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diff --git a/42174-8.txt b/42174-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index aa8e4b7..0000000 --- a/42174-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5532 +0,0 @@ -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. 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