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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The World Before Them, by Susanna Moodie
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
-almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
-re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
-with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
-
-
-Title: The World Before Them
-       A Novel, Volume 3 (of 3)
-
-Author: Susanna Moodie
-
-Release Date: February 23, 2013 [EBook #42174]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD BEFORE THEM ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sue Fleming and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
-book was produced from scanned images of public domain
-material from the Google Print project.)
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-  THE WORLD BEFORE THEM.
-
-  A Novel.
-
-
-  BY
-
-  MRS. MOODIE,
-
-  AUTHOR OF "ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH."
-
-
-  IN THREE VOLUMES.
-
-  VOL. III.
-
-
-  [Illustration]
-
-
-  LONDON:
-  RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
-  1868.
-
-
-
-
-  LONDON:
-  Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street
-
-
-
-
-  THE WORLD BEFORE THEM.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER I.
-
-  MRS. GILBERT RUSHMERE.
-
-
-The dinner was so well cooked, and so nicely served, that in spite of
-the unusual hour, Mrs. Rowly and her daughter made a very hearty meal.
-
-Mrs. Rushmere's easy chair had been drawn to the head of the table, and
-Dorothy sat beside her and carved, Gilbert being unable at present to
-cut his own food. Dorothy longed to do it for him, when she observed how
-unwillingly his wife performed this necessary service.
-
-"I am a great trouble to you, Sophy," he said; "but directly my arm is
-healed, I shall soon learn to help myself, as I have seen others do, who
-had met with the same misfortune."
-
-"It is a good thing to have a wife to help you," suggested Mrs. Rowly.
-
-"Yes, but it makes a fellow feel so dependent. He has to submit through
-sheer necessity to petticoat government."
-
-"A' don't think that even one arm would make me do that," said Rushmere,
-"tho' I believe a' had the best wife in Christendom."
-
-Mrs. Rushmere laughed good-naturedly.
-
-"Oh, Lawrence, men be often under their wives' government, an' as
-ignorant of the fact as babies."
-
-"You speak, I suppose, from experience," said Mrs. Gilbert, in her
-gentle low voice. "I should have thought the old gentleman a very
-difficult person for any wife to manage. I find Gilbert a hard case, in
-spite of his one arm."
-
-"There's only one way to rule me, and that's by kindness," returned
-Gilbert.
-
-Without meaning it, perhaps, his voice assumed a serious tone, almost
-amounting to sadness. He looked up, and his eyes and Dorothy's met;
-forcing an appearance of gaiety, he said, "What have you to say on the
-subject, Dorothy?"
-
-"I never give an opinion on subjects I know nothing about. I am the only
-person in the room who cannot speak from experience. I should think your
-plan, however, must be the best."
-
-"It is a pity you have not an opportunity of trying it, Miss, What's
-your name," said Mrs. Gilbert, "in which case you might perhaps find out
-that kindness can be thrown away."
-
-"I expected to find Dorothy married when I came home," said Gilbert. "I
-thought it impossible that the young fellows in the neighbourhood could
-suffer her to remain single."
-
-"She waited for you, Gilly, till she found it o' no use," cried Rushmere
-passing the bottle to his son.
-
-"Oh that I had waited for her," was the thought that flashed through
-Gilbert's mind, charged with a deep regret.
-
-"Father will have his joke," said Dorothy, colouring like a rose,
-"without thinking that it may be at the expense of another."
-
-Mrs. Gilbert left off eating, and listened keenly to what was passing.
-
-"Believe me, Gilbert, that there is no one present who congratulates you
-more sincerely on your marriage than I do."
-
-"My dear child, will you help me up stairs?" said Mrs. Rushmere,
-apprehensive of mischief from her husband's blunt indiscretion and want
-of delicacy.
-
-Gilbert rose, and with his left arm supported her to the foot of the
-stairs. "Oh, Dorothy," he said, "no wonder that you despise me. God only
-knows how I despise myself."
-
-"It is too late to repent now, Gilbert. You must try like me to forget.
-You owe it to your wife, as much as to me."
-
-She passed her arm round Mrs. Rushmere's waist, and left Gilbert at the
-foot of the stairs. He put the cuff of his empty sleeve to his eyes. Was
-it to wipe away a tear?
-
-His wife looked daggers at him, when he returned to the table. His
-father proposed a walk round the farm after dinner, an invitation that
-Gilbert eagerly accepted, and the mother and daughter were left alone
-together.
-
-"We shall have a nice time of it here," said Mrs Gilbert. "Let us go
-out, mother, and take a look round the premises. One might as well be in
-a prison as confined to this dark, dingy room."
-
-"I can see no garden attached to the place," said Mrs. Rowly, looking
-out of the deep bay window which only opened upon the stone-paved court.
-"That girl who helped at dinner could tell us all about it."
-
-"Don't call her, mamma, I have a perfect horror of that woman. I am
-certain that Gilbert and she have been very intimate. He never took his
-eyes off her during dinner."
-
-"You need not be jealous of her, Sophy; I am certain that she cares
-nothing for him. You are foolish to trouble your head with any love
-affairs he had previous to his marriage."
-
-"But I am sure he cares for her, and I don't mean to play second fiddle
-in his father's house to any one but Mrs. Rushmere. If this girl remains
-in the house I must quit it."
-
-"And would you like to nurse the sick mother?"
-
-"I hate sick people. Let her hire a nurse."
-
-"She may not be able to do that. I see no indications of wealth here. A
-carpetless sanded floor, and furniture old enough to have come out of
-the ark. One room which serves for drawing-room, dining-room and
-parlour. I dare say these poor people have enough to do to keep
-themselves."
-
-"But Gilbert said that his father was rich."
-
-"Pshaw! You see now Gilbert has exaggerated matters."
-
-"But what are we to do? I can't and won't live here."
-
-"Till your debts are paid, you must."
-
-"Oh, dear, I wish I were single again," and Mrs. Gilbert began to cry.
-
-"Sophy, when you were single you were never contented, always lamenting
-that you were not married. No one ever asked you to marry until I gave
-out that you would have a fortune."
-
-"And what have I gained by that lie?"
-
-"A handsome, honest fellow, if you would only think so. He would not
-have been so badly off either, if he had not been forced to sell his
-commission to pay your debts. He had a fair chance too, of rising in the
-army, if he had not met with that misfortune. I think you very
-unreasonable to throw all the blame on him. What now remains for you to
-do, is to make yourself agreeable to his parents, and secure a home,
-such as it is, for us."
-
-"I can't pretend to like that old man," and Sophy shrugged her
-shoulders.
-
-"He's rather an amusing variety of the species," said Mrs. Rowly, "and
-the easiest person in the world to cajole. But once more, let me tell
-you, Mrs. Gilbert Rushmere, it is no use quarrelling with your bread
-and butter. Put on your hat, and let us take a turn in the open air,
-perhaps we may chance to meet the gentlemen."
-
-And now they are gone to spy out the nakedness of the land we will tell
-our readers a little of their private history, and how the young soldier
-was deceived in his fortune-hunting speculation.
-
-Mrs. Rowly was the widow of a custom-house officer, and for many years
-lived very comfortably, nay, affluently, upon the spoils which he
-gathered illegally in his office. Their only child, Sophia, though very
-far from pretty, was a genteel-looking girl, and educated at a
-fashionable boarding-school; but just as she arrived at womanhood, the
-father was detected in his unlawful pursuits, and so heavily fined, that
-it caused his utter ruin, and having incurred heavy debts to keep up an
-appearance beyond his station, he ended his days in prison, leaving his
-wife and daughter to shift for themselves in the best manner they
-could.
-
-With the assistance of a brother, who was in the grocery line of
-business, and of whom they had always been ashamed in their more
-prosperous days, Mrs. Rowly set up a small boarding-house, in one of the
-little cross streets in the Minories, and just contrived to keep her
-head above water for several years, until Sophia was turned of
-seven-and-twenty. The young lady dressed and flirted, and tried her best
-to get a husband, but all her endeavours proved futile.
-
-She was ambitious, too, of marrying a gentleman, and looked down with
-contempt upon shopkeepers' assistants, clerks in lawyers' offices, and
-mechanics, until the time had nearly slipped by when she could hope,
-without fortune, to marry at all.
-
-It was then that her mother, finding herself deeply involved, circulated
-the report in her neighbourhood, that Sophy had been left six
-thousand pounds on the death of a cousin, a consumptive boy, who could
-not reasonably be expected to live many months.
-
-The bait took. Miss Rowly was invited to houses she never before had
-hoped to enter; and at a ball, given by the mother of an officer in
-Gilbert's regiment, she met the handsome young man, just raised to the
-rank of a subaltern, who had so gallantly saved the life of Captain
-Fitzmorris.
-
-Though still rather countrified in his appearance, she was instantly
-smitten by his frank, free manners, and his fine manly figure. Some
-foolish fellow, in the shape of a friend, whispered in Gilbert's ear
-that the young lady would have a fortune. In a rash moment, when a
-little heated by wine, and won by her soft flatteries, he made her an
-offer of marriage. This was instantly accepted, particularly as Gilbert,
-boy-like, had boasted of his old ancestral home, and the noble family
-from which he was descended. And besides all this, he was an officer in
-the army, and likely to rise in his profession, under the patronage of a
-wealthy nobleman like Lord Wilton. Miss Rowly was charmed with her
-future prospects.
-
-Gilbert proposed to take her down to Hadstone as his wife, directly the
-campaign was over. But his charming Sophia was too fearful of losing him
-during that indefinite period, and got her mother to propose to him that
-they should be married before he left for Spain, and that she would
-accompany him abroad.
-
-They were married; but the affectionate bride, when the time for his
-departure drew nigh, forgot this part of her promise, and preferred
-staying at home with her mother, to encountering all the hardships
-attendant upon a soldier's wife, whose husband was on actual service in
-a foreign land.
-
-During his absence, Mrs. Gilbert and her mother enjoyed every comfort on
-the credit of their supposed fortune; and when he returned sick and
-disabled from Spain, he had not been many days at Mrs. Rowly's before he
-was arrested for the debts his wife had contracted since their marriage.
-
-It was then that Gilbert discovered what a dupe he had been; that the
-woman he had taken to his bosom was a miserable deceiver; and he had to
-sell his commission to avoid the horrors of a prison.
-
-After much recrimination and mutual upbraidings on the part of Gilbert
-and his wife, they at last came to the conclusion that it was useless to
-quarrel over what could no longer be remedied; that it was far better to
-sit down calmly and consider what was to be done.
-
-All Mrs. Rowly's furniture had been seized and sold for the benefit of
-her creditors, for she was as deeply involved as her daughter.
-
-"Why can't we go home to your father's?" asked Mrs. Rowly. "I am sure
-your parents will be glad to see you."
-
-Gilbert had some doubts on that head. He knew how he had deserted them;
-and never having received a line from them, to assure him of their
-forgiveness, (though this had been his own fault, in omitting to tell
-them where and how to direct him,) he was sadly at a loss how to act.
-
-And then he thought of Dorothy, and wondered if she were unmarried, and
-living still with the old people. If so, how should he be able to meet
-her, and introduce her to the cold selfish woman he had preferred to
-her? No, he could not, he dared not go back to Hadstone.
-
-"Why don't you answer, Gilbert?" urged his wife. "What prevents you from
-going home?"
-
-"I parted with my father in anger. I am doubtful, for he is an obstinate
-man, whether he will be willing to receive us."
-
-"Don't put him to the trial," said Mrs. Rowly. "Let Sophy write, and
-tell him we are coming, and start without giving him time to send a
-refusal. We must go somewhere; to remain here is impossible, for you
-cannot draw your pension for the next six months, and we cannot live
-upon air."
-
-Gilbert was terribly perplexed. While pride forbade him to seek an
-asylum with his parents, necessity compelled him to do so, and though he
-now almost loathed both his wife and her mother, he was too manly to
-leave them in distress.
-
-He therefore sold his watch, his sword and regimental suit, to procure
-money to prosecute their journey; and when he arrived at Hadstone, he
-had only a few shillings left in his purse.
-
-The kind reception he met with cut him to the heart, and the sight of
-that beautiful girl, who might have been his, almost maddened him with
-grief and remorse.
-
-When he proposed that walk with his father, he fully intended to open
-his mind to him, and tell him how he was situated, but shame and pride
-kept him tongue tied. Besides, was it not his father's fault that he had
-not married the woman he loved; and could he expect an avaricious man to
-sympathize with him in the misery he endured, or feel for his present
-poverty and degradation. So he walked by his father's side over the
-old fields that had witnessed his labours with Dorothy, without saying a
-word upon the subject nearest his heart. It was with feelings of inward
-disgust that he saw his wife and her mother coming over the heath to
-meet them.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER II.
-
-  HOW PEOPLE ARE TAUGHT TO HATE ONE ANOTHER.
-
-
-Mrs. Rowly had been chiding her daughter for showing her temper before
-her husband's family, pointing out the imprudence of her conduct in such
-forcible language, that the young lady had promised to behave more
-cautiously for the future.
-
-She greeted Mr. Rushmere with her blandest smile, and, slipping the
-little white hand within his arm, told him in her softest voice, "that
-he must teach her all about farming, as she did not know wheat from
-barley, or a pig from a calf."
-
-"Lord bless your ignorance, my dear. In what part o' the world were you
-raised?"
-
-"Oh, I'm a cockney, born within the sound of Bow Bells. What else can
-you expect of me? I never was out of London before. I am afraid I shall
-rival the renowned citizen, who immortalized himself by finding out that
-a cock neighed. I don't think however that I could be quite so foolish
-as that."
-
-Old Rushmere was highly flattered by the attention paid to him by his
-daughter-in-law. He complimented her upon her sweet little hand and
-foot, and told her that he envied Gilbert his pretty wife.
-
-Though, if the truth must be spoken, young Mrs. Rushmere had no beauty
-of which to boast, beyond a slight graceful figure, and the small hands
-and feet which had attracted the farmer's attention. Her face was
-something worse than plain. It was a cold, arrogant, deceitful face,
-with harsh, strongly marked features, and a pair of long narrow eyes,
-that never looked honestly or openly at any one, reminding you of some
-stealthy animal, ever on the watch for a deadly spring.
-
-She loved to say things that she knew would annoy and irritate, in a
-cold-blooded contemptuous way, and under those half closed eyelids
-lurked any amount of malice and low cunning.
-
-Though weak in intellect and very vain, she was as obstinate as a mule,
-and, though moving in a different position from Martha Wood, there was a
-great congeniality of disposition between them.
-
-Sophia Rushmere was a petty tyrant. Martha Wood, though less cold and
-calculating than her mistress, knew how to rule over her, and make her a
-tool and a slave. The pair were well worthy of each other.
-
-Mrs. Rushmere, though simple and natural as a child, had read Sophia's
-character at a glance. She looked in that dubious face, and felt that it
-was false. She listened to that low, soft studied voice, and was
-convinced that the owner could speak in far other and less musical
-tones, and she wondered how Gilbert could have taken this artificial
-woman in preference to her Dorothy, and the good mother pitied him from
-her very heart.
-
-Mrs. Rowly, though sharp and angular, with a ridiculous assumption of
-consequence, was not so disagreeable as her daughter. She looked like a
-person who could speak her mind, and that in the coarsest and most
-decided manner, and carry her point against overwhelming odds, by sheer
-pretence and impudence, but she could not conceal, like Sophia, her real
-disposition. If she betrayed like Judas for money, it would not be with
-a kiss.
-
-"What do you think of my poor Gilbert's wife?" said Mrs. Rushmere to
-Dorothy, that afternoon, as the latter sat beside her bed.
-
-"Don't ask me, dear mother. I have no opinion to give."
-
-"He is an unhappy man, Dorothy, as all men deserve to be, who sell
-themselves for money. He had better ha' died in yon battle, than tied
-himself to that woman."
-
-Dorothy thought so too, but she gave no expression to her thoughts. She
-merely remarked, "that the marriage might turn out better than Mrs.
-Rushmere expected."
-
-The meeting between Dorothy and her lover had been less painful than she
-had anticipated. She no longer regretted the separation which had
-occasioned her so much anguish, but fervently thanked God that his
-providence had so ordered it, and she knew from the deep sense of
-gratitude that overflowed her heart, that it was for the best; that
-Gilbert Rushmere, though greatly improved in his appearance and manners,
-was not the man to make her happy.
-
-The enlargement of her own mind, and the society of intelligent people,
-had made her crave for something higher and better, mentally and
-morally, than he could ever bestow. She entertained for him much of the
-old sisterly affection which she felt for him when they were boy and
-girl, but nothing beyond.
-
-She did not like his wife, but excused the hostility of her manner
-towards herself. If she had been made aware of the relation which once
-existed between her and Gilbert, she thought it perfectly natural.
-Placed in the same situation as Mrs. Gilbert, she might feel a little
-jealous of an old love too. In this opinion, Dorothy greatly underrated
-the high sense of moral rectitude which actuated her general conduct.
-Under the greatest provocation she would have despised herself for
-wantonly wounding the feelings of another.
-
-She longed to leave the house, for she dreaded the insolence of Mrs.
-Gilbert and her mother; but Mrs. Rushmere had so pathetically entreated
-her to stay and nurse her, that she felt that it would be the height of
-ingratitude to refuse a last request made by a dying friend, and of one
-to whom she owed so much.
-
-She wanted to go and consult Mrs. Martin, who would point out the best
-course to pursue in avoiding unpleasant collisions with Gilbert's
-friends, but she was kept so fully employed, that no opportunity
-presented itself.
-
-In the meanwhile, Martha Wood had not been idle in the kitchen; by the
-dint of cajoling and flattering Polly, she had wormed out of her some of
-the family secrets, which she lost no time in turning into capital.
-When called by her mistress to attend her to her chamber at night, she
-came with a face full of importance, as if she had something very
-particular to communicate.
-
-"Well, Martha, how have you got through the day?" cried Mrs. Gilbert,
-opening her eyes a little wider than usual, as her confidant approached
-to undress her.
-
-"Oh, badly enough, ma'am; that Polly Welton is a horrid low creature,
-not above six months out of the workhouse."
-
-"You ought to have a fellow feeling for her, Martha," said Mrs. Gilbert
-spitefully.
-
-"I was not a workhouse bird, Mrs. Rushmere," returned Martha, swelling
-and puffing out her broad cheeks. "You know that well enough. My father
-was a gentleman, and I was brought up at a private institution, at his
-expense."
-
-"You need not try to fool me about that, Martha. You have attempted
-often enough, but it won't go down. Your father might, or might not have
-been a gentleman. You were a natural child, and your mother a poor
-creature, who got her living on the streets. So no more of your fine
-airs to me. What have you been doing with yourself all day?"
-
-"Sitting in the kitchen nursing Jewel," said the girl, with a sulky
-scowl.
-
-"You might have been doing something. Why did not you offer to help the
-girl wash the dishes?"
-
-"When you are mistress here, I will do what you bid me. I have no call
-to wait upon them."
-
-"But they will not keep you for nothing, Martha."
-
-"I don't want them. If you are not satisfied, give me my release and let
-me go. I could soon get a better place."
-
-"Nonsense! You must do as I bid you, and see that you help that girl
-Polly in her work to-morrow."
-
-"You would not wish me to help her, if you knew all the vile things she
-said of you," replied Martha, in an audible aside.
-
-"Of me! What could she say of me? She knows nothing of me or my
-affairs."
-
-"She did not say she did. But she said that you were old and ugly, and
-not to be compared with Miss Dolly. That you had not a single good
-feature in your face. What do you think of the picture?"
-
-"The wretch! But how came she to say all this?"
-
-"Just because I asked her who the plain dark girl was that Mrs. Rushmere
-called Dorothy. She fired up, like a vulgar vixen as she is, and
-defended her friend by abusing you. I thought we should have come from
-words to blows, for I could not sit by and hear my _own_ mistress abused
-after that fashion. But if you wish me to help her of course I can."
-
-"I'll tell Gilbert. I'll complain to Mr. Rushmere," sobbed Sophia,
-crying for rage. "If he suffers me to be insulted by his servant I'll
-leave the house. I've no doubt that Dorothy is at the bottom of it
-all--who, and what is she?"
-
-"Some child that Mrs. Rushmere adopted years ago. Polly told me, that it
-was for love of her that Mr. Gilbert ran away and listed for a soldier,
-because the old man would not give his consent, and this Dorothy refused
-to marry him."
-
-Mrs. Gilbert's misery was now complete. She sat down in a chair, with
-her fair hair all loose about her shoulders, staring at the incendiary
-in a wild vacant manner. At this unfortunate moment, Gilbert entered the
-room. Hurrying up to his wife, he demanded the cause of her distress.
-
-"Are you a man, Gilbert Rushmere?" she said, slowing rising and
-confronting him, "to allow your wife to be insulted by your father's
-menials?"
-
-"How, and in what manner, Sophy?" She repeated the tale of her wrongs as
-Martha had told them. Gilbert's eye flashed--he turned them angrily upon
-Martha, who was secretly enjoying the mischief she had made.
-
-"Go to your bed, girl, and let me never hear any of this vile tattling
-again. It is such stories, carried from one to the other, that ruin the
-peace of families."
-
-Martha knew that the arrows she had launched had struck home, and left
-the room without a word in her defence.
-
-Gilbert turned sorrowfully to his wife, who was crying violently.
-
-"Sophy, if you will encourage that girl in bringing you tales about
-other members of the family, how can we ever live in peace? You know the
-imperative necessity of curbing your temper, until I am able in some
-way to provide a living for you. Why will you frustrate all my plans for
-your comfort by this childish folly?"
-
-"How dare you talk to me, sir, in that strain; when you had the
-dastardly cruelty of bringing me down here to live in the same house as
-your former mistress?" She rose and stood before him, with her hand
-raised in a menacing attitude, and a smile of scorn writhing her lip.
-
-"Good heavens! Sophia, what do you mean?"
-
-"I mean what I say, sir. It is useless for you to deny facts so
-apparent. Will you have the assurance to say to me that you do not love
-this girl--this Dorothy Chance?"
-
-"The love I _once felt for her_? Certainly not."
-
-"The love you still feel for her?" demanded the angry wife.
-
-"Sophia, I am a married man."
-
-"Yes, sir, I know it to my cost. But that is no answer to my question. I
-despise the hypocritical evasion. You know in your heart that you prefer
-this woman to your wife."
-
-"You will force me to do so, Sophia, if you go on at this unreasonable
-rate. You must be aware that Dorothy Chance was brought up with me under
-this roof, and it was natural that I should feel something more than
-brotherly love for a creature so beautiful and good."
-
-"Stop! Hold your tongue. I won't hear another word," screamed Sophy.
-"Such a confession is enough to drive me mad."
-
-"It has nothing to do with you, wife. All this is past and gone, and
-happened before ever I saw you. If my father would have given his
-consent to our marriage, you would never have been so unfortunate as to
-become my wife, and I should never have been tricked into the belief
-that you loved me, and were a woman of fortune." He laughed bitterly,
-for he saw that this latter observation had completely silenced his
-wife, who slowly and sullenly retreated towards the bed; and he
-continued:
-
-"My love for Dorothy, at that time, was a species of madness. I loved
-her with all my heart and soul, with every faculty of mind and body. She
-was young, gay, and light-hearted, and, I thought, returned my passion
-very coldly. I was impatient of delay, and very jealous. I urged her to
-marry me without waiting for the old man's consent. She had promised him
-not to do so, and stood to her word, refusing my hand before his very
-face.
-
-"My God! shall I ever forget the mortification and rage of that moment.
-I could have killed her. My red-hot love turned to ice. I left the house
-wishing never to see her face again, and, perhaps, had I known that she
-was still here, I never should have thrown myself in her way. Are you
-satisfied now, Sophia? I think you ought to be, after such a degrading
-confession."
-
-His wife did not answer, though she heard every word. She had slipped
-into bed and pretended to be sound asleep.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER III.
-
-  A DEAD DOG.
-
-
-Before Gilbert went to sleep that night, he fully determined to tell his
-father the real state of his affairs, and throw himself and his family
-upon his charity, until something should enable him to get a decent
-living. The loss of his arm was a great drawback, he well knew; but he
-had the reputation of being an excellent practical farmer, which made
-him entertain strong hopes of being employed as a bailiff, or overseer,
-on some gentleman's estate.
-
-He trusted that Lord Wilton would assist him in procuring such a
-situation, and, probably, would employ him on his own property, in
-return for the service he had rendered his son.
-
-He knew that his father was a close calculator of domestic expenditure;
-that he would soon be tired of keeping such a large addition to his
-family, without receiving an equivalent from them in money or services.
-He might grumble now and then of having to board him and his wife
-gratis; but the additional expense of Mrs. Rowly and the servant, for
-any length of time, would make him outrageous.
-
-In everything pertaining to household matters, Sophia was as ignorant as
-a child. She had been brought up to catch a rich husband, not to soil
-her pretty white hands with work, to spend her time before the glass in
-adorning her person, or to lie on a sofa reading novels. He had urged
-her, before leaving London, to part with Martha, but she obstinately
-refused to do so.
-
-"The idea of waiting upon herself," she said, "was not to be tolerated
-for a moment. Martha's term of apprenticeship had not expired, and she
-was bound to keep her. And as to dear mamma, she must accompany them,
-for she had no money to procure a lodging elsewhere."
-
-What was to be done with such impracticable people, was beyond Gilbert's
-power to devise. He turned and tossed all night, and the day broke and
-found him as undecided as ever.
-
-In the morning he walked out after breakfast to the hay-field with his
-father, and had an excellent opportunity of getting the trouble that
-perplexed him off his mind, but his courage failed him altogether, and
-he put off the dreaded disclosure that he was utterly destitute from
-day to day.
-
-His wife at last suggested that he had better tell his mother, and leave
-it to her to break the matter to Mr. Rushmere, entreating him, at the
-same time, to spare her in the relation as much as he possibly could.
-
-Since the day of their arrival at Heath Farm, Mrs. Rushmere had rapidly
-declined, and was now entirely confined to her own room, which Dorothy
-never left, without it was to arrange with Polly the cooking and the
-necessary work of the day.
-
-Gilbert generally went up to spend an hour with his mother during the
-absence of her kind nurse, and in one of these interviews, he informed
-her of his humiliating position, and implored her advice and assistance
-in his present emergency.
-
-Mrs. Rushmere was greatly distressed by his communication. Simple and
-natural as a child herself, she possessed a great insight into
-character, and though she seldom saw either of the women with whom her
-son had unfortunately connected himself, she had read their characters,
-and foresaw, in case of her death, the miserable life that her dear old
-partner would lead with either of them as mistress of the house.
-
-Dorothy, of course, would have to leave, directly she had followed her
-to the grave. She reproached herself for keeping the poor girl in her
-present disagreeable position, but Dorothy had promised her to put up
-with every insult and slight patiently for her sake, and Mrs. Rushmere
-rightly conjectured that the time of her emancipation was not far
-distant.
-
-"Well, my poor son, I will speak to your father about this sad business.
-You must not be impatient, if he feels angry and resentful. I know how
-he rejoiced in the idea of your being a rich man. This will be a cruel
-disappointment to him."
-
-"Oh, mother dear, it was his fault. Had he been only a little less
-avaricious, I might at this moment have been a happy man." He laid his
-head beside her on the pillow, and wept like a child.
-
-That night, Mr. Rushmere was duly informed of the communication Gilbert
-had made to his mother. He had, however, carefully concealed the
-duplicity of his wife, with regard to the fortune, by saying that she
-had fully believed that she was to be heir to her uncle's property, and
-was as much disappointed as himself. Old Rushmere sat for some time
-beside his wife's bed astonished and almost stupefied.
-
-"Oh, dang it, wife," he broke out at last, "this is a confounded bad
-business, and ruination to us all. To think that the boy should be sich
-a simple fool, to go an' marry a woman older nor himself without being
-sure o' the money. Sold his commission too, and to pay her debts--worse
-and worse--an' nothing but the pension for his wound to depend on to
-keep his wife an' mother from starving. Well, well, that ever Lawrence
-Rushmere should be father to such a simpleton."
-
-"Lawrence," and Mrs. Rushmere took the large brown hand of her husband
-between her thin pale hands, "you must forgive him for my sake."
-
-"Dang it, wife. How am I going to keep all this posse o' people. It's
-unreasonable, that it be; a' won't do it."
-
-"He be your only son, Lawrence, all that will soon be left to you o'
-me."
-
-"Oh, Mary, you are not going to leave me, not yet, not yet. A few more
-years and then we must both go. But oh, not yet, not yet, my dear, good
-wife. Get hearty and well, and old Larry will do all you require o'
-him." The stout old yeoman bent over the pillow, and kissed the pale
-meek face of his wife, and the tears from her gentle blue eyes.
-
-"Well, Larry, dear, you must do this for me whiles I be living. Give
-your son an' his family a home, until such time as poor Gilly's arm's
-healed, an' he be able to help himself. You are not a poor man, husband,
-an' can spare this much for an only son. An' remember he might have done
-better if ye would only ha' let him."
-
-"Aye, I'm sorry for that now. Doll would have made him a better wife
-than his butterfly o' a woman. If so be, I have to keep her, Gilly must
-set her to work, an' the old mother likewise. I'm not going to keep a
-house full o' sarvants to wait upon them."
-
-"Neighbour Sly wants a girl, an' will take Polly off your hands,
-Lawrence, an' this Martha Wood can fill her place. But leave me
-Dorothy, my darling Dorothy, till I be gone. It won't be long."
-
-On the whole, Rushmere behaved better than could be expected. At dinner,
-he told Gilbert that his mother had informed him of his troubles, and he
-was willing to take him as partner in the farm; he was to manage the
-concern and dispose of all the produce, sharing the returns equally with
-him.
-
-Dorothy looked earnestly at the old man, when he made this proposal. She
-knew enough of human nature to feel convinced that it would never work
-well. That old Rushmere would never consent to act under the direction
-of his son, and that his labourers, who were very fond of him, would
-never serve two masters. But her influence for good in that house was
-over. Advice or remonstrance with a man of Rushmere's obstinate
-character was alike vain.
-
-Gilbert was profuse in his expressions of gratitude, which were echoed
-by the ladies.
-
-"And now, my dear," said the old man, turning to Mrs. Gilbert, "I can't
-afford to keep idle folk. What can you do for a living; can you cook?"
-
-"I never was brought up to kitchen work, father," returned Mrs. Gilbert,
-in a very bland voice, "but I can try."
-
-"Dolly can teach you."
-
-"I shan't trouble her," muttered the newly installed mistress of the
-house. "A woman of sense surely may acquire a knowledge of such trifling
-matters without any particular instructions."
-
-"Ah, my dear, but it requires experience," said Rushmere. "It don't want
-a person to be able to read an' write, to brew good ale an' make sweet
-butter, an' bake light bread; but it do want practical knowledge o' such
-work, as Dorothy here can tell you. She be a first rate housekeeper."
-
-"You need not refer me to Dorothy Chance, Mr. Rushmere, while my own
-mother is present. She always was considered a capital manager."
-
-"I dessay, I dessay," quoth Rushmere, nodding pleasantly towards the
-lady in question. "Mrs. Rowly looks like a woman well acquainted with
-work, an' it would be strange if you could not manage the house an'
-dairy between you."
-
-"I think, Mr. Rushmere, there will be no occasion to employ so many
-hands in the kitchen," said Mrs. Rowly, glancing significantly at
-Dorothy. "Surely my daughter and Martha, with the assistance I can give
-them, ought to be sufficient."
-
-"Certainly, certainly," cried old Rushmere, "those be exactly my
-sentiments, ma'am. Too many cooks spoil the broth. Polly goes, when her
-month expires, to Mrs. Sly's; an' Dorothy, when my dear old wife----"
-The farmer stopped short. He could not finish the sentence.
-
-"Cannot I nurse Mrs. Rushmere?" said Mrs. Rowly. "I have had a great
-deal of experience in that way."
-
-"No doubt you could," said Rushmere. "Howsomever she won't suffer any
-one to help her but Dorothy."
-
-"I shall leave you, father, the moment my services are no longer
-required," said Dorothy. "I have a good home and kind friends to go to.
-It is only on dear mother's account that I have remained so long. I
-shall gladly resign to Mrs. Gilbert my place in the house."
-
-The next morning, on going into the kitchen, Dorothy found Mrs. Gilbert
-and her mother up to their eyes in business, examining the contents of
-cupboards and pantries, and making a great litter and confusion
-everywhere.
-
-She was told when she offered her assistance in restoring the place to
-order, that her services were not required by Mrs. Gilbert, whom she
-must now consider as mistress of the house, that she must not presume to
-interfere with Martha Wood and her work, but confine herself entirely to
-Mrs. Rushmere's chamber.
-
-And Mrs. Gilbert commenced her reign over Heath Farm, by treating
-Dorothy and Polly as creatures beneath her notice, and decidedly in the
-way, while she encouraged Martha in her mischievous tattling, until she
-set Polly and her by the ears together.
-
-Old Rushmere grumbled over the badly cooked dinners, the heavy bread and
-sour butter, and blamed Dorothy for what certainly she could not help.
-
-One morning Dorothy went down into the kitchen to prepare a little broth
-for the poor invalid. The fire was out, and everything in the greatest
-confusion. A greasy unwashed floor and dirty towels, and dusters
-scattered around on tables and chairs. It was impossible to get the
-least thing done without worry and difficulty.
-
-"Polly," she said very gently, "while you remain here you should do your
-duty to your employers. Why is your kitchen so dirty, and your fire
-always out, when I want to cook broth or gruel for your poor sick
-mistress? Things should not be in this disgraceful condition, and you
-have Martha to help you."
-
-"Martha help me. Lauk, Miss Dorothy, she be no help to a body, she make
-all the dirt and muddle she can. She do take my nice white dish keeler
-to wash her missus' dirty dawg. I can't prevent her. I says to her only
-yesterday, if a' do that agen, I'll tell Miss Dorothy. 'Go to the
-devil,' says she, 'with yer. Miss Dorothy she be no missus o' mine. Mrs.
-Gilbert's missus here now. I'd like to hear Doll Chance dare to set me
-to work.' My heart's a breakin' wi' her dirty ways and her saucy
-impertinence. I'm right glad I'm going to-morrow; the old house a'nt
-like it wor."
-
-"But this don't excuse you, Polly, for letting the fire out."
-
-"Mrs. Gilbert told me hersel to let the fire go down directly the
-breakfus wor over. 'Miss Dorothy wull want it,' says I, 'to make the old
-missus her broth.' 'Let her want,' says she, 'or make it hersel. I don't
-mean to attend to her wants, I can tell you.'"
-
-"Alas, alas!" sighed Dorothy, "what a house of misrule. Poor old father,
-how will it be with him by and bye, when they begin to abuse their power
-so early?"
-
-Like the sailors, she saw breakers ahead, but had no power to steer the
-vessel off the rocks.
-
-"Missus Gilbert," continued Polly, glad of getting some one to whom she
-could tell her griefs, "is allers jawing me, for not doing the work. But
-while her fat lazy girl sits doing naught, but towzleing the dawg, I'm
-not a' goin to kill mysel wi' work."
-
-"Bear it patiently for a few hours, Polly. You will soon be free now.
-Run, there's a good girl to the woodstack, and bring some sticks to
-rekindle the fire."
-
-In a few minutes, Polly rushed back to the kitchen, and flung an arm
-full of sticks down with a bang upon the hearth that could be heard all
-over the house, and holding up her hands cried out at the top of her
-voice. "A's been an' gone an' done it. I knew a' wud, directly a' got a
-chance."
-
-"Done what?" demanded Dorothy, her cheeks blanching with terror.
-
-"Ow'r Pincher ha' chawed up yon lump o' white wool."
-
-"Killed Mrs. Gilbert's little poodle?"
-
-"Ah, as dead as a door nail."
-
-"I am sorry for it, very sorry. She will make an awful fuss about it,
-Polly. Did you see Pincher do it?"
-
-"No, but Martha says a' did it. She oughter to know. See, she be coming
-in, crying an' roaring as if it wor a dead child."
-
-Martha ran into the kitchen carrying the dead dog in her arms, screaming
-and shouting in a state of great excitement.
-
-"Oh the precious Jewel? the darling pet! What will my mistress say? How
-shall I tell her? Oh, oh, oh."
-
-Hearing from the next room the outcries of her servant, Mrs. Gilbert
-hurried in and demanded what all the noise was about.
-
-"Oh, ma'am, just look here at your beautiful dog," sobbed Martha,
-holding up the little creature, from whose throat the blood was dripping
-all over the floor.
-
-"Who has dared to ill use my dog?" cried Sophy Rushmere, not yet aware
-he was dead, and she turned and glared at Polly with the ferocity of a
-tigress.
-
-"Oh, he is dead!" screamed Martha, "stone dead."
-
-"Who killed him?"
-
-"The horrid brute Pincher."
-
-"Call Mr. Gilbert to shoot the monster."
-
-"A' can't do it, ma'am," said Polly, very innocently. "A' ha' got but
-one arm."
-
-"Hold your tongue you impudent jade. I have no doubt you set the other
-dog to worry him." Mrs. Gilbert took the dead dog in her arms and cried
-aloud.
-
-Dorothy went up to her, and very kindly offered to examine the little
-animal, and ascertain whether he was really dead.
-
-"Don't touch him!" screamed Sophy, pushing her rudely away. "I dare say
-you are glad of his death, and know more about it than you choose to
-say."
-
-Dorothy drew back with an air of disgust. "I can excuse your grief
-and annoyance at the death of the poor dog, who was a pretty harmless
-little creature, but not your insulting those who never injured him.
-Perhaps if it were a fellow-creature, you would not feel the least
-distress about it."
-
-"Martha," said Mrs. Gilbert, paying no heed to her, "go and call your
-master. I will be revenged on that ferocious beast. If he refuses to
-kill him, I will kill him myself."
-
-Dorothy became suddenly aware of the danger that threatened her old
-favourite.
-
-"Good heavens!" she thought, "this cruel woman will never execute her
-threat. Gilbert will not suffer her to destroy the good old dog."
-
-"Mrs. Gilbert," she said in a voice of entreaty, "I hope you do not mean
-to hurt the dog. It is the nature of these animals to quarrel and fight
-with each other. The death of Pincher would do you no good, while it
-would greatly distress Mrs. Rushmere, who loves the dog."
-
-"Oh, I suppose you care nothing about him, when I see you feeding and
-caressing him every day. You have no regard for my feelings. There was
-nothing in the world I loved so well as my dog."
-
-"Not even your husband, Sophy?" said Gilbert, who just then came in.
-"Now don't expect me to be very sorry for the death of my rival. When
-Martha came running to me in the field, I thought something terrible had
-happened."
-
-"Could anything be worse?" sobbed his wife, kissing the head of her dead
-favourite. "If you have any regard for me, Gilbert, you will just go out
-and kill the hateful wretch that murdered him."
-
-"Kill Pincher! I would lose my other arm first."
-
-"God bless you, Gilbert!" cried Dorothy, with her eyes full of tears. "I
-felt certain you would never kill such an old friend."
-
-That speech, meant for his good, decided the fate of poor Pincher. A
-sinister smile passed over Mrs. Gilbert's pale face. She dropped the
-body of Jewel upon the floor, and left the room.
-
-After she was gone, Gilbert took up the animal and carefully examined
-the wound.
-
-"Pincher never did this. The dog has been stabbed with a knife. The
-jugular vein is completely severed. I never cared much for the creature,
-who gave more trouble than a child, but it was a dastardly thing to do."
-
-"I saw Pincher do it," said Martha, sulkily.
-
-"You saw no such thing," retorted her master. "It is a base lie. It is
-more likely you did it yourself."
-
-Martha gave way to a fresh burst of hysterical crying and ran upstairs
-to her mistress. Gilbert called Polly to fetch a spade and bury the
-dead dog in the garden.
-
-"Martha," said Mrs. Gilbert, as that worthy came into her chamber, "shut
-the door and come here to me. I will give you half a crown if you will
-hang the dog Pincher."
-
-"La, ma'am, keep your money. It's Dorothy Chance's dog, and I'll hang
-him to spite her. She's fonder of that ugly cur, than ever you were of
-Jewel. It will vex her dreadfully if anything happens amiss to him."
-
-"So much the better," cried the amiable Sophia. "I shall then be
-revenged on them both."
-
-So Pincher was hung without judge or jury, as innocent of the crime for
-which he paid the penalty, as many a poor creature condemned upon
-circumstantial evidence had been before him.
-
-Dorothy was the first to discover her old favourite, dangling from the
-low branch of an apple tree in the orchard. A cry of anguish and
-surprise brought Mr. Rushmere and Gilbert to the spot.
-
-"Dolly, girl! What's the matter?" cried the yeoman, "your face is as
-white as a sheet!"
-
-Dorothy answered by pointing to the dog, and walked away to hide her
-tears.
-
-Gilbert, hardly less distressed than herself, guessed the truth in a
-moment. His father, flew into a frenzy of passion, and threatened to
-inflict all sorts of punishment on the dastardly rascals who had killed
-his faithful brave old dog.
-
-"A man would never have done it," muttered Gilbert. "This is the work of
-a jealous woman."
-
-And he felt the deepest abhorrence for the author of the outrage.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER IV.
-
-  DEATH IN ANOTHER SHAPE.
-
-
-In the afternoon Mrs. Martin walked up to the farm to see Mrs. Rushmere
-and Dorothy, and to call upon their new friends. Dorothy had not been to
-the parsonage for three weeks, and her place at church and in the Sunday
-school had been vacant. Mr. Martin and his wife suspected that all was
-not right with Dorothy; that either her mother was worse, or that she
-was so fatigued with overwork that she was unable to attend to these
-important duties; both were convinced that Dorothy would never desert
-her post unless compelled to do so. Mrs. Martin had been confined to
-the house by the dangerous illness of little Johnnie, whom the doctor
-had only pronounced that day out of danger. Anxious as she was to learn
-in what manner Dorothy had borne the meeting with her lover, and whether
-his wife and mother were agreeable people, she had not been able to
-leave the sick-bed of her child to satisfy her natural curiosity. When
-Dorothy opened the door, she was startled by her pale face and altered
-appearance.
-
-"My dear girl, are you ill?"
-
-"Not ill--only heartsick, weary of the world and its ways. If it were
-not for the love of a few dear friends, I could leave it to-morrow
-without the least regret."
-
-As she said this, the poor girl looked so sadly and earnestly into Mrs.
-Martin's face, that it brought the tears into her eyes.
-
-"You must have thought that we had forsaken you altogether; but Johnnie
-has been very ill, alarmingly so; and I could not leave him to the care
-of the servant. Henry would have been up to see you, but since Mr.
-Fitzmorris has left us, every moment of his time has been occupied, as
-he is obliged to take the charge of both the parishes, with the
-additional care of the Sunday schools; I have been unable to attend my
-class, and your absence threw all the work upon him."
-
-"Mr. Fitzmorris gone?" Dorothy turned pale and almost gasped for breath.
-"What took him away?"
-
-"A sad, sad accident. Did no one tell you of it."
-
-"My dear Mrs. Martin, how should I hear the news of the parish. I am
-confined all day, and sometimes during the greater part of the night, to
-my mother's sick-room. But tell me about Mr. Fitzmorris; I have felt
-grieved and hurt at his seeming desertion of us, when Mrs. Rushmere
-grew so much worse. Is anything amiss with Lord Wilton?"
-
-"His lordship has written once to his nephew, since he left England. In
-his letter he spoke very despondingly of the health of his son. Mr.
-Fitzmorris' sudden departure from Hadstone had no reference to the Earl
-or his affairs. In truth, Dorothy, it is a sad tale. His brother is
-dead. Lost his life by a fall from his horse in a steeple chase. Mr.
-Fitzmorris was sent for in all haste. He started immediately, and though
-his brother was living when he arrived at ----, he was unconscious, and
-never recovered his senses before he died. Poor Mr. Fitzmorris feels
-this dreadfully, and keenly regrets that he was not able to prepare him
-for the awful change from time to eternity--that his brother should die
-in his sins among gamblers and men of the world, who had dissipated his
-fortune and led him astray."
-
-"It is dreadful!" said Dorothy. "I know how he feels it; I believe that
-if he could have saved his brother's soul by the sacrifice of his own,
-he would have done it. But will he ever return to Hadstone?"
-
-"Directly he can arrange his brother's affairs, which are in a state of
-great confusion. His reckless extravagance has involved the estate, and
-Gerard is afraid, that when everything is sold, there will hardly be
-enough to satisfy the creditors. You know how honest and upright he is,
-and how it will pain him if he thought these people would suffer loss
-through any one belonging to him. He carries this romantic sense of
-honesty so far, that Henry is afraid that he will give up his property
-to pay these debts."
-
-"He is so noble! How I honour him for it!" cried Dorothy. "How cruel it
-was of me to blame him for neglect, when he was not only at the post of
-duty, but suffering such anguish of mind. How cautious we should be in
-judging the actions of others. I can scarcely forgive myself for
-harbouring against him an unkind thought."
-
-"And how is dear Mrs. Rushmere?" said her friend, anxious to turn the
-conversation into another channel, when she saw the big, bright tears
-that trembled on Dorothy's eyelids.
-
-"She is fast sinking. We may not hope to keep her here much longer. I
-read and pray with her whenever she is able to bear it. But, oh, dear
-Mrs. Martin, my reading and praying is so different from his! I did so
-long to see him and hear him again."
-
-"Do not look so despondingly, Dorothy. You will soon see him again. In
-the meanwhile, tell me about Gilbert, and how you met."
-
-"As friends--nothing more. I might add, scarcely as friends. I am so
-thankful that my heart was weaned from him months ago. I now marvel
-at myself how I ever could have felt for him the passionate affection I
-did, or how his desertion could plunge me into such intense grief."
-
-Mrs. Martin pressed her hand warmly.
-
-"I expected as much. And his wife?"
-
-"Don't ask me what I think of her;" and Dorothy waved her hands
-impatiently.
-
-"Your silence is eloquent, Dorothy. And when can you come to me?"
-
-"When dear mother no longer requires my services. At times she suffers
-cruel agony, but she bears it with angelic patience. She will be
-delighted to see you."
-
-Dorothy led the way to the sick chamber. They found Mrs. Rushmere awake
-and in a very happy frame of mind; she greeted Mrs. Martin with
-unaffected pleasure, and talked cheerfully and hopefully of her
-approaching end. She made no comment on her son's marriage, and
-scarcely alluded to his wife, expressing great thankfulness that she had
-been permitted to see Gilbert before she died.
-
-"Dear Mrs. Martin," she said, "I need scarcely ask you to be kind to
-Dorothy when she has no longer a mother to love and care for her, or a
-home here in which she can live in peace. A loving daughter she has been
-to me, a faithful and devoted nurse. The blessing she has been to me in
-this cruel and loathsome illness, the good God who gave her to me alone
-knows. That He may bless and reward her when I am in the clay is my
-constant prayer. May she never want a friend in her hour o' need."
-
-Mrs. Martin stooped and kissed the pale earnest face of the dying woman.
-
-"God will raise her up friends, never fear. The good Father never
-forsakes those who love and honour him."
-
-Mrs. Rushmere threw her arms about her visitor's neck, and drew her
-head down to the pillow, while she whispered in her ear, "Take her out
-o' this, Mrs. Martin, as soon as I am gone. These strange women are
-killing her with their hard, unfeeling ways. It is a'most breaking my
-poor heart to see the dear child pining day by day."
-
-"She will have her reward, my dear old friend, no one ever loses by
-suffering in a good cause."
-
-Mrs. Martin sat for some time with the invalid, and explained to her the
-cause why Mr. Fitzmorris and her husband had not been up to see her, and
-promised that Mr. Martin should visit her on the morrow. On inquiring of
-Martha Wood for Mrs. Rowly and her daughter, she was not sorry to learn
-that they had walked down to the village.
-
-"In the humour I feel towards them," she said to Dorothy, "I would
-rather that they made the acquaintance of my handwriting than of me."
-
-It was Dorothy's practice to visit Mrs. Rushmere the first thing in the
-morning, and carry her a cup of tea before the inmates of the house were
-stirring. Mr. Rushmere slept in the same room with his wife, but, since
-her illness, occupied a separate bed. As Dorothy unclosed the chamber
-door, she was startled by a low, hoarse moaning, that seemed to proceed
-from the bed of the invalid. Alarmed at such an unusual occurrence, she
-hurried forward; the cup dropped from her hand, and, with a wild cry,
-she flung herself upon the bed, and clasped in her arms the still, pale
-figure that, for so many years, she had loved and honoured as her
-mother.
-
-Mr. Rushmere was kneeling upon the floor, his face buried in the
-coverlid, holding in his trembling grasp the thin, white hand that no
-longer responded to the pressure.
-
-"Mother! dear, blessed mother!" sobbed Dorothy, "speak to me again. One
-word, one little word. You must not leave me for ever without your love
-and blessing!"
-
-"Alas! my child, she cannot, death has silenced the kind voice for
-ever," groaned the stricken old man. "My wife! my precious wife! I never
-knew half your value until now. All that you were, and have been to me.
-Oh speak to me, Mary, my lost darling, smile once more upon me as in the
-happy days gone by. Say that you forgive your Larry for all that he has
-said and done amiss. You were allers an angel of kindness to a stern
-husband. I have been a hard man to you; but I loved you with my whole
-heart, though I could not allers tell you how dear you were."
-
-"She was quite sensible of your affection, dear father, and would grieve
-to hear you reproach yourself; we have all our faults of temper. Mother
-made every allowance for that. She knew how truly you loved her, that
-your heart was in the right place. How did she die?"
-
-The old man raised his head, and looked long and fondly on the still
-calm face of his dead wife.
-
-"Sleeping as you see her there, Dorothy, as sweet and peacefully as a
-little child. The Lord bless her. She was surely one o' his gentle
-lambs. She generally spoke to me when the sun rose, an' told me to call
-up the folk to their work. About half an hour ago, I heard her own dear
-voice call me three times. 'Larry, Larry, Larry! it be time for thee to
-wake up out o' sleep. The Lord calls upon thee to rise. The night is far
-spent, the morning is at hand in which thou must give to him an account
-of the deeds done in the flesh.' I jump up, all in a cold sweat an'
-cries out trembling all over with a deadly fear. 'Mary, did'st thee
-call?' An awful stillness filled the room. No answer came. The sun
-shone right upon the still pale face, an' told me all. It was a voice
-from heaven that spoke, the dear angel had been dead for hours."
-
-Again his heart sank upon the coverlid, and the strong frame shook with
-the still stronger agony that mastered him. Dorothy thought it best to
-leave nature to deal with him, who is ever the best physician and
-comforter of the wounded heart, while she went to rouse the household,
-and take necessary steps to perform the last sad offices for the dead.
-
-In a few minutes all was hurry and alarm, as the suddenly aroused
-inmates of the house rushed half-dressed into the chamber of death.
-
-In vain Gilbert Rushmere tried to lead his father into another room; the
-heartbroken old man resisted every effort to separate him from his
-wife. The common-place condolences of Mrs. Rowly and her daughter were
-alike unheeded. It was useless to tell him that it was a merciful
-release from great suffering, that Mrs. Rushmere dying in her sleep had
-been saved the pain and agony of a separation from her family, or that
-she was now an angel in heaven.
-
-The bereaved old man admitted all this; but looked upon her death, as
-far as he was concerned, as the greatest calamity. A loss so terrible
-and overwhelming, that he disdained to ask of heaven fortitude to bear
-it, and he drove these Job's comforters out of his room, in the frenzy
-of his great sorrow.
-
-"Do not torture him," sobbed Dorothy, "with this cruel kindness. However
-well meant, his mind is not in a state to bear it. Leave him alone with
-his dead for one little hour, till nature softens his sorrow with the
-holy balm of tears. The shock has been so sudden that his mind is
-prostrated with the blow. He will recover himself when left alone with
-the beloved. The silent eloquence of that sweet calm face will do more
-to restore him to peace, than all we can say to reconcile him to his
-loss."
-
-"Oh, if she had only spoken to me before she died;" groaned Rushmere. "I
-should not feel so bad. I could bear my misfortune like a man. If she
-had only said in her soft kind voice. 'God bless you, Lawrence,' it
-would ha' been something to think on, in the long lonesome nights
-afore me; but she left me without a word. How can I sleep in peace in my
-comfortable warm bed, knowing her to be alone in the cold earth. Oh,
-Mary! my love, my treasure! How can I live a' wanting thee."
-
-After a pause of some minutes, he looked up from the dead wife to his
-son, who was leaning against the bed-post, his face covered with his
-sole remaining hand.
-
-"You may well mourn for your mother, Gilbert, many a salt tear she shed
-for you. The grief she felt for your cruel desertion broke down her
-constitution, and brought her to this."
-
-"Father, I was not alone to blame," said Gilbert, in a hoarse voice.
-
-"Yes--yes, lay the fault on the old man, he has no one now to take his
-part, but that poor lass whose heart he nearly broke."
-
-"Father," whispered Dorothy, gently taking his hand. "Mother forgot and
-forgave that long ago. She loved you and Gilbert too well to cherish
-animosity against either. We are all human and prone to err. If she
-could speak, she would tell you to banish all these sinful
-heart-burnings, these useless recriminations, and prepare to follow her
-to the better land, where she has found peace and assurance for ever."
-
-"I will, I will, if so be I could only find the way," responded
-Rushmere, with a heavy sigh. "Oh, God forgive me! I am a sinful man. I
-wish I could follow her dear steps, for I am a' weary o' my life."
-
-He laid his head upon the pillow beside his wife, and the tears streamed
-from his closed eyelids down his pale cheeks.
-
-"Come, let us leave him," said Dorothy. "He will feel calmer soon. And
-here is dear Mr. Martin, who can better soothe him in his grief than we
-can. Oh, I am so glad you are come," she whispered to the good curate,
-as she followed the rest of the family from the room. "He is dreadfully
-afflicted. Poor old father, he loved her so much."
-
-The four days that intervened between Mrs. Rushmere's death and the
-funeral were very trying to Dorothy. She had to receive so many
-visitors, and listen to so many unfeeling remarks and questions
-regarding her future position in the Rushmere family, put to her with
-the coarse bluntness of uneducated people, who could not realize her
-grief for the loss of one who was not a blood relation. "Was she
-going," they asked, "to remain at the farm, or to take service
-elsewhere?" and they expressed great surprise that young Mrs. Rushmere
-had suffered her to remain there so long. Then, she was asked to give
-minute particulars regarding the terrible disease of which her
-foster-mother had died; of how she bore her sufferings, what doctor she
-employed, and what remedies had been applied? All this was trying enough
-to a sensitive mind; but they went further still, and utterly regardless
-of the wounds they were inflicting, demanded of the weeping girl, "If
-Mrs. Rushmere had left her anything, and who was to get her clothes?"
-
-This important piece of information, was urged by no less a personage
-than Letty Barford, who in company with her mother-in-law and Miss
-Watling, called to look at the corpse.
-
-"I think Mrs. Rushmere has done enough for her," said Miss Watling as
-they descended the stairs, "keeping her for so many years after all the
-trouble she has made in the family."
-
-This was not said in Dorothy's hearing, but addressed to Mrs. Gilbert
-and her mother, to whom the party were offering their condolence.
-
-"These interlopers are always a nuisance in families," said Mrs. Rowly.
-"This Dorothy Chance is a good enough girl, but my daughter will be very
-glad to get rid of her. It does not do to have two mistresses in a
-house, and she has been used to have her own way in everything."
-
-"It was but natural," suggested the elder Mrs. Barford. "She was more
-than a daughter to them, and it must have been trying to Dorothy to give
-up the place she had held for so many years, with such credit to
-herself, to strangers. I pity her with all my heart; when does she
-leave you Mrs. Gilbert?"
-
-"As soon after the funeral as possible. It is only on the old man's
-account that I allowed her to remain here so long. She is the only
-creature in the house that can manage him, but it is high time that all
-this should be put a stop to."
-
-"You are perfectly right, Mrs. Gilbert," cried Miss Watling. "I think
-you have shown great forbearance in tolerating the presence of such a
-dangerous person in the house so long. While she was kept in her place
-as servant of all work, it was all very well; but since the Earl has
-taken her under his especial patronage, there is no bounds to her
-assumption and insolence. Would you believe it, ladies, he is paying for
-her education, and is actually having her taught to play upon the
-piano."
-
-"Strange, that we never heard a word of this before," cried both the
-ladies in a breath. "Is she his mistress?"
-
-"That's the inference which most people have drawn from such strange
-conduct on his part," and Miss Watling shrugged her shoulders
-significantly.
-
-"I don't believe a word of it," cried the elder Mrs. Barford. "I heard
-just now, that Dorothy was going to live with Mrs. Martin, and she is
-too good a woman to tolerate such doings in her house."
-
-"It is an easy thing for a man of Lord Wilton's rank and wealth to bribe
-people to hold their tongues," sneered Miss Watling. "It is nothing to
-me what she is, I shall never give my countenance to a person of
-doubtful character, and one so every way my inferior. It is a good thing
-for you, Mrs. Gilbert, that it has pleased God to take the old woman, or
-this artful girl might make mischief between you and your husband."
-
-"Oh ma'am, I have no fears on that head," replied Sophia tartly. "I am
-not afraid of such a mischance. I saw very little of Mrs. Rushmere, and
-considering the nature of her complaint, I think her death a happy
-release; and if the old man were to follow his wife, it would not break
-my heart--"
-
-"Sophia, you should not speak your mind so freely," said her mother
-shaking her head. "But indeed, ladies, my daughter has been treated with
-so little respect by the whole family, that you must not wonder at her
-indifference at the death of a mother-in-law, who hardly said a civil
-thing to her since she came into the house. Of course it was the
-interest of this girl, Chance, to set the old folk against us, in the
-hope, which I have every reason to believe she entertained, that they
-would leave her all their personal property."
-
-"Has the old woman left her a legacy?" demanded Letty, with breathless
-interest.
-
-"Not a thing. Her sudden death prevented that. The old man wanted to
-give her all his wife's clothes and some of the fine linen, which he
-said belonged to Dorothy; but Sophia lifted up her voice against it, and
-the creature refused to accept the least thing, when she found that she
-could not get all."
-
-"Just like such domestic sneaks," cried Miss Watling. "I am so glad she
-was disappointed. It will serve as a warning to others like her."
-
-Shaking hands with Mrs. Gilbert in the most affectionate manner, and
-hoping that they would soon become excellent friends, Miss Watling and
-the two Barfords took their leave, all but the elder of the twain,
-delighted with Mrs. Rowly and her daughter, whom Miss Watling
-pronounced, a very sweet, lady-like young person.
-
-Until the morning appointed for the funeral, the poor old yeoman had
-confined himself entirely to his own room, beside the coffin which
-contained the mortal remains of his wife. On that morning, however, he
-rose early; washed his pale, haggard face, and shaved himself, and put
-on with unusual care, the mourning suit his son had provided for the
-melancholy occasion. Kissing with reverence the cold brow of his wife,
-he screwed down the lid of the coffin with his own hands, "that no one,"
-he said, "should see her again, or rob him of that last look. It was now
-time for him to gird up his loins and act like a man."
-
-Dorothy hearing him stirring, brought up his breakfast, for he had
-tasted nothing but bread and water for the last four days, and she knew
-that he must be weak and faint from his long fast. She found him
-standing behind the closed curtains of the window, looking mournfully
-into the court below. At the sound of the light well known footsteps,
-he turned to her and held out his hand. Dorothy threw her arms about his
-neck, and for some minutes they mingled their tears together. At length,
-rousing himself, Rushmere placed his large hand upon her bent head, and
-solemnly blessed her.
-
-"Dolly," he said, "Dolly, my dear child, had I only known the woman that
-now fills the place in this house that you ought to have held, I would
-ha' seen my right hand struck from my body afore I would ha' refused my
-consent to your marriage with Gilbert. I ha' been punished, terribly
-punished for my folly and sin, ever since yon deceitful woman came into
-my house to lord it over me and mine. Night and day I hear Mary's voice,
-repeating to me over an' over again, the words she said to me on that
-sorrowful morn that Gilly first left his home, an' I turned you out
-friendless upon the pitiless world. You, who I ought to ha' protected
-to the last hour o' my life. 'Larry, as a man sows, so must he reap.'
-Oh, my daughter, what sort o' a crop am I likely to reap with these
-women when you be gone?"
-
-"They will be kinder to you, father, when I am away."
-
-"Not a bit, not a bit. It is not in their natur, child. People cannot
-act agen natur. The only thing that reconciles me to my Mary's death,
-is, that she will not have to put up with their evil tempers, and that
-you, Dolly, will be removed from their malice."
-
-"Dear father, don't vex your mind with anticipating troubles; they
-always come soon enough without opening the door to call them in. Come
-with me into the next room and eat a bit of breakfast. You have been
-fasting too long, and look as weak as a child. I have cooked the steak
-with my own hands that you might have it nice."
-
-"Ay, Dolly, you wor allers a first-rate hand at making good cheer. Yon
-Lunnon fine lady wu'd starve a body with her dirty ways."
-
-"Don't think of her, father," said Dorothy, leading him by the hand like
-a child into the adjoining room, where she had a small table neatly
-spread, and his breakfast all ready. "You must do justice to my cooking.
-It is the last meal your poor Dolly will ever cook for you in the old
-house."
-
-"Oh, that it wor the last a' would ever want to eat," sighed Rushmere,
-wiping his eyes, and consenting to partake of the meal so temptingly
-spread before him.
-
-After moving the dishes, Dorothy entreated him to go down stairs, and
-take a turn in the open air, to revive him after his confinement in the
-close atmosphere of the death-chamber. But this the old man could not be
-persuaded to do.
-
-"I wu'd not ha' minded, Dorothy, had the day been wet." And he looked
-sadly toward the window, where the gay sunbeams were glancing through
-the closed white drapery, "but such a fine morn as this, wi' the birds
-singing gaily, as if they never knew sorrow or care, an' the blessed
-beams o' the young sun laughing in the glistening drops o' dew, an' all
-things o' God's making, but man, looking so bright and cheery, just
-maddens me wi' grief, to think that my Mary will never look upon this
-beautiful world again. It doth seem grievous to the wounded heart, that
-natur is allers happy; an' to-day I can't stand the smile on her
-gladsome face; it wu'd comfort me to see it covered up in storm and
-cloud. You know the old saying, Dolly, 'Happy is the corpse that the
-rain rains on.'"
-
-If there was any truth in the old rhyme, Lawrence Rushmere's wish was
-gratified. The beautiful morning rapidly clouded over, and just as the
-funeral procession left the house, the storm burst over the melancholy
-train in awful thunder-claps, accompanied by floods of rain. Every one
-was drenched and looked uncomfortable, but the chief mourner. He held up
-his sad, pale face to the pitiless shower, as if its desolating progress
-was in unison with his own sad heart; nor did the tempest abate its fury
-until the sods were piled upon the narrow bed which separated him from
-the love of his youth.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER V.
-
-  THE FALSE ACCUSATION.
-
-
-Dorothy was not sorry to leave the old homestead. All the old
-associations that had endeared it to her, and surrounded its gloomy
-walls with an atmosphere of love, were broken up or changed so
-completely, that she could no longer recognize them. Even the joyous
-bark of old Pincher, rushing forth to greet her, on her return from
-church or market, had been silenced, oh, how cruelly. She could not bear
-to recall the treachery that had robbed her of an humble, faithful
-friend.
-
-"I cannot recognize the presence of God in this place, as I once did,"
-she thought, "where every word spoken to me is a provocative to evil, to
-do as they do, not to do as I would be done by. I have daily prayed to
-be delivered from evil, and kept from temptation, and have too often
-yielded to the snares laid to entrap my soul. It is hard to dwell with
-the scorner, and escape free from contamination."
-
-She was just cording her trunk, ready for its removal to the parsonage,
-when Mrs. Gilbert suddenly entered the attic.
-
-"I wish to look into that trunk before you take it away."
-
-"May I ask why, Mrs. Gilbert Rushmere?"
-
-"To see that you have taken nothing but what belongs to you."
-
-"Certainly, if you are mean enough to suspect me of such baseness," and
-the hot blood rushed into Dorothy's cheeks, and her dark eyes flashed
-with a bright light, that made the cold flaxen haired woman recoil
-before them. "But hold," she cried (as Mrs. Gilbert laid her hand
-on the trunk,) "I shall not give you the key, except in the presence of
-competent witnesses, lest the heart that conceived such an insult should
-belie me also."
-
-Springing down stairs, and scarcely feeling them beneath her feet, she
-encountered Gilbert in the hall.
-
-"Come with me upstairs, Mr. Gilbert."
-
-"Dorothy, what ails you? Why are you so dreadfully excited? Have you
-seen anything?" He had heard of her encounter with the supernatural on
-the heath, and for a moment was possessed with the idea that she had
-seen the apparition of his mother.
-
-"It is no risen angel," cried the excited girl, "but a human fiend! I
-want you to see. Follow me, Gilbert, if you ever loved me, and vindicate
-my honour."
-
-Alarmed, for he had never seen Dorothy in such a passion before, and
-anxious to learn the cause of her distress, he followed her swift
-footsteps into the attic, where he found his wife still standing beside
-the half-corded trunk, tapping the floor with her foot, and humming the
-tune of a country dance.
-
-She smiled disdainfully, as Dorothy put the key into Gilbert's hand.
-
-"Here is the key of my trunk; will you please to open it, and empty the
-contents upon the floor?"
-
-"What for Dorothy? you amaze me--what have I to do with it?"
-
-"To satisfy the suspicions of that woman, I cannot call her lady, the
-lie would choke me. She has demanded the inspection of its contents,
-lest I should leave the home of my childhood, on the night of my beloved
-mother's funeral, with stolen goods in my possession."
-
-At the mention of Mrs. Rushmere's name, who had so loved and trusted
-her, the hot fire of anger was quenched, and she turned so faint, she
-had to lean against the low wall of the attic for support.
-
-"What a fine piece of acting," sneered Sophia, "it's a pity the girl had
-not been brought up for the stage."
-
-"Is it possible, Mrs. Rushmere," and Gilbert looked and spoke sternly,
-"that you can have disgraced yourself and me in this outrageous manner,
-and cruelly insulted a noble girl, whose shoe latchet you are not worthy
-to unloose."
-
-"Open the trunk. Don't talk in that style to me; I have my doubts as to
-this fine young lady's honour, and I don't mean to leave the room until
-they are satisfied."
-
-"Mr. Gilbert, do what she requires, or, after I am gone, she may accuse
-me of theft, when I am not here to defend my character."
-
-"That cannot be recovered, that was lost long ago," said the
-cold-hearted woman.
-
-Gilbert reluctantly opened the trunk, and his wife, coolly kneeling down
-upon the floor, proceeded to toss over its neatly arranged contents;
-presently she dived down among the clothes, and, quickly withdrawing her
-hand, held up two silver table spoons.
-
-"Who do these belong to?" she cried with a laugh of fiendish triumph.
-
-"They are not mine," said Dorothy, trembling from head to foot. "They
-were never placed there by me."
-
-"Oh, of _course_ not. Every thief is honest till they are found out. I
-suppose you never saw these spoons before."
-
-"I have cleaned them a thousand times," said Dorothy calmly, for she saw
-that she was in her enemy's power. "They were on the dinner table
-to-day. I have not seen them since. In what manner you have contrived to
-produce them out of my trunk, God only knows. This I can declare in His
-holy presence, that I never placed them there."
-
-"You need not assert your innocence, Dorothy," replied Gilbert, who had
-seen an expression on his wife's face that convinced him that she was
-the incendiary. "I know you too well to believe you guilty for a
-moment."
-
-"That's all very fine, Lieutenant Rushmere, but facts are stubborn
-things. I like to unmask hypocrisy, I would therefore thank you to send
-one of the men to town for a constable, to convey this virtuous, honest
-Miss Chance to jail."
-
-"I want further conviction of her having committed an act deserving such
-rigorous measures," said Gilbert.
-
-"What farther do you need? This is no case of circumstantial evidence.
-You have the proofs in your hand. Do you think, sir, that I would
-condescend to deceive you?"
-
-"'S death! Madam," cried Gilbert in a towering passion, "it would not be
-the first time;" and, still keeping the spoons which he had taken from
-her in his hand, he went to the door and called Martha Wood. The girl
-came up stairs on hearing her master's voice. He went into the passage
-to meet her, so that no eye telegraphing could take place between her
-and her mistress.
-
-"Martha, did you wash the two large silver gravy spoons after dinner?"
-
-"Yes, sir. What do you want with them?"
-
-"That's nothing to you. Did you put them into the plate-box?"
-
-"No, sir, I gave them to Mrs. Gilbert: she said she wanted them for a
-particular purpose. I need not be so nice in cleaning them, she said she
-would have a good joke to tell me about them before night."
-
-"Woman, do you hear what this girl says?" asked Gilbert, stepping back
-into the room. "Who deserves to be sent to prison now?"
-
-His wife only answered by recommencing the same tune in a louder strain,
-as she glided snake like from the room.
-
-"Oh, my God, I thank thee!" said Dorothy, raising her clasped hands.
-"Thou hast delivered me from a doom far worse than death!" Taking
-Gilbert's sole remaining hand, she pressed it warmly between her own.
-"How shall I thank you, dear brother, for saving your poor orphan sister
-from disgrace and ruin?"
-
-"Remember me in your prayers, Dorothy. I can no longer pour out my heart
-to you, as in the old happy days, when we were all the world to each
-other; but there is no sin in asking you to pray for me, a disappointed
-and most unhappy man."
-
-He left the room, and Dorothy's lips quivered, and tears again welled
-up in her eyes, as she caught a half smothered moan, that told more than
-words could do, the bitter anguish that was eating out his heart.
-
-She found the old man moping on the stone bench in the court-yard, his
-head bowed upon his hands, his face completely hidden by the snow-white
-locks that fell over it in tangled confusion--the beautiful silky hair
-of which his wife had always been so proud, which she loved to brush
-over her fingers, before he went to church or market. Who was there to
-take pride in the handsome old man now? Gilbert had grown reserved and
-shy; there seemed little confidence or affection between the father and
-son. Dorothy's heart bled for the lonely old man, left so desolate and
-uncared for in his heavy affliction.
-
-"Good-bye, dear father, don't fret yourself ill; I shall see you at
-church every Sunday, and we can have a nice walk together after service
-on the common, to talk over the good old times. You will be sure to
-come, won't you?"
-
-"Yes, my darling, if only to see her grave. I know you can't bide here,
-Dorothy, that woman would be the death of us both. But if I wor sick or
-dying, would you come and nurse the old man who used you so ill?"
-
-"Yes, that I would; if Mrs. Gilbert were to bar the door in my face, I
-would climb in at the window. But, cheer up, father, God is good, there
-may be many happy days in store for you yet. You must try and live for
-my sake."
-
-She put the white locks back from the old man's ample forehead, and,
-kissing him tenderly, went her way without casting a backward glance on
-the old house.
-
-Before we follow Dorothy to the pleasant home of her friend, Mrs.
-Martin, we will step into Mrs. Gilbert Rushmere's chamber, and hear
-what is passing there.
-
-When, detected by her husband in her design to ruin Dorothy, she had
-borne the exposure of her cruel treachery with an air of insolent
-nonchalance, and left the room singing--a common artifice with low-bred
-people, who attempt to hide their malignity by an affectation of gaiety
-and perfect indifference. The snake hisses before he strikes his victim,
-perhaps to give him timely warning to make his escape. The human snake
-hisses to hide its disappointment, that it has shown its fangs in vain.
-
-It was terrible when alone to witness the rage that disfigured the
-countenance of Sophia Rushmere when she found herself baffled in her
-cold-blooded treachery. The tune was changed to curses loud and deep,
-and threats of vengeance against the innocent object of her jealous
-hatred. She rated Martha Wood in no measured terms for the defeat of
-her well laid plot. That individual answered her with corresponding
-insolence.
-
-"How should I know what you were after with the spoons? If you had told
-me, I could have sworn that I saw Dorothy steal them. What's the use of
-making a mystery about your doings to me? I should think I knew too much
-about your affairs before your marriage for that."
-
-"But you must have been very obtuse, Martha," said her mistress,
-softening down, "not to perceive what I had in hand."
-
-"I should, if I had got a sight of your face. In the manner that Mr.
-Gilbert stood in the open doorway, I did not see that you were in the
-room until the blunder was out."
-
-"Do you know what he said about it after I left?"
-
-"No, but I saw Dorothy go up to him and take his hand, and he bent down
-and kissed her. I saw _that_ through a crack in the door!"
-
-"The shameless wretch!" cried Sophy, stamping with passion. "But for
-your folly, I should have had her transported. Thank God! she's gone. I
-have got her out of the house at last, and I'll take good care that she
-never comes into it again."
-
-"She is too near at hand, I should think, Mrs. Gilbert, for your peace.
-If your husband is as fond of her, as I hear folks say, that he once
-was, it is a very easy matter for them to meet on that lonely heath,
-even in broad day, and no one be a whit the wiser."
-
-The artful girl was heaping fresh fuel on the fire she had kindled in
-the breast of her weak employer, and when she had nearly maddened her
-with her base insinuations, she went away laughing at her as a
-consummate simpleton.
-
-Mrs. Rushmere did not go to bed. She sat up nursing her wrath, and
-waiting for her husband. The venom of Martha's poisoned arrows was
-rankling in her breast. She considered herself the injured party now,
-and no longer dreaded the indignant expression of his displeasure at her
-conduct to Dorothy. She would begin the battle first, accuse him of
-infidelity, and bear him down with a torrent of words.
-
-Following out this idea, a terrible scene of mutual recrimination took
-place between the husband and wife, which ended, as such scenes
-generally do, in total alienation on his part, and frantic jealousy on
-her's.
-
-Gilbert Rushmere had endeavoured to make the best of a bad bargain, and
-though he could not respect the woman who had tricked him into making
-her his wife, he had treated her with more consideration and kindness
-than she deserved.
-
-The consciousness of having married her for money, involved a moral
-sense of degradation, which made him more lenient in his judgment, of
-the deceit practised against him; for had it not been mutual, he could
-not blame her without including himself in the same condemnation.
-
-For a long time he listened in silence to her maddening speeches,
-trusting that the heat of her passion would wear out, that her tongue
-would grow tired with continual motion, and that, not meeting with any
-opposition, she would give it up as a useless task, and go to sleep. He
-was fully aware of her weakness, but not of her obstinate strength of
-will.
-
-"Sophia," he said, when utterly wearied with her reproaches for
-imaginary injuries, "after the disgraceful scene this afternoon in the
-attic, it would be wiser in you to hold your tongue and go to sleep. If
-you wish me to retain any affection for you, let me never have a
-repetition of such conduct again."
-
-"I shall not keep silence, sir, because you dare to tell me to hold my
-tongue. I shall speak when I please, and as I please, without asking
-your leave."
-
-"Well, don't expect me to listen to such nonsense. My heart is
-overwhelmed with grief for the death of a dear mother. You surely take a
-strange time to distress me with your foolish and groundless jealousy."
-
-"And you to show your preference for that vile woman, that hired
-mistress of your patron, Lord Wilton!"
-
-"Good heavens! Sophia, what do you mean?"
-
-"I mean what I say, what all the world knows but yourself. Do you think
-that I will condescend to be placed below this infamous creature in my
-husband's estimation, to be told that I am not worthy to untie her
-shoes. You don't know Sophia Rowly, if you can imagine that I will
-submit to such an indignity for a moment. _I_, who was born a lady,
-received the education of a lady, and was always treated as such, until
-I became the wife of Gilbert Rushmere, the son of an ignorant illiterate
-tiller of the soil."
-
-"Who has given you a home when you had none, madam, when the debts you
-dishonestly incurred during my absence had made beggars of us all. This
-illiterate tiller of the soil made you mistress of his house, and placed
-you at the head of his table; and this is the way you abuse his
-generosity. It was an evil day for him, and those dear to him, when your
-foot crossed his threshold."
-
-"You would rather have seen Dorothy Chance at the head of the table?"
-
-"She would be the ornament of any table. You cannot make me believe the
-vile scandals propagated against Dorothy by such women as Nancy Watling.
-They are just as true, madam, as your accusations against her this
-afternoon, when nothing would appease your hatred to this beautiful
-girl, but sending her to prison, or getting her transported. It was
-murder, however you may disguise the fact; and in perjuring your soul to
-ruin her, you dared the wrath of God to damn yourself."
-
-"Fine language, this, to address to your wife," said Sophy, cowering
-before her husband's withering and contemptuous glance.
-
-"You deserve it!" he cried, in a voice of thunder.
-
-"I scorn it!" she returned, with a faint laugh, and pointing at him with
-her finger.
-
-"It is time, Sophia, that you and I came to an understanding," said
-Gilbert, becoming suddenly calm. "If you mean to persevere in this line
-of conduct, we must part!"
-
-"The sooner the better!" she said in the same taunting tone, though
-inwardly terrified lest he should carry out his unlooked-for proposal;
-for, cold and selfish as she was, she entertained for him a passion that
-shed a vivifying heat into her torpid nature; it would have been love,
-had she been capable of the devotion and self-sacrifice that are the
-leading characteristics of that glorious sentiment. She saw the gulf
-that yawned at her feet, but was too obstinate to yield. Gilbert now
-spoke in a more earnest and decided manner.
-
-"Sophia, do you really mean what you say?" There was something in the
-look and manner that was startling; he, at any rate, meant what he said.
-She would not retract, but remained obstinately silent. "Will you answer
-me?"
-
-"Can you give me a separate maintenance?" she sobbed out at length.
-"Will you turn me and my mother out to starve?"
-
-This difficulty had not occurred to him before. It was insurmountable.
-He had no means but what he derived from his father, and though as
-perfectly divorced in affection as the sanction of a legal tribunal
-could have effected, he was compelled, by a dire necessity, to wear the
-chain that avarice and ambition had rivetted.
-
-They might henceforth sleep in the same bed, eat from the same board,
-and in public act towards each other as husband and wife, but they were
-as much divided in heart and confidence as if the wide ocean flowed
-between them. Gilbert kept his own secret. Sophia Rushmere gave hers to
-Martha Wood, who told it, as a greater secret, to Mrs. Rowly.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER VI.
-
-  A PROPOSAL.
-
-
-Dorothy felt like a captive long incarcerated in prison who has just got
-his release, and awakes once more to life and liberty. A year ago, and
-she would have considered it impossible for her to feel glad at leaving
-Heath Farm, or any place that Gilbert Rushmere called his home. Gilbert
-she had ceased to respect, and where he was could no longer be a home
-for her.
-
-She pitied him because he was miserable, but he had brought his
-sufferings upon himself in a manner that she could neither excuse nor
-justify, and her compassion was of that mixed sort that made her feel
-ashamed of its object.
-
-The insults she had received from his wife were still rankling in her
-breast; their low, base character made them unendurable to a sensitive
-mind, and she thought less of her former lover when associated with this
-woman whom he had accepted in her place for six thousand pounds. His
-bargain would have been a dead loss to him at treble that sum. He had
-ventured his all upon it, and had lost everything which makes life
-desirable: the love of a true heart, his own self-respect, and the fair
-prospect of domestic happiness. Dorothy felt it painful to witness his
-degradation, and the situation in which she had been placed precluded
-any attempt on her part to elevate his mind, and inspire hopes of a more
-exalted nature. She had a sad foreboding that this false step, though
-the first, was not likely to be the last, in a rapid downward career.
-What better could be expected from constant association with such a
-partner as he had chosen?
-
-The mother, whose loss at that moment was pressing heavily on her heart,
-to whom Gilbert had always been an earthly idol, had been mercifully
-taken from the evil to come, and, much as Dorothy had loved her, she no
-longer wished to recall her to life, to preside over a home that Mrs.
-Gilbert's temper would render a domestic hell.
-
-Dorothy was thankful for her emancipation from that house of misrule.
-She breathed more freely in the fresh air, and her heart once more
-expanded to the genial influences of nature. The evening was warm and
-balmy after the thunderstorm, and the golden sunset shed upon wet leaves
-and dewy grass a glory as from heaven. The birds sang in the glistening
-bushes by the roadside, and the air was rife with delicious odours, as
-if an angel had scattered his censor over the rebaptized earth.
-
-The holy tranquillity of the scene chased away the dark shadows that,
-like spirits of evil, had been brooding for several weeks upon her mind,
-thoughts which were not of heaven, the remembrance of all those injuries
-that had been heaped upon her, making her angry and resentful, and
-anxious that her tormentors might be paid in their own coin.
-
-Nature's vesper song to her Creator, poured from a thousand warbling
-throats, once more attuned Dorothy's sad heart to prayer and praise. Her
-soul fell prostrate to the earth, the green footstool of His glorious
-throne, and was gently raised by ministering spirits, and lifted towards
-heaven.
-
-Near the parsonage, she met Mrs. Martin and the children coming to meet
-her. With what joy she kissed and embraced them all. What charming
-little tales they had to tell her of domestic life. Their rabbits had
-multiplied, their pigeons had all accessions to their families. Harry
-had discovered that very morning a nest of young kittens in the stable,
-belonging to Mrs. Prowler, the cat, and they were not to be killed or
-sent away, until dear Dolly had picked out the prettiest for little
-Arthur, who was going to name it Dolly, in honour of their dear friend.
-Then they told her that Johnnie had been ill, but was able to sit up
-now, and he wanted to hear all the nice stories she used to tell him,
-and sing to him his favourite hymns; and Dorothy's weary heart
-overflowed with happiness to find herself once more among faithful and
-loving hearts.
-
-After having taken her the round of the garden, to look at all the
-flowers she had helped them in sowing and planting, and pointing out the
-prettiest blossoms, and gathering her a choise nosegay, they went
-gamboling before her into the house, wild with joy that she had come to
-live with them never to go away again.
-
-"There is another friend very anxious to see you, Dorothy," said Mrs.
-Martin, as they passed the well known study door. "Mr. Fitzmorris
-arrived by the mid-day coach. He looked ill and fatigued, and I
-persuaded him to lie down for an hour or two, until Henry returned from
-Storby, where he had to attend a vestry meeting after poor Mrs.
-Rushmere's funeral. I wonder if he is awake." She gave a low rap at the
-door, and Dorothy's heart leaped to the sound of the gentle voice that
-bade them come in.
-
-"Go and speak to him, Dorothy. The sight of you will do him good, and
-help to dissipate his melancholy."
-
-At that moment the door opened, and Gerard received them with his usual
-frank kindness. Dorothy's black dress informed him of what had happened.
-He took her hand and led her into the room, making her sit down in the
-study chair while he drew his seat beside her.
-
-"My dear friend, I see how it is. You have lost that excellent mother. I
-did hope I should see her again, and administer to her the glorious
-symbols of Christ's undying love, before she sank to rest. God has
-ordered it otherwise. Did she suffer much in that last conflict, which
-all foolishly dread and shrink from?"
-
-"She was spared all its terrors, Mr. Fitzmorris; she died in sleep. To
-judge from the beautiful serenity of her face, her waking was in
-heaven."
-
-"I too have looked on death since last we met. In death itself there is
-nothing terrible; it is but the returning wave of life flowing back to
-Him, and may be regarded as the birth of spirit to its higher destiny.
-But oh, Dorothy, the death that I lament, that I would have given my own
-life to avert, was one of such a painful nature, so sudden, so unlooked
-for, by the dear thoughtless being, who cared not for his soul, scarcely
-knew that he possessed one, that I can feel little hope in his case.
-Struck down in a moment in the vigour of manhood; of all the wasted
-years of a misspent life, he could not redeem one hour from time, to
-prepare for eternity. It is terrible, heart-crushing, but it is God's
-will, and what am I that I should dare to murmur at a just decree!"
-
-"But did you ever warn him of his danger?" asked Dorothy.
-
-"I have nothing to reproach myself with on that head. After my own
-conversion, I besought him with tears and prayers, with all the
-eloquence which conviction can give, to turn from the errors of his
-ways. He laughed at my enthusiasm, and called me a madman and a fool,
-refused to listen to my earnest appeals, and finally shunned my company.
-I loved him too dearly to be baffled thus. I wrote constantly to him,
-and laid my own heart bare, in the hope of winning his, but he refused
-to answer my letters, and at length returned them to me unopened. I had
-no other resource left, but to pray for him. But my prayers have
-returned into my own bosom, and my brother went down to his grave, and
-gave no sign. He lived two days after his accident, but was never
-conscious for a moment."
-
-"It may be better with him than you suppose," suggested Dorothy. "Though
-unconscious to you, his soul may have been vividly awake to its
-spiritual danger; and petitions for mercy which he could not utter in
-the hearing of man may have been heard and answered in heaven."
-
-"Thank you for that thought, dear girl, it is suggestive of some
-comfort. The thief on the cross might have been as regardless of his
-duty to God and his fellow men, as my poor brother; yet, his petition
-received a gracious hearing and a blessed promise. We cannot judge
-others as the great Searcher of hearts judges them. Many a criminal in
-our estimation may shine hereafter a gem in His crown."
-
-There was a pause for some minutes, and Gerard Fitzmorris continued
-pacing the study with rapid steps, so wrapt up in his own thoughts, that
-he had almost forgotten the figure in black that sat so pale and still
-in his easy chair.
-
-"Come and take a turn with me in the open air," he said, suddenly
-returning to her side. "The atmosphere of this place is close and
-stifling, the evening excessively warm. I can always think and speak
-more freely beneath the canopy of heaven."
-
-Dorothy had not removed her bonnet and shawl, and they strolled out upon
-the heath. During their ramble, he made her recount all that had
-happened since Gilbert's return, and was shocked at the manner in which
-she had been treated.
-
-"There is only one way to punish such people," he said, "to return good
-for evil. It is not only the best, but the easiest way, and the peace
-and satisfaction it confers, repays the injury a thousand fold. I have
-tried it in many instances, and have experienced its happy results."
-
-"It sounds excellent in theory," said Dorothy, "but I find it a hard
-doctrine to reduce to practice."
-
-"Nay, Dorothy, it is the theory which is difficult; for our sinful human
-nature with its perverted reason, rebels against it, the other course
-being more in unison with its vindictive feelings, and the spirit of
-retaliation by which we are more or less governed. If, however, we make
-the slightest effort on the side of mercy and forgiveness, the Spirit of
-God working with our spirit, makes it not only easy, but brings with it
-the utmost peace and satisfaction, verifying even the old pagan maxim,
-'that virtue is its own reward.' Our blessed Lord would never have
-promulgated a doctrine which could not be reduced to practice, and which
-he carried fully out in his own person."
-
-"But then, He was so different from us."
-
-"Not while He partook of our nature. He was subjected to temptations as
-great, or even greater than those that He taught us by precept and
-example to shun. If there had been no conflict with evil, there would
-have been no victory. Remember He fought the battle for us alone and
-single handed, without praying for the legion of angels to assist Him in
-the awful struggle. We have not only His example to help us, but the
-powerful aid He promised to all who would take up the cross and follow
-Him. Our very weakness constitutes our strength when upheld by His
-saving arm."
-
-After a walk of some minutes in silence, he said in a more lively
-manner. "Dorothy, you must forgive this cruel woman, and only indulge
-the God-like revenge of doing her good for the evil she has done to you.
-Take her conduct as a life trial, and bear it with the courage of a
-Christian."
-
-"I will endeavour to do so," returned Dorothy, "and when you are near to
-advise and strengthen me, I do not feel it so hard to restrain these
-resentful feelings; but, directly, I am left to myself, I grow fierce
-and angry, and wish that my persecutors may meet with the punishment
-they deserve."
-
-"Dorothy!" said Mr. Fitzmorris, stopping and looking earnestly into her
-face. "Will you answer me truly, a simple and straightforward question?"
-His companion looked up with a wondering smile. "Would you like to
-remain always with me, Dorothy? Will you become my bosom friend--my
-faithful counsellor--my beloved wife, bound to me by that blessed and
-holy tie, 'the love of Christ.' One with me in heart and purpose, in the
-bond of faith and love and charity with all mankind. Answer me, Dorothy,
-fully and freely, with the beautiful candour which makes you so charming
-in my eyes. Can you love me, as well as you loved Gilbert Rushmere?"
-
-"Yes better than anything on earth," whispered Dorothy, without
-venturing to lift her eyes, or wipe away the tears she was unable to
-restrain, and sinking into the arms which were held out to receive her.
-"I never knew what it was to love truly, devotedly and with my whole
-heart until now."
-
-"We are one, my own Dorothy, my beloved, in heart and soul, and
-henceforth I trust for ever," and he sealed the contract of their
-engagement with a kiss as pure from the dross of passion, as the young
-mother bestows upon her firstborn child.
-
-"Oh, Mr. Fitzmorris, I am not worthy of your love;" sobbed Dorothy. "A
-highly connected man like you should seek out a fitter mate than me."
-
-"You should have thought of that before you gave your sanction to my
-proposal, little wife." And the old beautiful smile lighted up his face.
-"It is too late to draw back now. If I did not love you better than the
-world and its foolish conventionalisms, I should not have asked you to
-be mine. I value the gift that God has bestowed upon me, too highly, to
-give it up for the prejudices that belong to wealth and caste. You have
-made me very happy, Dorothy darling, as little Henry calls you. Poor
-little fellow, I am afraid that he will feel very jealous of his big
-rival."
-
-And Dorothy was happy, too happy to waste her joy in words. As she
-leaned upon the strong arm of her noble protector, she realized the
-delightful consciousness, that she was no longer alone in the world.
-
-The lovers lingered upon the heath talking over their future prospects,
-until the moon rose and shed her melancholy loveliness on ocean and
-heath.
-
-They were not to marry until after Lord Wilton's return, and Gerard
-thought it advisable, that both should write to him and make him
-acquainted with their engagement. He did not wish it to be kept secret.
-He thought that Dorothy's claim upon his protection would prevent
-unpleasant scandal, silence the foolish tattling of her former
-acquaintance, and conduce to her own peace and comfort. His character
-stood too high for his conduct to be attributed to base and
-dishonourable motives; and as his affianced wife, Dorothy would rise in
-the estimation of her worldly neighbours.
-
-They found Mrs. Martin waiting tea for them, and wondering what had
-detained them so long from the social meal. The shy, conscious look on
-Dorothy's face revealed the mystery, which Gerard wholly cleared up,
-when he pleasantly introduced her to his old friends as his future wife.
-
-"Lady Dorothy Fitzmorris," said the curate, rubbing his hands with great
-glee, "I wish you much joy."
-
-"The title is rather premature," returned Gerard, gravely, "though it
-may fall to her only too soon. You know, Henry, that Gallio careth for
-none of these things. For the last three years I have been looking for a
-wife that would answer Solomon's description, 'A woman whose price is
-above rubies,' and I am fully persuaded that I have found my ideal in
-the dear girl before you. It little matters to me whether she be a
-peasant or a princess. The highest of all titles is comprised in that of
-a Christian."
-
-"Mr. Fitzmorris, I honour you for your choice!" cried Mrs. Martin, "and
-rejoice at the good fortune of our young friend."
-
-Dorothy, overwhelmed with the unexpected turn that her affairs had
-taken, sat with downcast eyes and averted head, in order to conceal her
-quivering lips and fast-coming tears; yet she was happy, far too happy
-to speak, and would gladly have left the table, to escape observation
-and commune with her own heart in the solitude of her chamber.
-
-Gerard saw her confusion, and in order to restore her self-possession,
-called out gaily, "I hope, Mrs. Martin, you have reserved for us a good
-cup of tea, and have not been guilty of destroying Henry's nerves by
-giving him the strength of the pot. I assure you, I feel viciously
-hungry after a long day's fast, and am not yet sufficiently
-spiritualized to live wholly upon love."
-
-Strangely enough, this speech, which was meant to raise Dorothy's
-spirits, recalled forcibly to her memory the conversation between
-herself and Gilbert Rushmere at the stile, when she had rallied him for
-saying, in such passionate terms, "That if she refused to marry him, he
-would die of love." And now she was the betrothed of another, with a
-heart overflowing with joy and gratitude that she could never be
-Gilbert's wife, while he had united his destiny with a woman whom he
-could neither love nor honour, and was more likely to die the victim of
-avarice than love. "How inscrutable," she thought, "are the ways of
-Providence. How little human wisdom could predict such a result."
-
-Dorothy was no longer banished from the sacred study. Gerard insisted on
-her taking possession of the great leathern chair, while he composed
-those heart-searching sermons that were making his name known as an
-eloquent preacher.
-
-When absorbed in his own meditations, the pale, fair-haired priest
-seemed scarcely conscious of her presence; but if, by chance, he
-encountered her look of devotional tenderness, the wonderful eyes
-responded with an earnest gaze of love and peace--their owner sometimes
-observing, with a sigh, "Dorothy, darling, I am too happy." Then Dorothy
-would creep to his side, or sit down on the stool at his feet, just to
-feel the pressure of his large white hand on her ebon ringlets, and hear
-him say, in his rich, deep voice, "God bless you, my dear girl."
-
-And when the writing was laid aside for the day, and she accompanied him
-in his visits to the poor and suffering, she enjoyed with unspeakable
-delight the walk over the heath, and the share he allotted to her in his
-ministrations of charity.
-
-Poor old Francis died during Mr. Fitzmorris' absence, but he still
-continued his visits to Hog Lane, to read and pray with its
-half-heathen inhabitants. He had made slow progress in the conversion of
-old Mrs. Bell, but her grandson, Ben, had become a reformed character,
-and was a monitor in Storby Sunday-school. Speaking of the grandmother,
-he said:
-
-"It was difficult to make any religious impression upon minds whose
-feelings and faculties were deadened and rendered indifferent by age and
-infirmity. If they do not seek God in youth or middle life, they seldom
-draw near to Him after reaching the appointed age of man."
-
-Returning from one of these parochial visits, Dorothy reminded her lover
-of a promise he had once made to her, of telling her some of the events
-of his former life, and the circumstances that had led to his
-conversion, and induced him to become a minister of the Gospel.
-
-"I am glad you have asked me, Dorothy, I feel quite in a communicative
-mood this evening. You have made me acquainted with every page in your
-short eventful history; it is not fair that you should be kept in
-ignorance of mine, uninteresting as it may appear."
-
-They sat down upon a sloping bank, crowned with a screen of tall furze
-bushes, among whose honeyed blossoms, bees and butterflies were holding
-a carnival. The sun had not yet set, and his slanting rays gleaming over
-the wide heath, obscured every object with their golden radiance.
-
-"It is a shame to turn our backs upon that glorious sunshine," said
-Dorothy, "but my eyes are dazzled and blinded by excess of light."
-
-"What a type of the beautiful but fallacious visions of youth," said
-Gerard, "when we behold everything through a false medium, coloured by
-fancy to suit our own taste. Truth lies at the bottom of the picture,
-like the ragged landscape that the golden sunset hides from our view.
-While attracted by the brilliancy of his beams and building castles
-among the clouds, we forget the barren soil and the bare rocks beneath
-our feet. Mine is no tale of romance, gentle wife, though I have been a
-great dreamer in my day, but one of sad reality; and that I may avoid
-trespassing too much upon your patience, I will endeavour to be as brief
-as possible."
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER VII.
-
-  A CONFESSION.
-
-
-"My father, Colonel Gerard Fitzmorris, was brother to Sir Thomas, the
-father of the present Earl of Wilton. Gerard was many years younger than
-his brother; a large family having died between their respective births.
-He held the rank of colonel in the army, and served the whole of the
-American War of Independence, and had gained the reputation of a brave
-and distinguished officer. After the termination of the struggle, he
-returned to England, and married Lady Charlotte Granville, sister to the
-Lady Dorothy Fitzmorris. These beautiful and accomplished women, were
-the only children of the late Earl of Wilton.
-
-"This was an excellent match for my father, in the common parlance of
-the world; but was one entirely of convenience on his part. He was a
-handsome dashing soldier, and was held in great esteem by men of his own
-class, who considered him the model of a perfect gentleman and a leader
-in the ranks of fashion, where he shone as a star of the first
-magnitude. In short, he was one of those easy-going reckless men, who
-are known among their companions as excellent fellows. Men, whose hearts
-are in the right place, who spend their money freely and are only
-enemies to themselves. They may drink, and swear, and gamble, and break
-God's commandments with impunity; drawing others into the same maddening
-vortex by their vile example; but the world, for which they live,
-excuses all their faults. They are of it, have sworn allegiance to it
-body and soul, and as long as they retain wealth and influence, it will
-continue to make idols of them.
-
-"Colonel Fitzmorris, in addition to all these conventional advantages,
-possessed the act of pleasing in an eminent degree, and was admired and
-courted by the other sex as the beau ideal of manly beauty and elegance.
-Doubtless it was these external graces that captivated and won the heart
-of my mother.
-
-"People wondered that the proud Earl should give his consent to the
-marriage of his daughter, with a man of moderate fortune and dissipated
-habits; but she was the child of his old age, the sole fruit of a second
-marriage; another petted idol of his heart. From a baby she had been
-used to have her own way, and the doting father could not withstand her
-passionate appeals to his parental affection, to be allowed to marry the
-man of her own choice.
-
-"The Earl, in this case, appears reluctantly to have yielded to her
-wishes; and delayed the marriage until after she had attained her
-majority; hoping that time and the gaieties of London would divert her
-affections from my father, and concentrate them upon a more eligible
-object. She, however, remained firm to her attachment, and their
-marriage was celebrated with unusual magnificence. A prince of the blood
-royal gave away the bride, who inherited a fine fortune from her mother,
-which, I fear, was the sole inducement my father had in making her his
-wife.
-
-"My poor deceived mother, I have every reason to believe, was
-passionately fond of her husband; but retiring in her habits, she lacked
-the art to secure the affection of a man of the world, and such a
-general lover as Colonel Fitzmorris was known to be.
-
-"She was his legal wife, but not the mistress of his heart. In public
-he treated her with marked attention and politeness, which he considered
-due to a woman of her rank; in private she was neglected altogether, or
-regarded with cool indifference; and having no inclination for the
-ostentatious show of a life spent in public, my dear mother passed most
-of her time in the country with her infant sons, at the beautiful seat
-which had formed a part of her noble dower.
-
-"While she continued to love my father, his conduct must have occasioned
-her great anguish of mind. A faithful female attendant has since
-informed me that most of her solitary nights were spent in tears. After
-every tender feeling had been torn and estranged, and indifference
-succeeded to love, she, unfortunately, transferred the affections which
-had never been reciprocated by her faithless partner, to a man who, had
-she known previous to her ill-starred marriage, would have been worthy
-of her love.
-
-"General Halstead commanded the brigade in which my father was colonel,
-and was a constant visitor at the house. He was a man in middle life,
-with a fine, gentlemanly presence, frank, brave, and independent, had
-read and travelled much, and could talk well on most subjects. He was
-very kind to us boys, and we both loved him, for we saw a great deal
-more of him than of our father, who never kissed or played with us as
-General Halstead did.
-
-"But to hasten a sad story. General Halstead sought and won the heart my
-father had trampled and spurned, and my mother eloped with her seducer
-to France. I have often since wondered how she could leave her two young
-sons, who were rendered worse than orphans by her rash desertion.
-
-"I can just remember my mother. She was always gentle and kind to
-Francis and me. We so seldom saw our father that we loved her with the
-most ardent affection. I recollect the fatal night of her departure as
-well as if it were but yesterday. The weather was July, and oppressively
-warm, and Mrs. Starling, the nurse, put us early to bed, that we might
-not disturb Lady Charlotte, who was dressing to go to a large party, she
-said, 'and could not play with us that night.'
-
-"I was a nervous, irritable boy. I could not sleep for the heat, and lay
-awake watching the moon, and the strange shadows thrown by the
-vine-leaves that encircled the window, upon the white curtains of my
-bed. At last I grew frightened by the grotesque shapes, which my too
-active imagination endowed with life and motion, when the summer breeze
-from the open window stirred the drapery.
-
-"I began to cry piteously.
-
-"A figure glided into the room, and sat down beside me on the bed. It
-was my mother. She was dressed for a journey, and wore a dark cloth
-riding habit, and a broad black velvet hat and white feathers. She was a
-tall, elegant-looking woman, more remarkable, I have been told, for her
-exquisite form than for her face. She was, if anything, too fair, with
-dark blue eyes and flaxen hair like my own. She used to call me her
-dear, white-headed boy, and congratulate herself on my being a
-Granville--her maiden name--and not a Fitzmorris. That night she looked
-very pale and sad, and seen in the white moon-light, appeared more like
-a ghost than a creature of warm flesh and blood.
-
-"'What ails my darling boy?' she said, and took me out of the bed into
-her lap, pressing me tightly to her breast, and kissing the tears from
-my wet cheeks.
-
-"'I am afraid, mamma.' I trembled and looked timidly towards the
-curtains.
-
-"'Afraid of what?' and her eyes followed mine with a startled
-expression.
-
-"'Of those things dancing on the bed curtains. Don't you see the black,
-ugly creatures, mamma?'
-
-"'They are only shadows; they cannot hurt you, Gerard.'
-
-"'Oh, yes, they can. They are coming for me. Don't let them carry me
-away.' I clung to her, and hid my face in her bosom. 'Oh, do stay with
-me, dear mamma, until I go to sleep! Don't leave me alone!'
-
-"I felt her warm tears falling fast over my face. She kissed me over and
-over again, then tried to lay me down quietly in the bed. I did not want
-to go to bed, and I flung my arms round her neck, and held her with
-desperate energy.
-
-"'Don't go! If you love me, mamma, don't go!'
-
-"'I must go, my dear boy.'
-
-"'What, to-night, mamma!'
-
-"'Yes to-night, the carriage is waiting.'
-
-"Her lips quivered, she wrung her hands with an impatient gesture.
-'Don't ask any more questions, Gerard, I am going a long journey with a
-friend. Now lie down like a good boy, and go to sleep.'
-
-"'And when will you come back?'
-
-"She was weeping passionately, and didn't answer.
-
-"'To-morrow?'
-
-"She shook her head.
-
-"'Then take me, too. I will be a good boy--indeed I will. But don't go
-away and leave me.'
-
-"'I can't take you, Gerard. Where I am going, you cannot come.' She
-tried to unclasp my clinging arms, but it was some time before she
-succeeded, I held her so fast.
-
-"'Oh my poor little boys! my poor little boys!' she cried, in an agony
-of grief, as she bent over me and kissed my sleeping brother. 'What a
-wretch I am to leave you to the care of such a father. Gerard,' she
-said softly, 'if I never come back, will you sometimes think of me, and
-continue to love your poor mother?'
-
-"I was growing sleepy, and was too young to comprehend the terrible
-truth concealed by those words. I dimly remember, as in a dream, a tall
-man leaning over us, and extricating my mother from my clinging arms.
-
-"'He is going to sleep, Charlotte, dearest, you should have spared
-yourself this trying scene.'
-
-"'How can I live without them, Charles?' she sobbed, and stretched her
-arms towards us.
-
-"'You must now live for me, Charlotte. We have ventured too far to go
-back. Come away, my love, it is time we were on board.'
-
-"That was the last time I ever saw my mother. Before she left the room
-I was asleep, in blissful ignorance of the great calamity that had
-befallen me.
-
-"Though guilty of a terrible crime, I have never been able to banish her
-from my heart--where she must ever remain, as one of the most beautiful
-visions of childhood.
-
-"Poor, gentle, affectionate, ill-used mother, with a heart brimful of
-love and kindness, how dreadful the conflict must have been, between
-duty to a husband who never loved her, and fidelity to the man by whom
-she was passionately loved. Terrible must have been her mental
-struggles, before she resolved to burst those sacred ties asunder, and
-leave for ever the children so dear to her.
-
-"Was she more guilty than the husband, who in defiance of his marriage
-vows, lived in open adultery with another woman, on whose children he
-bestowed the parental love he withheld from those born in lawful
-wedlock, wasting the noble fortune he obtained through his injured
-wife among disreputable companions, in low scenes of debauchery and
-vice.
-
-"The world can always extenuate the fault of the male offender, and lay
-the blame solely upon his unhappy partner; insinuating that faults of
-temper, and a want of sympathy in his tastes and pursuits, was most
-probably the cause of his estrangement--unscrupulously branding her name
-with scorn and infamy.
-
-"There is One, however, who weighs in an equal balance the cause and the
-effects produced by it in the actions of men, who will judge her more
-leniently. The merciful Saviour who said to the erring woman, dragged
-into His presence to be made a public example and put to a cruel death,
-'Woman where are those thine accusers? Hath no man condemned thee?
-Neither do I condemn thee, go and sin no more.'
-
-"Oh, how my bosom thrilled and my heart burned within me, when I read
-that text seriously for the first time, and thought of my poor mother,
-and was comforted with the blessed hope that she, too, might be
-forgiven."
-
-Gerard's voice faltered, and Dorothy felt the strong frame tremble with
-emotion, but the stronger will conquered the human weakness, and he
-continued:
-
-"My father's sense of honour, in the world's acceptation of the term,
-was stung by the desertion of his neglected wife. He learned that the
-fugitives had been seen in Paris, and lost no time in tracing them out.
-A duel was the result, in which my father received a mortal wound. His
-body was brought home and buried with due pomp in the family vault. My
-brother was seven years of age; myself a little chubby boy in frocks and
-trowsers; and we had to act as chief mourners in that melancholy
-pageant. We saw the coffin that contained the mortal remains of our
-father, the once handsome and admired Colonel Fitzmorris, placed in due
-form among the forgotten members of his ancient house; and after the
-nine days wonder was over, he was as much forgotten by his fashionable
-associates as if he had never been. The night before my father died by
-the hand of the man who had dishonoured him, he made a will leaving
-everything he possessed to my brother Francis. The settlement made from
-my mother's property on younger children, alone falling to my share. As
-there were no other younger children, and the property was considerable,
-I was nearly as independent as my brother.
-
-"We were left to the guardianship of the Earl of Wilton, who you will
-remember was our maternal grandfather. The brothers Fitzmorris having
-married two daughters of that noble house, and females not being
-excluded from the succession, Sir Thomas Fitzmorris, the present
-Earl's elder brother, was the heir presumptive to the title and estates.
-
-"Lord Wilton was a cold proud man of the world, and the slur that my
-mother's elopement, and subsequent marriage with General Halstead, had
-cast upon the family, did not enhance his love for her children.
-
-"He took more to Frank than he did to me, though he said that he greatly
-resembled his rascally father. He was a handsome dashing boy, with the
-same winning popular manners that had contributed to the ruin of Colonel
-Fitzmorris. Fond of money, but only with the intent to spend it, from a
-child he paid great court to his wealthy grandfather, in the hope of
-becoming heir to the immense private fortune he had the power to bestow.
-In this fortune hunting, Edward Fitzmorris, the present Earl, was quite
-as much interested as my brother, but he pursued his object with a great
-deal more tact. The Fitzmorrises, though an old family, and highly
-connected, were not a wealthy family, and Captain Fitzmorris was a
-younger son, with little more to depend upon than a very handsome
-person, and his commission in the army.
-
-"He watched us lads with a very jealous eye, giving us very little cause
-to regard him with affection. He was many years our senior, his father
-having married early, and ours late in life--in fact, he was a man, when
-we were noisy boys, not yet in our teens. It was only during the
-holidays that we ever met, as we were sent to Eton and then to college.
-
-"It is of no use to tell you, Dorothy, of all the thoughts and follies,
-which too often mark a schoolboy's and a student's life. Suffice it to
-say that your grave Gerard was no better than the rest. A more
-frolicsome mischievous imp, never drew the breath of life, always in
-trouble and difficulties of some sort or another, and when at Oxford,
-the most daring leader of the wildest and most reckless set of young
-fellows that ever threw away fortune, health and respectability, at that
-famous seat of learning. How little I thought of religion in those days,
-still less of ever mounting a pulpit, or teaching the poor and ignorant.
-
-"At twenty-one, I received from my grandfather a cadetship for India and
-went out as a soldier, to fight under the present Lord Wellington, who
-was then Sir Arthur Wellesley.
-
-"You start, Dorothy. Your future husband a soldier! It is pleasant to
-read your astonishment in those large wondering eyes. I bear the marks
-of some hot service too, in sundry ugly scars which I regarded as badges
-of honour in those world-loving days. It was while suffering severely
-from one of these wounds, that I was sent home, to see if my native air
-could restore me to health.
-
-"Before leaving India, I determined, if possible, to obtain an interview
-with my mother. I had never met her husband, though I had eagerly sought
-an opportunity to revenge upon him the death of my father.
-
-"My mother, I found, had been dead several months, and her husband had
-been appointed to command a division in Spain. I was terribly
-disappointed that I could not shoot this man, who had been the best and
-kindest of husbands to the woman he had led astray from the path of
-duty, and was reported as almost inconsolable for her loss.
-
-"When I returned to England, great changes had taken place. My
-grandfather was dead. My cousin Sir Thomas was likewise dead, and the
-present Earl, who had been for some years a widower, had come in for the
-title, and all the immense private fortune belonging to his
-grandfather.
-
-"Of course, Francis and I felt ourselves very much aggrieved, that we
-were not mentioned in his will, and my brother who had been living a
-life of reckless extravagance, and hoping to pay off his debts with his
-share of the spoil, was terribly disappointed.
-
-"My aunt, Lady Dorothy, for whom I had always felt the deepest regard,
-invited me to spend the time I remained in England, at her beautiful
-residence in Devonshire. It was here that I first met her charming
-cousin, Miss Julia Curzon, with whom I fell in love at first sight.
-
-"Don't be jealous, little one, more episodes of this kind occur in the
-lives of men than women, and the first love, though remembered the
-longest, is not always the wisest or the best.
-
-"I did love this fair accomplished girl with all the energy of youthful
-passion, and my love was not only returned, but accepted, and I looked
-forward to our union, as the consummation of my earthly happiness. I
-did not then suspect that she loved the world better than she did me,
-and was more afraid of incurring its censure than of rendering me
-miserable for life.
-
-"Several months glided away in that earthly paradise, and in constant
-companionship with the woman I adored, I considered myself the happiest
-of men. I saw no clouds in my smiling horizon, and never anticipated a
-storm. The dark days came at length, that shrouded the sunbeams of hope
-in gloom and obscurity.
-
-"The summer had set in with intense heat, and much sickness prevailed in
-the neighbourhood. A slight cold I had taken was succeeded by typhus
-fever of the most malignant type. When the nature of my malady was made
-known to the household, all the leading members becoming alarmed for
-their own safety, left the house, and fled to the sea-side. Julia
-deserted me without venturing to bid me farewell. Even my brother, who
-was on a visit with Lady Dorothy, abandoned me, as all supposed, on my
-death-bed, to the care of hirelings, who were indifferent about me, and
-more anxious that I should die than live, as in the former case, it
-would remove from them the sense of danger and responsibility.
-
-"Oh, Dorothy, selfish and worldly as I had been, unguided by the holy
-precepts of religion, I hardly think that I could have deserted any one
-so near and dear to me as a betrothed wife and an only brother in such
-sore extremity. I was anxious to keep Julia and Francis out of danger,
-but their selfish conduct went home to my heart. I thought about it
-continually, and raved about their cruelty during the hours when fever
-and delirium were in the ascendant.
-
-"One friend, however, remained constant to me in the hour of need, never
-deserting his post by my bed-side, a most tender and self-constituted
-nurse. He was the son of a small yeoman, who for the sake of good wages,
-with which he helped to maintain his widowed mother and her family, had
-undertaken the care of my horses, of which I possessed several splendid
-animals, being a keen sportsman.
-
-"Charles Harley had formed a strong attachment to me, though I often
-laughed at him for his pious propensities. The young fellow, however,
-was so conscientious in the discharge of his duty, that he had won my
-respect, and, for his humble opportunities, was a man of superior
-endowments, possessing a fine intellect and strong good sense. In my
-rational mood he took great delight in reading the Scriptures to me. The
-monotony of his voice wearied me. I was so much indebted to him for his
-kind attention to me in my helpless state, that I did not like to wound
-his feelings by telling him to desist, that I wanted faith to believe in
-his dogmas, but I considered them a great bore, often pursuing my own
-train of thought without listening to him.
-
-"The first night that the fever took a favourable turn, and my burning
-eyelids at last closed to sleep, I had an awful dream, or inspiration, I
-will call it, to rouse me from a state of careless indifference to the
-future, and set before me the urgent necessity of self-examination and
-repentance.
-
-"I thought I was travelling with a gay and joyous set of companions,
-fellows to whom I was well-known, through a beautiful and highly
-cultivated country. My father and brother and my affianced bride formed
-part of the pleasure-seeking crowd. Some were on horseback, some on
-foot, and some in splendid carriages, but all intent on one object, and
-evidently bound to the same place.
-
-"As I journeyed onward, somewhat behind the rest, there gradually rose
-before me in the east, the walls of a magnificent city, sloping back
-from the banks of a wide deep stream, in the depths of whose clear
-pellucid waters, towers and spires and majestic trees were reflected in
-golden splendour, the very sight of which created in me an intense
-desire, and impelled me forward to reach the height on which it stood.
-
-"While feasting my eyes upon the novel spectacle, so different from
-anything I had ever before seen, a sudden halt took place in the
-foremost ranks of our jovial company, when noisy shouts and acclamations
-were changed into groans and shrieks and melancholy wailings.
-
-"I hurried forward to ascertain the cause of the delay, and learn the
-reason of such frantic lamentations.
-
-"It was then that I first discovered that, between us and the shining
-river that flowed beneath the walls of the golden city, extended a
-fearful gulf, of unknown depth, and shrouded in utter darkness, which
-completely intersected the country, precluding the possibility of any
-advance in that direction.
-
-"From the yawning jaws of this frightful abyss, a lurid mist continually
-floated up, hiding the celestial city from my view. Into this hideous
-chasm, as if driven by an irresistible impulse or dire necessity, the
-crowd, so lately full of noisy merriment, slowly and surely disappeared.
-Some made desperate efforts to escape, and clung to the rocks and
-bushes, and called upon their comrades to save them from destruction;
-others plunged sullenly into the awful gulf, with stoical indifference
-to their fate, without asking assistance from their companions in
-misery, or uttering one prayer for mercy.
-
-"I watched them one after another disappear, till my mind was
-overwhelmed with horror--till my hair stiffened on my head, and my limbs
-were paralyzed with fear.
-
-"I could not utter a sound, or make an effort to escape from a doom
-which appeared inevitable. But my soul sent up a cry through that dense
-darkness, which reached, though unspoken, to the throne of the great
-Judge--'Save me, Lord, for I perish!'
-
-"A flash of vivid lightning dispelled for a moment the black horrors of
-the scene, and revealed to me a cross towering above the dreadful abyss,
-and planted upon a rock, and one bound thereon like unto the Son of Man,
-pale, bleeding, and dewed with the death-agony, and written above his
-head, in characters of light, which revealed all the ghastly horrors of
-that dismal scene, I read these words: 'Look unto me and be ye saved,
-all the ends of the earth.'
-
-"That light pierced my soul like a two-edged sword, and pointed out the
-only way by which I could escape. I sprang forward. I toiled on hands
-and knees up the steep acclivity, and sank down gasping at the foot of
-the cross, embracing it with desperate energy in my arms.
-
-"I awoke bedewed with a cold perspiration, and trembling in every limb.
-
-"'Thank God, it is but a dream!' I cried, as I felt the clasp of
-Harley's hand, who had heard me scream in my sleep, and had hurried to
-my assistance. But such a dream--oh, such a frightful dream! So
-terrible--so real--it looked like truth.
-
-"He gave me a composing draught, and, after a while, begged me to tell
-him what had frightened me so much in my sleep.
-
-"I was ashamed to tell him my dream, for fear he should think me a
-coward for quailing before a mere vision of the night. But it haunted me
-continually. Waking or sleeping it was ever present to my mind. I still
-imagined myself standing upon the brink of that dreadful
-precipice--still heard the cries of my lost companions ringing in my
-ears, as the cloud received them in its sable folds, and the yawning
-gulf swallowed them up for ever.
-
-"I no longer turned a deaf ear to Harley's prayers, or listened with
-indifference while he read to me the Word of Life. My heart responded to
-every petition, and I listened with intense interest to his simple
-exposition of passages of Holy Writ. My heart was now opened to
-conviction, and hungered and thirsted for a knowledge of divine truth
-with desperate eagerness. A horrible consciousness of guilt pressed so
-heavily upon my mind that it is a wonder my brain did not yield to the
-mental pressure.
-
-"After a long struggle with pride, I revealed to Harley the state of my
-mind, and with many tears besought his advice and assistance. With what
-joy he embraced me, and mingled his tears with mine, and assured me that
-I was in the right path, that no man without repentance could ever hope
-to see God. That my dream was a solemn warning sent by Him, to show me
-the danger of delay, and called upon me to abandon my wicked courses,
-and lay down the burthen of my sins at the foot of the cross. He
-besought me, in the most eloquent language, not to neglect the heavenly
-vision, lest I should share the fate of those I had seen in my dream.
-
-"I was still too weak to leave my bed or read for myself, and I fear I
-taxed the poor fellow's strength too much, in making him read to me for
-hours at a time. And then I prayed.
-
-"Oh, Dorothy, have you ever experienced the mingled joy and agony of
-earnest, heartfelt prayer. When shocked at the cold indifference of your
-own heart, you have bowed your head in the dust as one bereft of all
-hope; when a sudden gleam of light has shot into your soul, revealing
-glimpses of heaven, and filling your mind with contentment and holy
-peace. Such a happy moment came for me at last, which repaid me a
-thousand fold for all my past sufferings, and the image of Christ was
-formed in my soul the hope of glory. I awoke to a new life--awoke to
-rejoice in Him for evermore, and cheerfully took up the cross to
-follow Him, and suffer--if called upon to do so--gladly for His sake.
-
-"The first trial that awaited me after my recovery was the death of my
-dear friend, Harley, who took the fever from which a merciful God had
-suffered me to escape. I nursed him with the same devotion he had
-shown to me, and it was in my arms he passed from earth to heaven.
-
-"If anything had been wanting to confirm my faith, and strengthen the
-resolution I had formed, of devoting myself to the Master's service,
-Harley's death-bed would have done it. His faith in Jesus was so perfect,
-his victory over the last enemy so triumphant, that it left no room for
-cavil or doubt.
-
-"When my friends heard of my intention of leaving the army, and studying
-for the church, they pronounced me mad; and it was publicly reported
-through the country that I had lost my senses during the fever. My
-conversion was a standing joke among my gay companions, and my brother
-was never tired of quizzing me about it, and making it the subject of
-ribald jests. This was hard enough to bear; but when Julia Curzon whom I
-loved so truly, joined with the rest in ridiculing my absurd
-fanaticism, as she was pleased to call it, and declared that if I
-persisted in such folly she never would become my wife, I was sorely
-tempted to step back into the old path, and resign for her sake my
-new-born hopes of heaven. Fortunately for me I was saved from such
-wickedness by the young lady herself, who ran off with a rich country
-squire, with whom she had been flirting desperately at the sea-side
-during my illness.
-
-"This ended my romance of life. I felt heartily ashamed of myself for
-having loved such a worldly-minded woman. My love for her was sincere,
-but I had no other basis to support it than mere beauty, and a certain
-amount of fashionable accomplishments. My castle was built upon the
-sands, and the foundations yielded readily to the first shock, and when
-it fell, though humbled and mortified, I regained my freedom. After this
-disappointment, I returned to college to redeem the time I had wasted
-there in the days of my reckless youth, and to study diligently for my
-profession. It was more than two years before I was satisfied with the
-sincerity of my belief, and my fitness for so sacred a calling, when I
-gladly accepted from Lord Wilton the parishes of Hadstone and Storby as
-Vicar under him.
-
-"And now, little wife, you are acquainted with the leading points of my
-history, and nothing more remains to be told, so let us up and be
-walking home-wards, or we shall be too late for the school examination
-this evening."
-
-Kissing the small hand that insinuated itself into his own, he lifted
-her from her lowly seat, and they returned to the parsonage in time for
-tea.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER VIII.
-
-  MR. FITZMORRIS READS A TEMPERANCE LECTURE.
-
-
-Mr. Fitzmorris lost no time in writing to Lord Wilton, and informing him
-of his engagement with Dorothy Chance, not because he considered that
-the Earl had any power to influence her choice, but as a matter of
-courtesy, he having proved himself a kind friend to the orphan girl.
-
-That she was his daughter, he had little doubt. If a legitimate child,
-such a worldly-minded man, as he knew the Earl to have been in his
-younger days, would never have consented to see her the wife of Gilbert
-Rushmere, a man so much beneath him, in birth and education. The idea
-was preposterous, and fully convinced him that she was the offspring of
-some unfortunate connection, in which the Earl had suffered loss of
-honour, and perhaps a woman whom he had passionately loved.
-
-Henry Martin represented him as a conscience stricken and unhappy man,
-who seemed anxious to make atonement for the evil acts of his past life,
-by deeds of benevolence and kindness.
-
-"He has stumbled upon that great stumbling stone," said the good curate,
-"in thinking it possible to obtain the forgiveness of sins through acts
-of charity and self-sacrifice. If this could be done, there was no need
-of an atonement, and the cross would never have groaned beneath the
-weight of the Son of God."
-
-Whatever was the nature of the tie that bound Dorothy to the Earl, it
-was involved in mystery, which Gerard Fitzmorris cared very little to
-solve. His love for Dorothy was so pure and disinterested, that had he
-found her begging along the highway, and been convinced of the noble
-qualities of heart and mind with which she was endowed, he would have
-thanked God, with all the fervour of his large heart, for giving him
-such a wife.
-
-He made no allusion in his letter to these matters, but merely stated,
-that the admiration he felt for Dorothy Chance, and her unaffected
-piety, had kindled in his heart a sincere and ardent attachment, which
-had overcome the prejudices of education and caste, and induced him to
-make her his wife. That having lost her foster-mother, she had no place
-which she could properly call her home, or any legal protector to
-silence the shafts of calumny, that were already assailing her character
-in all directions. That he was happy in having secured the affections
-of the woman he loved, and he was certain that his noble kinsman as a
-friend to both parties, would rejoice in this happy union.
-
-And Dorothy wrote to her absent friend all that was in her heart.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-                                              "Hadstone Parsonage.
-
-    "Dear Lord Wilton,
-
-    "I am no scribe, and never attempted to write a letter before in
-    my life; so you must excuse the cramped hand, and all the other
-    blunders and blots, which really I cannot help. I was in great
-    trouble when I got your kind letter, for my poor mother was
-    dying a cruel, painful death from cancer, and my heart was very
-    sore with having to dress her wounds and witness her sufferings.
-
-    "I read your generous expressions of love and friendship, with
-    the deepest gratitude, and entered into your sorrows with tears
-    of true and heartfelt sympathy, wondering who _I_ was to awaken
-    such an interest in the mind of a great lord.
-
-    "Pondering this over and over in my own way, a sudden thought
-    struck me. I will not mention it for I know it would pain you,
-    perhaps, more than it did me. But it had reference to my unknown
-    mother, and I felt very angry, and hoped that what I expected
-    might not be the case, and that I might still continue to love
-    and honour you, as heretofore, which indeed I could not do, if
-    those wicked thoughts were true.
-
-    "They took such a hold of my mind, that I was going to tear your
-    letter, and the draft you sent me to pieces, and trample them
-    under my feet.
-
-    "I was saved from committing such an outrage, by my poor friend
-    Mrs. Rushmere, who told me that I was acting very foolishly. You
-    may know by this, that I am not so meek as I look, but a very
-    vixen when bad thoughts get into my head.
-
-    "Oh, my good lord, you need not have told me that you were not
-    my _lover_. Indeed, indeed, I never was so vain or presumptuous,
-    to imagine such a thing, though if I had been such a little
-    simpleton, it would not have been half so bad as the other crime
-    of which I suspected you.
-
-    "I thank you much for your generous gift, but I have had no
-    occasion to use it, and when you come back, I will return the
-    draft to you.
-
-    "A great many things have happened since you went away. Gilbert
-    came to visit his parents, and brought down with him his wife
-    and her mother, and a very disagreeable servant girl, which put
-    me sadly about, and mother so sick.
-
-    "When I saw Gilbert again, I wondered how I had ever loved him
-    so much and made myself so miserable. He is far handsomer, is
-    better dressed, and externally improved in every way, yet I
-    felt glad that I could never be his wife.
-
-    "He was kind enough, but his women folk treated me very cruelly,
-    and insulted me in every way they could. Their conduct was such,
-    that if I had not promised dear mother to stay with her till all
-    was over, I would have left the house the very day they entered
-    it.
-
-    "They were not contented with insulting me themselves, but set
-    the vulgar impudent girl they had with them to harass and annoy
-    me in every way.
-
-    "These women called themselves ladies, but to me they seemed
-    like ill-bred pretenders, who asserted their claims to
-    respectability by treating with insolence and contempt those
-    whom they considered inferiors.
-
-    "Oh, my lord, I was really ashamed of shedding so many tears
-    about their unkind speeches and unwomanly remarks, but I found
-    their conduct was making me as wicked as themselves.
-
-    "You knew my old dog, Pincher, the Scotch terrier, that you said
-    should be called old Faithful, because he loved me so well. The
-    vile girl, Martha Wood, actually murdered her mistress's pet
-    poodle, that she might lay the blame upon poor Pincher. Tom, our
-    farm servant, told me he saw her do it over the hedge. And Mrs.
-    Gilbert Rushmere gave the wretch half a crown to hang my noble
-    Pincher. I believe this treacherous girl would have betrayed our
-    blessed Saviour for thirty pieces of copper. This, which will
-    appear but a light matter to your lordship, caused me the
-    keenest grief. When we have few friends to love us, the
-    attachment of these simple creatures seems to me so touching.
-
-    "My dear mother was found dead in her bed on the tenth of last
-    July. She had had a long conversation with me about her end,
-    (which everybody saw was fast approaching) the night before, and
-    was so tranquil and happy, and spoke so cheerfully of it, as a
-    blessed release from great suffering, and of the perfect peace
-    she enjoyed in the assurance of her Saviour's love, that it
-    seemed an act of impiety any one wishing to detain her from her
-    promised rest.
-
-    "I stayed until after the funeral to comfort the dear old man,
-    and restore something of order to the house. While I was busy
-    packing up my few things, to remove to dear Mrs. Martin's, young
-    Mrs. Rushmere came into the room, and demanded of me the key of
-    my trunk, that she might see if _I had taken anything that did
-    not belong to me_! It made me feel dreadful. Oh, my lord, _your
-    good gentle Dorothy_ was turned into a fiend. But for the
-    restraining hand of God, I believe I should have murdered her.
-    Well, my lord, when she did examine my trunk--for I called up
-    her husband, and made her do it before him, did she not produce
-    the two large silver gravy spoons that belonged to the old
-    covenanter, Sir Lawrence Rushmere, of whose picture father is so
-    proud, as if by magic from the bottom of the box? Though I knew
-    I was innocent, I am sure that I looked as if I was guilty. I
-    could not have felt worse, if Satan himself had accused me
-    before the throne of God.
-
-    "I was so bewildered, that I did not know how to defend myself,
-    and when she told her husband to call in a constable, and send
-    me to gaol, to be tried for theft, and I knew that the evidence
-    might hang or transport me, I felt dumb with horror. Gilbert,
-    however, suspected treachery, and proved my innocence past a
-    doubt, through the evidence of Martha Wood, whom she had only
-    partially made acquainted with her scheme to ruin me, and so a
-    merciful Providence turned the tables against her.
-
-    "You may be certain that I was not long in leaving a house that
-    contained such inmates, pitying Gilbert the possession of such a
-    wife, and doubly pitying the poor forlorn old man, who must
-    depend upon her for all his future comforts.
-
-    "And now, my lord, that I have wearied you with an account of
-    all my troubles, I must tell you something that has made me very
-    glad--so glad, that I consider myself the happiest woman in
-    England.
-
-    "Mr. Fitzmorris loves me, and has asked me to be his wife. I
-    know that I am not worthy to be the wife of such an excellent
-    man, but if I am always with him, I cannot fail in becoming
-    wiser and better, for I love him with all my heart, and feel in
-    very truth that our union cemented on earth will last for ever.
-
-    "Mr. Fitzmorris has recently lost his brother, and our marriage
-    will not take place before the spring. With sincere wishes for
-    the speedy recovery of your son, and that your lordship may
-    enjoy many years of health and happiness,
-
-                            "I remain,
-                                 "Your grateful little friend,
-                                                 "DOROTHY CHANCE."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Lord Wilton received this quaint and singularly candid letter a few days
-after the death of his son, and just as he was embarking for England, to
-carry the loved remains to their final resting place in the family
-vault.
-
-This was not exactly the sort of letter Lord Wilton had waited so
-impatiently to receive. He had expected sentiment mingled with a dash of
-youthful romance, and he found only an unvarnished truthful statement of
-plain facts. One passage in Dorothy's epistle, however, instantly
-riveted his attention.
-
-"Francis Fitzmorris dead!" he exclaimed, "and Dorothy's future husband
-heir to the earldom and estates. How strange! What an unexpected
-interposition of Providence to save me from exposure and disgrace, while
-she will lose nothing by that sad affair remaining an impenetrable
-secret."
-
-What the Earl alluded to has yet to be explained.
-
-Dorothy's engagement to the Vicar could not long be concealed in a small
-village like Hadstone; whether through servants, or the shrewd
-observation of neighbours, it soon leaked out.
-
-Miss Watling was in arms in a moment, and stoutly denied the facts
-wherever she went. While old Mistress Barford insisted that the report
-was true, that she had heard it from the very best authority, from Mrs.
-Martin herself.
-
-The dispute was at its height when the two women stepped into the hall
-at Heath Farm, in order to return a friendly visit from its present
-mistress.
-
-"Have you heard the news, Mr. Rushmere?" said Mrs. Barford, addressing
-the old gentleman, who had greatly failed since his wife's death, and
-was composing himself for an afternoon nap in the great chair.
-
-"What news?" quoth he, "there's very little news that can interest me
-now."
-
-"Your old favourite, Dorothy Chance, is going to be married."
-
-"Ay, that's summat, though," and he leaned eagerly forward, and quite
-wide awake. "She'll make an excellent wife whoever has the luck to get
-a'. Who's the man?"
-
-"No less a person than the Vicar, young Mr. Fitzmorris. There's a chance
-for her."
-
-"What our Dolly marry the parson!" and he rubbed his hands in great
-glee. "Good for her."
-
-"I beg, Mr. Rushmere, that you will not believe a word of it," cried
-Miss Watling. "A very likely thing indeed, for a man of his condition to
-marry the child of some miserable vagabond. It's a story all got up,
-between Dorothy and Mrs. Martin, to throw discredit on Mr. Fitzmorris,
-who everybody knows, is not a marrying man."
-
-"No discredit, I should think, to him or to any one," said Gilbert,
-turning with a flushed face from the window, where he was standing, "if
-marrying a beautiful virtuous woman can be a disgrace."
-
-"That's right, Gilbert, speak up for your old love," sneered Nancy,
-unrestrained in venting her spleen by the lowering brow of Gilbert.
-
-"But, ladies," she continued, "is it probable that this man, who is now
-Lord Wilton's heir, will ever make such a woman as that a countess?"
-
-"Ah," said Mrs. Barford, "I told you more than a year ago, Nancy, that
-we might live to see Dorothy Chance ride to church in her carriage."
-
-"I'll believe it when I see it," remarked Mrs. Rushmere; "I should as
-soon expect seeing Martha Wood a countess."
-
-"The girl is very pretty," said Mrs. Rowly, "there is no denying that;
-but I don't believe that she is either virtuous or over honest. My
-daughter caught her stealing silver spoons."
-
-"How--what's that, who dares to call Dorothy a thief?" cried old
-Rushmere, starting to his feet. "If it were Goliath of Gath, I would
-tell him he lied. That a' wud."
-
-"My wife did," replied Gilbert sullenly, "and had to eat her words. I
-think, Sophia, considering the part you took in that infamous affair, it
-would have been better for you to have held your tongue."
-
-"Always against your wife, sir. But I know the reason why you are so
-savage this afternoon. You don't like to hear that Dorothy Chance is
-going to marry a better man than yourself," replied Sophia, in her
-softest tone.
-
-"She deserves it, as much as I did a better wife."
-
-He left the room slamming the door after him. Miss Watling raised her
-eyebrows, shrugged her shoulders, and cast a pitying look towards his
-wife. Sophia smiled, "that's a warning to all young unmarried ladies,
-Miss Watling, not to be too eager to get a husband. I can assure them,
-that it is far better to remain single."
-
-"You may spare such advice, Mrs. Rushmere, it will never appear
-rational, except to the initiated," said Mrs. Barford. "From the time
-of Eve down-wards, old maids and young maids never will give up the hope
-of getting married. I had a maiden aunt of sixty, who put this proviso
-in her will: 'I leave all my personal property to my nephew, James
-Stanton; but in case of my marrying, an event not impossible, though
-rather improbable, I revoke the said bequest.'"
-
-"If men are such bad folks," said old Rushmere, "I want to know, Mrs.
-Barford, why all the widdies are so anxious to thrust their heads again
-under the yoke?"
-
-"They have met with one bad husband, and hope to get a better," returned
-Mrs. Rowly, thinking that in duty bound she ought to speak up for them.
-"There is one piece of advice, however, which _I_, who have been some
-years a widow, would give to both widows and maids. Never to marry a
-cross superannuated old man!" and she cast a scornful glance at the
-master of the house.
-
-"Sour grapes," muttered the old Rushmere. "One she-fox is enough in a
-house, without having two to eat the grapes."
-
-"What did you say about foxes, Mr. Rushmere?" asked Miss Watling, very
-innocently. "Have they been troubling your poultry lately?"
-
-"Yes, Nancy, eating me out of house and home. I wish a' could get rid of
-such troublesome vermin."
-
-"_You_ must feel the loss of your wife very much?" remarked the same
-kind individual.
-
-"More an' more every day. While Mary lived, I had a quiet comfortable
-home, but now, I am no longer master o' my own house. Ay, times are
-changed, but it won't be for long." And taking up his staff he hobbled
-out.
-
-"The poor old man is failing very fast," said Mrs. Barford. "What a hale
-strong man he was a year ago."
-
-"Oh, he frets, and fumes, and finds fault with everything," returned
-Mrs. Gilbert. "It's of no use attempting to please him--in fact, I now
-never try. A nice house it would be if I allowed him to interfere.
-Between him and his son I lead the life of a dog."
-
-"How do you get on with the dairy, Mrs. Rushmere?" asked Mrs. Barford.
-"Heath Farm was always celebrated for its butter and cheese."
-
-"I have given all that up," returned Mrs. Gilbert. "I can tell old
-Rushmere and his son that they won't make a dairy-maid of me."
-
-"But how will you live without it? The farm is fit for nothing else?"
-
-"I don't care. I just get Martha to make enough butter to supply the
-house. The old fellow grumbles and says, it's only fit for cart grease.
-But if I can eat it, I am sure he may. I won't put up with his airs."
-
-"Poor old man!" sighed Mrs. Barford, as they left the house. "It's very
-plain to me how all this will end. Gilbert can't work, and this wife of
-his won't, and the old place will soon come to the hammer, if all we
-hear of Gilbert's constant visits to the ale-house be true."
-
-"How dirty and untidy everything looks," said Miss Watling. "I was
-afraid the dusty chairs would spoil my black silk dress. How neat and
-clean the house used to be."
-
-"In Dorothy's time," suggested Mrs. Barford. "Rushmere did a foolish
-thing, when he hindered Gilbert from marrying her. However, the poor
-girl will be much better off."
-
-"Oh, don't talk about her. I hate her very name."
-
-"Nancy, it is all envy," returned Mrs. Barford, laughing; "you will like
-her very much when she is Countess of Wilton."
-
-What Mrs. Barford had hinted about Gilbert's visits to the public-house
-in the village, was but too true. The young man had no peace or
-happiness at home. His wife and her mother insulted and abused his old
-father, who gave way alternately to fits of passion and sullen gloom. He
-would appeal to Gilbert, when he felt himself unusually aggrieved, but
-for the sake of peace, for he was really afraid of his wife, Gilbert
-chose to remain neutral.
-
-This enraged the old man, who would call him a poor hen-pecked coward,
-to stand by and see him ill-treated. Then Gilbert, roused in his turn,
-would tell him that it was his own fault, that if he had let him marry
-the woman he loved, they might have been all happy together.
-
-One evening, when Dorothy and her lover were returning home through the
-lane, from visiting a sick man in the country, they observed a tall man
-staggering along before them, making very ludicrous efforts to keep his
-balance, which was greatly frustrated by the want of an arm.
-
-"That's poor Rushmere," said Gerard. "Walk home, dear Dorothy. I must
-speak to him. I cannot see a fellow-creature in this state without
-attempting to warn him of his danger."
-
-Directly Dorothy was out of sight, for she took the path over the heath,
-he followed Gilbert, and, laying his hand gently on his shoulder, said,
-
-"My friend you are in the wrong path, take my advice and I will guide
-you into a better."
-
-"Go to--!" was the awful rejoinder from the intoxicated soldier.
-
-"No, my friend, I should be very sorry to travel one step in your road.
-It is to save you from the frightful termination of your journey, that I
-now address you."
-
-"I neither care for your cant, nor your companionship. Begone, and leave
-me to pursue my own way," and Gilbert turned fiercely round, and struck
-Mr. Fitzmorris a heavy blow with his left hand. "Do you like that? You
-see," and he laughed bitterly, "though I am drunk and have only one
-hand, I have some strength left."
-
-"Gilbert Rushmere," said Gerard very quietly, "I do not mean to resent
-your blow. Though now a _canting_ parson, I was for five years a
-_soldier_. You lost your arm in one great battle. I have received wounds
-in four. I am no coward. Those who fight under the banner of the Prince
-of Peace must use other weapons than those wielded by the arm of
-flesh--patience, temperance and brotherly love. I cannot be angry with
-you, I pity you from my very heart, and would save you, if you would
-allow me to do so."
-
-"If I had known you had been a soldier, Mr. Fitzmorris, and fought and
-bled for old England, I should have been the last man in the world to
-strike you. Can you forgive me?"
-
-"With all my heart. There is my hand."
-
-"The blow I gave you was a severe one."
-
-"Rather, I could have returned it with interest. I was once a good
-boxer, but I wish to be your friend. Cannot I persuade you, Rushmere, to
-renounce this vile habit, and escape from the ruin which it involves."
-
-"I cannot promise you, Mr. Fitzmorris even to try. It is the only relief
-I have. The only antidote to misery like mine. The sooner it kills me,
-the sooner I shall get rid of this wretched world. I hate and loathe my
-life, and want to die."
-
-"That would be all very well, if you could kill your soul. But though
-you may sinfully abuse and destroy the machine in which it dwells, to
-destroy that, is beyond your power. It is only the God who made it, that
-can destroy both body and soul in hell. Suppose that you succeed in
-killing yourself, you will find the second state worse than the first, a
-whole eternity of misery, instead of a few years spent on earth. Don't
-push me off, Rushmere, I can't see you perish in this foolish way,
-without trying to convince you of your sin."
-
-"I will listen to you some other time. I have heard enough for one
-night. If you could tell me how to get rid of my wife, I would listen to
-you patiently all day."
-
-He brushed hastily past, his foot caught on a stone, and he measured his
-length upon the dusty road.
-
-"See, you are not in a fit state to guide yourself." And Gerard once
-more set him on his feet.
-
-"Go out of my way. I can get on without you. If you knew how jolly a
-glass makes me feel, you would get drunk too," and he staggered on
-singing at the top of his voice:
-
-"Which is the properest day to drink? Sunday."
-
-"That, parson, won't do for your shop. Good night."
-
-"Unhappy man," said Gerard, "what good angel can arrest your downward
-course? if he will not be persuaded by me, I must try what Dorothy can
-do. I could almost love the fellow, for having had taste enough to love
-her."
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER IX.
-
-  THE OLD MAN IN PRISON.
-
-
-Several weeks passed away, happily enough for Dorothy and her lover, who
-every day became better acquainted with each other, and more deeply
-sensible of the congeniality of character, which though different in
-many trifling points, yet harmonized so well together. While they
-advanced hand in hand, along that narrow path, whose steep ascent
-towards perfection no human being ever trod unrewarded or in vain, a
-very different line of conduct had been adopted by Gilbert Rushmere and
-his wife.
-
-Private quarrels had increased to public brawls, insulting language, and
-mutual recriminations, and the house was kept in such a miserable state,
-that few of the old friends and associates of the family ventured across
-the threshold. Lawrence Rushmere had cause enough to repent of his
-interference between Dorothy Chance and his son, and found, to his cost,
-that little peace or comfort remained for him in his old age.
-
-The farm was going to ruin; Gilbert was never home until late at night,
-when he generally was conducted to the house by some neighbouring toper,
-as fond of losing his senses in the bowl, but in a lesser degree of
-brutal intoxication.
-
-Mrs. Gilbert raved, and her mother reviled and scorned; and the wretched
-old man, if he attempted to make his voice heard in the domestic uproar,
-was silenced by Mrs. Gilbert telling him to hold his tongue, that she
-wanted no advice from such a superannuated dotard.
-
-The report of these doings at Heath Farm were not long in reaching the
-ears of the Vicar, and gave great pain to Dorothy. What was to be done
-to rescue Gilbert from ruin? that was the great question.
-
-Mr. Fitzmorris tried to obtain an interview with him, and for that
-purpose called several times at the house, but always received the same
-answer from Martha Wood, "that young Mr. Rushmere was not at home."
-
-"Where was he to be found?"
-
-"She did not know. Perhaps at Jonathan Sly's, at the 'Plough and
-Harrow,' may be at Storby, where he was looking for a man, to whom he
-had sold a team of horses."
-
-So to Storby the Vicar went, and inquired of every likely and unlikely
-place in the town for Lieutenant Rushmere. At one low tavern the
-landlord told him that he had been there with a horse jockey, that they
-had some liquor, and went out again, he believed, to bet in the
-cock-pit.
-
-"Where may that be? I did not know that you had such an abomination in
-the town," said Mr. Fitzmorris.
-
-"Well, it's not zactly in the town, sir. There's a little low hedge ale
-house, by the road side, as you come in by the back way. A hole, kept by
-old Striker, that was a smuggler, and made to suffer some years agone.
-He keeps the 'Game Cock.' It is a bad place, only resorted to by thieves
-and swindlers; and a dreadful pity that the Leaftenant ha' got in with
-such a set. He'll soon bring the old man to a gaol, and hisself is going
-to the devil as fast as he can."
-
-Mr. Fitzmorris perceived the great urgency of getting Gilbert out of
-the clutches of these men, and after thinking over the matter for some
-minutes, he proposed to the landlord to go with him to the "Game Cock,"
-and tell young Rushmere that a friend wanted to speak to him on a matter
-of great importance.
-
-"Na, na, I would not venture my nose in amongst them wild chaps for a
-crown piece. You see, sir, I'm but a little man of a quiet turn. I never
-could fight in my life, an' it's only farm labourers that ever frequents
-my tap, an' they have but little money to spend, and are too heavy and
-loompish to quarrel, and kick up a bobbery. They only laughs and grins,
-and jokes one with the tother, whiles they drinks a glass of beer or
-yeats a mouthful of bread an' cheese, on their way down with their teams
-to the wharf, where they ships loads of corn, an' then return with
-coals. These poor creturs are just harmless as lambs. The fellows that
-Rushmere has got in with are a set of noisy dare devils, who'll knock a
-man down as soon as look at him. I think yer Reverence had better not go
-near them."
-
-"My duty lies in such places, and while in the performance of it, I feel
-afraid of no man. Can you give me directions as to the situation of the
-cock-pit, without the necessity of my going into the house?"
-
-"Just beside the house there runs a high brick wall. Open a low door
-about the middle of it, and you'll find yourself in a shed, with a set
-of rude fellows swarming round it, looking down upon the pit with the
-cocks. It's exciting work, sir, that fighting with the bonnie birds,"
-continued the little man, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "But 'tis
-reckoned a vulgar, low pastime now. In my young days, lauk a mercy,
-sir, it was played by high and low, and fortins have been won an' lost
-on a game cock. Did your Reverence ever see a match?"
-
-"I have seen, my friend, more than is good in my short life, when I
-foolishly thought more of the amusements of this world, than of the
-endless happiness and glory of the next."
-
-"Ah, sir, a man can't allers be thinking of Heaven and reading the
-Bible, and saying prayers all the time. I'm sure if I were your
-Reverence I should find it very dull work."
-
-Mr. Fitzmorris smiled good-naturedly.
-
-"There are many ways, my friend, of serving God besides reading the
-Bible and praying. When we endeavour to follow our Blessed Lord's
-example, in trying to do good to our fellow-creatures, we award Him the
-best praise of which our nature is capable; and the man who loves Him,
-and does all for His sake, without claiming any merit for himself,
-enjoys in acts of love and charity the most exquisite pleasure."
-
-Laying his hand emphatically on the little publican's shoulders, he
-continued, "Seek the Lord earnestly, diligently, and with your whole
-heart, and serve Him faithfully, and you will know the truth of what I
-say, and experience such joy and inward satisfaction as you never
-dreamed of before. The Heaven of a true Christian commences on earth.
-For where God is, there is Heaven. If His Spirit dwells in you, old
-things pass away, and all things become new."
-
-Before he had finished the sentence, a farm-servant came up to the
-little tavern in hot haste.
-
-"Hullo, Barnaby!" he cried, "can yer tell 'un aught o' young Measter
-Rushmere? The bully-bailiffs are in the house--old measter raging like
-a wild bull--mistress crying an' wringing her hands--the old 'un
-scolding and fussing; the blackguard of a servant-girl laughing in her
-sleeve, to hear what she calls the fun--an' the old man threatening to
-blow the fellows' brains out with the rusty old blunderbuss that has na'
-been fired off since King George came to the crown. If Measter Gilbert
-does na' come whome quick, there'll be the devil to pay an' no pitch
-hot."
-
-"It seems hot enough, Joe, by your account already," returned Master
-Barnaby. "This will be a good excuse for your Reverence to get him away
-from that sink o' iniquity."
-
-"Let us lose no time," said Mr. Fitzmorris, turning to the man who was
-standing gaping at him with open mouth and eyes. "My good fellow, can
-you show me the way to the 'Game Cock?'"
-
-"Why, yees, sir. It's on our way whome, supposing yer goes round the
-back o' the Heath. Yer sartainly won't find Measter Gilbert there?"
-
-"He is there." And Gerard swung his strong oak stick in the air, and
-followed his conductor at a rapid pace down a narrow footpath that led
-across the marshes to Hadstone.
-
-It was a lonely, desolate tract, intersected with wide ditches, full of
-stagnant water, generally crossed by a single plank.
-
-The sluggish river crept its lazy length to the sea, between high banks
-of mud, and when the tide was out, its dimensions contracted to a tiny
-stream, which flowed through a wide bed composed of the same alluvial
-deposit that filled the air for miles with a rank, fishy smell. A
-footpath ran along the top of the mud-bank, and Mr. Fitzmorris and his
-guide followed this till they came to a low stone bridge with one arch,
-of very ancient structure, which crossed the main-road to London, where
-the heath sank down to the level of the salt flats. A few paces from the
-bridge, and below the heath, a low dwelling, composed of wattle and
-daub, bore the ostentatious sign of a large, fiery, red game cock, in
-the act of crowing, as if to give notice to the tired pedestrian that he
-could get refreshments for man and beast, at the house kept by Jonas
-Striker.
-
-"Well, Measter Fitzmorris, this be the place. An' yer wud know't by the
-uproar that's going on in the shed, without the help o' the bird that's
-allers crowing, but never do crow, outside the door. But don't yer hear
-the crowing an' clapping o' wings o' the bully birds within, an' the
-shouts o' the men that ha' won on the conqueror!"
-
-Mr. Fitzmorris did not answer. He pushed open the door of which Barnaby
-had spoken, and entering the yard with a firm, decided step, walked up
-to the drunken and noisy crowd.
-
-Some drew back as he advanced, as if ashamed of being caught by the
-parson in such a disreputable place, while others turned and faced him
-with an audacious stare. Gilbert Rushmere, who was leaning on the rail,
-cried out in a sneering tone:
-
-"You are too late for the main, parson, but just in time to perform the
-funeral service over the black cock. There he lies--his last battle
-ended. As brave a knight as ever wore steel spurs. I'll be chief
-mourner, for I ventured upon him my last guinea."
-
-Without taking the least notice of this speech, or the ribald crew by
-whom he was surrounded, Gerard went up to Gilbert, and drew him forcibly
-apart.
-
-"Rushmere, I have bad news for you. Come home with me. The bailiffs are
-in the house, and everything in confusion at Heath Farm. You know what
-the feelings of the proud, independent old man must be in such
-circumstances. Leave this disgusting place and your vicious companions,
-and I will see what I can do to save your family from disgrace."
-
-Gilbert looked in Gerard's face with a half-stupefied stare of blank
-incredulity.
-
-"Now, parson, you are only funning me--this is one of your pious dodges
-to get me out of this. I know I'm a fool to be here--but having once
-passed the Rubicon, I don't mean to go back."
-
-"What I tell you is perfectly true. Here is your man-servant, ask him.
-Surely, surely, Mr. Rushmere, you have enough of manhood left in you not
-to suffer your wife and poor old father to bear the weight of such a
-calamity alone?"
-
-"As to father, let him take it. He deserves it all. But for him, you
-would not be in my shoes, rejoicing that the woman who ought to have
-been my wife will shortly be yours. You might be contented, I think,
-without following me like my shadow, to triumph over me."
-
-"Gilbert Rushmere," said Mr. Fitzmorris, very gravely, "I never saw
-Dorothy until after you were the husband of another. Your desertion of
-her, when you knew how much she loved you, was no deed of your father's,
-but your own voluntary act, for he never knew of your marriage until a
-few days before you came down to Heath Farm. And let me tell you, that
-any man who could desert such a noble woman as Dorothy Chance for the
-sake of a few thousand pounds, was most unworthy to be her husband. But
-she has nothing to do with the matter now in hand. It is profanation to
-breathe her name in such an assemblage as this. Do you mean to come home
-with me, or not?"
-
-"I won't go home in your company. I have nothing to say against you. I
-believe you to be an honourable man and a gentleman, but I hate you for
-supplanting me in the affections of the only woman I ever loved. The
-very sight of you makes me wish to break the sixth commandment."
-
-"Why act the part of the dog in the manger? You cannot marry Dorothy
-yourself. Why entertain such uncharitable feelings towards me, because I
-have taste enough to prize a jewel that you cast from you. Come,
-Rushmere, let better feelings prevail, dismiss this unreasonable
-jealousy, and listen to the advice of one who sincerely wishes to be
-your friend. Can you tell me the amount of this execution? If it is
-within my power, I will try and settle it, for Dorothy's sake."
-
-"You'll be a--fool for your pains if you do," and he laughed scornfully.
-"It is the first, but it will not be the last. I want no man, especially
-you of all men, to ruin himself for me. Every thing has gone wrong with
-me since I married that woman. If she would have put her shoulder to the
-wheel, and worked for me, I would have forgiven her the folly and
-wickedness of deceiving me. But she does nothing but run up bills, and
-make me miserable. She's not a bad looking woman, and I might have
-learned to love her in time, but there's no chance of that now. I'm not
-sorry for this business, for I hope it will be the means of my getting
-rid of her. Go home, I won't; they may fight it out the best way
-they can." And turning suddenly on his heel, he disappeared among the
-crowd. Full of grief at his want of success, Mr. Fitzmorris took the
-road that led to Heath Farm.
-
-Here to his grief and indignation, he was informed by Martha Wood that
-the old man had been taken off to prison for debt, and the ladies were
-shut up in their own room, and could not receive visitors. Tired with a
-long fruitless walk, and feeling sad at heart, he determined to visit
-Lawrence Rushmere early the next morning, and, if possible, to pay the
-amount of his debt.
-
-Anxious to save Dorothy from useless distress, he did not inform her of
-the cause that had kept him away so long. She only remarked, as he
-kissed her cheek, "My dear Gerard looks tired and paler than usual."
-
-"Oh, Dolly," he replied. "It is a sad world; one is never allowed to
-feel happy in it long. If it were always the paradise that you have made
-it for the last few weeks, I should never like to leave it. All things,
-darling, are for the best. The purest pleasures are born in the lap of
-sorrow, as the brightest sunshine succeeds the darkest storm."
-
-Directly after breakfast he ordered his horse and gig, and telling Mrs.
-Martin that he could not be home before night, drove over to the town of
-----, in which the gaol was situated.
-
-Before going to visit the old man, he went to the lawyer, at the suit of
-whose client he had been incarcerated, to discover the amount of the
-debt, which he found to be under three hundred pounds, including the law
-costs.
-
-It was a large sum for Mr. Fitzmorris, having expended all he could well
-spare from his own income in settling his brother's affairs, paying
-funeral and law expenses, and other items. Any thought of his own
-comfort or convenience seldom stayed the too generous hand, that was
-never held back by selfish motives, if it could possibly relieve the
-necessity of a fellow creature. "It was only retrenching a few needless
-luxuries," he would say, "for a few months or years, and the interest
-would be amply repaid. There was no bank in which a man could invest his
-means, which made such ample returns, as the bank of Heaven, in which
-there was no fear of losing your capital, as it was chartered for
-eternity."
-
-He wrote a check upon his banker for the sum, and received the release
-from Mr. Hodson, the man of business.
-
-"I am afraid, Mr. Fitzmorris, that you have sacrificed this large sum of
-money to little purpose. This, though certainly the largest claim
-against the Rushmere estate, is not the only one. It would require more
-than a thousand pounds to keep the place from the hammer."
-
-"I thought that Lawrence Rushmere had been a person who had saved
-money?"
-
-"He had to the amount of a few hundred pounds, but the farm is a very
-poor one, which, for half a century past, has barely supplied the
-necessary outlay to continue its cultivation. When the lieutenant
-returned, the father sacrificed his little earnings, to enter into a
-speculation with his son, for furnishing horses to the Government, for
-the use of the army. Such a traffic requires large means, and constant
-attention. The young man who was the sole manager, got among dissipated
-companions, from buying horses, to betting upon them, and has not only
-lost all the money advanced by the father, but has involved himself
-irretrievably. The creditors thought it better to bring things to a
-crisis, as the sale of the property might possibly leave a small
-overplus, to keep the old man from the workhouse."
-
-"He is such an impatient, obstinate creature," observed Mr. Fitzmorris,
-"that he may choose to remain in prison rather than pay these creditors,
-that he will be sure to regard not as the injured party, but as personal
-enemies to himself."
-
-"In that case, you had better retain in your possession the draft you
-have just given me, until after you have seen and conversed with
-Lawrence Rushmere."
-
-"Would it be possible to stay proceedings against the estate, until
-after Lord Wilton's return, which is expected daily, and remove the old
-man from prison? He is so proud and independent, the disgrace of having
-been inside a gaol will kill him."
-
-"The creditors, who are all decent yeomen, might be inclined to serve
-the old man, who has always been respected in the county as an honest
-fellow. But being associated in this horse traffic with the son, whom
-they look upon as a great scoundrel, throws more difficulties in the
-way. The father was unprepared, nay, never expected this blow, or he
-might have arranged matters to save himself. I could, perhaps, stave off
-the other creditors, if this first claim were settled, for two or three
-months, and a bond were given that they should receive their money at
-the end of that term. The old man who is honest as daylight, might
-indemnify you by turning over to you the estate, and continue to farm it
-for your benefit."
-
-"I will own, Mr. Hodson, that I do not exactly wish to sacrifice my
-money, for the benefit of Gilbert Rushmere, without he were a reformed
-character. If the estate were mine, I could give it to Lawrence Rushmere
-rent free for his life."
-
-The lawyer promised to make all the necessary arrangements to secure Mr.
-Fitzmorris from unnecessary loss, and he left him to communicate to the
-prisoner the result of his morning's work, and to relieve him from
-durance.
-
-He found the old man in the debtors' room, pacing to and fro with a
-restless stride, which proved how much vigour still remained in the
-tough heart of oak. On perceiving Mr. Fitzmorris, the caged lion
-suddenly came to a stand still, and confronted him with a gloomy brow,
-and proud defiant eye, as he said in a low voice,
-
-"Are you come, Parson, to speak to Lawrence Rushmere in a den like this,
-to seek an honest man among felons an' thieves? I was allers laughed at
-for holding my head so high. I must carry it a foot higher here to look
-above a lawless set of ruffians and ragamuffins."
-
-In spite of his affected bravado, the tears stood in the old man's eyes,
-and, staggering to a bench, he sunk down helplessly upon it, and covered
-his face with his hands.
-
-"I came to seek a friend," said Gerard, laying his hand on the old man's
-shoulder, "one whom I esteem, or I should not be here."
-
-"Oh, dang it," cried Rushmere. "Take off your hand, Mr. Fitzmorris. No
-offence, I hope, but it do put me in mind o' the tap that rascal gave
-me; he said, in the king's name, as if the king, God bless him, had ever
-a hand in sending a honest loyal subject like me to prison. I had the
-satisfaction, however, of knocking the fellow down. It did me good, I
-can tell you."
-
-The cold, clear blue eye was lighted up with a gleam of fire, which cast
-an angry glare around, like a flash of summer lightning leaping from
-the dark clouds.
-
-"The man was only in the performance of his duty. It was expending your
-wrath upon a wrong object."
-
-"He just deserved what he got. None but a rascal would ever fill such a
-post, none but rascals ever do fill it, men far worse in moral character
-than the villains they take. An honest man would sweep the streets
-before he'd earn his living in such a mean way."
-
-Gerard could scarcely forbear a smile at this tirade, when Rushmere
-asked him abruptly the cause of his visit.
-
-"To take you out of this place, and carry you back to your own home."
-
-"And who pays the debt?"
-
-"I have agreed to do that."
-
-"You! What business ha' you wi' paying my debts? If Lawrence Rushmere
-can't do that, he must content himsel' to stay here."
-
-"You must not refuse me this great favour. Consider me as a son, willing
-and anxious to serve you."
-
-At the mention of the word son, the old man sprang to his feet, and,
-clenching his fist, exclaimed,
-
-"I have no son! The rascal who has brought me to this, wi' his drinking
-and gambling, is no son of mine. I disown him now and for ever--and may
-my curse--"
-
-Mr. Fitzmorris put his hand before the old man's mouth, and, in a solemn
-voice that made him fall back a few paces, said,
-
-"Who are you that dare curse a fellow creature, especially a son, though
-he has rebelled against you? It is committing an outrage against your
-own soul--against the excellent mother that bore him--against the most
-High God, who, through his blessed Son, has told us, that only as we
-forgive those that injure us can we ourselves hope to be forgiven."
-
-"Oh, Mary, my wife. My dead angel! it is only for your sake I revoke my
-curse. He be your child, but oh, he has wounded me in the tenderest
-part."
-
-Again the old man sank down upon the bench, and, for a few minutes,
-Gerard thought it best to leave him to his own thoughts. When he seemed
-more calm, he urged him more earnestly to accompany him back to
-Hadstone.
-
-"To go back to that she-cat? No, a' won't, I tell you. Why, gaol is a
-paradise compared to living wi' her. You must not urge me, sir. If I
-don't curse the scamp that has brought me to this--I fear I should kill
-him if we met!"
-
-"But you would not refuse to live with Dorothy?"
-
-"Ah, Dolly--she was a good lass. I have naught to do wi' her now. It
-would ha' been well for me if a' had never set eyes on her."
-
-"But Dorothy loves you so sincerely."
-
-"What, after I have used her so ill? Howsomever, it was a great service
-I rendered her, when I hindered her from marrying that scoundrel."
-
-"Unintentionally on your part, my friend. You can take no merit for
-that. Your son might have turned out a noble character but for that
-act."
-
-It was of no use urging the old man to leave the gaol. His pride was
-offended at the idea of Mr. Fitzmorris paying his debts; he was hurt,
-too, that Gilbert had sent no message, to let him know how matters
-really stood, or if there remained any chance of paying the creditors by
-the sale of the property.
-
-"You see, Mr. Fitzmorris, I trusted all to him. I never thought that my
-own son would neglect the business and ruin me. No, no, I deserve to be
-here for my folly, and here I will remain until all the creditors are
-paid."
-
-Seeing that he was obstinately bent on adhering to his purpose, Gerard
-told him that he would send Mr. Hodson to talk the matter over with him,
-and he would come and see him again when he heard that he had come to a
-decision. He was willing to give him a fair price for the estate, and
-let him remain in it rent-free for his life.
-
-The old man seemed struck with this last suggestion, and promised to
-listen to reason, and so they parted.
-
-On Mr. Fitzmorris' return to Hadstone, the first news that met his ears
-was, that Gilbert Rushmere had gone off to parts unknown with Martha
-Wood, who had dexterously fomented the quarrels between him and his wife
-to further this object; and that Mrs. Gilbert and her mother had packed
-up and left for London, "never," they said, "to return to a beggarly
-place like Hadstone."
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER X.
-
-  A LONG CHAPTER.
-
-
-The various plans formed by Gerard Fitzmorris for the future comfort of
-Lawrence Rushmere, were temporarily suspended by the receipt of a letter
-from Lord Wilton, who had just landed in Liverpool with his sad freight.
-
-He earnestly requested his cousin to meet him in London, and join in the
-melancholy cortège that would accompany the mortal remains of the young
-viscount to their last resting-place, in the family vault in Hadstone
-church.
-
-"I have much to say to you, my dear Gerard," he wrote, "upon the
-important subject which formed the leading topic in the letters received
-from you and Dorothy just as I was about to sail for England. But while
-the arrow rankles in my heart, for the death of a justly beloved son, I
-cannot yet bring my mind to dwell upon marrying and giving in marriage.
-This must suffice you both till time has cicatrized the wound. The
-marriage of my daughter, Dorothy, with the last male representative of
-our ancient house, cannot fail to be regarded by me with entire
-satisfaction. I will explain everything when we meet."
-
-Gerard folded the Earl's letter and sat for some minutes in deep
-thought. Most men in his position would have felt more joy than sorrow
-for the death of a relative they had scarcely known, which made them
-heir to a title and vast wealth. Gerard Fitzmorris cared very little
-for either distinction. He had for some time past felt a deep and
-growing interest in Lord Wilton, and he sympathised with him most
-sincerely in the loss of a noble and deserving son.
-
-He was much struck by the decided manner in which he had avowed, without
-entering into the particulars of the case, that Dorothy Chance was his
-daughter. If legitimately he would have no claim to the earldom, which
-came through a Granville, and would only be entitled to the baronetcy
-held by his descent from Sir Thomas Fitzmorris, their mutual
-grandfather. Dorothy would be Countess of Wilton in her own right.
-
-He could not bring himself to believe, if this were the case, that the
-Earl would have suffered her to remain so long ignorant of her just
-position.
-
-Time would explain all, but he could not fathom the mystery. He
-instantly complied with the Earl's request to meet him in London.
-Before he left Hadstone, Dorothy begged, as a great favour, that she
-might accompany him on his journey as far as ---- to take Mr. Rushmere
-out of gaol, and bring him back to Heath Farm.
-
-"It would be better for me, Gerard, to break to him the elopement of his
-son, and if he will return with me, to stay with him at the old place,
-till you come back."
-
-"Just like my own Dorothy," he cried, pressing her to his heart. "Go
-like a good angel, as you are, and my blessing go with you."
-
-During their journey, Gerard gave his betrothed the Earl's letter to
-read, and watched her countenance during the perusal. There was no other
-passenger inside the coach but themselves. They could talk to each other
-without reserve. He saw her start, and her cheeks crimson, when she
-came to the paragraph in which his lordship spoke of her as his
-daughter.
-
-"Oh, Gerard," she said, bursting into tears, as her head sank upon his
-shoulder. "Had I not better go with you to London, to comfort him in his
-sorrow? My father, my poor father! I can never supply to him the loss of
-his dear son."
-
-"Had he wished it, my sweet cousin, he would have made the request.
-Public taste has dispensed with the presence of female mourners at the
-funerals of relations and friends. The gentle hearts that loved the
-truest and the best are denied by the tyrant fashion the blessed
-privilege of seeing the last sad rites performed for the beloved dead.
-After Lord Fitzmorris' funeral your presence will be more needed. It is
-not until the earth closes her bars for ever on the loved and lost, that
-we can fully realize the fact that they can no more return to us."
-
-On reaching the county town, Dorothy and her lover parted--one to act as
-chief mourner in a solemn and useless pageant, which the good sense of
-mankind ought to banish from the earth, with all its artificial
-trappings and hired mourners; the other to visit that grave of the
-living, a prison, and carry hope and comfort to the care-worn heart of
-the victim of a cruel and oppressive law, which demands of a man to pay
-his debts, while it deprives him of the chance of doing so.
-
-Following the directions she had received from Gerard, Dorothy went
-first to Mr. Hodson, and learned from him that the debt for which her
-foster-father was in gaol, had been settled by her lover; that
-everything had been satisfactorily arranged with the other creditors,
-Rushmere having concluded to sell Heath Farm to Mr. Fitzmorris for the
-sum of two thousand pounds, which would pay all the demands upon the
-estate, and leave the old man at liberty.
-
-The dry man of business was much struck by the extraordinary beauty of
-the young lady, who had deigned to visit his dusty office in behalf of
-the prisoner, and being a widower of some years' standing, without any
-incumbrance in the shape of children, it struck him that so charming a
-girl would make him an excellent second wife.
-
-With this wise project in his head, he cross-questioned her very
-closely, on their way to the gaol, as to her parentage and station, to
-all which questions she gave such frank and straightforward answers,
-that he soon became acquainted with her private history.
-
-Mr. Hodson had been employed to make old Mrs. Knight's will, and well
-remembered the remarkable clause it contained with regard to the child
-of the poor vagrant found on the Heath, which, if proofs could be
-actually obtained that Dorothy was the daughter of Alice Knight, whether
-legitimately or illegitimately, would entitle her to a fortune of thirty
-thousand pounds, with all its immense accumulations of interest and
-compound interest, for so many years.
-
-It was a case worth looking into.
-
-The old woman's death-bed confession, which had been made in his
-presence, to Mr. Martin, fully established a fact only known to
-them--that the conscience-stricken murderess of the mother had
-discovered in the corpse of the poor vagrant, her grandchild; so that
-all that was now required to entitle her child to inherit this large
-fortune was the registration of its birth. If it had taken place in any
-workhouse, or public charitable institution, this might be obtained
-by offering suitable rewards, without the said Alice Knight had adopted
-a fictitious name.
-
-As the light began gradually to dawn upon his mind that this lovely girl
-was no other than Mrs. Knight's heiress, he rubbed his hands gleefully
-together, and told his fair visitor, that if she made him her friend, he
-might be able to put her in the way of obtaining a handsome fortune.
-
-Dorothy laughed, and looked incredulously at the plain, matter-of-fact
-lawyer.
-
-"How can I do that, sir? I have no money to give you."
-
-"Not at present, my dear; but you can bestow upon me more than the worth
-of money, this dear little white hand!"
-
-"Oh!" said Dorothy, snatching her hand from him, before he could convey
-it to his lips, and without adopting the affectation of pretending not
-to understand his meaning, "I cannot do that, for it is given away
-already."
-
-The lawyer's fine castle of a moment's building evaporated slowly into
-air, as he asked in a disconcerted tone:
-
-"To whom?"
-
-"A gentleman you know quite well. The Reverend Gerard Fitzmorris. It was
-he that directed me to you."
-
-"Oh, I see. The gentleman that was here a few days ago, Lord Wilton's
-cousin, and successor to the titles and estates. That is, in case the
-Earl does not marry again. Young lady, I offer you my sincere
-congratulations, on your prospect of becoming a countess, and I hope,"
-he continued, with great emphasis, "that you will forgive me, for
-wishing to secure the affections of such a charming young lady."
-
-"Oh, certainly. You are not much to be pitied, on so short an
-acquaintance," and Dorothy laughed merrily. "Had not the fortune
-something to do with it?" and she looked archly up in his face.
-
-"No, upon my honour, I was struck with your appearance before you told
-me who you were. But really, Miss Chance, or Knight, or whatever we can
-prove your name to be, we must not lose sight of this fortune, and if
-you will pay me say five thousand pounds provided I am able to establish
-your claims, will you empower me to take the necessary steps?"
-
-"But should you fail?"
-
-"In that case, I should not claim a farthing."
-
-"We will consult Gerard and Mr. Martin," said Dorothy, who thought that
-this might bring about proofs of her identity, that would satisfy Lord
-Wilton, and she felt in high spirits at the possible result of such a
-legal inquiry. So, quite forgetful of the sly lawyer's proposal to make
-her his second wife, she chatted with him during their way to the gaol,
-in the most friendly and confidential manner.
-
-She found Lawrence Rushmere, moping in the corner of the debtor's room,
-looking pale and haggard, with beard unshaven, and his uncombed locks
-falling round his face in tangled confusion. Running up to him, Dorothy
-flung her arms about his neck and tenderly embraced him. Rushmere looked
-up, and clasped her to his heart. "Dolly, is that you?"
-
-"Yes, dear father."
-
-"My dear girl, I be hearty glad to see thee. But what brought'ee, Dolly,
-to this confounded place?"
-
-"To take you out of it."
-
-"Where's Gilbert?" he asked, lowering his voice, and looking cautiously
-round lest the other debtors should hear him ask after his unworthy
-son.
-
-"Gone, father, no one knows whither. He went off with that bad girl,
-Martha Wood, who, I believe, has been at the bottom of all the
-mischief."
-
-"The young limb of iniquity. A fit companion for my son. And what has
-become of the wife?"
-
-"Gone back to London."
-
-"Joy go with her, she was a bad 'un. An' the cunning old witch, the
-mother?"
-
-"Has left Hadstone never to return."
-
-"An' the old place. What have they done with it?"
-
-"It is open to receive you, father, when you return with me. I will soon
-make it bright and cosy again."
-
-"Ah, well a day, Dolly. I hardly wish to see it again. It will only
-remind me o' happier days, o' a wife that I loved with my whole heart,
-o' a son that I can consider mine no longer. Who would ha' thought
-that such an excellent mother could ha' been parent to such a graceless
-bairn; that a good beginning should make such a sorry ending? Na,
-Dorothy, I cannot go back; even the bright black eyed lass, who might
-ha' been my daughter, but for my folly, is going to carry joy an'
-sunshine into another home. Let me bide, Dorothy, where I be! I can die
-as well here as in the old homestead."
-
-"I cannot lose my dear old father yet. Where I am, there shall always be
-a warm nook by the fireside for him."
-
-"Dolly, my darling, thou art one in a thousand. Yes, I will go with you.
-Reach me my hat and staff."
-
-The shrewd man of business thought with the yeoman that Dorothy was one
-in a thousand, and was not a little affected by her filial piety. He
-then accompanied Dorothy and her charge to the inn, and ordered a good
-dinner at his own expense, for the refreshments of the travellers. Over
-a glass of excellent home brewed, he told Rushmere of the hopes he
-entertained of securing Mrs. Knight's large bequest for the beautiful
-foundling. This news, however gratifying to the old man, on Dorothy's
-account, only served to increase the deep regret that was ever brooding
-in his mind, that his unreasonable obstinacy had been the cause of
-Gilbert's ruin and his own.
-
-It was night when they got to Heath Farm.
-
-Mrs. Martin and the good curate were there to welcome Rushmere back to
-his old home.
-
-With the assistance of Polly and Mrs. Sly, who had been at work all the
-day, Mrs. Martin had succeeded in restoring the house to its original
-order, the absence of which, during the misrule of Mrs. Gilbert's
-brief reign, had been such an eye-sore to the sturdy yeoman. He was
-perfectly astonished, and no less gratified, to find everything in its
-accustomed place.
-
-A bright fire was roaring up the huge chimney, as in the winter nights
-long passed away. A comfortable hot supper was smoking on the oak table,
-which was covered with a spotless cloth of Dorothy's own spinning. His
-easy chair in its own place, at the head of the hospitable board,
-fronting the portrait of his venerated ancestor, which had been cleaned
-from dust and fly spots, by Mrs. Martin's own hands.
-
-The grand old soldier of the covenant looked down from his lofty height,
-and, by the glow of the genial fire, seemed to smile benignantly on his
-care-worn descendant's sorrowful face.
-
-The old yeoman fixed his eyes long and lovingly on the time-honoured
-picture, then, stretching his large hands to the cheerful blaze,
-muttered to himself,--"The last. Am I to be the last o' his race that
-will leave the old place with an untarnished name? Oh, Gilbert! oh, my
-son! I had expected better things o' thee."
-
-The cheerful conversation of the good curate and his wife, and the
-caresses of Dorothy, succeeded at last in winning Lawrence Rushmere from
-his melancholy, and something of his former honest hearty expression
-beamed forth from his clear blue eyes. He joined earnestly in Henry
-Martin's beautiful evening prayer, which he declared had done him a
-world of good, and refreshed his weary spirit. When Dorothy lighted him
-up to bed, he whispered in her ear at parting, "I thought this morning,
-Dorothy, that a' never could feel happy or comfortable agen."
-
-It had been previously arranged by her friends that Dorothy was to
-remain at the Farm, as mistress of the establishment, until after
-Gerard's return, and do all she could to make her foster-father forget
-his past sorrows and present desolate position. Though such a result
-could hardly be expected at his age, she accomplished more than she had
-anticipated.
-
-She read to him the newspapers, sang to him the old ballads he loved so
-well, in her clear dulcet voice, and talked to him cheerfully of his
-future prospects,--of the pleasant days yet in store for him, if he
-would resolutely abandon vain regrets, and trust in the goodness and
-mercy of a loving God.
-
-Several days glided tranquilly away before she received a letter from
-Gerard, which informed her that the funeral procession would reach
-Hadstone at noon on the following day, when the burial of the young
-viscount would take place, Lord Wilton and himself being chief
-mourners, and Mr. Martin reading the service for the dead. He told her
-that he had found the Earl in better health and spirits than he
-expected. That his son had died in such a happy frame of mind, that it
-had done more to establish his belief in the great truths of the
-Christian religion, than a thousand homilies.
-
-We will pass over the funeral, with all its black and melancholy
-details, which seem to have been invented by our progenitors to add
-unnecessary horror to death. The pagan rites of Chinese idolaters have a
-far more spiritual meaning than our dismal funereal processions. The
-mourners wear robes of spotless white--young children strew beautiful
-flowers along the path to the grave, and accompany the dead to their
-peaceful rest with music and song, rejoicing in the birth of the
-spirit to a better world.
-
-The day after the funeral, Gerard Fitzmorris came in Lord Wilton's
-carriage to bring Dorothy up to Heath Hall, as the Earl was impatient to
-see her.
-
-On arriving at the stately mansion, they were immediately ushered into
-the noble library that had haunted Dorothy's dreams, since the day she
-first met her titled father.
-
-The Earl was standing, with folded arms, before the portrait of his
-beautiful mother, the resemblance between her and Dorothy having been
-rendered yet more striking by the air of refinement that education, and
-the society of superior minds, had given to the latter.
-
-At the sound of her light steps, the Earl held out his arms. Dorothy
-sank upon his breast, only uttering the simple word, "Father!"
-
-"My child, my beloved child!"
-
-For a long while he held her where nature had placed her, next his
-heart, and they mingled their tears together. Gerard walked to the
-window not less affected by their emotion.
-
-The Earl at length mastered his feelings, and, placing Dorothy on a
-sofa, he called Gerard to him, and taking a seat between them, held
-firmly a hand of each.
-
-"My dear children," he said, in a voice that still trembled with
-emotion, "the time for an explanation, of what must seem to you a
-strange and needless mystery, has arrived; and while I reveal my past
-sins and folly, I beg your earnest attention and forgiveness.
-
-"You, Dorothy Chance, are my child, born in lawful wedlock, the only
-fruit of my marriage with Alice Knight, the beautiful and unfortunate
-young _protégée_ of my mother, Lady Dorothy Granville.
-
-"You both know that I was a younger son. My eldest brother, Sir Thomas,
-being a strong healthy young man, I never entertained the least
-expectation of being called to fill his place. I was proud and poor,
-depending solely for my future position on my mother's jointure at her
-death, and my chance of rising in the army.
-
-"I was always haunted by a terrible dread of poverty, not that I loved
-money for its own sake, for I was reckless in the extravagant
-expenditure of my limited means, but I valued it for the power and
-_prestige_ that it always confers upon its fortunate possessors. To be
-esteemed as a man of fortune by the world, was at that time the height
-of my ambition, I was not aware of the little satisfaction that mere
-wealth, unconnected with better things, confers.
-
-"My grandfather, the late earl, had early singled me out as his future
-heir. I was his godson, and had been called after him, Edward
-Granville. He did not like my eldest brother, who was an honest,
-generous fellow, frank and independent to a fault, the very beau ideal
-of a soldier and a gentleman. He never would condescend to flatter the
-avaricious old man for the sake of his money.
-
-"My grandfather had a high veneration for rank, a feeling which my dear
-mother shared with him in common; both had an unmitigated horror of a
-mésalliance. This terror of mingling their pure old Norman blood with
-any one of inferior degree took a strong possession of my own mind,
-which was greatly strengthened by the often reiterated threat of the
-proud old aristocrat, that if I married beneath my rank, I should never
-possess a shilling of his vast wealth.
-
-"This great fortune he inherited from an uncle, who for many years had
-been governor of India, and died childless. I must confess that I was
-dreadfully jealous of the infant sons of his youngest daughter, by a
-second marriage. Not so much of you, Gerard, who, from an infant, shewed
-a proud and independent spirit; you were a sturdy democrat from your
-very cradle, and fearlessly urged the rights of man to the old earl, and
-laughed at his absurd prejudices, as unworthy and truly ignoble.
-
-"I entered hotly into all the vices and follies of a young man of
-fashion. The Earl forgave all these peccadilloes, paid my gambling
-debts, and excused every fault, so long as I flattered his weakness, and
-held his opinions. My regiment was ordered to America, and I saw some
-hot service, and soon acquired rank and position in the army. On my
-return to England, the Earl used his great influence to get me into
-Parliament. His wealth overcame all opposition, and I made no
-insignificant figure in the house, and was considered a rising young man
-of great promise.
-
-"It was during this period, the brightest and best in my life, as far as
-my worldly interests were concerned, that I married, with my
-grandfather's consent, the Lady Lucia Montressor, who, though an earl's
-daughter, was one of a large family of girls, who had no claims to
-wealth, but were handsome, accomplished women, looking out for rich and
-advantageous settlements. As the reputed favourite of the rich Earl
-Wilton, and considered by the public a man of talent, mine was
-considered a very eligible position.
-
-"I was really attached to my young wife, and sincerely grieved when she
-died in her beautiful girlhood, leaving me the father of a fine boy,
-only a few hours old.
-
-"My dear mother was much interested in my bereavement, and took home my
-motherless infant, while I went abroad on a secret mission for the
-Government. It was during my absence that lasted over two years, that
-she saw the neglected grand-daughter of a woman by the name of Knight,
-who kept a shop furnished with expensive foreign silks and laces, and
-much frequented by ladies of rank in the town of Storby.
-
-"Struck with the extraordinary beauty of the girl, who was in her
-fifteenth year, she took her under her own protection, to be nursery
-governess to my little Edward, and wait exclusively upon her person.
-
-"When I returned to Heath Hall, I found this incomparable girl, high in
-favour with Lady Dorothy, whom she accompanied with the child, in all
-her walks and drives. In this way we were often thrown together, when I
-found the charms of her mind equal to the graces of her person. I fell
-madly in love with her, and it was only then that I realised the truth
-that I had not loved before. My frantic passion absorbed my whole being.
-Obliged to be wary, I could make no outward demonstration of my
-admiration for my beautiful Alice, for fear of alarming the jealousy of
-my mother, which restraint served only to increase the vehemence of my
-attachment. To my infinite joy, I discovered that it was mutual.
-
-"The fear of losing my grandfather's patronage and with it his fortune,
-for a long while presented, as I supposed, an inseparable barrier to my
-making her my wife. To my grief and shame be it spoken, if I could have
-obtained her on less honourable terms, I should not have hesitated in
-adopting such an infamous course, but I found the innocent girl as
-virtuous as she was fair.
-
-"Then the thought struck me of marrying her privately and enjoining upon
-her the strictest secresy, until after the death of my rich relative
-should leave me at liberty, to make a public acknowledgment that she was
-my lawful wife. To this arrangement, Alice readily consented. An
-opportunity was not long in presenting itself.
-
-"Lady Dorothy spent a few weeks every summer at Bath. On this occasion I
-went with her; and Alice, as a matter of course, accompanied us with my
-child, of whom she was passionately fond, and I believe the little
-fellow loved her with as much devotion as he did his father.
-
-"There was a small retired old church, which, though belonging to the
-parish in which we lodged, was never frequented by aristocratic
-worshippers; my aunt having engaged seats in one situated in a more
-fashionable quarter of the town, where a celebrated preacher drew
-together large congregations.
-
-"In the little church of St. Mary's, Alice and I were married by banns,
-and the old superannuated incumbent delivered our names to his small
-flock in such mumbling tones, that they were unrecognised among a long
-string of unknown and unhonoured ones. Early one morning after the third
-publication of the said banns we were united by the old clergyman, whom
-I bribed pretty highly to keep our secret.
-
-"And we were happy, blessed beyond measure in our boundless love. If she
-had been dear to me before, she was doubly so now; if ever a man
-worshipped a woman, I did her. Our stolen meetings used to take place in
-a lonely unfrequented opening in the park, beneath the shade of a large
-oak tree. There we were once nearly surprised by poor Henry Martin, who
-had been brought up with Alice, and still entertained for her a violent
-passion.
-
-"Our dream of happiness vanished only too soon. My mother had gone to
-make a visit to the seat of a nobleman, about thirty miles distant, and
-could not return till next day, when I received a sudden notice from
-Government that my services were required in a most important mission to
-the court of Russia, and that I must leave for London without a moment's
-delay.
-
-"My uncle had been very active in obtaining for me this appointment,
-which, if well conducted, might lead to the governorship of some
-important colony among the British possessions. I dared not hesitate in
-accepting a post from which such great future results were to be
-expected. Even for her sake it behoved me to go.
-
-"But how could I leave Heath Hall without one last embrace, one last
-farewell to the beloved?
-
-"I got this appointment by the evening mail, and had to appear in London
-by ten o'clock the next morning, receive my dispatches, and sail
-immediately for St. Petersburgh, where it is probable that I might be
-detained for some months. I was, however, determined, if possible, to
-see her before I went, and rode a noble horse to death to obtain that
-object.
-
-"When I arrived at ---- Hall, it was long past midnight, the family had
-retired to rest, and the idea of obtaining an interview with my wife was
-utterly preposterous. I had nothing for it but to return to the London
-road, which skirted the park, and wait for the coming up of the night
-mail, my impatience having out-ridden the coach.
-
-"I was so dreadfully fatigued with my previous ride, that I had
-scarcely taken my seat before I fell asleep, and did not awake until the
-rumbling of the wheels upon the stones told me that I was in London.
-
-"Though dreadfully pressed for time, I wrote a brief letter to Alice,
-explaining the reason of my absence, and directing her to write to me
-through my agent in town. In a postscript I charged her most solemnly to
-keep our secret if she valued my peace and happiness. She had hidden
-from me the important fact of her pregnancy.
-
-"My poor darling kept our secret only too well. It was during that visit
-to ---- Hall that some prying domestic discovered her situation, which
-was whispered to other members of the household, till it reached my
-mother's ears.
-
-"I can well imagine Lady Dorothy's grief and indignation. A woman of
-stern morality, she was not very likely to forgive a dependent to whom
-she had been a sincere friend. Calling Alice into her presence, she
-taxed her with her crime, and demanded of her to name the father of the
-child. This the poor girl steadily refusing to do, my mother reproached
-her with ingratitude, and dismissed her from her service before she
-returned to Heath Hall.
-
-"I can well imagine the despair of the dear young wife when she found,
-upon reaching Storby, that I had left the country; no one could tell
-whither, without letting her know the cause of my seeming desertion. She
-never could have received my letter, though I paid a private messenger
-highly to deliver it into her own hand.
-
-"In this emergency she applied to her grandmother for protection, who,
-at first, ignorant of her cause for leaving Lady Dorothy, received her
-into the house. I have no doubt that had she taken the wise course of
-making a confidant of this wicked old woman, her pride and avarice would
-have been so highly gratified, that she would have given her a home
-without paying any regard to the disgrace attached to her name.
-
-"The discovery of her situation exasperated the old woman to fury. She
-did not even ask for an explanation, but thrust her from her doors with
-cruel words and coarse usage.
-
-"Thus far, I was informed by a man who waited in the shop, who told me
-that he was so much affected by the distressed looks of the affrighted
-girl, that it moved him to tears. After the shop was closed, he sought
-her through the town, but no one had seen or could give him any account
-of her retreat.
-
-"A report got into circulation, which made my mother very sorry for the
-part she had played in this tragedy, that Alice Knight had walked into
-the sea when the tide was coming in, and buried her shame and sorrow in
-the waves. I never could believe this story. I felt in my soul that she
-was still living, and loved me too well to have taken such a rash and
-wicked step. From the hour she left Mrs. Knight's house, her fate
-remained till very lately a mystery. How she passed the intervening
-period between the birth of Dorothy and her own melancholy death while
-in search of me will never be accurately known.
-
-"I was retained at the Court of St. Petersburgh for nearly three years.
-I wrote constantly under cover to my agent, to Alice, often sending her
-large sums of money, and was astonished when my man of business informed
-me after the lapse of twelve months, that all my letters had been
-returned from the dead letter office, as no such person as Alice Knight
-was to be found.
-
-"I then wrote to Lady Dorothy, confessing to her that I was the father
-of Alice Knight's child, and imploring her to tell me what had become of
-the mother and her babe.
-
-"Lady Dorothy died before this letter reached England, and her father,
-the Earl of Wilton, only survived her a few weeks, leaving to me the
-fortune for which I had sacrificed my wife and child, too late to afford
-me any pleasure.
-
-"The death of my eldest brother, which happened abroad, gave Lady
-Dorothy such a shock that she never got over it. I thus suddenly and
-unexpectedly became a wealthy and titled man.
-
-"I had married in the summer of the year 1797, and returned to England
-in July, 1800. On my way to Hadstone, I must have passed over the heath,
-during that dreadful storm, unconscious that the beloved object whose
-loss had plunged me into a state of incurable grief, was dying, exposed
-to its pitiless fury, in the wet hollow beneath.
-
-"From that hour until I met Dorothy, I could obtain no reliable
-information concerning my poor wife. When this dear girl first presented
-herself before me, and I saw in the glass the wonderful likeness, (which
-you, Gerard, cannot fail to recognize) between the country girl and my
-aristocratic mother, and through her to me, and heard the sound of her
-voice, so like my lost wife's, I could hardly refrain from clasping her
-in my arms, and telling her that she was my child.
-
-"The story of her mother's sad fate, the sight of the ring with which we
-were married, which belonged to my first wife, and had her initials and
-my own engraved on the reverse side, and the tress of Alice's exquisite
-golden brown hair, corresponding with a lock, which, at that moment, was
-lying next my heart, removed all doubts, if such indeed had ever
-existed, that the poor dead wanderer was my wife."
-
-"Forgive me, my lord, for interrupting you," said Gerard. "But how could
-you, being satisfied that this was the case, encourage an alliance
-between Dorothy and Gilbert Rushmere, a person so inferior to her in
-birth?"
-
-"She loved him, Gerard; was quite unconscious of her real position, and
-I thought the knowledge of it would not conduce to her happiness, if it
-separated her from her lover. Rank and wealth had been the means of
-destroying mine for ever. Besides my son was living, and likely to live,
-and I had no wish to reveal to the world that sad and blotted page in my
-life, for the sake of securing an heir.
-
-"Had Alice lived, I should have owned her as my wife to the world,
-exhibited the proofs of our marriage, and there the matter would have
-ended. But in legally claiming Dorothy, I should subject myself to the
-most painful and humiliating investigations, which going the rounds of
-the public papers, would be bruited abroad throughout the land. My
-children," he cried, in a tone of earnest entreaty, "it is in your power
-to save me from this terrible degradation."
-
-A frown was gathering upon Gerard's brow, and he said, with some
-asperity:
-
-"My lord, I do not quite understand your meaning. If you possess the
-legal proofs of Dorothy's legitimacy, you surely would not rob her of
-her birthright, to cover your own sin."
-
-"What does it matter to her, Gerard? if she becomes your wife, she would
-still be Countess of Wilton. I am certain by what I know of Dorothy's
-unselfish character, that she would rather receive her title through her
-husband than through a law process, which would make her father the most
-miserable of men.
-
-"What do you say, my daughter--will you insist upon the legal
-restitution of your rights, or be contented to receive them through your
-husband?"
-
-Dorothy rose from the Earl's supporting arms, and stood up before him,
-her eyes brightened, and a vivid flush crimsoned her cheeks, as she
-said, with an air of decision, which admitted of no misinterpretation:
-
-"My lord, I care neither for rank nor wealth. The vindication of my
-mother's honour is dearer to me than either. I will not bear the title
-of your daughter branded with an epithet I need not name."
-
-"Dorothy is right," replied Gerard. "I would not purchase her birthright
-on such dishonest terms. It would be a cruel injustice to both mother
-and daughter to let them bear the brand of shame, which a small
-sacrifice of personal vanity could remove."
-
-The Earl remained for a long time leaning his head upon his clasped
-hands, without speaking. At length, looking up with a deep sigh, he
-said, "Gerard, you press me very sore. I declare to you that I would
-rather die than expose my mental weakness in a court of justice."
-
-"It will clear your character from a foul stigma, my lord, the seduction
-of a beautiful young girl, and her supposed death in consequence of your
-desertion. But have you positive proofs of Dorothy being her child?"
-
-"I had not, until the day before I wrote to Dorothy, and I obtained them
-by a most singular chance.
-
-"When going up to London to meet my poor Edward, a wheel came off my
-carriage, and it required the aid of a blacksmith to repair the damage.
-I walked forward to the village, and went into a neat public house,
-while my servants found a smith. I thought I recognized in the master of
-the house an old tenant of mine, who had once kept a similar place of
-entertainment at Thursten, the village on the north of Hadstone.
-
-"Years had changed me so much, that he scarcely knew me again. After
-talking for some time about indifferent subjects, he told me, that the
-very day before, he had stumbled over a letter, that was given to him by
-a poor, miserable, sickly young woman, who stopped at his house late one
-July evening, eighteen years ago, and begged for a cup of milk and a bit
-of bread for her child, a beautiful little black eyed girl, barely two
-years old. 'My missus asked her,' he said, 'who she was, and where she
-was going?' She replied,
-
-"'That she had friends in Storby, whom she wanted to see. That she was
-very ill, and was going home to them to die. But in case she was too
-weak to get there, she wished me to send a letter she had in her pocket
-to Lord Wilton, as she expected that if he were at the Hall he would
-help her.'
-
-"'I took the letter, and thought that it was only some begging petition,
-and of little consequence, and our people were busy in the hay-field,
-and I forgot all about it. In the autumn I removed with my family to
-this place. I heard of the death of a young person answering to the
-description of the poor young woman, who had been at my house on the
-night of the tenth of July, who had been found on the heath by farmer
-Rushmere, who had adopted the little girl, but did not trouble myself
-to go and see the corpse.
-
-"'A few weeks ago, my wife died, and in looking over some of her little
-traps, to find a receipt, I stumbled on this letter, and though I
-daresay it is of little consequence to your lordship, or to any one else
-now, I may as well give it to you.'
-
-"This long forgotten document, contained a few lines from my poor Alice,
-enclosing the registration of the birth of Dorothy, in the lying-in
-hospital in London. You will find it enclosed in the packet I sent to
-Dorothy in case I should never return to England, and it fully
-identifies her as my child, and heiress to the title and estate of
-Wilton. There is, therefore, no difficulty in a legal point of view, and
-if you are both determined not to spare my feelings in the matter, I
-will immediately take the necessary steps for her recognition as my
-daughter."
-
-"I would, dearest father, willingly save you from any exposure, as far
-as I am myself concerned," replied Dorothy. "But would it be just to my
-poor mother? I am certain that your own good heart will acquiesce in my
-decision, that when you come to reflect more deeply on the matter, you
-will own that I am right. If this proof had been wanting, I think
-another one could have been obtained."
-
-She then related her interview with Mr. Hodson, and his proposal of
-trying to gain legal evidence of her being the child of Alice Knight, in
-order to put her in possession of the large fortune left to her by her
-grandmother, which, if followed up, would likewise involve the discovery
-of her title to the estates of Wilton.
-
-"What I am to do with all this wealth puzzles me," she continued. "It is
-a great trust placed in my hands by the Almighty, which will enable me,
-if rightly applied, to do much good to my less fortunate fellow
-creatures."
-
-The Earl folded her in his arms.
-
-"Dorothy, my beloved child! you have conquered, for you are more
-righteous than your father. May the blessing of the merciful God, who
-has watched over you all the days of your life, for ever rest upon your
-head. I have been weak and cowardly. You have proved yourself great and
-noble, and well worthy of your happy destiny."
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER XI.
-
-  A PAINFUL RECOGNITION.
-
-
-Immediate steps were now taken by the Earl to establish Dorothy's
-claims, and while the suit was pending, he yielded to her earnest
-request to remain at Heath Farm with her old protector, Lawrence
-Rushmere, who was still ignorant of the great future anticipated for his
-adopted daughter.
-
-The old yeoman had grown so fond of her since the desertion of his son,
-that he could hardly bear her out of his sight. The responsibilities of
-a lofty station weighed heavily on her mind, and there were moments
-when she sincerely wished her lot might be cast midway between poverty
-and riches, and she might avoid the humiliation of the one, and great
-temptations incidental to the other.
-
-There never was a period in her life when pride exerted so little
-influence over her, or she thought more humbly of herself. She became
-pensive and silent, and, being now entirely exempt from domestic
-drudgery, passed much of her time in reading and serious reflection.
-
-Gerard remarked the change that had passed over Dorothy, but attributed
-it to the extreme conscientiousness of her character, which made her
-consider herself unfitted by previous habits and education to fill a
-lofty station. Once, when she had opened her mind to him on the subject,
-and not without tears, lamented her ignorance of the usages of
-fashionable society, and wished that she could have remained with him
-always in the country, the happy and useful wife of a village pastor. He
-gently chid her for her want of faith.
-
-"You possess qualities, Dorothy, that are truly noble, that would do
-honour to any station. Human nature is the same in every class, and
-those who have prized you when only a country girl, working in the
-fields, will not hold you in less estimation when transported to a
-higher sphere. Only retain the same natural unaffected manners, that
-charmed my heart in simple Dorothy Chance, and I know enough of the
-society you so much dread, to assure you that you need not feel the
-least alarm for the result."
-
-But Dorothy still doubted and feared, and shrunk from the public
-expressions of interest and curiosity, which could not fail to be
-exerted in her case.
-
-When Lord Wilton determined to do what was right, he became happy and
-contented, and never let a day pass without paying her a visit to inform
-her how the suit was progressing. Lawrence Rushmere marvelled at the
-Earl's condescension, and was so won over by his kindness, that he no
-longer regarded him as his hereditary enemy. One day the portrait of the
-soldier of the Covenant caught the Earl's eye. He started up to examine
-it, then turned to Rushmere, and spoke with animation.
-
-"I have often heard of that picture, and feel as proud of my descent
-from that glorious old fellow as you do, who are his lineal
-representative, and bear his name."
-
-"How do you make that out, my lord?" said the yeoman. "It is the first
-time I ever heard that the blood of a Rushmere ran in the veins of a
-Fitzmorris."
-
-"You don't seem greatly honoured by the relationship," returned the
-Earl, laughing. "But whether or no, what I say is strictly true. My
-grandfather, Sir Lawrence Fitzmorris, was grandson to that famous
-roundhead, by his eldest daughter Alena, and bore his Christian name.
-You and I, my worthy old friend, are cousins in the third degree; will
-you acknowledge me as a kinsman?"
-
-"Aye, that a' wull wi' my heart in my hand," cried Rushmere, grasping
-the nobleman's outstretched hand, who could have dispensed with at least
-one half of the energetic pressure that compressed his thin white
-fingers within the strong grip of the honest tiller of the soil.
-
-"Dear, dear!" he continued, "if a' had only known that afore, I should
-ha' thought a deal more o' your Lordship."
-
-"I have something to tell you which will surprise you much more,
-Lawrence. This little girl, Dorothy, whom you adopted as your own, is
-descended from him too."
-
-"Now, my lord, you be surely making fun o' me; for nobody in the world
-knows who Dolly's mother was, still less her father. I ha' been puzzling
-my brain about that secret for the last sixteen years, without finding
-it out. It was the want of knowing who she was, that has ruined both me
-and my son."
-
-"She is my daughter, Lawrence. The poor woman that you found dead on
-Hadstone Heath, was Alice Knight, a beautiful girl, whom you may
-remember was adopted by my mother, Lady Dorothy. She was my wife, and
-the mother of our Dorothy."
-
-"The Lord a' mercy!" cried Rushmere, starting to his feet. "An' you let
-the poor lass die for want, an' her child work for her bread, in the
-house of a stranger. You may call yourself noble, an' all that, Lord
-Wilton, but I should feel prouder of the relationship of a poor, honest
-man."
-
-"I do not blame you, Rushmere. My conduct, from the view you take of it,
-must appear atrocious indeed. But I was as ignorant of the facts as you
-were."
-
-"But how could your lawful wife come to such a state o' destitution? Did
-a' play you false?"
-
-"I will tell you how it all happened," returned Lord Wilton, "and you
-will be more ready to forgive me, as the unfortunate worship of the
-golden calf, which I find is an hereditary sin, brought about this
-unhappy affair."
-
-Drawing his seat beside the old yeoman, he told him the story the reader
-has just learned from the preceding chapter, patiently submitting to
-his blunt cross-questioning on many points, that could not fail to be
-very distressing to his feelings.
-
-"Well, my lord," he said, when he had listened with intense interest to
-the said history, "I am sartain sure I should ha' done exactly as you
-did. Such a fortin as that very few men could ha' resisted. It was a
-sore temptation, there's no doubt. I allers thought that yon poor
-creature had been summat above her condition. She had bonny hair, an'
-the smallest foot an' hand in the world. People that work hard, allers
-show it most in the extremities. Labour calls out the muscles and
-sinews, makes the limbs large, an' gives breadth more than height to the
-figure, tans the complexion, an' makes it ruddy an' coarse. To such as I
-this be real beauty, but you lords of the creation prefer a white
-skinned, die away, half dead an' alive sort o' a cretur, to a well
-grown healthy buxom lass like our Dorothy, who ha' grown up just as God
-made her, whom all the delicate women folk envy, an' all the young men
-are mad arter. She be just what I call a beauty."
-
-Dorothy laughed at her foster-father's ideas of real beauty, and told
-him that she was not at all flattered by his description, as she was
-very much afraid the gentle folks would consider it "_barn-yard
-beauty_."
-
-"Don't you mind what they call it, my Lady Dorothy. I 'spose I must call
-you so now. You need not be ashamed to show your face anywhere; all I be
-afeared on is this, that when you go home to live in the grand old Hall,
-that belonged to him," pointing up to the picture, "you'll forget the
-cross old man who was father to you, when you had none. An' you might
-ha' been my own darter too," he added, with a sigh, "but for my greed.
-An' your children an' Gilbert's might have inherited the home of my
-ancestors. I was nigh cursing Gilbert 'tother day, but Gilly has more
-cause to curse me. Alack, alack, what poor miserable blind creatures we
-be! It is well for us, that God's providence is at work behind it all."
-
-"Father, you need never fear my forgetting you," said Dorothy; "I have
-known this change in my fortunes a long time; and have you found any
-alteration in my regard?"
-
-"An' did a' wait upon the old man for the last three months, an' knew a'
-was a titled lady all the time?"
-
-"I'm not a titled lady to you, dear father, but always your own little
-Dorothy. Where I am--you must go too, and when I leave Heath Farm, you
-will have to go to Heath Hall, for I cannot live without you; and kind
-Mrs. Brand has prepared a nice room for you; and we will try and make
-you forget all the past troubles," and she put her arm round his neck
-and kissed him.
-
-"Rushmere, I shall grow jealous of you," said Lord Wilton, "if my
-daughter bestows on you more kisses than she gives me. What Dorothy says
-is perfectly true; she considers you too old to trouble about the farm,
-that it is high time you should rest from labour. You must allow her to
-have her own way in this matter. I have no doubt that she will contrive
-to make you happy."
-
-A week later, and Dorothy's claims were established on a legal basis,
-and all the country rang with the romantic tale.
-
-Mrs. Lane put on her best bonnet and hurried up to Nancy Watling, with
-the newspaper in her hand. She had run every step of the way, a good
-half mile, for fear Miss Watling should hear the news from any one else,
-and when she burst into the parlour, she was too much out of breath to
-speak.
-
-Miss Watling ran upstairs for her smelling bottle, thinking that the
-good woman was going to faint. By the time, however, that she reached
-the parlour, the vendor of small wares had recovered the use of her
-tongue.
-
-"Well, Miss Watling," she cried, still panting, "the mystery's all out
-at last. Dorothy Chance is Lord Wilton's _own_ daughter! and that poor
-beggar woman, as you was used to call her, was no other than Alice
-Knight, rich old Mrs. Knight's daughter, whom the Earl's good mother
-adopted, and he married unbeknown to her."
-
-"I'll not believe a word of it!" said Nancy, resolutely.
-
-"Why, woman, it's all here in the paper," and Mrs. Lane tapped the
-important document significantly, "and as true as gospel. Do you suppose
-the Earl would allow the newspapers to meddle with his private affairs?
-Don't you hear the bells ringing; and if you come down to the village
-with me, you'll see all the flags a flying, and them who has no flags,
-puts out o' their windows quilts and hankerchers. Oh, it's true, true,
-and I be right glad on it. I allers did think Dorothy Chance a fine
-girl."
-
-"I wonder how her ladyship bears her new dignity?" said Miss Watling,
-waspishly.
-
-"As meek as a lamb," returned Mrs. Lane.
-
-"How the old man will fret and fume that Gilbert did not marry her. It
-serves him right, at any rate."
-
-"How money do make people turn about," continued Mrs. Lane. "It was
-only this time last year that I heard you praise old Rushmere for
-turning Dorothy out o' doors. Before another week is over, you will be
-boasting of her acquaintance.
-
-"Good morning, Nancy, I can't stay longer. The butcher has promised to
-give me a cast in his cart, as far as Barfords. I know Jane Barford will
-be glad of any good that happens to Dorothy."
-
-And off went the little bustling woman to spread the glad tidings in
-every house she passed.
-
-Miss Watling's envy of Dorothy was greatly diminished by her exaltation
-to rank and fortune. She was now too far above her to provoke
-competition, and she began to praise what she could not pull down.
-
-Mrs. Lane was right, when she anticipated the hearty congratulations
-of Mrs. Barford; even Letty stopped her churn, and, clapping her hands,
-said:
-
-"Who wud ha' thought that we shud ever have a titled lady for a dairy
-maid, or that a countess wud nurse my boy, Tommy. It do seem jist like a
-fairy tale."
-
-"Yes," returned old Mrs. Barford, "and Dorothy may be considered as the
-queen of the fairies. If Gilbert's in England, I wonder what he will say
-to all this? As to Dorothy, she had a good miss of him. They do say that
-he made that other woman a wretched husband."
-
-"I'm thinking," said Letty, sententiously, "that it wor the wretch o' a
-woman that made him a bad wife. What he could see in that dirty,
-impudent wench, Martha Wood, to run off wi' un, 'stonishes I more than's
-marrying yon stuck up Gallimaufry from Lunnon."
-
-"Nothing need astonish you, Letty, that is done by a drunken man. But in
-this matter of Dorothy Chance, Lawrence Rushmere was more to blame than
-his son, and a fine mess he has made of it. Howsomever, I don't believe
-that people can marry just whom they like. God mates them, and not man,
-or we should not see such strange folk come together."
-
-"If that be true, mother," cried Letty, with unusual vivacity, "how can
-yer go on from day to day, fretting an' nagging, an' blaming Joe for
-marrying I? If I had to be his wife, he wor forced to take I, whether or
-no."
-
-This was rather a poser to Mrs. Barford's favourite theory, on which
-much might be said for and against, and which still remains an unsolved
-enigma. The old lady was wont to excuse her own imprudent marriage on
-the score of its being _her fate_. She took up her knitting and began
-rattling her pins vigorously, as if perfectly unconscious of her
-daughter-in-law's sensible remark.
-
-There was one, however, to whom the change in Dorothy's social position
-brought no joy, producing the most bitter disappointment, and giving
-rise to vindictive and resentful feelings. This was Gilbert Rushmere.
-
-Before leaving Heath Farm with Martha Wood, he had secured a tolerably
-large sum of money by the sale of the farm horses, which had been
-accomplished without the knowledge of his father. With this sum, it was
-his intention of taking his passage to America; but meeting in London
-some of his gambling associates, they had prevailed upon him to stay,
-until fleeced in his turn of all his ill-gotten store, he was reduced to
-the necessity of acting as a decoy duck, in a low tavern, which was the
-common resort of men even yet more fallen and degraded than himself.
-
-He was sitting maudling over a strong potation of gin and water, after a
-night of riot and debauchery, in an underground kitchen in this den of
-infamy, striving to drown the recollection of former respectability in
-the maddening glass. His red bloated face, unshaven chin and matted
-hair, contrasted painfully with the faded uniform that seemed to claim
-for its wearer the title of a gentleman.
-
-It is not the murderer alone who bears upon his brow the stamp of Cain.
-Vice marks all her degraded victims with an unerring sign, which reveals
-to the spectator the depths of their debasement. This sign is so
-distinctly traceable in the countenance of a wicked man, that a little
-child--nay even a dog--alike unconscious of the cause of this physical
-degradation, sees that something is wrong, and shrinks instinctively
-from his companionship. If a good man feels it difficult to maintain the
-straight onward path of prescribed duty, the downward career of the
-wicked man has no stumbling blocks in the way. Every step accelerates
-his speed, till he gains, by a final plunge in deeper guilt, the
-dreadful goal.
-
-That miserable man, in his half conscious state, with his unwashed face
-and soiled garments, and brutalized expression, is a sad illustration of
-such a frightful career.
-
-Scarcely a year has expired, when, a brave, honest soldier, he was
-respected by his comrades, the pride of his parents, and the beloved of
-a virtuous woman, and held an honourable and independent position. He
-then gave a fair promise of becoming a useful member of society. Look at
-him now leaning on that dirty table, drivelling over the accursed
-liquor, for which he has bartered body and soul, and to obtain which he
-has to herd with ruffians yet more fallen and degraded than himself.
-
-His shameless companion deserted him when he was no longer able to
-gratify her vanity, by the purchase of fine clothes and bogus jewellery.
-Of his wife and her mother he neither knows nor cares, and never names
-them without a curse, as the author of his misery.
-
-His glass is out, and he is just going to fling himself upon the dirty
-floor, to sleep off the headache due to last night's shameless orgies.
-"Hullo! Rush! You're not going to sleep?" cries one of the gang,
-entering in his shirt sleeves, with a newspaper in his hand. "In less
-than an hour you'll have plenty of work to do. If you are in your senses
-rouse up and read this, to keep your eyes open till the governor wants
-you."
-
-Rubbing his eyes with a dreadful oath, and wishing his companion in the
-place to which he is himself fast hastening, Gilbert staggered up, and
-sat down once more by the greasy table.
-
-"It's hard that you won't leave me alone, Boxer. This life's killing me.
-My head aches confoundedly. I want to go sleep, 'to forget my misery,'
-as that jolly old dog, Solomon, has it, 'and remember my poverty no
-more.'"
-
-"This paper will wake you up. It's the history of your old sweetheart,
-Dolly, that you are always boring me about. Not that I believe a word of
-all that now. Not a very likely tale that such a girl as that would have
-anything to say to such a chap as you. A nice fellow, an't you, for a
-lady of rank to break her heart about."
-
-"Don't bother me!" yawned Gilbert. "If there's anything worth hearing,
-can't you tell me without my having the trouble to read it."
-
-"There--see for yourself," cries the other, flinging the paper at his
-head. "My eyes! but you lost a fine chance, if ever it was in your power
-to win it."
-
-Gilbert mechanically picked up the paper, and went to a dresser under
-the only window in the room to find out what his companion meant.
-
-The columns were filled with the termination of the famous suit that had
-pronounced Dorothy Chance the legitimate daughter of Lord Wilton, and
-secured to her the accumulated wealth left by her grandmother, Mrs.
-Knight.
-
-Whether it was the liquor that had maddened him, the sense of his own
-degradation, or the full consciousness of all that he had lost, by his
-cruel desertion of Dorothy, the news contained in that paper rendered
-him furious. He raved and swore--cursing his own folly and his father's
-avarice, that had hindered him from being the fortunate possessor of
-all this wealth. For Dorothy herself he no longer cared. He had sunk too
-low in the mire of iniquity to love a pure and virtuous woman; but the
-idea of another possessing her, filled him with rage and envy, and he
-swore with a terrible oath that Dorothy Chance should never be the wife
-of Gerard Fitzmorris; that he would have his revenge or die in the
-attempt.
-
-His vicious comrades laughed at him, and made fun of his awful
-imprecations, but the gloomy determination in his eyes proved that he at
-least was not in joke.
-
-What a mercy it is that people are generally unconscious of the evils
-plotting against them, that the sorrows of the coming hour are hid
-beneath the folded wings of the future.
-
-While her quondam lover was plotting all sorts of mischief against her,
-to disturb her peace, Dorothy had taken her first journey to London, in
-company with her father. Her presence was necessary to sign important
-papers, and to prepare a suitable outfit for her marriage, which was to
-take place the first of May.
-
-A noble suite of apartments had been prepared at Heath Hall for the
-reception of the bride and bridegroom on their return to Hadstone, after
-their bridal tour, which, owing to Gerard's strict notions of the sacred
-obligations of his profession, and the little time that a faithful
-pastor can afford to devote to his own gratification, was to be of short
-duration,--embracing a brief visit to the Highlands of Scotland, and a
-glance at the English lakes on their homeward route.
-
-To a young girl brought up in the seclusion of a very retired country
-life, who can catch but a faint echo from the great world to which she
-is an entire stranger, the metropolis, seen at a distance, through the
-dazzling medium of the imagination, is believed to be a wonderful place;
-a city full of enchantments, where beauty and wealth meet you at every
-turn, and cares and sorrows are forgotten in an endless round of
-dissipation and pleasure. The reality of those diversions and enjoyments
-soon makes them distasteful to a sensitive and reflective mind, who can
-discern the sharp thorns thickly studding the stem of the rose, and who
-will not sacrifice peace of mind and integrity to secure the fleeting
-flowers of popular applause.
-
-Dorothy, whose tastes were all simple and natural, felt lonely and
-disappointed in the crowded streets of the great city. Their amusements
-and pursuits were so different to those to which she had been
-accustomed, that it required time and reflection to reconcile her to the
-change.
-
-She cared very little for expensive jewels and magnificent attire, and
-did not feel at home in the splendid halls and saloons of the wealthy
-and high-born. When arrayed for the first time in a costume befitting
-her rank, to attend a great ball given by the beautiful Duchess of----,
-and led before the mirror to admire the charming image it reflected, the
-simple girl shocked her lady's maid--a very great lady indeed in her own
-estimation--by turning from the glass and bursting into tears.
-
-Her romantic story had excited the greatest interest in the public mind.
-Crowds collected round the Earl's town residence to catch a glimpse of
-his beautiful daughter when she took a drive in the carriage, and men
-and women vied with each other in extolling the charms of her person and
-the unaffected grace of her deportment. Songs were made and sung in her
-praise, and wherever she appeared she was forced to submit to the
-flatteries and adulations of a crowd of admirers.
-
-This was all very painful to Dorothy; it oppressed her, restrained her
-natural freedom, and rendered her a silent passive observer in the
-society in which she might have shone. She was not insensible to the
-admiration of the new friends, who had so graciously received her into
-their charmed circle, but she longed to get out of it, and find herself
-once more in the country.
-
-She wrote daily to her lover an account of all she heard and saw, which
-helped to beguile the tedium of a separation. In answer to a paragraph
-in one of his letters, she said:--
-
-"You are afraid, dear Gerard, that I may be induced to forget you,
-surrounded by so many admirers; that all this gaiety and ball-going may
-give me a taste for frivolous amusements, and spoil my heart. It cannot
-damage what it never touches--I hardly know I have a heart; it lies so
-still under this weight of jewels and brocade. It is only in the silence
-of my own chamber, when my thoughts flow back to you, that it awakes to
-life and happiness.
-
-"Everything strikes me as hollow and false, in the life I am at present
-compelled to lead. People live for the world and its opinions, and not
-for each other, still less for God. They dare not be simple and natural,
-and love the truth for its own sake--the blessed truth that would set
-them free from all these conventional forms and ceremonies, that shackle
-the soul and deaden all its heavenward aspirations. You will laugh at
-me, Gerard, when I declare to you that I have experienced more real
-enjoyment in working among the new-mown hay, and inhaling its delicious
-perfume, when the skylark was warbling in the blue heaven above me,
-than I have ever known in these crowded palaces, following the dull
-routine of what my noble young friends term pleasure. You need not fear
-such gorgeous insipidities will ever wean me from the love of nature, or
-make me indifferent to the quiet happiness of a country life, the higher
-enjoyment of being useful and striving to benefit others."
-
-On several occasions, when riding out with her father, Dorothy had been
-startled by observing a face in the crowd that bore a strong resemblance
-to Gilbert Rushmere, but haggard and degraded, regarding her with a
-fixed scowling stare of recognition, from which she shrunk with feelings
-of terror and disgust. Why did this person follow her whenever she
-appeared in public, glaring upon her with those wild bloodshot eyes,
-with unequivocal glances of hatred and ferocity.
-
-It was impossible that it could be Gilbert, and yet the fear that the
-presence of this person never failed to inspire, convinced her, much as
-she repressed the ungenerous idea, that it was he, and no other. Once,
-when dismounting at her milliner's in Bond Street, she was so near to
-him, that they were almost face to face. He put his sole remaining hand
-hastily into the breast pocket of his coat, as if to deliver something
-to her, but was pushed back, and told to get out of the lady's way by
-the footman, and, with a glare of rage and disappointment, had shrunk
-back among the crowd.
-
-This frightful apparition haunted her for several days, and disturbed
-her mind so much that she kept close in doors, pleading indisposition to
-avoid her usual drive.
-
-
-
-
-  CHAPTER XII.
-
-  IN CONCLUSION.
-
-
-Her marriage, which took place a few days after this painful rencounter,
-banished all these vague fears and surmises, and made her the happy
-bride of the man she loved.
-
-It was conducted in a very quiet manner, and, after partaking of the
-splendid _déjeuner_ prepared for the occasion, and receiving the
-congratulations of the noble guests who honoured it with their presence,
-she started with her husband in a private carriage for the north.
-
-After a delightful tour of several weeks, she rejoined her father in
-London, received her bridal visits, and, full of hope and happiness,
-proceeded with him to take possession of the princely home that was to
-be her future residence.
-
-Great were the preparations made by the good folks of Hadstone, to
-welcome their beloved pastor and his beautiful bride. The gardens and
-meadows had been rifled of their June blossoms to strew the path from
-the village to the park gates, where a triumphal arch of ever-greens
-crossed the road, from which gay silken banners floated forth upon the
-breeze, emblazoned with mottos of joyful welcome.
-
-The road was lined with crowds of people in their holiday attire, to
-hail the approach of the bridal party, and when the _cortège_ came in
-sight, the air rang with deafening shouts and acclamations.
-
-An elegant open carriage, drawn by four noble grey horses, contained the
-bridal party. The Earl and Lawrence Rushmere, whom they had taken up at
-Heath Farm, occupied the front seat. The old man had been provided with
-a dress suitable for the occasion, and his fine patriarchal face was
-lighted up with gratified pride and pleasure.
-
-Lady Dorothy, dressed in a simple but elegant morning costume, was
-seated beside her husband in the body of the equipage, and received the
-congratulations of her rustic friends with smiles of undisguised
-pleasure. A charming incarnation she was of youth and beauty. Mr. and
-Mrs. Martin followed in a private carriage with the children.
-
-If Gerard Fitzmorris was not a proud and happy man, his face belied him.
-
-A public dinner was to be served in the park to the poor of the parish,
-and parents and children were dressed in their best attire, their
-smiling faces beaming with gladness.
-
-The carriage drew up beneath the triumphal arch, and the Earl rose to
-thank the people for the hearty welcome they had given to him and his
-daughter.
-
-He had scarcely raised his hat, and uttered the first sentence, when a
-tall haggard looking man, bare-headed and covered with dust, rushed from
-behind the arch to the door of the carriage, and fired a pistol with his
-left hand at the Lady Dorothy, who, uttering a faint cry, sank
-insensible into the arms of her husband.
-
-All was now terror and confusion.
-
-The Earl sprang from his seat to secure the assassin, amidst the groans
-and execrations of the excited multitude.
-
-With a fiendish laugh the ruffian discharged the contents of another
-weapon into his own mouth, and fell a hideous corpse beneath the feet
-of the horses. He was instantly dragged out of sight by several men in
-the crowd, and the mangled remains conveyed to a neighbouring cottage.
-
-The dreadful deed had been the work of a moment, and, pale and trembling
-with the sudden shock, the Earl grasped convulsively the door of the
-carriage. The sight of his daughter, her white dress stained with her
-blood, seemed to recall him to consciousness. "Is she dead?" he gasped.
-
-"No, my lord," said Dr. Davy, who had been examining the nature of the
-injury she had received, and who now dismounted to assist the nobleman
-into his carriage. "The wound is not a dangerous one. It was aimed at
-the lady's heart, but at the moment the ruffian fired, she
-providentially put up her arm to raise her veil, which has received the
-ball of the assassin. The sooner we can convey her home the better."
-
-Gerard's handkerchief had formed a temporary bandage to stop the
-effusion of blood, and as he held his fair young wife in his arms his
-face was as pale and rigid as her own. "How quickly," he thought, "does
-sorrow tread in the footsteps of joy. How little of real happiness can
-be expected in a world on which rests the curse of sin, the shadows of
-the grave."
-
-Dorothy did not recover from her fainting fit until after they reached
-the Hall, and she had been conveyed to bed. Then followed the painful
-operation of extracting the ball from her right arm, where it was lodged
-about four inches above the elbow, and dressing and bandaging the wound,
-which Dr. Davy assured the anxious father and husband, would only prove
-a temporary inconvenience of a few weeks at the farthest.
-
-Dorothy bore the operation without a murmur, placing her left hand in
-that of her husband, and leaning her head upon his breast. When it was
-over she was gently laid back upon her pillow, and given a composing
-draught to induce sleep.
-
-"Gerard," she whispered, "did you see that unhappy man?"
-
-"No, my love."
-
-"It was Gilbert Rushmere. Has he escaped?"
-
-"From the punishment due to his crime? Yes."
-
-"Thank God! I would not have him suffer death on my account. Oh, Gerard,
-if you had seen his eyes--the look he gave, when he fired. It was not
-Gilbert Rushmere but some demon in his shape."
-
-"Hush, my precious wife. You must not talk and distress yourself. Your
-wound, though not dangerous, may be rendered so, by want of rest and
-excitement." But Dorothy was too much agitated to sleep.
-
-"Did his poor father see him?"
-
-"I think not. The whole thing was so sudden and unexpected, that
-Rushmere was not conscious of it until after it was all over."
-
-"Try and keep him from knowing who the assassin was. Tell him that it
-was the act of a madman in the crowd."
-
-"Dorothy, we must not do evil that good may come of it, or attempt to
-cover crime by uttering an untruth. Leave the sinner to his God, and
-speak of him no more."
-
-"And the people, Gerard. You must not disappoint them of their dinner.
-Tell them from me, that I shall soon be well. That I wish them all to be
-happy. Ah, me!" and she closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "This is a
-dismal ending to a day that dawned so pleasantly. That unhappy man. May
-God have mercy upon him, and bring him to repentance." She spoke no
-more, and to the infinite relief of her husband and Mrs. Martin, who had
-constituted herself as nurse, soon dropped into a profound sleep.
-
-This sad affair threw a great damp upon the joy of the people. Their gay
-shouts were converted into sorrowful ejaculations. Though the roasted ox
-was eaten--the barrels of strong ale drank--and the children did ample
-justice to Mrs. Brand's excellent plum-pudding, they dispersed sadly and
-sorrowfully, when the meal was ended.
-
-Lady Dorothy awoke in a high fever, and for several days was considered
-in imminent danger. This was not caused by the wound, the ball having
-penetrated only an inch beneath the skin, but from the severe shock her
-nervous system had sustained from witnessing a scene so terrible.
-
-She still fancied herself in the carriage, surrounded by the gaping
-crowd, and encountered the frenzied gaze of the maniac, as he aimed at
-her the deadly weapon. Unconscious of his last desperate act, she would
-cling to her husband, and cry out in a tone of agonized earnestness.
-
-"He is mad! Don't kill him. Let him escape. I loved him once. I cannot
-see him die."
-
-As a natural antidote to this state of mental excitement, Gerard thought
-it best, during a brief interval of composure, to reveal to her the
-facts of the case, which calmed at once her agitation, by causing her to
-shed tears. He suffered her to weep for some time without disturbing her
-with any remark.
-
-He had more than once experienced that the truth, however painful, is
-more endurable, and fraught with less danger to the human frame, than a
-state of suspense; that the natural elasticity of the mind, when the
-worst is known, and nothing remains to hope or fear, reconciles us to a
-blow that we cannot avert, and which becomes irrevocable as fate.
-
-After lying quiet for some time, Dorothy opened her large black eyes,
-and, looking earnestly in her husband's face, said in a low voice,
-"Gerard, is there any harm in praying for the dead?"
-
-"I should think not, darling. Nature herself prompts such prayers. Cold
-must that heart be who can witness the death of a parent or friend, or
-even of an enemy, without breathing an inward prayer for the salvation
-of his soul. This impulse is almost instinctive in the human heart, and
-few, I believe, could be found, except the hardened sinner, who have
-not uttered such prayers, when bending over the loved and lost. At the
-same time, sweet wife, I must add, that these prayers, however pious and
-natural, cannot do any good to the dead, or change the sentence of a
-just God. But they are of service to the living, in filling the soul
-with a gentle charity, and bringing it into solemn communion with Him
-who has extracted the sting from death, and risen victorious from the
-grave."
-
-"Ah," sighed Dorothy, "how thankful we ought to be that the future is
-mercifully hidden from us. Who could endure all the trials of life, if
-they could see them in advance? Our moments of gladness are often more
-nearly allied to sorrow than those of grief. The terrible reverse is so
-hard to bear." Gerard fondly kissed the pale, earnest speaker, and,
-kneeling beside her bed, uttered a fervent prayer of thanksgiving that
-it had pleased God to restore his dear young wife to reason.
-
-In a few weeks she was able to sit up, and receive the visits of
-sympathizing friends.
-
-Little now remains for us to record of the eventful history of this
-truly noble woman.
-
-The fortune she inherited from her grandmother was entirely devoted to
-charitable purposes. She caused to be erected at Storby an hospital for
-the sick, and a house of refuge for infirm and ship-wrecked mariners.
-
-She built a comfortable almshouse for aged and destitute widows, and a
-school and asylum for orphan children, whom she made her especial care.
-Her chief delight was in doing good, and contributing to the happiness
-of others, in which charitable occupation she enjoyed the hearty
-co-operation of a man, well worthy of being the husband and bosom
-friend of such an excellent wife.
-
-Lady Dorothy became the mother of four noble promising boys, and one
-lovely girl named after her mother, Alice. The Earl, and her
-foster-father, who shared her home, lived to see her sons grow up to
-men, and to mingle their tears with hers, over the grave of her only
-daughter, who died in her innocent childhood.
-
-The portrait of the soldier of the Covenant had been removed from Heath
-Farm, and placed among the pictures of the Earl's ancestors; and old
-Rushmere would rub his hands while contemplating it, and declare "that
-old Sir Lawrence was now in his proper place."
-
-Dorothy had named her second son Lawrence Rushmere, after her
-foster-father, and the boy was the especial pet and darling of the
-venerable patriarch.
-
-"Edward, and Gerard, and Thomas might be fine lads," he said, "but they
-were none of them, so clever and handsome as his own Larry."
-
-The Earl erected a beautiful monument over the grave of his unfortunate
-countess, and resisted all Dorothy's earnest entreaties to cut down the
-melancholy yew that kept the sunbeams from visiting her mother's grave.
-
-"The spot is holy ground, my Dorothy. The mournful tree, a fit emblem
-for love like ours, which was cradled in sorrow, and whose constancy
-survives the grave. There, too, I hope to sleep in peace, by the side of
-the beloved."
-
-
-    THE END.
-
-
-
-
-    Transcriber's Note: A number of paragraph ending periods were
-    missing and have been corrected. The word cooly is now coolly.
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World Before Them, by Susanna Moodie
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