chained to the earth, and her eyes, as if under a terrible
+fascination, were fixed upon the clump of furze that crowned the little
+ridge above, that looked so black and shadowy when all around was bright
+as day.
+
+While she stood, pale with horror, her eyes wide open, her quivering
+lips apart, the white teeth chattering together, and her limbs relaxed
+and trembling, a low wailing sound crept through the purple heath, the
+furze bushes shivered as if instinct with life, and the dog crawled to
+her feet moaning piteously.
+
+Dorothy tried to rouse herself, to break, by speaking to the dog, the
+horrible spell in which her senses were bound up, but not a sound could
+she utter. In desperation she turned her head from the haunted spot.
+
+She saw, what to her frenzied eye appeared a slight figure, shrouded in
+mist, through which the moon-beams flickered and played slowly, flitting
+along her path.
+
+Again that wild unearthly sound rustled among the bushes, and the dog
+broke out into a long dismal howl. A cry, which heard, even at noon day,
+seldom fails to blanch the manliest cheek. Dorothy heard it not--with a
+sobbing moan she sank to the ground insensible to fear, or aught else
+beneath the wide canopy of heaven.
+
+Pincher nestled close to his fainting mistress, hiding his shaggy head
+upon her breast.
+
+Whatever the dog suffered through the lonely watches of the night,
+Dorothy was happily unconscious of his terrors and her own.
+
+She was so near to her old home, that had her senses been roused from
+that death-like stupor, she might have heard the clock in the great hall
+strike twelve. At that beautiful season of the year, day brightens in
+the east before three o'clock, and the rosy tints in the west seldom
+leave the horizon.
+
+The sun had just risen over the sea, when Lawrence Rushmere went to
+water his horses at the brook in the sandy lane that ran in front of the
+house, sheltered beneath the steep ascent of the heath. At the gate
+which led from the court-yard, he encountered Pincher, whom he had not
+seen since Dorothy left.
+
+"What, the old doorg," he cried, patting him with infinite satisfaction.
+"The old doorg come home. I wonder what kept thee away so long. How is
+it with the poor wench?"
+
+After the first salutation was over between master and dog, Pincher
+tried, in his dog fashion, to make him understand, by a thousand odd
+movements, that he wanted his special attention. He ran from the gate up
+the steep path leading to the heath, barking furiously, then returned to
+the farmer, and pulled him by the coat, as if he wished him to follow,
+and went through the same pantomime again and again.
+
+"What can the doorg want wi' me," said Rushmere, at last struck by his
+odd behaviour, "I never saw him act in that fashion afore. Some of the
+cattle must have strayed upon the heath, and, mayhap, have fallen into a
+hole. Pincher was allers as wise as a Christian. I'll follow un, an' see
+what has happened."
+
+He fastened his horses to the gate, and took the path that led to the
+heath. Pincher ran barking on before, evidently delighted with his
+success, and led his master to the spot where Dorothy lay, pale and
+drenched with the night-dews, upon the ground.
+
+The sight of the poor girl, so thin and altered since he last saw her
+in the glow of life and health, brought vividly to his recollection the
+dead mother, and filled his mind with shame and remorse, for the manner
+in which she had been driven from her home.
+
+His large frame trembled, and tears sprang into his eyes.
+
+"She is not dead but sleeping," he said, as he remarked, with no small
+satisfaction, the regular heaving of her breast. "But what a place to
+choose for a bed, so near the spot where her mother died. Dorothy!" he
+cried, in a loud voice, "awake. It is I, the father who calls thee."
+
+The girl unclosed her eyes, sat up, and gazed upon him with a vague
+unmeaning stare.
+
+"Dorothy, lass, don't you know the father?"
+
+He sat down beside her, and took her cold little hand in his. "What
+brought you here, child? Thou hast lost thy senses sure, to be sleeping
+upon the cold damp ground. It is enough to kill thee."
+
+The well-known voice, still more the kind words, recalled Dorothy to
+consciousness, and banished from her mind the horrors of the night.
+
+"Father, dear father!" she whispered in a voice scarcely audible, as she
+nestled her head upon his broad shoulder, "how kind of you to come to
+find me."
+
+"Nay, it was not I but the doorg you have to thank, Dolly, it was he
+that brought me here, or you might have lain on the wet heath till the
+day of judgment. But why did you not come to the house--were you afraid
+that I should turn you away from my door?"
+
+"I was on my way home, father, but something dreadful happened to me
+last night. Oh, so dreadful, that only to think of it makes my flesh
+creep." She clung to the old man, and shivered in every limb.
+
+"Speak out, lass. What was it? What ails thee? Did any one insult thee?"
+
+"No, no, it was not flesh and blood." Lowering her voice, and casting a
+timid glance around, she whispered in his ear, as if afraid of speaking
+it out. "I saw last night the ghost of my mother."
+
+"Lord a mercy!" cried the farmer, springing to his feet, with the
+elasticity of a young man, and gazing upon Dorothy with a wild horror
+gleaming in his eyes. "Were you in your right mind. What did a' look
+like?"
+
+"A shadow--a thin vapoury form, through which I saw the moon shining."
+
+"But how didst thou know the mother? Did it speak?"
+
+Dolly shook her head.
+
+"A low wailing, sobbing cry passed along the ground, and shook the
+bushes It was like nothing human--so sad and wild. Pincher crept to my
+feet and howled back an answer."
+
+"Aye, doorgs be wise--they see what we can't see--and what then, lass?"
+
+"A mortal fear came over me. I tried to run but fell. I remember nothing
+after that, until you woke me up just now."
+
+"It wor strange," mused the old man. "I never did wholly believe in
+ghosts, but you are not the girl to tell a lie. You might have been
+mistaken--but I would bet ten to one on the doorg. And how do you feel,
+Dolly, arter lying so long in the dews?"
+
+"Stiff and cold," said Dorothy, her teeth chattering in her head, and a
+deeper pallor settling on her face. "I shall soon get over that, when I
+am once more at home."
+
+"And what brought thee out so late last night, child. Worn't thee afeard
+of passing over the lonesome heath?"
+
+"Father, I had been told a sad story--had been vexed by a cruel and
+false accusation against my character; and I could not remain where I
+was, and put up with their insults, or rest until I heard the truth of
+what they told me from your own lips." She stopped for a minute to
+gather courage to ask the dreadful question. "Has Gilbert enlisted for a
+soldier and gone to the wars?"
+
+The old man burst into tears, and sobbed like a child.
+
+Dorothy needed no stronger confirmation of her fears. She saw that the
+report was only too true, and her heart bled for the poor old man.
+"Father," she cried, affectionately pressing his hand between her own,
+"is it _too late_ to buy him off?"
+
+"It's na' use thinking o' that, Dorothy, we did not get his letter until
+the ship had sailed, that took him away ow'r seas wi' the rest. He's in
+Spain long afore this."
+
+"Then he did write."
+
+"Yea, a short bit o' a letter."
+
+"Did he give any excuse for going?"
+
+"Aye, the same old tale over agen. He had given up the girl he loved to
+please me, and he had listed for a soger to please himsel', and I alone
+wor to blame. The king wanted men, and he would go and fight for him and
+his country; his life were no better worth than another's, and he could
+not forget Dorothy while he remained at home."
+
+Rushmere began to sob afresh. Dorothy's eager eyes were fixed
+imploringly on his face. She did not like to ask "Is that all? Is there
+no message, no word of comfort for me?" The longing desire to hear the
+whole of the letter, might be read in every feature of her expressive
+face.
+
+"Ah, Dolly," cried the old man, wringing his hands as he spoke, "had I
+been kinder to thee, lass, I should not have lost my son--my only
+son--the last man who bears my name on the earth, for aught I know to
+the contrary. It was only just of the Almighty to punish me for my
+pride. But 'tis almost more than I have strength to bear."
+
+"All we can do now, father, is to bear the burthen with patience, and
+hope in God's mercy for the future. It is of no use turning despondingly
+to the past."
+
+"Aye, girl, but conscience will turn our looks backward, whether we like
+it or no, an' will tell us of acts an' cruel words we would fain forget,
+an' that ow'r an' ow'r agen."
+
+"Did Gilbert send any word or message for me, father?" said Dorothy,
+growing desperate with excitement.
+
+"Did a'," returned Rushmere, looking blankly in Dorothy's agitated face,
+as if his own thoughts were far away beyond the sea, with his absent
+son.
+
+"Yes, a' did. He bade us, if we loved him--how could he doubt it--take
+care of Dorothy, an' cherish her as our own flesh and blood, as she wor
+the only child left to us now, an' not to punish the poor girl for his
+fault."
+
+"God bless him!" said Dorothy, sadly, her heart not quite satisfied, and
+the tears coming fast into her eyes. "He sent no love, no kind
+remembrance to his old playmate?"
+
+"That was all, Dolly, except his duty to us."
+
+Dorothy sighed, and for some minutes both were silent, at length the old
+man said,
+
+"Dorothy, do you heed what Gilly said. Will you come back to us, an' be
+our daughter once more--the comfort of our old age. We ha' naught else
+to cling to now?"
+
+Dorothy met the request, so humbly made, with heart-felt expressions of
+gratitude. She could not help thinking that Gilbert had acted selfishly,
+in deserting his parents; that it was a poor way of proving his love to
+her, by showing such a want of affection for them; but she crushed the
+ungracious thought, and inquired how Mrs. Rushmere had borne this heavy
+blow--ashamed of not having asked for her before.
+
+"Alack, child, when she read the letter, she swoon'd dead away, an' when
+the neighbours brought her round, she grew stark staring mad, raving and
+crying, 'Gilly, Gilly, come back to your poor mother. Oh, my heart, my
+heart, it will break a' wanting my son.' It was awful to hear the like,
+an' she allers such a quiet creature. It was many days afore she grew
+calm. She went one morn, an' she fetched the big Bible, and went down
+upon her knees in the corner of the room, an' she cried an' crooned ow'r
+it for hours, an' would na' take a morsel o' any thing to eat or to
+drink. At last she gets up, and she clasps her hands thus--together--an'
+she looks at me wi' her old pleasant kind face,
+
+"'Lawrence,' she says, 'God has comforted my poor sore heart, and given
+me his blessed peace. This trial is o' him. Let us kneel down together,
+an' pray that He may bless it to our souls.'
+
+"An' I did pray, Dolly, as I never did before in my life, an' we found
+the word mighty to overcome grief.
+
+"Then wife says, 'Larry,' she says to me, 'you must go an' bring our
+Dolly back. God gave her to us, an' you ha' clean forgotten the trust.'
+
+"'It's never too late to repent,' says I. 'I will go for the little maid
+to-morrow evening, when I come from work.' What moved your heart,
+Dorothy, to come alone?"
+
+Dorothy did not like to mention the scandal which had roused her
+indignation, lest it should increase the farmer's self-reproaches, which
+were heavy enough. She merely said, and it was the truth,
+
+"That she was suddenly told of Gilbert's enlistment, and she could not
+believe it until further confirmation from them. That it was late when
+she left Barford's, but the night was so clear that she never
+apprehended any cause for alarm, that it must have been midnight when
+she fancied she saw the apparition on the heath, but since the sun had
+shone into her eyes she began to doubt the reality of the vision.
+
+"She had been hard at work all day, and was greatly troubled in her mind
+when she started on her lonely walk. She might have sat down to rest and
+fallen asleep, and dreamt it, she no longer seemed to recall the
+circumstances very distinctly. The horrible phantasy had faded from her
+mind with the morning light, and she would try and think of it as a
+mental delusion.
+
+"But then, what made Pincher howl in that fearful manner?"
+
+Dolly shuddered. "It must be true, the dog could not have been deceived,
+though I might."
+
+A severe attack of fever and ague was the result of Dorothy passing the
+night upon the heath. For many weeks she was unable to leave her bed,
+and for some time small hopes were entertained for her life. Mrs.
+Rushmere received the poor wanderer with open arms, and thought little
+of the additional trouble. She had suffered too much to murmur about
+trifles. During the delirium of the fever, Dorothy raved continually
+about her mother, and dared not be left a moment alone in the dark.
+
+It was firmly believed in the house, and through the neighbourhood, that
+she had seen her mother's ghost, who had threatened the Rushmeres with
+unheard of calamities for turning her daughter out of doors. The wildest
+reports were in circulation; and the wonderful tale was repeated with a
+thousand exaggerations at church and at market.
+
+The story reached Hadstone. The Barfords shook their heads. "It was
+Dorothy's misdoings," they kindly suggested, "that had disturbed her
+mother in her grave."
+
+Miss Watling, whose malicious tongue had first given rise to the scandal
+about Dorothy Gilbert, considered "that it was a judgment upon that vile
+creature, and that Gilbert had acted like a wise man, in going away to
+be rid of her. Time," she added, emphatically, "would prove, that all
+that had been said about her was true." She went farther, and hinted
+that her present illness had a very suspicious look.
+
+Dorothy was annoyed that Mr. Rushmere had given publicity to her
+midnight adventure on the heath, but the temptation of repeating a
+veritable ghost story, in which he firmly believed, was too great for
+the old man to resist. As to the other tales, they did not all come to
+her ears; and such as did, she treated with a proud disdain. "God knew
+her innocence," she said, "and in His own good time would disprove them
+all."
+
+The harvest was over before she was able to resume her household duties.
+As her former health and strength returned, her fears gradually
+diminished, and she could converse with calmness to Mrs. Rushmere of the
+terrible vision, which she now attributed to an over-excited state of
+mind combined with great bodily fatigue. About Gilbert and his future
+prospects, she had learned to speak without betraying the real state of
+her feelings; and had inspired the old people with the hope that he
+would one day return from the wars an officer at least.
+
+Things began to wear a brighter aspect, and the labours of the farm went
+on peacefully and prosperously. The Rushmeres if not contented were
+resigned, and both united in treating Dorothy with kindness and
+consideration. The old family bible was in more constant use, and each
+day was commenced and ended with prayer.
+
+Time passed on. The winds of autumn had laid the heart of the forest
+bare; short and gloomy days, and frequent storms of rain and hail, told
+that the winter was at hand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+A STRANGE VISITOR.
+
+
+It was the latter part of November. The day had been intensely cold,
+with a biting north-east wind and black frost. Towards evening the snow
+began to fall, at first in thin scattered flakes, but as the night
+closed in, thick and heavily.
+
+Dorothy listened uneasily to the howling winds, as they swept in loud
+gusts along the heath, and often went to the door to watch for the
+return of Mr. Rushmere from Hadstone market. He had ridden over to the
+town early in the day, to receive a large payment for wheat, which he
+had sold the week before to a corn merchant there.
+
+"Father is late," she remarked to Mrs. Rushmere, who was knitting
+quietly by fire light, on one of the settles beside the hearth and who
+apprehended no danger, being blessed with a less anxious temperament
+than her adopted daughter. A cheerful fire was roaring up the great
+chimney, and she was literally basking in the warmth the ruddy blaze
+diffused around.
+
+"I wish he was home," continued Dorothy, who felt almost angry with her
+mother for looking so comfortable. "It is a wild night, and the snow is
+drifting terribly on the heath, he will hardly find his way across it in
+the storm. Why, mother, it is growing very dark--it is sometime since
+the clock struck six."
+
+The old lady glanced up from her work; her placid face wore a look of
+unusual serenity.
+
+"Don't be so unrestful, Dolly. I feel in my heart that he be close at
+hand. Lawrence Rushmere is not the man to be afeard of a few
+snow-flakes. Spread the table, and get every thing in readiness for his
+supper, when he does come. I can't feel uneasy, for I am certain he will
+bring us news of Gilly. I was dreaming of him last night. I have borne
+him on my mind all day. I do feel so happy and lightsome, that it would
+be a sin to fret about troubles which may never come to our door."
+
+"I hope you may be right, mother. I cannot think of father being out at
+night, and on such a night as this, on that lonely heath, without a
+shudder. If thinking of Gilly would bring us news of him, we ought to
+hear from him very often; for I am thinking about him all day long,"
+returned Dorothy, commencing with alacrity to cover the table.
+
+"A mother's love is a great mystery, Dolly. It never changes like the
+love of man to woman. It begins before the birth of her little one, and
+lasts till the hour of death. It is more like the love of God to his
+creatures. It bears patiently all changes of time and circumstance;
+forgives every fault; forgets acts of selfishness, neglect and
+ingratitude; loving on, and hoping on, to the last."
+
+"Hark!" cried Dorothy, "I hear the wheels grate on the stones in the
+court-yard. I will take the lanthorn, and help father unharness Jack.
+Yes, it is he. I hear him speaking to the horse. Now, mother, we shall
+see if you be a true prophet."
+
+Dorothy took the light and ran out.
+
+"Well, Doll, here I be, all right. I wor amaist blinded wi' snow, coming
+ow'r that confounded heath. Has't got a good fire? 'Tis mortal cold. I
+be all kivered ow'r wi' snow," and he stamped his feet and shook a
+shower of white flakes from his great-coat.
+
+"Go in, father, I will take care of the horse. Mother and I have been on
+the look out for you for the last hour. Have you brought us good news?"
+
+
+"Fifty pounds for the wheat, child--ten pounds more than I expected: but
+wheat has riz five shillings the quarter. Is not that good news, my
+girl, and the money paid in hard cash into my hand?"
+
+Dorothy drew a long, regretful sigh.
+
+"It might have been better."
+
+"Lauk, a mercy, child! the women folk be never satisfied. 'Tis bad news
+enough for them as has to buy. But that's no consarn of ours."
+
+Dorothy led Jack off to the stable, and the half-frozen yeoman turned in
+to enjoy his cheerful fire. Dorothy was bitterly disappointed. In spite
+of herself she had endorsed Mrs. Rushmere's presentiment that she would
+that night hear tidings of Gilbert, and she felt inclined to murmur
+against the old lady entertaining such foolish notions.
+
+She rubbed down the pony, gave him his oats and a warm bed, and returned
+with a sadder heart to the house than when she left it.
+
+After the substantial evening meal was over, and Rushmere had quietly
+lighted his pipe, and the women resumed their knitting, Mrs. Rushmere
+asked, in a plaintive voice,
+
+"No news of Gilly, Lawrence?"
+
+"Why, dame, what makes you think thir wor?"
+
+Dorothy looked hard at the old man. She saw a covert smile on his
+wrinkled face, while his wife pushed her former inquiry.
+
+"Mothers are allers hoping against hope, Larry. I felt so certain that
+you would bring us some word of him."
+
+"Father, you have got a letter. I know you have," cried Dorothy. "I can
+see it in your eyes," and she sprang to his side.
+
+"An' if so be I have, what's that to you, little minx? Reach down my
+great-coat. You'll find my pocket-book in the right side pocket, but
+don't toomble any o' the money out."
+
+Dorothy searched for the hidden treasure in desperate haste, and placed
+the letter on the table before him.
+
+"And you had a letter, Lawrence, all this time, and never told us a word
+about it," said Mrs. Lawrence, reproachfully.
+
+"I knew the letter wu'd keep," laughed the farmer, "an' I wanted you an'
+the lass to eat your victuals in quiet. I know'd if you see'd the letter
+you'd both gang empty to bed."
+
+"But how could you eat your supper, Lawrence, an' the letter lying
+unread in your pocket?"
+
+"I know'd all aboot it," said Rushmere, with a jolly chuckle. "I got it
+by heart afore I left the town. It wor that made me so late home. Here,
+Doll, thee be'est a better scholar nor I, read the letter out to your
+mother."
+
+Dorothy's hand trembled with agitation; she could hardly unfold the
+precious document, and the tears came so thick and fast to her eyes,
+that when unfolded, she could hardly see to read it.
+
+"What the deuce ails the girl? Read a little louder, Dolly, for mother
+an' I to hear it."
+
+Dorothy made an effort to control her feelings, and read as follows:--
+
+    "Dear and honoured Parents,
+
+    "I hope these few lines will meet you in health, as they leave
+    me at this present time, by the blessing of God; and that you
+    have forgiven me for my undutiful conduct in leaving you as I
+    did. I repented directly the false step was taken, but, like a
+    true Briton, I was too proud to go back.
+
+    "The regiment only remained in England a week after I listed,
+    when we were ordered off to Portugal, to join the army under
+    Sir John Moore. We had a fine passage, but I was very sea-sick,
+    and home-sick, which I found the worst ailment of the two; and I
+    thought that if I made no better soldier than I did a sailor, I
+    might just as well have remained at the plough.
+
+    "But that's all over. I like the life I have chosen better than
+    when I first entered. We have had hard times, and hard marching
+    through this rough country, but thanks be to God, I have escaped
+    with a whole skin.
+
+    "The captain who commands our company is a lad of my own age,
+    born in our part of the country; Lord Fitzmorris, the only son
+    of Earl Wilton, who lives up at the big hall on the hill. By the
+    by, father, he says, that the grand old place once belonged to
+    my forebears. Is that true?"
+
+"In coorse it is," interrupted old Rushmere. "But 'tis a long time ago,
+when he," nodding to the picture fronting him, "was lord o' all these
+manors."
+
+    "I am the captain's body servant, and he takes great interest in
+    me, and says that he will push me on for your sakes, and make a
+    man of me before the war is over, of which there is no prospect
+    at present. When it comes to fighting, it will be no child's
+    play, I promise you, and so old Boney will find. We are hard
+    pressed by the enemy, and the army is suffering greatly for the
+    want of food and clothing, and we are hourly expecting an
+    engagement with the French, who are encamped upon the heights
+    above Corunna.
+
+    "My dear parents, if I should be killed don't grieve for my
+    loss. A man can only die once, and if he falls in a good cause,
+    fighting for his country, it is a credit to himself and his
+    parents. Remember me to all the neighbours. Tell Molly Dawson
+    that her son is well of his wound, and has been made a sergeant.
+    Has Nancy Watling succeeded in getting a husband? I don't
+    flatter myself that she broke her heart on my account, but what
+    would she think of me in my red coat? I suppose I shall find
+    Dorothy married when I come back, with a house full of children.
+    Give my love to her, as to a sister, and tell her to pray for
+    the poor soldiers in Spain.
+
+    "God bless you, dear father and mother. I pray that he may once
+    more unite us under the roof of the dear old home. So no more,
+    at this time, from your affectionate son.
+
+                                              "GILBERT RUSHMERE.
+
+    "P.S. Tell Dorothy to write a long letter for you. I want to
+    hear all the home news. All about the farm and the horses, and
+    how you got through the harvest without me, and whether Bill
+    Taylor took my place at the last cricket match, and if old
+    Pincher is still alive.
+
+                                                         "G. R."
+
+The letter was read and re-read many times, the delighted parents
+repeating every word after Dorothy. Holding each other by the hand, they
+exchanged glances of mutual affection and sympathy.
+
+"The dear boy," cries the mother. "God bless him! I always knew he would
+be sorry, when he came to his right mind, and love us as well as ever."
+
+"Aye," said the father, "I feel proud o' my son. He's o' the right
+stuff. He'll fight like a man, an' a true Briton, when the time comes,
+an' do his duty to his country like a hero."
+
+Dorothy was the only one in the room who was not quite satisfied with
+Gilbert's letter. She was hurt at the clause about herself. If he loved
+her as she did him, could he speak in that light way about her marrying
+another, or send his love to her as to a sister--a title, which from
+boyhood he had always refused to address her by. A change had come over
+him since they parted; he had grown fonder of his parents, but colder to
+her. She would not damp their joy, by expressing her disappointment, but
+she felt it very keenly.
+
+"Mother, you were a true prophet," she said, closing the letter and
+giving it back to Mr. Rushmere.
+
+"Aye, child, hearts whisper to hearts, let the distance a'tween them be
+ever so great. Love can travel in a thought over land and sea. I b'lieve
+that Gilbert never thinks of me but I know it. I told you, Dorothy, that
+I should hear from him. I felt it in my heart."
+
+"The angels don't whisper such blessed dreams to me," returned Dorothy,
+sadly.
+
+"Dolly," and the old man spoke to her very gravely. "Art dreaming about
+Gilly yet? I thought you had clean forgotten him."
+
+"Only as a sister should think of an absent brother," returned Dorothy,
+ashamed of the subterfuge. "As Gilbert himself wishes me to remember
+him."
+
+"I b'lieve you ha' a hankering arter the lad yet," said Rushmere,
+tartly. "Dorothy, do'ant cross that stile, or maybe you'll get into a
+bad road, an' be left sticking in the mud. It won't do. It won't do,
+lass. I will never gi' my consent."
+
+He shook his head, settled himself in his deep leather-backed chair, and
+puffed away vigorously at his pipe.
+
+"Wait, father, till I ask you for it. If ever I marry Gilbert, it will
+be your own doing. The time may come when you may both regret that I was
+not his wife."
+
+Her speech was interrupted by a loud rap at the door. Pincher sprang up
+from the hearth-stone, where he lay basking at Dorothy's feet, with a
+fierce yell, as if he had received a mortal injury by having his
+comfortable nap disturbed, and rushed to the heavily barred door,
+barking furiously.
+
+"Some one has lost their way on the heath," said Dorothy, laying her
+hand upon the strong iron bolt that secured the door. "It is a bad night
+to be abroad, father; shall I let them in?"
+
+"In coorse."
+
+"Ask first, Dolly, who they be, an' what they want," suggested his more
+cautious wife.
+
+Pincher again lifted up his voice, as if he had a right to be heard in
+the consultation, and in deep spasmodic fits of barking, remonstrated
+against admitting strangers at that unreasonable hour.
+
+"Be still, sir," and Dorothy pushed the old dog rather unceremoniously
+from the door. "Go, and lie down in the corner, and behave yourself."
+
+Pincher looked up in her face, and sullenly obeyed, growling as he
+slowly retreated to the fire, with hair bristling up, and eyes blazing
+defiance.
+
+Another rap, louder and more importunate, echoed through the large
+room. "Who's there?" demanded Dorothy.
+
+"A woman, lost in the snow," screamed a shrill voice without. "If you be
+Christians, open the door. I shall freeze to death, if I stand much
+longer here."
+
+Dorothy thought of her mother,--back flew bolt and bar, and the heavy
+door opened to admit a tall gaunt female figure, wrapt up in a red
+cloak, and carrying a large wicker basket on her arm.
+
+"Mercy, what a night!" cried the stranger, shaking the white flakes from
+her clothes. "But for the lights in your windows, I must have perished
+on the heath. Will you give me a bed, good people, for the night, in
+your barn?"
+
+"Na," said Rushmere, "we never gi' people beds in the barn, while
+there's room in the house. Sit down by the fire, and warm yourself. My
+darter will gi' ye summat to eat, an' a good pint o' yell foreby. Dolly,
+help the woman to take off her cloak."
+
+The stranger, who had stood in the shade, now came forward to the fire,
+and Dorothy assisted her to remove her tattered cloak. She was so tall
+that Dorothy was obliged to rise on tiptoes to render this service, and
+to her no small disgust, observed that the stranger smelt strongly of
+gin.
+
+"Why, lass," said the farmer, laughing, "you be big enough, an' tall
+enough, for a grenadier."
+
+"It requires long legs, and strong ones too," returned the woman, taking
+a seat on the settle by the fire, and putting the large basket on her
+arm beside her, on the floor, "to travel this rough country. I was on my
+way to Storby, and missed my path crossing the heath. The snow drifted
+so in my eyes, it was impossible to see the road. Have you any rabbit
+skins, or hare skins, to sell. Any old clothes, or rags. I do a little
+business in that line to support my family, but 'tis hard scratching to
+get along, these hard times; vittals is so dear, and you country folk
+expect such bargains, and never trade for cash, that I can't make much
+by the exchange."
+
+"Have you a husband?" asked the farmer.
+
+"No, nor never had, and don't want one. I'm much better alone. I can lie
+down mistress and get up master. Married women are slaves. Men think
+more of their cattle than they do of their wives."
+
+"That's just as the case may be," returned Rushmere. "Some o' them don't
+deserve much consideration. I ha' allers heard say, a good wife makes a
+good husband."
+
+"And how many children have you?" asked Mrs. Rushmere, looking
+suspiciously at her strange guest.
+
+"Two," said the woman, "a girl and a boy. They are too young to tramp
+the roads. I leave them at home with my mother, while I travel the
+country to earn them bread."
+
+"And what have you got in your basket?" asked Dorothy, who was as
+curious as the rest to learn something about their visitor.
+
+"A little of everything. Needles, pins, thread; cotton of both sorts,
+white and coloured; side-combs for the gals, and pipes and tobacco for
+the men. Take a look at my wares."
+
+The gaunt creature rose, and placed the basket on the table before Mrs.
+Rushmere.
+
+As she stood in the full light of the candle, Dorothy, who had only
+before caught a partial glimpse of her face, shrunk back as she scanned
+the vulgar harsh features, and encountered the bold gaze of the tramp.
+Pincher, who followed close at her heels, gave an ominous growl, and
+burst off into a fresh paroxysm of barking.
+
+"That's a cross dog of yours," cried the woman, kicking at Pincher, with
+her heavy nailed boots.
+
+"You had better not do that?" said Dorothy. "He'll bite you if you ill
+treat him."
+
+"I wonder you keep such an ugly tempered brute about the house,"
+retorted the woman. "It is not pleasant to have such a varmint snapping
+at one's heels."
+
+"A brave dog like him is sometimes useful," remarked Dorothy, pointedly,
+"especially in a lone place like this. I have only to say, seize her,
+Pincher! and he'd have you down in a minute."
+
+"Oh, pray don't," cried the woman, with a hoarse cackling laugh, "I
+don't covet his acquaintance. I think, though, he'd find me too much for
+him. In my tramps through the country, I've put to silence bigger and
+stronger brutes than him."
+
+Again Dorothy tried to examine the heavy dark browed countenance of the
+stranger, and her investigation only increased her mistrust and
+aversion.
+
+In the meanwhile, Mrs. Rushmere was eagerly exploring the contents of
+the big basket, and had lain aside several useful articles, with an
+intent to purchase.
+
+"What is the price of these?"
+
+The woman turned them over with her large coarse hands, then reckoned up
+the amount on her fingers.
+
+"Just three shillings."
+
+"You buy rabbit and hare skins?"
+
+"I would rather take money than trade just now."
+
+Mrs. Rushmere drew her purse from her pocket; it was a heavy one, as she
+was her own banker, and it generally contained all the money which she
+received for the produce of the dairy.
+
+Dorothy, who was standing behind her chair, could not help being struck
+with the eager hungry glance with which the woman eyed the glittering
+gold and silver coins, and her face became more dark and repulsive than
+ever.
+
+"Wife," put in the farmer, "doan't be a fule. There be plenty o' rabbit
+and hare skins in the shed. If she doan't trade for them, let her
+things bide in her basket. It isn't fair o' the woman to take silver o'
+us an' skins of t'other folk."
+
+"You farmers are so cruelly stingy," said the woman angrily, "you won't
+let a body live, and wheat up to five pounds the quarter. I think I saw
+you in the market, master. You made a better bargain for your grain than
+exchanging it for old moth-eaten rabbit skins."
+
+Dorothy again caught the furtive glance of the woman's evil eyes, and
+recoiled from it as if she had trodden upon a snake.
+
+After a great deal of chaffering and bargaining for various articles,
+the tramp consented to receive in payment some fine woollen yarn that
+dangled from the beams, observing, "that she must turn a penny somehow."
+She then put aside the basket, and sat down, to discuss the bread and
+cheese, and tankard of home-brewed ale, that Dorothy placed on the table
+for her supper.
+
+"You found the roads bad," said Rushmere, refilling his pipe.
+
+"Up to the top of my boots," and the woman lifted up her large foot,
+which was cased in a heavy highlow, thickly studded with iron nails. "I
+was near mired, at the lower end of the heath, and began to think I
+would have to stay there all night. Who would have expected to step into
+a mud-hole during such a hard frost as this?"
+
+"You be lucky to get out as you did," said the farmer. "That are be
+Storby Moss. The ground be allers wet, an' holds the water like a
+sponge. Many's the good beast that's died in yon quag."
+
+The woman leaned back upon the settle, stretched her feet to the fire,
+and began leisurely to examine the large hall, from the well garnished
+beams above her head, to the iron bars that secured the windows.
+
+"These old houses," she observed, "are much stronger than the new. The
+people in the old times knew what they were about when they built them.
+Arn't you afraid of being robbed in this lonely out of the way place?"
+
+"Never think of such a thing," said Rushmere, "we live among honest
+folk. I keep a good blunderbuss loaded over the door, an' thieves would
+na' find it an easy job to get in through these iron bars. We never keep
+ony thing o' value in the house, to tempt them sort o' chaps, wi' a bank
+so near.
+
+"Have another glass o' ale, lass? Art fond o' nuts? Dolly, bring some o'
+those filberts out o' the sack in the pantry, and the crackers foreby."
+
+Dorothy brought her apron full of nuts. "Catch?" she cried, in a
+laughing tone, as she threw a double handful into the tramp's lap.
+
+The woman caught them, and laughed too.
+
+Dorothy turned to the dresser, and a strange expression came over her
+face.
+
+After the woman had eaten the nuts, and seen the bottom of the tankard,
+she began to yawn, and asked, "if she could lie down and sleep beside
+the fire?"
+
+"I will show you a room; follow me," said Dorothy.
+
+The woman seemed very reluctant to accept the offer, pleading various
+excuses. Her muddy boots, her dirty clothes, and the necessity of her
+being off by daybreak in the morning, to all of which Dorothy turned a
+deaf ear, positively insisting on her going to bed.
+
+"Well, if you will have it so, miss, I will no longer refuse a good
+offer. I have not been inside a bed for many months past, and am used to
+sleep, wet or dry, in the barn, or by the hearth, as it may happen.
+People are not generally so anxious about the comfort of visitors like
+me."
+
+Dorothy lighted a candle, and led the way up the wide oak staircase at
+the bottom of the hall to the chambers above.
+
+"You can sleep in this room," she said, unclosing a door that opened on
+to the gallery, with which all the sleeping apartments communicated.
+"You will find water, towel and soap on the stand. You need not be in a
+hurry to go in the morning. We all rise before daylight, at this time of
+the year, and you can have your breakfast before you go."
+
+As she turned to leave the room, the woman suddenly grasped her wrist,
+and forcibly detained her, staring in her face, with the same bold
+glance which had inspired such deep loathing.
+
+"Stay, my pretty lass, I can tell your fortune. Tell you the name of the
+lad you are to marry, the fate of him you are always thinking about, who
+is away in foreign parts, and all the good luck in store for you."
+
+"I don't believe in such folly," cried Dorothy angrily, wrenching her
+hand from the woman's grasp. "It is worse than folly; it is wickedness.
+Good night. I hope you may sleep well."
+
+She shut the door. A loud laugh followed her down stairs.
+
+Dorothy, on reaching the great room, sat down in a chair, and panted for
+breath.
+
+"What is the matter? What ails you, Dolly?" asked the old people, with
+looks of alarm.
+
+"Nothing--that horrible looking person took hold of me, to tell my
+fortune. I got frightened and angry, and ran down stairs too fast. That
+has set my heart in flutter, and taken away my breath. Dear mother, give
+me a glass of water, and don't look so pale and scared. It won't do for
+us all to play the coward."
+
+"Why, whatever do you mean, Dolly?" said Mrs. Rushmere, giving her the
+water. "Is the child crazy?"
+
+"Not quite," returned Dorothy, trying to laugh, as she gave back to her
+mother the empty tumbler.
+
+"I will tell you what I mean, for I feel calmer now. I don't like that
+woman, if she be really a woman, a fact which I very much doubt. I don't
+like her staying in the house, and I have made up my mind not to go to
+bed tonight, but to sit up and watch till the morning."
+
+"I saw nothing amiss in the woman, Dolly," said Rushmere. "She be big,
+an' ugly, an' bold like, but what manners can you expect from the like
+o' her?"
+
+"Father," pleaded Dolly, "it is not that. I am used to poor ignorant
+rude creatures, but she looks bad. I can't find words to express the
+dislike I feel for her. I feel as if she were here for no good. Did you
+see how she glowered at the money in mother's purse? I expected every
+moment that she would make a grab at it--and then the hint, father, she
+threw out to you, about selling your corn so well in the market. She
+must have walked quicker here than Jack trotted home. Did you pass any
+one on the road?"
+
+"Not I. Dolly, you make me feel rather curious about un. But if she wor
+a thief, she would not ha' asked if we were afeard of robbers. Na, na,
+child, go to your bed, there's naught to fear, an' a man too in the
+house."
+
+"I don't mean to go to bed," said Dolly, stoutly. "I'll tell you my
+reasons to-morrow morning. I have a bunch of stockings to mend for
+father; I'll sit up in the pantry and darn them. Is the gun loaded?"
+
+"Na, Dorothy," and Rushmere laughed long and heartily, "I told the woman
+a big lie, just to scare her. It has not been loaded these ten years. I
+shu'd like to see you trying to pop it off."
+
+"It's a pity to keep a useful weapon only for show," returned Dolly,
+eyeing the old blunderbuss with looks of regret. "It is like the boy in
+the fable, crying out wolf, when no wolf was near."
+
+It was in vain that the old people tried to reason Dolly out of the
+foolish notion she had taken about the tramp; but finding that she was
+determined to have her own way, they went to bed, and left her to please
+herself--not, however, before Dorothy had whispered in her mother's ear:
+
+"Be sure to lock your door, and pass the big iron bar across it."
+
+Mrs. Rushmere, who felt more nervous than her husband--for fear is
+strangely infectious--promised faithfully to observe her injunction.
+
+"And now for the night," sighed Dorothy, as she returned alone to the
+great hall. "If it were not for them, I never could muster courage to
+watch here by myself. How many hours is it yet to day?"
+
+She glanced up at the tall, old-fashioned clock, in its dark mahogany
+case; a solemn looking piece of antiquity, that had stood on the same
+spot, and told the lapse of time to many generations of the Rushmeres,
+who had long ceased to reckon it for ever. It was still ticking on,
+telling the same tale to the beautiful girl, who now stood before it;
+and by her, as far she was individually concerned, was as little heeded.
+
+"Only nine o'clock. How many hours I shall have to keep awake."
+
+Like most hard workers, sleep was a necessity to Dorothy, of so
+overpowering a nature, that the difficulty with her was not how to go to
+sleep, but how to keep awake. Of one thing she felt certain; that she
+was more likely to nod on her post than the strange being who was
+occupying her neat little chamber above.
+
+She now diligently set to work, to prepare for her long vigil.
+
+First, she raked the fire together; and covered the hot coals with
+ashes, then she lighted a dark lanthorn, and put on a large great-coat
+of Mr. Rushmere's over her other garments; with the further adornment of
+an old fur cap, the lappets of which she carefully tied under her chin,
+the better to conceal her identity; she was now ready for action.
+
+Going to the wood-shed, she brought from thence, a small axe, with which
+she was wont to chop into convenient lengths, the branches of the
+faggots with which she heated the brick oven for baking.
+
+She ran her finger along the edge of the instrument--Gilbert, when at
+home, used to keep it nicely sharpened for her use. She shook her
+head--Gilbert was not at home, and her axe was so blunt that a body
+might ride to Rumford on it. But then again, she reflected, that any
+weapon was better than none; so retaining the axe, she retreated into
+the pantry, a small room that opened into the great hall, from under
+the staircase, on the side nearest to the fire, and which commanded a
+full view of the length and breadth of the hall.
+
+No one coming down the stairs could see into the pantry; but any person
+in the pantry could not fail to hear the slightest step upon the stairs;
+and by mounting upon a stool and looking through the sky-light above the
+door, could reconnoitre everything that was passing in the public room.
+
+After diligently investigating the capabilities of the place, and laying
+down a plan of action, or resistance, as the case might prove. Dorothy
+descended from her lofty perch on the stool, and met the red gleaming
+eyes of Pincher intently watching all her movements.
+
+"Pincher, you can't stay here, poor dog," she said, patting his head.
+"If there's no danger, I shan't want your services; and if there should
+be, which the good God forbid, your barking, sir, would betray me."
+
+The dog seemed to comprehend her meaning; and followed her very quietly
+into the shed near the back entrance; and having carefully fastened him
+in, she returned to her post in the pantry.
+
+The door she left purposely half closed, turning the dark side of the
+lanthorn, so that no gleam from it could be thrown upon the opposite
+wall, or from the panes above, and taking some coarse woollen stockings
+from a basket on the dresser, she sat down in front of the lanthorn,
+with her face to the door, to listen to any sounds that might awaken
+suspicion.
+
+Hour after hour passed away. The stockings were all mended, and neatly
+rolled up. Dorothy began to feel drowsy, directly she had nothing left
+to engage her attention. Once or twice she had nodded upon her chair;
+and owned to herself that she was horribly sleepy.
+
+The night was very cold, and the fire had gone out. The clock struck
+one. How loud and solemn it sounded, in the deep stillness that reigned
+through the house; a stillness always rendered more intense during a
+heavy fall of snow.
+
+The clock striking that one solitary warning, completely roused Dorothy
+from her half conscious state. She had so seldom heard it mark that
+hour, during the deep hush of night, that the unusual sound smote upon
+her ear like the toll of the death-bell. She thought of the night she
+had spent upon the heath; and her cheeks grew cold and her teeth began
+to chatter. Hark! what was that? A deep growl from Pincher, and now a
+furious barking in the shed. A long, shrill whistle, once or twice
+repeated. Dorothy cautiously mounted the stool, as a heavy foot sounded
+on the stairs.
+
+She was wide awake now. The imaginary fears were gone, and she became
+distinctly conscious of some great impending danger. She was not called
+upon to battle with the spiritual powers of darkness; but to exercise
+courage and coolness, in circumventing the wickedness of man--her spirit
+rose to the emergency, and she felt as brave as a lion. She drew down
+the dark slides of the lanthorn, and applied her eyes to the panes of
+glass over the door.
+
+Some one crossed the floor, but the wide hall was still in darkness. It
+did not long remain so. Raking among the ashes on the hearth, a light
+was soon obtained by the intruder; and then she saw a dark ill-looking
+man, approach the table, and set down the candle he had lighted, and
+cautiously survey the apartment.
+
+Satisfied that he was alone, he took from a side pocket two large horse
+pistols, and from a belt under his woollen smock frock, a long gleaming
+knife. He examined the locks of the pistols, cocked them, drew the blade
+of the murderous looking knife across his thumb, to see if it was in
+good working order, listened intently, and then cursed the dog for
+making that "infernal noise!"
+
+His next step was to take some grease from the candle, and apply to the
+large iron bolts that secured the door, which he cautiously and
+noiselessly withdrew, went out into the court-yard beyond, and gave the
+same sharp call whistle that had startled Dorothy from her unquiet
+sleep.
+
+Now, was her time, or never. Dorothy slipped off her shoes, sprang from
+her hiding place, and quick as thought, closed upon the robber the
+massive outer-door, and drew the heavy bolts back to their fastenings.
+She then hastened to the window and opening the narrow casement, secured
+on the outside with stout iron stancheons, she fired both the robber's
+pistols in succession at two dark figures who were standing a few paces
+from the house.
+
+A heavy groan and a volley of horrible execrations, followed this daring
+act; and the ruffian made off dragging with him his wounded or dead
+comrade.
+
+"Thank God!" cried Dorothy, holding fast to the iron bars, to keep
+herself from falling. "I have saved their lives and my own."
+
+The report of the fire-arms awoke Rushmere and his wife, who rushed half
+dressed down stairs, to see what had happened to Dorothy, who now the
+reaction had come, had fallen to the floor in a dead faint.
+
+Rushmere lifted her up in his arms, and placed her in his great
+arm-chair. His wife brought the candle and looked in her death pale
+face.
+
+"She is not shot, Lawrence. There is no blood upon her that I can see.
+Bring me some water to dash in her face; she is in a swoon."
+
+The shock of the cold water soon brought Dorothy to herself.
+
+"That horrible woman, I knew she was a man;" were the first words she
+uttered. "She came here in disguise to let in the rest of the gang; and
+they would have robbed and murdered us."
+
+"And thou hast saved our lives my brave lass," cried Rushmere, grasping
+her cold hand, which he was chafing in his own. "Should Gilly ever come
+back, I will give him this brave little hand myself, and feel proud of
+my daughter."
+
+Dorothy bent down and devoutly kissed the old man's hand. Her heart was
+too full to utter a word of thanks. She felt, however, that a great
+victory had been achieved, and that she had fought the battle alone.
+
+"How did you find out, Dolly, that she was a man?" asked Mrs. Rushmere.
+"I saw nothing very particular about the creature. I thought her large
+and ugly, that was all."
+
+"I suspected that she was not a woman when she first came in. She did
+not step through the house like one, nor look like one. She had such
+heavy coarse eyebrows, such bold impudent eyes, and such a dark shade
+about the mouth and chin. When father told me to get the nuts, I
+determined to try and find out to which sex she belonged, and satisfy my
+doubts."
+
+"Mercy, child! you must be a witch if you could tell by that," said Mrs.
+Rushmere.
+
+"Oh, it was the easiest test in the world. When I threw the nuts and
+told her to catch, a real woman would have made a wide lap to receive
+them; while this creature clapped her knees close together. I knew
+instantly that it was a man in woman's clothes, and that he was here for
+no good; and I determined to keep watch over the house while you slept."
+
+"Dolly, you be a hero! Yes, so you be," cried Rushmere. "But how did you
+keep from screeching out when you found it was a man?"
+
+"That would have betrayed my secret and his; and as he had deadly
+weapons about him, might have led to the death of us. Indeed, father, I
+felt too much frightened to say a word."
+
+"Were you not afraid, Dorothy, to shew him up stairs?" said Mrs.
+Rushmere.
+
+"Yes, and felt still more afraid, while alone with him there. But our
+safety depended upon seeming to think him what he pretended to be. My
+indifference lulled his suspicions to sleep."
+
+"It has been a wonderful deliverance," said Mrs. Rushmere, solemnly,
+"wrought by God, through the hands of a simple country girl. Let us go
+down upon our knees, Lawrence, and thank Him humbly and heartily, for
+His great mercy."
+
+"Amen," responded the yeoman. "Dorothy, my child, kneel down beside me,
+and lift up your heart in prayer."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+DOROTHY GAINS FURTHER KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD.
+
+
+The next morning, Mr. Rushmere and his hired man, tracked the robbers by
+their foot-prints in the snow; and the marks of blood that stained its
+new fallen whiteness, over the low meadows in front of the house down to
+the sea shore. At the water's edge, all trace of them was lost. It was
+evident, however, by many foot marks on the sand at one particular spot,
+that a boat during the night had been put off from the beach, in which
+the robbers, in all probability, had effected their escape; and that
+they formed a portion of a notorious gang of smugglers that infested the
+coast.
+
+Before noon, Dorothy's adventure was known all over the parish, and
+formed the theme of conversation, in the dwellings of both rich and
+poor. Some applauded her courage and coolness, and lauded the generous
+self-devotion she had shewn to her foster parents, in hazarding her own
+life, in the attempt to save them.
+
+But the number of those capable of appreciating the heroism of the young
+girl was few. The larger portion of the community were the envious
+detractors and slanderers, who never can see any merit in noble actions,
+of which they are themselves incapable.
+
+Dorothy in this, as in other matters, had her enemies as well as her
+friends.
+
+"Only think of that horrible, bold creature--that Dorothy Chance," said
+Nancy Watling, addressing a knot of gossips, gathered round the small
+shop in the village, to retail the news, and procure, on the sly, a
+little smuggled tea, from the mistress of the establishment. "She has
+actually gone and shot a man, or next thing to it. Such a wicked
+unwomanly act. If I were Mr. Rushmere I'd be afraid of her robbing and
+shooting me."
+
+"Bless me! Miss Nancy, do tell us how it all happened," cried Mrs. Lane,
+the vendor in small wares. "I thought that girl looked as meek as a
+lamb. I'll never trust in good looks again."
+
+"Pray don't, ma'am, or you'll be sure to be deceived. She's a wolf--a
+perfect wolf. She shot the fellow in cold blood, after he had left the
+house, and the door was secured against him. I never heard of such a
+piece of diabolical cruelty."
+
+"She desarves to be hanged, she do," cried Letty Barford. "She'd think
+as little of coaxing a woman's husband from her, as she wu'd of shooting
+a thief like a doorg."
+
+"And did the poor man really die?" asked a pale young woman, hugging a
+very small red-haired baby closer to her breast, as if she expected
+this ferocious Dorothy Chance to come and shoot it.
+
+"The goodness knows!" continued Nancy, "it will not be her fault if he
+escaped."
+
+"Nonsense, Nancy Watling, how spiteful you be," remarked the elder Mrs.
+Barford, joining the group. "Perhaps it's all false. A tale got up for
+the nonce, in order to frighten away thieves from the house. I would not
+like to live in such a lonesome place, and old Rushmere, the only man on
+the premises of a night. After this I hope they will let the servant
+board with them."
+
+"Aha," cries Letty, "mother's now just let it out. Doan't I begin to
+smell a fox. Dolly played this trick on the old folks to get a young
+feller into the house. Well, she be a deep un, she be."
+
+"You may be right, Mrs. Letty," returned Nancy Watling, "that artful
+creature is capable of anything."
+
+Thus her neighbours talked of Dorothy, suggesting the worst motives as
+the cause of her recent adventure. Fortunately that much abused
+individual was not conscious of the cruel manner in which her conduct
+was misrepresented by these worthies, or the envy and malice with which
+they sought to traduce her. She had little time to listen to the idle
+tale-bearers, who are ever ready to fetch and carry from house to house
+ill-natured reports, which, if they do not invent, they never fail to
+exaggerate, and leave worse than they found them.
+
+Mrs. Rushmere's health had greatly declined since Gilbert left them, and
+the entire management of the house now devolved on Dorothy, who, without
+grudge or grumbling, put out all her strength of body and mind to meet
+the emergency.
+
+Gilbert had always worked the farm in conjunction with his father, but
+since he left his home a man had been hired to fulfil the duties which
+he had recklessly abandoned. This involved considerable trouble and
+much additional expense. Every exertion was necessary to make the poor
+farm pay for the extra hand employed.
+
+A larger dairy was necessary, the greatest industry and the strictest
+economy were called into requisition, to make both ends meet, and lay by
+a little for the future.
+
+Dorothy was up with the dawn, and the night was often far advanced,
+before the labours of the day were finished. Her board and clothing, the
+latter of the very plainest description--was all that the noble-hearted
+girl received for her unremitting toil.
+
+Weary and overtasked, she never repined. The Rushmeres had protected her
+friendless childhood; they were Gilbert's parents, and that was enough
+to satisfy the warm loving heart, that only lived for him and them--her
+unselfish nature needed no stronger stimulus for exerting herself in
+their behalf.
+
+She was often told by busy tattlers that she was a fool for working so
+hard for such poor wages, that she would earn a better living for
+herself elsewhere; but she always silenced these mischief-makers, by
+coldly telling them "to mind their own business, that she was
+comfortable and contented, and stood in no need of their advice and
+assistance."
+
+She would have found a great consolation in writing to Gilbert, and
+telling him all the troubles that had befallen her since they parted;
+but on a careful examination of his letter, she perceived that he had
+omitted to give them his direction, or the slightest clue to discover
+his whereabouts, and she was forced to abandon the idea. He had written
+once--it was more than probable that he would soon write to them again.
+
+But then--that terrible battle that was to be fought, haunted her mind
+like a waking nightmare. He might be killed, and those to whom he was so
+dear might never learn his fate till the regiment returned to England.
+Then tears would cloud the beautiful black eyes, and the labours of the
+long day fell more heavily from the willing hands. She could not cheer
+the absentee with the home news, for which he craved so eagerly; she
+could only prove her undying love, by infusing fresh hope into the
+drooping hearts of his parents, and praying for his safety.
+
+In January, the battle of Corunna was fought, and the heroic Sir John
+Moore found a soldier's grave upon the ramparts of the city.
+
+Lawrence Rushmere came home from market greatly excited. He had borrowed
+the county paper of a farmer he knew, and Dorothy was called to read to
+the old people the thrilling account of the battle, that had been dearly
+bought by the loss of the gallant British leader.
+
+The ---- regiment was spoken of in the highest terms; it had been in the
+heat of the action, and had been terribly cut up.
+
+The number, not the names of the private soldiers who had been killed,
+was alone recorded. Captain Fitzmorris was mentioned as having been
+severely wounded--the rest of the sad list were all strangers to them.
+
+There was a long pause.
+
+Dorothy softly put down the paper, and walked to the window. Her lips
+were silent, but her heart poured forth an earnest prayer for her absent
+lover. She heard the deep sobs of his mother, and her own tears gushed
+forth, to relieve the intolerable anguish of suspense--that worst
+torture of the human heart.
+
+Rushmere was the first to speak. His voice was husky and tremulous. "I'm
+not a rich man," he said, "yet I would almost give all I have in the
+world to know this hour that I have a living son."
+
+"Oh, my boy! my Gilly!" cried the fond mother, "we shall yet see him
+again!"
+
+"Whether he be dead or living," continued the farmer, too much absorbed
+by his own anxious fears to notice the words of his wife, "I am sartain
+sure that he acquitted himself like a man. Aye, that a' did." His eyes
+kindled as he raised them to the picture over the mantel-shelf. "An' no
+thanks to him. Is he not a Briton, wi' the blood of brave men running in
+his veins? To fight well for his country, an' to die for't, if need be,
+was only what his fathers did afore him. Courage was born in 'em all."
+
+The burst of enthusiasm over, the old man closed his eyes, and sank back
+in his chair, muttering, in a subdued voice.
+
+"Ah, it's very fine talking, but natur is natur after all. It doth not
+remove the fear that's gnawing at my heart about the lad. What do'st
+thou say, dame?"
+
+He opened his eyes wide, to keep back the fast coming tears, and fixed
+them with an earnest gaze upon the meek pale face of his wife.
+
+She rose up slowly from her seat, came behind his chair, and pulling his
+head back, bent reverently down and kissed his broad forehead.
+
+"God comfort thee, Lawrence. He knows what is best for us. I can't feel
+that Gilly is dead. Something in my heart tells me that he is living. I
+never mistrust that voice."
+
+"God bless you, mother dear, for the cheering hope," said Dorothy,
+smiling through her tears. "You were a true prophet before. Why should
+you be deceived now? How I wish," she continued in a sadder tone, "that
+I had more faith. That I could really believe that Gilbert was safe and
+well."
+
+"My heart seldom deceives me," said the old lady, "or I should say, that
+mysterious something that speaks in my heart. While God gives us this
+blessed hope, I don't think it right to look only on the dark side of
+things. 'Tis mistrusting His providence."
+
+Mr. Rushmere had no such hope. Nothing would convince him that his son
+was alive. The more his kind wife exerted herself to comfort him, the
+more obstinately he persisted in maintaining his own sombre views. Mrs.
+Rushmere thought that a good night's rest would restore his mind to its
+usual serenity. She was mistaken. He never slept that night at all, but
+kept lamenting for Gilbert, and calling upon him through the long hours
+of darkness; accusing himself of being the cause of his death, by
+refusing to santion his marriage with Dorothy.
+
+"And the poor little maid," he said, "it was piteous to look in her face
+an' see her pining away for the loss o' her sweetheart. He had been a
+cruel hard father. It was only just that he should be punished for his
+pride and avarice."
+
+Dorothy tried to master her own mental sufferings, (for, like the old
+man, she believed that Gilbert was dead,) in order to lessen his
+sorrowful self-upbraidings, till she could bear the agonies of suspense
+no longer, and determined to take a bold step to ascertain the truth.
+
+Lord Wilton had just returned to Heath Hall, and was the father of the
+Captain Fitzmorris, under whom Gilbert served. She argued that it was
+more than probable that he had heard from his wounded son, and through
+him they might obtain some news of Gilbert. It was a forlorn hope, but
+drowning people catch at straws. She would say nothing to the old
+people, but go herself, and see Lord Wilton, and try if he would
+interest himself in their behalf, and find out if their son had been
+killed in the engagement.
+
+When once this idea had taken possession of her mind, she could not rest
+until it was carried out. She had many fears and misgivings on the
+subject, but love conquered them all, and she resolved to make the
+effort as soon as her morning's work was over.
+
+The aristocracy in the present day are not regarded with the solemn
+awe, that their very names inspired among the peasantry sixty years ago.
+A great lord was a sort of demi-god in his own district; it would have
+been sacrilege to imagine that he was made of the same flesh and blood
+as his tenants and hirelings.
+
+People lowered their voice, and spoke of him in mysterious tones, when
+they mentioned his name and told of his doings. If they met upon the
+road, they stood with uncovered heads, till the majestic presence had
+passed by, without daring to lift their eyes to his face, lest he should
+feel annoyed by their vulgar gaze.
+
+They all knew that King George was their lawful sovereign, and every
+fourth of June they met in the nearest town, to shout his name and drink
+his health on his birth-day, and felt very loyal and very proud of their
+sovereign. But they had never seen this famous king, and only knew of
+him by hearsay.
+
+It was after all the great man of the parish, the lord of the manor, to
+whom their real homage was given, whom they regarded as their legitimate
+ruler. It was he who fixed their tithes and rent, and was the stern
+magistrate before whom they appeared at the quarter sessions to answer
+to complaints and misdemeanors.
+
+Dorothy had never seen Lord Wilton. He had inherited a very fine estate
+in Devonshire through his mother. Preferring the climate and scenery of
+that country to his own, he rarely visited Heath Hall, the genial
+breezes of the south, agreeing much better with a shattered
+constitution, than the rude gales of the bleak north-east coast. It was
+only lately that he had returned to his native place, and had expressed,
+in an eloquent speech, made at a public dinner given on the important
+occasion, his determination of ending his days in the home of his
+ancestors.
+
+Great had been the rejoicing of his tenantry at the return of their
+long absent landlord. An insolent overbearing steward had reigned
+absolute monarch of the soil, during a long period of fifteen years. A
+most unpopular substitute, hard and exacting, who had carried things
+with a high hand, extorting from the tenantry a fortune, at the expense
+of his lord's reputation.
+
+But this was all changed. The unjust steward had been discharged, and
+Lord Wilton had gained golden opinions from his poorer neighbours, by
+listening kindly to their relation of grievances, and redressing them to
+the best of his ability.
+
+His return had formed the nine day's wonder of Hanstone, his name was in
+everybody's mouth, and people were never tired of talking about him, of
+his personal appearance, his politics, his religious opinions, which
+they observed were peculiar, his great wealth, and even his long
+cherished grief for a wife, who had been dead upwards of twenty years,
+and for whose sake he had remained a widower for the best period of his
+life.
+
+Some called him proud, some called him cold and reserved, but all agreed
+that he was a good man, though rather eccentric, and very kind to the
+poor.
+
+He went very little into society, was seldom a day absent from the Hall,
+but took great seeming delight in long rambles on foot, or on horseback,
+about the parish, visiting the sick poor, and dispensing his charity
+with his own hands.
+
+A pale, silent melancholy man, of temperate habits and literary tastes,
+and scarcely likely to become popular among a set of rude
+agriculturists, Lord Wilton was not only popular but beloved by all
+classes, for he was alike gentlemanly and benevolent to all.
+
+He had been a soldier in his youth, and had fought bravely for his
+country, but a serious wound, received during the American war, had
+injured his health, and unfitted him for active service. He had
+possessed great political influence, and had earned the reputation of
+an eloquent speaker in the house; but he had withdrawn from the public
+arena, as if tired with the world and all things in it, to end his days
+in the quiet and retirement of the country.
+
+Dorothy had heard all these circumstances in his lordship's history
+discussed at church and market, and she felt a great awe of the big man,
+and the idea of appearing before him, in her rustic simplicity, troubled
+her exceedingly. In vain she said to herself,
+
+"He is but a man. Is it not cowardly to feel afraid of him? If he does
+not return me an answer, or refuses to listen to me, it won't kill me. I
+can't see father pining and fretting himself to death about his son,
+without doing something to relieve his mind. I will go, come what may.
+Besides," she added, with charming candour, "I want to hear news of
+Gilbert as badly as he does."
+
+Having arrived at this conclusion, Dorothy dared not wait to let her
+courage cool, but dressing herself very neatly, slipped out at the
+back-gate, and took her way over the fields to Heath Hall.
+
+Pincher met her in the lane, but she sternly told him "to go home,"
+fearing lest his rugged appearance, and countrified manners, might not
+suit the high bred dogs at the Hall.
+
+It was a keen frosty morning, cold but cheery looking. Gleams of pale
+sunshine rested upon the mossy trunks of the mighty oak trees, that
+flanked the entrance to the park, and danced and quivered among the
+fantastic shapes thrown by their leafless branches on the ground. The
+air was clear and bracing, the crisp grass, with its coating of crystal,
+rustled beneath her feet, as Dorothy walked briskly forward, in spite of
+her trepidation and fears for the result of her visit, charmed by the
+beauty of the scene.
+
+The carriage road to the Hall was a long gradual ascent, winding among
+picturesque clumps of stately forest trees, the old building crowning
+the height of the hill, a grand baronial edifice, built in the middle
+ages, whose massy walls and towers seemed to bid defiance to decay.
+
+A flight of broad stone steps led to the entrance, but Dorothy knew that
+that carved and ornamented door was never opened but to titled guests,
+and she stole round, unobserved, to the back of the house, and rang at
+the gate that led to the servants' hall.
+
+Her gentle summons was answered by a tall powdered footman in blue and
+silver livery.
+
+"Miss Dorothy Chance! is that you? What has brought you out this cold
+morning? Fresh butter and eggs, I suppose. Have you any with you to
+sell?"
+
+"Not before the end of next week, Mr. Frisk," returned Dorothy, with a
+curtsey. "Our cows have fallen off greatly since the winter set in, and
+all the eggs I can get now are from a few March pullets, who began to
+lay some days ago."
+
+She looked up and smiled pleasantly, then added, in a lower tone, "I
+came on a little private business of my own. Can I speak with Mrs.
+Brand?"
+
+Mrs. Brand was the housekeeper, and well-known to Dorothy, from whom she
+generally bought most of her dairy produce, and one, whom Dorothy
+commonly specified as "the dear old lady at the Hall."
+
+Mrs. Brand had filled the important place of housekeeper for two
+generations, her own identity being completely merged in the superior
+grandeur of the family with whom she served. In her own estimation there
+was no such person as Mrs. Brand. The housekeeper to the great Lord
+Wilton, was honour enough to satisfy her moderate ambition.
+
+She was a busy bustling little woman, in a lace cap and rich black silk
+gown, who reigned in undisputed dignity over the domestics in the
+establishment. Held in great esteem by her noble master, Mrs. Brand was
+consulted by him on all matters of minor importance. Through her all his
+orders were conveyed to the servants, from her they received their
+wages, and were retained or discharged according to her pleasure. She
+was treated by them with a certain degree of homage, little inferior to
+that which they would have accorded to the legitimate mistress of the
+house.
+
+The old lady knew her power, and exercised it wisely and well, and truly
+deserved the character bestowed upon her by her lordly master.
+
+"An honest faithful woman, who had the interest of the family at heart,
+and who saved him a deal of trouble in the management of his domestic
+affairs."
+
+Dorothy Chance and her strange history were both well-known to Mrs.
+Brand. She had often called at Heath Farm, to order supplies of fresh
+butter and cream-cheese, and always spoke of the beauty and industry of
+the foundling in terms of praise, which had made her name quite familiar
+among the people at the Hall.
+
+Mrs. Brand was busy reckoning up her weekly accounts, in her own
+pleasant little room, when Mr. Frisk rapped at the door, and putting in
+his powdered head, said, in his blandest tones,
+
+"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but here is Dorothy Chance from the
+Farm, wishing to speak with you."
+
+Putting aside her papers, with rather a vexed air--(for the ordering of
+her accounts was always a great task to the good housekeeper,)--she told
+the tall footman to show the young woman in.
+
+"Well, Dorothy," she cried, holding out her hand to the bright girl, as
+she stood all glowing and radiant from her walk before her, "what is
+your business with me?"
+
+"Please, ma'am," returned Dorothy, blushing with pleasure at her kind
+reception, "I came to ask of you a very great favour."
+
+"Indeed! What is it, child? Do you wish to go into respectable service?
+Is it a character you require? If so I will give you a good one, with my
+whole heart."
+
+"Oh, no, ma'am, I am not going to leave home again. I wanted to say a
+few words in private to my lord."
+
+The old lady took off her spectacles, and looked sharply at Dorothy.
+
+"What can a young girl like you have to say to my lord? Will not saying
+it to me do quite as well?"
+
+"Perhaps it would. But indeed, Mrs. Brand, I would rather, if you think
+I am not too bold, say what I have to say to him myself."
+
+The housekeeper shook her head doubtingly--
+
+"Did you ever speak to Lord Wilton before?"
+
+"Never. I don't even know him by sight."
+
+Mrs. Brand looked relieved.
+
+"Then what can you have to say to him, my dear?"
+
+"It is a little private business of my own."
+
+Mrs. Brand looked very serious.
+
+"Have any of the servants here been making love to you, Dorothy?"
+
+"No, no, nothing of the sort," and Dorothy laughed merrily, "I know as
+little of them as I do of his lordship."
+
+"Lord Wilton is a single man," said Mrs. Brand, gravely. "Do you think
+it quite prudent for a young girl to ask him questions?"
+
+Dorothy looked puzzled. She certainly did not comprehend Mrs. Brand's
+prudery.
+
+"You see, ma'am," she continued, with the same charming frankness, "our
+Gilbert is with the army in Spain, and serves in the same regiment with
+Captain Fitzmorris, my lord's son. A great battle has been fought at
+Corunna, and we don't know whether Gilbert has been killed or not. Mr.
+Rushmere is fretting himself to death with anxiety about his son. I
+thought that Lord Wilton might be able to give us some information
+respecting him, and if I could but speak to himself, and tell him all
+the anguish we are suffering, I feel certain, by the character for
+benevolence that he bears, that he would either confirm or remove our
+apprehensions, by writing to his son, whose servant Gilbert is."
+
+"Aye--now you talk sense, Dorothy. You should have told me this at
+first. I have no doubt that his lordship will do what he can for you.
+Poor dear man, he has been in great trouble about Viscount"--Mrs. Brand
+placed a particular emphasis upon the title, as if to reprove Dorothy
+for her omission of it--"Fitzmorris, ever since he saw in the papers
+that he was badly wounded. He has shut himself up, and scarcely tasted
+food since he got the news. It may be some relief to his mind to know
+that a neighbour is fretting about an only son too. Sit down, Dorothy, I
+will go to his study and see if my lord can speak with you."
+
+In a few minutes the good woman returned, and told Dorothy to follow her
+to the library.
+
+"His lordship," she said, "was engaged just then finishing a letter, and
+would see her presently."
+
+As they were leaving the housekeeper's room, Mr. Frisk again presented
+himself, and with a low bow to Mrs. Brand, and a stare of intense
+admiration at Dorothy, informed the elder female that Mrs. Martin, the
+curate's wife, was waiting to speak to her.
+
+"Tell her to step in here, Frisk, I will be back directly. Something
+about the Sunday-school, that my lord is about to establish," whispered
+Mrs. Brand to Dorothy. "They cannot get on without consulting me. This
+Mrs. Martin, our curate's wife, my lord wants to be superintendent of
+the school. My lord says, she is a clever, well-educated person, and he
+knows best; but between ourselves, I think her a poor, broken-spirited,
+yea and forsooth, young woman, with a large small family, and a nursing
+baby. She does not like the project at all.
+
+"'Mrs. Brand,' says she, 'these Sunday-schools may answer very well in
+great cities, where the people are so wicked, but take my word for it,
+they will never do in a country-place, where the houses are so far
+apart, and the children have such a distance to come, and the winter
+days are so short. Besides, what's the use of my lord making such a fuss
+about teaching the poor. Does he want his servants to be as clever as
+himself--to read his books and papers instead of dusting his library.
+Learning and wealth make the only distinction between him and his
+people. If he gives them the one, the other will soon follow. It's
+little the poor folks will care for the title of my lord, when they find
+out that their title of free men possesses more real dignity.'
+
+"Yes, my dear, she had the impudence to speak of the nobility in that
+disrespectful manner, as if there was nothing at all in _blood_, or
+superiority of race."
+
+"I thought it was the fine clothes and the money made the difference,"
+suggested Dorothy, whose feelings were not so decidedly aristocratic as
+those of the well-paid domestic. "That, at least, in the church, the
+rich and poor met together, and the Lord was the maker of them all."
+
+"And so He is, Dorothy, for the Bible says so; but it is after a
+different fashion, as you will see, when you look at the pictures in
+the library of my lord's ancestors."
+
+"Ancestors! what be they?"
+
+"Why, Dorothy, are you so ignorant? Did you never hear father Rushmere
+talk of his ancestors? He comes of a good race. I have heard my lord
+say, that in the old times the Rushmeres owned this grand house, and
+nearly all the land in this and the neighbouring parish."
+
+Dorothy opened wide her large black eyes, full of surprise and wonder,
+and she looked around the vast hall they had entered, with its marble
+pavement and magnificent staircase of polished oak, in whose broad steps
+she could see the reflection of her own sweet face, and the beautiful
+carved railings presented fine specimens of mediæval art.
+
+"The Rushmeres don't look different now," she said, "from other folk.
+What brought about the change?"
+
+"They fought against their lawful king. Traitors are always punished,
+and so it has happened to them."
+
+"But could that change the _blood_?" asked Dorothy.
+
+"My dear, you have heard of wine turning sour when exposed to the common
+air. A clear stream becomes impure when it flows into a muddy marsh."
+
+Dorothy, with her shrewd common sense, could not comprehend Mrs. Brand's
+philosophy, and she thought it better not to contradict her, so
+reverting back to the Sunday-school, she inquired when it was to go into
+operation.
+
+"Directly my lord can get teachers to suit him. Mrs. Martin says, that
+she can't attend to it after the service, on account of her baby, and
+having to see to the other children, and she begged me to make her
+excuses to my lord. I thought that he'd be terribly angry. But, God
+bless him, he only laughed, and, says he, 'Mrs. Brand, the poor woman is
+right. But I don't mean my school to be knocked on the head by Mrs.
+Martin's baby. How many children have they?'
+
+"'Lots, my lord,' says I. 'Parsons have always large families. The
+poorer they be, the more children.' Then he laughs again. 'Do they keep
+a nurse-maid, Mrs. Brand?'
+
+"'Ah, my lord, they have barely enough to keep themselves. He has not
+more than eighty pounds a year.'
+
+"Then he sighs, and says, 'Ah, that is sad. I must see to that. The poor
+soul might well begrudge the time to be spent in attending to the
+school. Her own children have the first claim upon a mother's heart.
+When next Mrs. Martin calls, I must see her, Mrs. Brand.'
+
+"Now, Dorothy, this is my lord's library," continued the voluble
+housekeeper, showing her young companion into a spacious apartment
+fronting the park. "I must leave you here, while I go down to Mrs.
+Martin. You can amuse yourself by looking at the pictures till my lord
+comes."
+
+"And how am I to address him?" cried Dorothy, turning faint with fear.
+
+"Curtsey to him, when he comes into the room, and ask his pardon for the
+liberty you take in venturing to speak to him, and then tell him your
+business, in as few words as you can."
+
+"Am I to call him my lord every time I address him?"
+
+"Of course. But don't seem afraid of him. He says that he hates people
+to worship him, as if he were an idol of flesh and blood. He likes a man
+to speak out his mind like a man, which you know is very condescending
+on his part. He will find very few men in the country that dare do it."
+
+Dorothy thought she knew one, as the good woman closed the door, and
+left her alone in the magnificent apartment. Perhaps she was wrong in
+her estimate. Time will prove. And then she drew an involuntary sigh,
+when she recalled the housekeeper's words that the Rushmeres had, in the
+old times, been the owners of Heath Hall, and had lost it, because they
+could not bow down to idols of flesh and blood.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+DOROTHY AND LORD WILTON.
+
+
+Was Dorothy dreaming--could she really be awake--when she first stepped
+into that lofty room, and gazed upon her magnificent surroundings--was
+she in fairy land--was that the every day sun, that was pouring a flood
+of wintry light upon gilded cornice and carved panel--upon inlaid
+tables, covered with miniature gems of art, collected at great expense
+from distant lands?
+
+The best, the only oil paintings Dorothy had ever seen, were the
+pictures on the door of the cupboard, in the hall at Heath Farm. She had
+always thought them very terrible and beautiful--she did not know that
+they once had formed a part of the collection, which now dazzled her
+sight upon these walls. That persons competent to judge of their merit
+would in after years pronounce them of priceless value.
+
+"Oh, what a beautiful place. It is too grand to be inhabited by people
+who have to work for their daily bread--who have to wear mean clothes,
+and soil their hands with disagreeable labour."
+
+A deep sigh--the first of unfeigned regret for her lowly
+station--perhaps of envy--broke from the lips of the wondering girl.
+
+She was just then standing before a large mirror, which not only
+reflected her full length figure, but almost every other object in the
+room.
+
+Why does she start and gaze so intently into its magic depths. Is it the
+reflection of that lovely face--so fresh and glowing from the hands of
+the great life artist; which she has never beheld to such advantage
+before; that brings the heightened colour to her cheeks and upon which
+she gazes with such pride and pleasure? She stands spell bound. One hand
+lightly raised, her eyes immoveably fixed upon the glass.
+
+"Well, my pretty girl," said a rich mellow voice at her side, "what do
+you think of the picture?" This was said half in jest, half in earnest.
+
+Dorothy started. "It is very beautiful."
+
+"I think so too," returned the stranger, who was no other than Lord
+Wilton himself, smiling at the simplicity of his charming young visitor.
+
+"Did you ever see it before?"
+
+"Never!" said Dorothy, without removing her eyes from the mirror. "Is
+not the likeness wonderful? It makes me feel half afraid, as if the soul
+of the lady had returned to earth in me."
+
+"I see, I see what you are looking at now; yes, it is the same face, the
+same dark liquid eyes, the same rich wealth of raven hair," and he
+pointed to one of the beautiful family portraits, suspended upon the
+wall behind them; whose face was faithfully reflected in the glass, side
+by side with that of the young country maiden.
+
+"What a strange coincidence! can this be a mere freak of nature!" he
+continued musingly. "My good girl who are you, and what is your name?"
+
+There was an eager restless expression in the nobleman's melancholy dark
+eyes, as he turned to Dorothy and gazed upon her with a glance which
+penetrated to her inmost soul.
+
+Dorothy rightly surmised that the stranger was Lord Wilton. Her
+attention had been so forcibly drawn to the picture, that she only now
+began to recognize the fact. She thought that he was displeased by the
+familiar manner in which she had addressed him, and turning pale, began
+visibly to tremble.
+
+"Forgive me, my lord, for not calling you by your title; I meant to do
+so, but indeed, you took me by surprise; I hardly knew to whom I was
+speaking."
+
+And poor frightened Dorothy stopped, overwhelmed with the consciousness
+of her rudeness and presumption, and made several low and, for her, very
+graceful curtseys.
+
+Her companion regarded her with an amused but serious smile, "speak to
+me as you would to any other gentleman, and now answer my question. What
+is your name?"
+
+"Dorothy Chance, my lord."
+
+"Dorothy!" again he turned upon her that strange eager glance. "That
+lady's name was Dorothy!" and he looked up at the picture with a sigh.
+"She was the best of women. My dear and honoured mother--the Lady
+Dorothy Granville. Who are your parents? Who in this neighbourhood bears
+such an odd name as Chance?"
+
+"No one, my lord, saving myself, and I come by it oddly enough. I am the
+child of whom your lordship may have heard, who farmer Rushmere found
+upon the heath fifteen years ago, clinging to the bosom of her dead
+mother, who, it was supposed, perished during the night in a fearful
+storm. I could only just speak a few broken words, and could tell
+nothing about my poor mother, only that she called me her Dolly; so the
+good farmer had me christened Dorothy Chance, to signify that I came to
+him by _chance_. His wife adopted me as her daughter, and I have lived
+with them ever since."
+
+Lord Wilton listened with breathless attention. "Did your foster parents
+ever find out who your mother was?"
+
+"She was a stranger in these parts, no one had ever seen her before."
+
+"Was there anything on her person, or in her appearance by which she
+could be identified."
+
+"Nothing, my lord. Father has often told me that she must have been
+very poor; that he never saw a body so wasted by starvation and misery.
+Her clothing was very scanty and ragged, and composed of the coarsest
+materials, begged, he supposed, from some poor creature, not quite so
+destitute as herself. She was very young, and he thought, at one time,
+must have been very pretty. He cut off a lock of her hair--I have it
+here, my lord," and Dorothy took from her neck a black ribbon, to which
+was suspended a large old-fashioned silver locket, and put it into Lord
+Wilton's hand. It contained a thick tress of golden brown hair.
+
+He took the sad memento, all that remained to the poor girl of her
+mother, with a trembling hand, and went to the window to examine it.
+
+Over his pale face a more deadly pallor stole. He looked at it with a
+long earnest gaze, then returned it with a deep sigh to the wondering
+girl.
+
+"And this is all."
+
+"All but a plain wedding ring which I have on my finger."
+
+"Oh! let me see that."
+
+"It is just like any other ring of the sort, my lord. It can tell
+nothing."
+
+She held out her small sun-burnt hand.
+
+He clasped it eagerly in his own, and with some difficulty, drew the
+ring from her finger.
+
+This underwent the same strict scrutiny that he had bestowed upon the
+locket, but his countenance betrayed still deeper emotion.
+
+"Keep that ring!" he said solemnly, replacing it upon her finger. "Keep
+it as you would your life. It may be the means of restoring you to him
+who put it on your mother's finger. And the locket--was that hers?"
+
+"No, my lord; it was given to me by Mrs. Rushmere."
+
+"And these people--these Rushmeres--are they kind to you, Dorothy?"
+
+"Yes, very kind. The only friends I have in the world."
+
+"And what brought you to see me this morning?"
+
+"Oh, my lord, it was on their account I came. They have an only
+son--Gilbert Rushmere. Last summer--it was just in the middle of the hay
+tide, and we were very busy at the farm--Gilbert quarrelled with his
+father about me." Dorothy looked down and blushed.
+
+"Go on, my good girl!"
+
+"We had loved each other from boy and girl; but the old man would not
+give his consent to our marriage, and I would not marry Gilbert without.
+Father was so angry that he told me to leave the house, and hoping to
+make peace by so doing, I left and went to live at Hadstone with Mrs.
+Barford. I did not stay away long. Gilbert went and listed for a
+soldier, and I came back to comfort the old people in their trouble.
+Father would have bought Gilbert off, but he did not get the bad news
+until after he had sailed; and we have been so unhappy ever since."
+
+Here Dolly's voice, which had sank almost to a whisper, failed her
+altogether, and she turned from Lord Wilton to wipe away the tears that
+were streaming down her rosy cheeks.
+
+"Why did Mr. Rushmere object to his son marrying a good industrious girl
+like you?"
+
+"Ah, my lord, can you wonder at it?" sobbed Dorothy. "From my heart I
+never blamed him. The old man is proud--is come of a good stock; Gilbert
+is his only son; he could not bear that he should take for his wife the
+child of some nameless beggar. It was too much for me to ask or expect
+at his hands. After Gilbert was gone he relented, but it was too late
+then. Gilbert wrote some time ago, and told us that he was reconciled to
+his new life, and was serving in the ---- regiment under your son,
+Captain Fitzmorris, whose servant he was; that they were hourly
+expecting an engagement with the French. Oh, my lord, the battle has
+been fought, and we have not heard from Gilbert."
+
+Dorothy wrung her hands in uncontrollable anguish. "Mr. Rushmere is in
+despair. He will believe that his son is killed; and I slipped away
+unknown to him this morning to ask your lordship if you could tell me
+anything about him."
+
+"My poor girl, I will make inquiries respecting him, and let you know. I
+am just writing to my son. God knows if he be still alive. I can only
+hope and trust in his mercy. My mind, Dorothy, is just now overwhelmed
+by the same horrible anxiety which you find so hard to bear. This cruel
+suspense, this hope, which keeps alive despair, is the most painful of
+human maladies."
+
+He walked several times through the spacious apartment in deep thought,
+then suddenly returning to the side of the weeping girl, he took her
+hand and pressed it warmly between his own.
+
+"Dry your tears, Dorothy; you have deeply interested me in your sad
+history. You shall never want a friend while I live. If Gilbert Rushmere
+returns, and money be the only obstacle that separates you, tell Mr.
+Rushmere that I will give you a wedding portion that shall more than
+satisfy him."
+
+"My lord, I would rather you would not," said Dorothy, in a tone of
+alarm, withdrawing her hand, and looking as proud as the lady whose
+portrait she so strongly resembled. "If I am not worthy to be his
+daughter, penniless as I am, money could never purchase the love and
+respect I crave, and which could alone make me happy."
+
+"Bravo! my little heroine," cried Lord Wilton, the kindling cheeks and
+flashing eyes of Dorothy filling him with surprise and admiration. "Your
+nobility exceeds mine; I am only noble by birth, but your lofty spirit
+springs from a greatness of mind inherent in your nature."
+
+"My lord!" said Dorothy, "you speak too highly of that which I only
+consider my duty. I feel most grateful to you for your kindness, for
+your generous sympathy in my sorrow, but I cannot accept your bounty.
+And now I will leave you, and carry your gracious promise about Gilbert,
+to his parents, which will dry their tears and make them very glad."
+
+With a low reverence, the country girl glided from the room.
+
+Lord Wilton remained standing by the table where she left him; his arms
+folded, his eyes bent upon the ground, lost in profound thought. An
+expression of intense mental suffering passed over his face; he clasped
+his hands tightly together and spoke unconsciously aloud.
+
+"At last the long search is over. The hope deferred--the agony of doubt
+and fear has culminated in the grave. Death--and such a death! Oh, my
+God! I see--I feel it all. Destitute--forsaken--alone. Her sole
+attendants, starvation and despair--perhaps crime. Who can tell the
+straits to which misery may have reduced its unfortunate victim. To die
+amidst storm and darkness with a helpless little one clasped to the fond
+heart growing cold and unconscious, in the chill embrace of the
+destroyer. Alice, my beloved, my lost darling, such then was your
+fate. * * *
+
+"Were your last thoughts with me in that desolate hour? Did you forgive
+me, for the sorrow and suffering which my selfish love had drawn down
+upon that innocent head. If you can read my heart, pity me, oh pity me,
+for I am desolate and in misery! Never, never can we meet again. Never
+can I now make atonement for the wrongs I inflicted. Never hope for
+peace or happiness again. The past irrevocable--the future a blank.
+Remorse may punish--it cannot restore. The vain regrets--the unsatisfied
+cravings of the tortured heart, have made earth a hell for the last
+twenty years, and vengeance is now complete. Oh, my God, have mercy
+upon me! I cry to Thee in the stilly night. I stretch my hands out to
+Thee in the darkness, but no answer of peace comes to my agonized
+prayers."
+
+He bowed his head upon his trembling hands. The storm of conscience
+swept on--all its waves went surging over his soul, and broke forth in
+stifled moans, wrung from the depths of the bruised and tortured heart.
+At length he grew calmer, and began to reason on the facts of the case.
+
+"I may be mistaken. What proof have I that the nameless vagrant was my
+lost love? A lock of sunny hair--a ring--the likeness of her child to me
+and mine. The cold unfeeling men of the world would laugh such evidence
+to scorn."
+
+He glanced up at his mother's picture, and his thoughts took a new turn.
+"Yes, that lovely girl is her child. Did not my heart burn within me,
+while she was talking with me? Did I not long to clasp her in my arms
+and claim her as my own--the all that is left me of my beloved?
+
+"I will restrain my feelings. I will not take her from her happy
+obscurity--separate her from the man she loves. The secret which her
+mother kept so bravely for my sake, which she carried down with her to
+the grave, shall rest there. I will keep down my swelling heart--will
+chain my lips in eternal silence, and prove my love for her by
+self-abnegation."
+
+A low rap at the door was several times repeated before it was noticed
+by Lord Wilton.
+
+"My lord," said Mrs. Brand, presenting herself before him, with her
+usual deep reverence, "Mrs. Martin is below, and wishes to speak with
+you." Struck with the unusual paleness of her master's face, and its
+melancholy expression, she said, with maternal anxiety.
+
+"My lord, you are ill. You must not give way about Lord Fitzmorris. His
+wounds may not be so dangerous as they are represented. Newspapers do
+not always tell the truth."
+
+"Mrs. Brand, he is my only son," returned the nobleman, not sorry to
+find his grief attributed to a legitimate cause. "The uncertainty
+respecting him depresses me greatly. If I knew the worst, I could bear
+it like a man. Show Mrs. Martin up. I can speak to her now."
+
+Mrs. Martin was a thin delicate looking woman, very pale, and very
+care-worn, with an expression of patient endurance in her face, painful
+to behold. She was no worshipper of rank or wealth, though a perfect
+lady in her appearance and manners. Experience had taught her that money
+was an imperative want, by no means to be despised; that without an
+adequate supply the necessaries of life could not be procured. That love
+in a cottage was a pleasant dream. The waking reality by no means so
+agreeable.
+
+"My lord," she said, addressing him with great candour and firmness, "I
+have given your proposal the most careful consideration, and willing as
+I am to oblige you, and to discharge a Christian duty, I find that I
+cannot conscientiously undertake the management of your school. I have
+six children. The eldest a boy of nine years old, the youngest a baby of
+only three months."
+
+Her pale cheeks flushed.
+
+"We are too poor, my lord, to keep a servant. I take care of my own
+children, and do the work of the house. Henry is too young to be
+entrusted with the charge of so many little ones during my absence at
+school, and my mind would be so full of anxiety about them, that I could
+not attend to my scholars as I could wish. I hope you will take these
+unfortunate circumstances as a sufficient apology for my declining the
+situation."
+
+"We are all called upon to make sacrifices for the good of our
+fellow-creatures, Mrs. Martin, but we must not do so at the expense of
+more sacred duties. I should be sorry to lay upon you, my dear madam, a
+burthen greater than the one you have already to bear. Now listen to
+what I have to propose, and I think we can arrange the matter to our
+mutual satisfaction. Mr. Conyers, the vicar, allows your husband eighty
+pounds a year for his ministerial services. A small remuneration for a
+well-educated man, and a good preacher, who has to support a large
+family and pay rent for the cottage in which he resides.
+
+"The vicar draws from the parish an income of fifteen hundred per annum,
+and could afford to give more. I now propose to allow you one hundred a
+year for taking charge of my school. Will you accept my terms, and by so
+doing confer upon me a great obligation?"
+
+Mrs. Martin burst into tears. "Oh, my lord, it would make our desert
+blossom as the rose, and give the poor children bread and meat, where
+they now only get a scanty supply of bread and milk. In our daily
+prayers, we shall not forget to ask our Heavenly Father to bless you for
+your munificence."
+
+"I am not quite so disinterested and benevolent as you think me,"
+returned the lord of the manor, deeply moved by her tears, for Mrs.
+Martin was the last person in the world from whom he would have expected
+such a display of feeling.
+
+"This school is a pet scheme of mine. I do not like to be disappointed.
+The miserable ignorance of the peasantry is a disgrace to the landed
+gentry, and loudly calls for reform. I want to lend a hand in washing
+out this foul national blot, and the co-operation of the clergy and
+their wives must be obtained, to do this in a proper Christian spirit.
+Their example will provoke to emulation the wives and daughters of the
+wealthy yeomanry; and after a few weeks you will find that we shall have
+plenty of pupils and teachers to assist in the good work."
+
+Lord Wilton spoke with enthusiasm, for the subject was very near his
+heart. Mrs. Martin who knew the poorer classes better than he did, and
+their decided aversion to book learning, looked rather incredulous. This
+was not the only difficulty to be overcome. The prejudice that existed
+in the minds of the agricultural employers to their servants being
+taught, was yet stronger than the indifference and apathy manifested by
+the poor people themselves.
+
+"My lord, you have a harder battle to fight than you imagine. The
+farmers prefer human machines to work for them, to rational thinking men
+and women. They tell me it is none of your business to instruct the
+poor. God made them so, and it is better for you to leave them as you
+find them. They don't want their servants to know as much as they do
+themselves."
+
+"They prefer slaves to freemen," suggested Lord Wilton. "It is strange
+how deeply that accursed system is implanted in the human heart. We need
+not go to the West Indies, or to the slave states of America, to see how
+it degrades the mind, and reduces man to the level of the brute. I hope
+the day is not far distant when both countries will abolish for ever
+this disgraceful traffic."
+
+"It will not be in our day," said Mrs. Martin, who, in spite of her many
+cares, possessed a considerable degree of humour, "without we should
+attain to the age of Methuselah."
+
+"God forbid. I do not covet length of days," returned Lord Wilton, "but
+I do hope to see that accomplished in my day, and during this
+generation. But I am rambling from the school altogether. It may be
+necessary for you to have an assistant to help you, and take charge of
+the younger classes. There was a nice amiable young girl here a few
+minutes ago, to inquire of me if I could tell whether young Rushmere had
+been killed in the battle of Corunna. Could you not press her into the
+service? She called herself Dorothy Chance. Do you know her?"
+
+"Everybody in the parish knows Dorothy Chance, my lord. She is rather a
+remarkable person. Did you ever hear how she got her odd name?"
+
+"Yes, yes," cried his lordship impatiently, dreading a repetition of
+what had occasioned him such intense pain. "It is not of that sad story,
+but of the girl's capabilities as a teacher, I want to speak. Can she
+read and write?"
+
+"Indifferently."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Martin," he now spoke with great earnestness, "will you
+increase my obligations to you, by giving this young girl, this Dorothy
+Chance, an hour's instruction daily in the usual branches of English
+education. She is very intelligent, and will make an excellent
+assistant, if properly trained for the work."
+
+"I respect Dorothy, and will do so with the greatest pleasure. When
+shall her schooling commence?"
+
+"Directly you can make the necessary arrangements. You shall not be the
+loser, Mrs. Martin, by the attention you may pay to this poor orphan
+girl. I cannot think of her strange history without emotion."
+
+"Lord Wilton is an angel of goodness," thought Mrs. Martin, "the most
+benevolent of men. It is seldom we meet with such in this hard world.
+Dorothy Chance has lived in the parish from a baby, but who among her
+neighbours ever thought of doing her a real service, uninfluenced by
+interested motives?"
+
+Lord Wilton had made two people supremely happy that morning. Dorothy
+had left his presence grateful for the kind sympathy he had expressed in
+her welfare, and confident that he would perform his promise in
+reference to Gilbert Rushmere; and Mrs. Martin felt the heavy load of
+poverty, that was crushing her to the earth, suddenly removed. Visions
+of peace and plenty, of warm clothing and sufficient food for her
+family, cheered and elevated her heart. When once alone in the park, she
+returned thanks to the Almighty for his goodness.
+
+"It is not in man," she cried, "to do acts of kindness and generosity
+like this. It is of God, from whom all goodness, directly, or
+indirectly, flows, who has influenced the mind of this noble gentleman
+to help us in our present distress."
+
+The school project that had filled her with such dismay, now appeared in
+the light of a blessing. She was glad that Dorothy had been selected for
+her assistant. She knew the kindly disposition of the girl, who had
+often left a roll of nice fresh butter, or a cream cheese, at her humble
+dwelling, as a small token of her respect; and she had often wished she
+had the power to show her some small favour in return, for her
+offerings of love.
+
+At the park gates she overtook Dorothy, who had sauntered leisurely
+homewards, recalling to memory every word that had passed between her
+and Lord Wilton. Marvelling at the grandeur of the Hall, and still more
+at the gracious reception he had given her--
+
+"Mrs. Martin," she said, when that lady joined her, "is not Lord Wilton
+a kind good man? I feel as if I could love him with my whole heart. I
+felt so afraid of him before I saw him--and he treated me as politely as
+if I had been a lady. How can people call him proud and cold? I shall
+never think of him without coupling his name with a blessing."
+
+"He deserves it, Dorothy. He has made me very happy. He has promised to
+give me a hundred a year for superintending his school. A hundred a
+year--think of that. It appears quite a fabulous sum to me. It will
+double our income. And do you know, Dorothy, he wants you to be my
+assistant?"
+
+"But," and Dorothy stopped suddenly, "I am not qualified for undertaking
+such an important situation. My knowledge is so limited, it would be the
+blind leading the blind. I can read a chapter to father in the Bible,
+but the hard names sadly puzzle me. I write a poor cramped hand, which I
+can hardly make out myself, and know very little about figures. I can
+cast up little sums in my own head better than I can on paper. It has
+always been the cherished wish of my heart to get a little more
+education.
+
+"There are a heap of old books in a closet at the Farm, upon which I
+cast a longing eye, but they are all Greek and Hebrew to me. You know,
+dear Mrs. Martin, how I am situated. I have all the work of the house
+upon my hands; and when night comes, I am so tired and sleepy, that I am
+glad to go to bed; and father, at any rate, would not allow me to set
+up, and waste the candles in reading."
+
+"You must persuade the old people to hire a girl to help you, Dorothy.
+They can well afford it. Lord Wilton wishes me to instruct you, and it
+is too good a _chance_," she continued, laughing, "to let slip through
+your fingers. If you do not like to speak to them on the subject, I
+will. I shall feel only too happy to teach you, Dorothy, and Henry will
+add his valuable instructions to mine. I feel quite excited by the good
+news I have to tell him," she said, forgetting Dorothy, and once more
+reverting to her own affairs. "I left him in such low spirits this
+morning. We had not money to buy a loaf for breakfast, the children were
+hungry and discontented with only potatoes, and it was difficult to
+pacify them. I walked up to the Hall with such a heavy heart--but you
+see, Dorothy, how sinful it was to doubt the mercy of the Heavenly
+Father, who has almost miraculously supplied the daily bread my poor
+husband prayed for so earnestly this morning, and which my good Henry
+felt so certain would be provided to meet our wants."
+
+Dorothy's eyes were overflowing. As to Mrs. Martin, she sobbed aloud.
+
+The two women walked together in silence until they had crossed the
+heath. Their path here separated, Mrs. Martin following the downward
+course of the sandy lane, and Dorothy climbing the hill. They shook
+hands warmly as they parted, the curate's wife promising to call at the
+Farm next day, and have a talk with the old folks.
+
+"Poor thing," sighed Dorothy, looking after her, "we have our cares, but
+we never know what it is to lack an abundant supply of wholesome food.
+Now here is a lady, well educated and delicately nurtured, who is
+destitute of the common necessaries of life. This ought to be a lesson
+to me, to be contented with my lot."
+
+Dorothy did not feel quite satisfied with herself on this point. She
+struggled hard to suppress a regretful sense of inferiority--a growing
+disgust and aversion to her laborious life, which had stolen into her
+mind since she had seen the interior of that lordly mansion, and beheld
+the beautiful works of art it contained; the taste and elegance
+displayed in the costly furniture, and the luxurious comfort which
+reigned everywhere.
+
+She looked down upon her coarse garments and sun-burnt hands, and
+contrasted them painfully with the regal beauty and costly apparel of
+the titled lady whose portrait she so strangely resembled.
+
+Why should the mere accident of birth, which neither could command, make
+such a startling difference? It was a mystery Dorothy could not
+comprehend? It seemed to her unjust--that made of the same flesh and
+blood, their situations should be so widely dissimilar, their lives lie
+so far apart. Then the words of the wise St. Paul came in to comfort
+her--"One star differeth from another star in glory,"--and she was
+terrified at the presumption that dared to question the wisdom and
+justice of the great Sovereign of the universe.
+
+"Still, it would be so pleasant to be a lady," thought Dorothy, "to have
+leisure to acquire knowledge. To be able to read all those splendid
+books I saw in my lord's library. To examine, whenever I liked, those
+beautiful pictures, to play on that golden harp that stood in the corner
+near one of the large windows, and to live surrounded by such
+magnificence--never to be obliged to work in the fields, exposed to a
+hot sun, or to be addressed familiarly by rude vulgar people, who
+consider that they have a right to command your services."
+
+Poor Dorothy had unwittingly gathered that morning the fruit of the
+forbidden tree, and found the knowledge it imparted very bitter and
+indigestible.
+
+"This is downright wickedness!" she cried at last. "I am a foolish
+ungrateful creature, to try and measure the wide gulf that lies between
+the rich and educated, and the poor and ignorant by my feeble intellect.
+God has apportioned to each their lot; and why should I feel envious and
+discontented, that the best lot did not fall to my share?
+
+"What do I know of the joys and sorrows of these great people? I do not
+see the poisonous serpent lurking among the flowers in their gay
+gardens, or the shadows that may darken the glory of their day. Lord
+Wilton's rank does not exempt him from care. His handsome face is full
+of trouble and anxiety. Tears were in his eyes when he mentioned his
+son. He felt just as uneasy about him, as father does about Gilbert. A
+lord, after all, is but a man."
+
+Having arrived at this conclusion, the cloud passed from Dorothy's
+bright face, her step grew lighter, and nature again smiled upon her
+like a divine picture, fresh from the hands of the Creator.
+
+She found dinner over at the farm-house, and the old people growing
+uneasy at her absence.
+
+"Where ha' ye been, Dorothy, lass?" asked Mr. Rushmere, in no gentle
+tone. "The red cow ha' calved, an' no one here to see 'un, an' mother
+had to carry her a hot mash hersel'."
+
+"I am sorry and glad," returned Dorothy, throwing her hat and shawl upon
+the table. "Sorry, that dear mother had to go out in the cold, and glad
+that old Cherry has got a calf. Is it a pretty one?"
+
+"A real fine heifer," said Mrs. Rushmere. "It's a mortal pity it came so
+early in the winter. I fear we can never rear it--an' the mother such a
+splendid cow, an' comes o' such a good stock."
+
+"Don't be afraid, I mean to try," cried Dorothy, laughing. "You remember
+Ruby, what a fine beast he made, and father sold him for twenty pounds.
+He was a January calf."
+
+"Please yoursel', Dorothy. But, bless me, child, where ha' ye been all
+the while? I sought for you in the house and byre, and began to think
+you had left us altogether."
+
+"I have been up to the Hall."
+
+There was a slight elation in Dorothy's voice, and her eyes sparkled in
+anticipation of the surprise that she well knew her answer would call
+forth.
+
+"The Hall! What did a' want at the Hall, Dorothy?" asked Rushmere,
+taking the pipe from his mouth, while a dark cloud descended on his
+brow. "Never dare to go to the Hall again without my leave."
+
+"It was on your account I went, father," said Dorothy, turning pale and
+looking very much frightened, at the very different manner to that
+which she expected, in which her announcement had been received. "I went
+because I thought Lord Wilton could tell us something about Gilbert."
+
+"And did you see my lord?" asked Mrs. Rushmere, with a look of intense
+curiosity mingled with awe upon her simple face.
+
+"My lord," said Rushmere, with an ironical smile, contemptuously
+repeating his wife's words. "Surely he be no lord o' thine."
+
+"Lawrence, you always do speak so disrespectful of Lord Wilton. It does
+not become poor folk like us to despise our betters."
+
+"I owe him no favour, wife. I want no favours from him. It vexes me that
+the lass went to him on my affairs. As to his being better than me, I
+ha' still to learn that. My name is as good as his--in what do we
+differ? In the wealth, which by right belongs to me, of which a
+rascally king robbed my brave ancestors to reward his unprincipled
+favourite. It grieves my heart that a son of mine should be a servant to
+his son--an' that girl must bring me still lower, by reminding Lord
+Wilton of the degradation."
+
+When the blood of the old man waxed warm, and he felt wrathy, he forgot
+half his provincialisms, and spoke and looked more like a gentleman. His
+wife felt little sympathy in her good man's anger, still less in his
+pride, which she was wont, behind his back, to speak of as perfectly
+ridiculous.
+
+"Dorothy," she whispered, "what did my lord say about Gilbert?"
+
+"He promised to write to Lord Fitzmorris, and obtain all the information
+he could respecting him. Oh, mother," she added, in a low voice, "he was
+so kind."
+
+"But were you not afraid of speaking to a lord. I never spoke to a lord
+in my life. Lawrence is listening to what I am saying. Come upstairs,
+Dorothy, an' tell me all about it."
+
+Dorothy was not sorry to escape from the storm that was lowering upon
+the yeoman's brow, to pour into Mrs. Rushmere's attentive ear all that
+she had seen and heard at the Hall.
+
+She dwelt at great length upon the generous offer made by Lord Wilton,
+through Mrs. Martin, to give her a good education, and fit her for an
+assistant in his school.
+
+"Mr. Rushmere will never give his consent to that, Dorothy. It will
+anger him more than your going to the Hall," said Mrs. Rushmere, shaking
+her head. "If the proposal comes from Mrs. Martin, an' she does not go
+to contradict any of his notions, he may, perhaps, listen to her, for he
+thinks her a good woman, an' her husband an excellent preacher, though
+little he profits by the parson's sermons, I must say that."
+
+"It would not be just to Lord Wilton not to give him the credit due to
+his generosity."
+
+"I am sure he would prefer it, Dorothy. I don't think he likes to make
+his charities public. If you are a wise child, you will keep his share
+in the business a profound secret. Were it known, it would set all the
+ill-natured tongues in the parish at work. Such women as Letty Barford
+and Nancy Watling would neither spare you nor your noble patron."
+
+Dorothy thought over the matter for a few minutes. She had had a bitter
+experience of what Mrs. Grundy could say, and felt a wholesome dread of
+that slanderous individual.
+
+"You are right, dear mother, as you generally are. I will not mention
+the subject to father, or any one else. Let him and Mrs. Martin fight it
+out. She is such a sensible woman, she is very likely to get the better
+of his prejudices; and I know him so well, that he would rather yield to
+a stranger than to us."
+
+Mrs. Rushmere laughed heartily.
+
+"Aye, Dolly, he would call that our attempting to wear his breeches.
+Good lack! I never tried to put them on in my life, but he'll come
+fussing about my work, perking into pots and pans, and hunting up dust
+in odd corners, but I durst not tell him that he has put on my
+petticoats, which would be only fair, an' just as true as t'other
+thing."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+A DISCUSSION.
+
+
+Mrs. Martin had not named the hour she had promised to call at the Farm.
+Dorothy, however, kept a good look out for her new friend, while
+pursuing her domestic avocations, and when she saw her coming down the
+lane she ran to meet her.
+
+After discussing for some time the school matter, and her probable
+chance of success, Mrs. Martin thought she could prevail upon Mr.
+Rushmere to let Dorothy attend an evening school, for an hour, three
+times during the week, without making any mystery about it.
+
+She was not aware, as Dorothy was, of the stubborn obstinacy of his
+character, which, combined with old hereditary prejudices, made him a
+very difficult person to deal with.
+
+She found the yeoman in the big hall, putting in rake handles, to be
+ready against they were wanted, for the day was cold and rough without,
+and the old man was one who always made a boast of taking time by the
+forelock.
+
+He would have made a fine study for the pencil of Wilkie or
+Gainsborough. His regular but strongly marked features, reflecting the
+energy with which he pursued his employment; his cheeks ruddy with
+exertion; and his snow-white hair falling in long wavy curls upon his
+ample shoulders.
+
+Pincher was sitting erect upon his haunches beside him, dividing his
+attention between his master and watching the progress he made in his
+work; and the frisking of Dolly's kitten, Rory, who was playing with
+the tail of his demure-looking mother, who lay sleeping upon the hearth.
+
+"Always busy, neighbour Rushmere," said Mrs. Martin, stepping briskly up
+to the old man. "It would be a wonder to find you napping."
+
+"Aye, ma'am, lazy folk are no good," he replied, looking up and shaking
+hands with her. "What brings you out this cold day? It's not weather for
+women folk. Some money, I suppose, to be collected for the church.
+Parsons are capital at that work. When they can't come themselves, they
+send their wives."
+
+"They know how difficult it is for an Englishman to say nay to a woman,"
+and Mrs. Martin rubbed her cold hands and laughed.
+
+"You are just right, ma'am, I never could resist their sweet voices--not
+I. From youth to age I have allers found women my best friends. God
+bless 'em. But let us come to the point at once. What do you want o'
+me? What am I expected to disburse?"
+
+"Neither silver nor gold this time."
+
+"Well, now, that's something uncommon. Surely you never came out this
+wintry day for the pleasure o' seeing an old man at work." He looked at
+her with a shrewd twinkle in his clear blue eyes, as if he suspected
+that her visit was not wholly disinterested.
+
+"I want you to allow Dorothy Chance to assist me in teaching in the
+Sunday-school, which is to go into operation in a few weeks. Her
+industrious habits and good character, which is well-known to the
+parish, eminently qualify her for instructing the young people of her
+own class. Will you permit her to take a share in the good work?"
+
+"No, a' will not," said the old man, a frown gathering upon his broad
+forehead; and he applied the spoke-shave with great vigour to the
+rake-handle in his grasp.
+
+"Who is to do her work at home, while she is drumming the A B C into the
+heads of children, whom God never meant to know B from a bull's foot. If
+you want money, I'll gi' that, but not the time o' my servant, that's
+more nor money's worth to me."
+
+Dorothy, who was standing on the hearth, from which she had been
+diligently sweeping the pile of shavings the farmer had scattered over
+it, winced at this. It was the first time she had ever heard the name of
+servant applied to her, by her foster parents. She thought it unkind and
+cruel, and her dark eyes flashed with a sudden fire, that dried up the
+gathering tears.
+
+Mrs. Martin, however, nothing daunted by this rebuff, and beginning to
+understand something of the character of the man with whom she had to
+deal, replied with the greatest coolness.
+
+"I spoke to you, Mr. Rushmere as Dorothy's father, not as her master. I
+thought that her welfare was as dear to you as that of your own child;
+and if report says true, she has been a good dutiful daughter to you."
+
+"Yes, I ha' naught to complain of on that score." This was said with a
+dogged air of sullen resistance.
+
+"Well, then, my friend, you surely will not deny her the privilege of
+joining in a Christian duty, and deprive her of the advantage of
+improving her scanty education. Such a course would be injurious to her,
+and would reflect no credit on you."
+
+"I don't allow a parson's wife to preach to me about my duty, or to
+interfere wi' my family matters," said Rushmere, dryly. "Politics and
+religion are subjects which belong o' right to men; women allers make a
+mess o' it, when they meddle wi' what they don't understand."
+
+Mrs. Martin, amused with the vehemence with which the old man spoke out
+his mind, replied, with a smile.
+
+"You will allow, however, Mr. Rushmere, that women have souls to be
+saved as well as men, and that a little education is necessary for them,
+to enable them to teach their own children. The religious instruction
+which a boy receives at his mother's knee, generally clings to him
+through life; and often is the silent monitor restraining him from the
+commission of great crimes in after years, when the most eloquent
+preaching from the pulpit has produced little moral change in his
+character. To teach poor ignorant children to read the Bible, to learn
+their duty to God and man, and to be contented with the state of life in
+which His good providence has placed them, is surely to confer upon them
+a great benefit. I have visited dying people in this parish, who barely
+knew their right hand from their left, who had never been taught to
+pray, and lived without a knowledge of Christ or of God, in the world.
+Now, it is not our intention to make scholars of such poor people, but
+to teach them how to become good Christians."
+
+"That sounds sensible like," mused the farmer. "You're a clever woman,
+Mrs. Martin. Aye, a cleverer woman than I thought you. But Dorothy wants
+instruction in such matters herself. How can she teach others?"
+
+"I am willing and anxious to fit her for this task. Let her come to me
+for an hour--only one short hour--three times during the week, and I
+will spare no pains to improve her education, and make her an excellent
+teacher."
+
+"Very kind o' you, ma'am, but who's to milk the cows, and attend to the
+house, while she's away?"
+
+"Father, I promise you, faithfully, that nothing shall be neglected,"
+cried Dorothy, eagerly, who saw, by the subdued anger in his face, that
+he was relenting. "I will rise an hour earlier, and will not study my
+lessons until the evening, when my work is all done."
+
+"Well," said Rushmere, slowly conceding the point. "I will gi' my
+permission only on one condition, and that is, Mrs. Martin, that you
+teach the lass no fine airs, no apeing of rich ladies, no wish to dress
+smarter, nor hold her head higher than her neighbours; nor to think
+herself better an' wiser than those who ha' been at the expense o'
+rearing her. When once a gal takes such notions into her head, she's
+good for naught. As to making our Dolly a Christian, I think she be that
+already.
+
+"And now, Mrs. Martin," he continued, with increasing energy, and
+handling his rake in a most warlike manner, "that you ha' had your say,
+and got your own way, which I 'spose you be used to with the goodman at
+home, will you tell me who's to be at the expense of this
+school--_school_?" repeating his own words with a sarcastic laugh. "What
+time ha' poor folk for learning, who ha' to work fourteen hours out o'
+the twenty-four, to earn bread for themselves and their children?"
+
+"I will tell you all about our plans the next time I come to see you,"
+said Mrs. Martin, who perceived she was treading upon dangerous ground,
+and was very well satisfied with her present position. "I hope, Lawrence
+Rushmere, you will become one of the best patrons of our institution."
+
+"Dorothy," turning to that individual, who was now beaming with smiles,
+her face all good humour and sunshine, "I shall expect you on Monday
+evening."
+
+"Ah, dear Mrs. Martin, Monday is our washing day. Will not Tuesday do as
+well?"
+
+"Yes, perhaps better. Monday is always a busy day in all working
+communities. We will say Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Will that
+suit you?"
+
+"Perfectly."
+
+Mrs. Martin went away delighted with the success of her negotiations,
+and so that matter was settled; though Rushmere, after the departure of
+his visitor, grumbled terribly at his want of resolution, in not
+sticking like a man to his first determination, and was very cross and
+contradictory to Dorothy and his wife during the rest of the day.
+
+Dorothy bore it all with exemplary patience, and resumed her work in
+such spirits, that she sang from the very joy of her heart. And such a
+voice as the little damsel had, it only wanted cultivation to have made
+her a fortune. Dorothy was not conscious of its surpassing excellence
+and power, though Rushmere often remarked to his wife, "that it was
+better than the best of music. It did his old heart good to hear the
+girl sing. She sang like a _trush_, and made him feel like a boy again."
+
+In the lives of most individuals, whether brought up in the seclusion of
+the country, or amid the turmoil of a great city, there is a turning
+point, whether for good or ill, that determines their future position,
+and either makes or mars their worldly prospects. A certain "tide," as a
+great writer has expressed it, "which, taken at the flood, will lead to
+fortune."
+
+This period had arrived in the hitherto obscure life of Dorothy Chance,
+and without speculating at all on the probable result of the change that
+a few days had made in her position, she embraced it with the ardour
+peculiar to her character, in which strength of mind and a gentle loving
+nature were blended most harmoniously together.
+
+Her visit to Heath Hall had kindled in her breast vague yearnings for
+mental improvement. She had never felt any pleasure in vulgar
+companionship, and always kept aloof from coarse scenes and unrefined
+amusements.
+
+Her very language differed from the common dialect of those by whom she
+was surrounded, and well-educated people marvelled at the grace and
+simplicity with which she expressed herself.
+
+She had lived out of the world, a pure and useful life; her mind deeply
+imbued with the poetry of nature--in fact, nature had been her only
+teacher. Of books she knew little. The Bible, and a book of old ballads,
+and some odd volumes of the "Spectator," comprised her literary lore;
+but she was never tired of poring over these--they afforded the only
+recreation of the few spare moments she could call her own, and their
+diligent perusal had doubtless contributed, in no small degree, to the
+improvement in her mind and manners.
+
+Beauty itself confers a certain air of dignity upon its humblest
+possessor. Numbers of women, thus richly endowed by nature, when called
+from a subordinate position to fill a higher station, have done so, with
+as much ease and grace, as if it had been inherited from birth.
+
+The most delightful trait in Dorothy's character was its perfect
+unselfishness; and what is still more rare, a deep and abiding sense of
+gratitude to the friends who had protected her childhood, and saved her
+from being brought up in the workhouse. This devotion had been expressed
+in every act of her life, and had induced her to give up the first love
+of a warm, truthful heart.
+
+Rushmere, though an honest, good man in his way, was incapable of
+appreciating a sacrifice which few would have made under the same
+circumstances. In a momentary impulse of generous feeling he had adopted
+Dorothy, but even then, he had in view the services she might in future
+render to his household.
+
+Having no daughter of his own, the beautiful little girl, and her
+winning ways, had grown into his cold, stern heart, and forced him to
+regard her with affection against his will. The idea of her becoming his
+son's wife, however, he rejected with contempt, and though in another
+fit of sudden benevolence, when the girl, by her courage and prudence,
+had saved his life and property, he had given his consent to their
+marriage, it was not without a settled conviction in his own mind, that
+Gilbert, if living, no longer wished to claim her as such.
+
+Pride, and the love of money, were the old man's besetting sins. He had
+toiled hard all his life, in accumulating the one, and had hoped that
+his son, by a fortunate marriage, might be the means of gratifying the
+other; and he viewed this sudden advancement in Dorothy's prospects with
+a jealous eye, as a not improbable means of drawing her and Gilbert once
+more together.
+
+Dorothy herself never had the least misgiving in her mind with regard to
+her lover's fidelity--they were, indeed, _parted_, but, in her
+estimation, not _divided_.
+
+How could Gilbert cease to love her, when her soul was devoted to him;
+and had not the old man at last given his consent; and did not she long
+to tell him that, and make him happy with the unexpected consummation of
+their treasured hope?
+
+Dorothy was very ignorant of Gilbert's real character. She had yet to
+learn that his mind was a reflex of his father's; that the same
+deep-rooted obstinacy formed the base of her lover's character. With a
+larger share of vanity, he also felt a deeper share of personal injury.
+His animosity once aroused, was a demon very hard to quell.
+
+Rushmere was often hasty and contrary, and pugnacious as a bull-dog, but
+at the same time, steady in his affections, and if unresisted in his
+angry moods, he came round of himself, often expressing the deepest
+regret for harsh or unreasonable conduct.
+
+He was honest and truthful, and a just master to his servants; and Dolly
+loved and venerated the old man, for the sterling good qualities he
+possessed, and willingly forgave all the faults, often remarking, when
+her mother had been vexed by some blunt, fault-finding speech from her
+stern husband,
+
+"Don't think of it, mother, you will always find some thistles among the
+finest corn. Father will forget it all before night."
+
+This was true. Rushmere did not treasure his wrath, but his son Gilbert
+did.
+
+The refusal Dorothy gave him to his father's face, was rankling still in
+his heart. When he left his home, it was not with any desire to spite
+his parents, especially his mother, to whom he was much attached, but
+out of revenge to Dorothy; for he well knew that in her heart he could
+not inflict a deeper wound.
+
+Mentally and morally, Gilbert Rushmere was quite unworthy of her love.
+Dorothy was so blind to this fact, that her great wish for educational
+improvement was in the hope that it might render her more deserving of
+his regard.
+
+Her sensitive nature had been deeply hurt that morning, by the rough,
+unfeeling manner in which Mr. Rushmere had called her _his servant_. She
+tried her best to forget it, but the ungracious thought would again and
+again intrude.
+
+"He might have spoken of me as his daughter, as he always calls me when
+we are alone. It was hard to degrade me in my own eyes before Mrs.
+Martin," argued poor Dorothy. "I am not a servant. I receive no
+wages--ask for none. Their love I consider is sufficient reward. Perhaps
+it is my ignorance that makes father so averse to my marriage with
+Gilbert; but then," she continued, musingly, "if that were the case, he
+would not be so much against my receiving instruction. I do not believe
+that he really wishes us to come together, and it was cruel of Gilly to
+write of me in that careless manner, as if it were a matter of
+indifference to him my marriage with another.
+
+"However, I mean to study in real earnest, to give my whole mind to it,
+and acquire all the knowledge I can. I feel a power within me, that has
+never been called into action. A something that is always waking up, and
+urging me to work out my own living, instead of depending on the charity
+of others. I have always tried to silence this voice--it seemed
+ungrateful in me to listen to it, but to-day it speaks to me in louder
+tones, urging me to lead a holy and useful life, and I now know," she
+cried, earnestly clasping her hands together, "that it is from God."
+
+With this conviction, deeply impressed upon her mind, Dorothy commenced
+her studies with Mrs. Martin, who had conceived a deep attachment to her
+young pupil.
+
+They got on swimmingly together. Dorothy's cheerful, hopeful temper and
+great patience, with the addition of an excellent memory, made the task
+of tuition light and agreeable to her friend, while the progress she
+made astonished her worthy preceptress, as much as it did Dorothy
+herself.
+
+
+END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Transcriber's Note: Missing end of paragraph punctuation has been
+inserted. Two printer's errors have been amended. Minntes is now
+minutes and ungateful is now ungrateful.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World Before Them, by Susanna Moodie
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42165 ***