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mm
THE RI
!3s<S
iUTBOR CP "
STEIN,"
%
««
8REWER, M
,41
I
<'' :'.).
MARGAEET GRAIAE
01,
THE REVERSES OF FORTUNE.
Ua ®. p. a. JTamw, Csq,,
AUTHOE CP " RUSSELL/* " THE CASTLE OP EHREN- ^
h STEIN," " BEAUCHAMP," HEIDELBERG,''
*' THE SMUGGLER," ETC., ETC.
TORONTO:
8REWERi McPHA/L, & Co., PUBLISHERS,
* 46, Krto-Street East.
18M.
MARGARET GRAHAM.
n
PART THE FIRST.
THE DAYS OF PROSPERITY.
% CHAPTER I.
' THE labourer's RETURN.
The much-abused climate of England
has its advantages both in point of the pic
turesque and the agreeable. Not only
have we an infinite variety, which in
Itself is one of the great sources of plea-
sure, but we have beauties which no other
land possesses. I have stood under the
deep-blue sky of Italy, longing more for
a cloud than ever I did for sunshine, when,
day after day, and week after week, and
month after month went by without a film
of vapour as big as a man's hand coming
to relieve the monotony, or cast a flitting
shadow on the earth. I have stood be-
neath the burning suns of Spain, and long-
ed for a^ refreshing shower, or even a soft-
ening mist, while through the whole of a
mg summer not a drop ha« fallen to moiit-
m
^^P" ffiving beautiful varie.vS tjT
gl'sh summer, n„d our own ft r I ^ f "'
treii a ternntelv .„ Vi. j "^ '*"<' has
f"«enng S'd'r^s t'2r£ '" • '■■«^
beams. *^ sparlcJing ,n the
our island never Cu ?°™'"f» 'vl.ich
silvery l/«ht whkh %' ' "^'^ '^ ">«
« eve„i,^''is\Z.?'h !l.'»°™'"gor
the wo^d., !:6t''iZ''z ,t rrS
influence of a calm »nH . ^^ '''^"^^
a" that i, app'roaets ' S^""« «P«' "Pon
"orVl,?r„°lltl''i:£r'^^''''t«g«ofmo,«
follows .he c?os" ;?d 7 S'-g^-hich
'ainlysom, thing cra„Z;jI^'*. " *'*'•■
cl.-ma.es, in the^suC SntT'rlJ"^'"
benpa.h the hnriyS li ?^ "^ ""^ suft
•i-kneLtha'rcrd^s ttK{:"^°"'
fr.^/^^eataT^irh'Jj^!--."'?
, i ne sun had just sunic— indeed T »».
»ot be sure thw he was -"^ , ™™» ' cah
-•— >-^u, 1 can
aoioluteljr beltt#
>ursei, or
ee. Tho
the time
the En-
'and has
n light,
: m the
' and a
i which
e is the
ning or
•ospect,
'vaters,
Wessed
it upon
f*fnore
which
s cer-
hotter
esuti
neous
com-
ining
with-
the horizon, for there were lines of black,
blue cloud drawn across tho verge of the
sky, and the lines were edged with gold.
Above was a wide sheet of heavy cloud,
low down and Oat, like a ceiling of black
marble, beneath, and confined by which
the whole rays poured on in horizontal
lines, catching the edges of mountain and
fell, and wood and moor, and casting long
shadows from a solitary fir-tree and the
finger-post with its long, bare arms. The
finger-post pointed, in one direction, to a
small town in Cumberland, which I shall
«all Brownswick, and in the other to a
village, which probably would not have
had the honour of being pointed out at all
had not several gentlemen of the foremen-
tioned town thought fit to build themselves
country-houses in its neighbourhood. The
attraction was a little lake, much less in
dimensions, indeed, than Windermere, but
hardly less beautiful in the scenery which
surrounded it. No indication of such
i^nery being in the vicinity was afforded
from the spot where the finger-post was
placed. It was a dull, wide moor, cover-
ed with withered heath, and here and there
pakshes of broom and gorse. On aae
hand you saw down a wide, broken slope,
presenting nothing but irregular unduk-
tJons for several miles, exceot a nit nr .
tt pd. .ill, in ,he' exSe'dKe
DlUe lines of Woorl nnA fl.li ^''^^"t-e,
tows?' On ,h ''^V''T''' "" o'd solitary
Ed to^r . °"'-^'' '"'"'^ "'« moor con.
cut off L V?' ''T'"S ** '"f?'' •«"''<. >*'Wch
cut ott the view of everythinff beyond It
was a desolate scene and cl.ill; ifeavvand
hard, but not without its sublimhv-C„
the extent, and the solitude, and iL demh
of the tones. Let the reader remark k
tp"r:srt^ r'?'° ""''•' ''"'-"-
i»JltT^' '* ""'y necessary to say that
aS Zf: '•? ''"' r."'"g' 'fnot quite set
as I have said, two labouring men walked
along the road, under the f.n|er.L?tak
"g a direction from the towf andtoward
tZ T •'' '""^' ^ remember7th«
these two points were some nine n^I«,
.pa«.andthattheiinger.postst<;Sat:?
Clothed in the common dress of fh«
««umry, with smock-frocks Znlheir
fr^^'^r"' r*^ «°«'^' 'eatherrgaiS
upon their legs, the asnent nf ,k„ £ ' ,"
•jourers showed nothing more'Thanlhat"
ttqr were both stout fellows of about Ae
""Jdleage. One might be forty, , he ito^
t
■
i
as most Cumberland men are, but one had
an inch or so the advantage of the otter.
Iheir pace was slow, as if they were some-
what wearj, and their gait was heavy and
awkward, such as is gained by walkine
over ploughed fields at the tail of a ploueh
or harrow ; yet they were neither of them
stupid, nor altogether ignorant men.
It has long been a common mistake, and
even since the mistake mu«t have been
clearly perceived and corrected in the
minds of most men, it has become a com-
mon party falsehood to draw comparisons
disadvantageous to the agricultural classes,
between them and the manufacturingclass.
Those whom it is intended to oppre.«, it is
generally found necessary to calumniate,
and the most popular me&ns of promulgat-
wg a dangerous error ■ to ridicule all
those who oppose it. Such has been the
case with the agricultural labourer and
small farmer. In point of plain common
sense, and natural strength of intellect,
they are generally very far superior to
parallel classes in the manufaeturinjr dis-
iricis. It IS true they are practical more
than theoretical in all their proceedings :
that thev are less "■""i' ' — -j- ° '
quick, less ready, per.
h«ps both in mind and body, than the
arti.
•an or shopkeeper of a town, but, at the
•amp time, their totions are sounder, firm,
er, more precise, as their bodies are more
™^h? r •"•^ ' ^^" '"*'' *"h more
capable of arriving at a just opinion upon
a plain proposition than those cJasses which
iT^" t"""*"'. "'"?•''• '■«"'"•''"«. ""d pre.
judiced. Learning, perhaps, they do not
possess Scattered thinly over a wide
tract of country, instead of gathered into
tne close communion as towns, they have
filnf^"^""'!!^! "'' ^''P^essing their sen.
timentsas a body, or of uniting for one
oomnrjon object ; but in those cottages-
and there are many of them— where such
excellent cheap publications as those of
Chambers and Knight have penetrated. I
..T -II^a'^ rfasonings on the subjects
aubmitted, which, though the language
Wight be rude, would not have disgrac^,
*«r?J' T ""*"^.'"' ""y society in the
world. I am convinced that if plain com-
won sense be, as I believe it, the most ex.
cellent quality of the mind, that quality is
»h.I T^- '^l^ frequently than any
where else m the veoman «nA ^
olass of England
. As the two yeomen plodded on toward
the home of rest, they were evidently buay
. i^:j;iM.t
iy at the
3r, firm,
re more
and no
:h more
>n upon
3 which
nd pre-
do not
I wide
id into
y have
nr 8en-
or one
iges—
9 such
ose of
ted, I
bjects
^uage
Paced,
n the
com-
st ex.
ity is
any
vard
bitty
'•
ii
with some subject that interested them
deeply. More than once they stopped,
tunit; t round toward each other, and spoke
earnestly with more gesticulation, at Irast
on cne part, than is common among tb^
phlegmatic nations of the north.
Let us listen awhile to their convewa-
tion, for it may have its interest.
" 'Fore half of them are paid for,'' said
the shortest of the two men, « they will
have to pull them down, and then all the
money is wasted."
" Money enough to feed halfof the poor
of the country if it were well managed,"
said the other, jogging on by his compan-
ion's side ; « but it is all a job, Ben.
They wanted to put out the old rogues and
put in new ones, and so they made places
lor them. The gentlemen pretended when
they got up this new law, that the poor's
rates were eating up all the property of the
country. That was a lie, Ben, in the first
place ; but even if it were true, I wonder
whose fault that was if not the magistrates
that suffered it ?"
"Part theirs, part other folks," ans-
wered the man called Ben ; " but it was
a queer way to begin their saving to pull
down, or sell for an old song, or leave to
tot by themselves, all the old houses, and
'J
build
10
new
oome. They muT- K "'y ^^^^ »»
save that ?nJ^ P!".°'' ^^'y close to
ba^Jain ' '"'' '"'"^^'''''S '»'«« «to the
beW only Dai fh""""" '?""'' " ^^"' "«
When I lived ovela? Br"'''' . ^^^'
how the overeeel^ „„H ^'°""'««"ck I saw
on. Thev Ur? . ^^"°"'' "««'^ to go
they oatei iTtt e^S:'^' «'
finds of ohe^ nt„"f -'f ""^ '''^ ^^-^^ "^U
they were Sev'lTraS io^b^'f" ^''^l'
other. There wL^ t?r ■'°'*^ for each
tor, found ourthrtth'- ^^«^'°°' the hat-
Paving, though J had'onTT'*^ ""^'^"^
twelvfxnonthrbefore and £ ^ ^"'/^
another of the boarnl\ i .^ Greensides,
Sides found out thaf it w..,i^ k.^^ ^"
Better for all tha. «« ^'u'l """*'^ "'^" ^"«cft
inrtead of cans K "^^f '° ''^^^ ^ats
•upplvin^ ofT' "^^'■- ^^«'°n had the
•uppiying of them. It was so well known
costing
^alcu^te
as much
f all the
years to
close to
into the
u mean,
3out its
ault; I
Why,
* I saw
1 to go
ers, as
e year,
half a
ere all
3sthat,
•r each
le hat-
vanted
paved
isides,
I of it;
jrreen-
ilJUch
)hats
id the
nowii
11
a thing that all the contracts for the work-
house went among themselves that no one,
unless he was one of the board, ever of-
tered at all ; so they got just what price
they hked. Now what were the magis-
trates and gentlemen about, not to ^top
such things? It was a very good law,
iien, ifit had been rightly -orked : but
those who were put to look after it either
cheated themselves or let others cheat, and
then cried out that the rates were eating
up all the rents. I tell you what, Ben, I
have often thought that the old poor-law
was a very safe thing in times of famine or
want of work. Men won't stand and see
their children starve. If peoplo don't sive
them food they will take it, and, once thfey
begin taking, will take something more.
u^^ .In ^®^^^ng a lecturer man sav,
that the first dutv of the soil was the su'p-
port of every one upon it, and then I
thought that it was a very lucky thinff that
there was a law for making it do that duty
m a regular sorf of way, rather than let
those who wanted support take it where
they^ould find it." ^
r.^' Ihey would tell you that the same is
the case now," answered Ben, " though it
IS not, Jacob, for it was a very different
ctse when a man who could get a little
19
• hrtjf T ''"""S to do as much a.
he could get, went to the parish for a few
shillings to eke it out. He could t£n
^ ways go on and look out for morf to rfT
He had something to hold fast by; but
week and his family cannot be kept uwm
ess than ten, he must either see Le^
^^"'/Ifve, or give up his cottaT seU
hft goods, and put himielf out -^f tKJ
of all work, and go as a pauper toX'
Union where he is to be separated fiim
his wife and children, and fed and treaT^
worse than one of the prisoners in the Ml
Then when he comes out, he comeV"ut
^ » Pauper, and finds it ten timrmom
difficult to get work than before leTw^
character be ever so good A^nuL a
to one he is a ruined mSrevtaX"'*
no sprit left but to hate C^h^la "
been ill-treating him. Many a man wh^
has no religion thinks he may iusTas In
p. fer a bit and take his change of getS
«t6 jail, where he is sure to be bettef tS
ed than m the Union • and ali .kI, • ■ '
whS-'^ g'ving a few fhSiS'a.'^a'
whereit 18 really wanted. Besides 2.
=«=», Jacoo, It was a great cheok"'.,"'^;!''
2;«te« and the on/check ^d?^
b»d- One farmer did not like ano£i
r
I
much at
►r a few
M then
e to do.
•y; but
[lings a
>t upon
ome of
^e, sell
ie way
' to the
I from
reated
le jail,
les out
I more
let his
usand
id haa
have
I who
J well
Jtting
treat-
flight
veek
^pon
> We
>ther
\f
giving too little wages, because his men
were sure to get the rest from the parish,
and then the rates rose — but that brings
me to what you asked ; I say it was partFy
our own fault, Ben, that all these things
have been changed in such a way — not,
mine, because I never had a sixpence of
the parish in my life— but every black-
guard used to go and cheat the magis-
trates through thick and thm. I rocoUec^
Jemmy Anderson, when he was getting
sixteen or seventeen shillings a-week as a
carter's shoemaker, going out and getting
ten shillings from one parish, and eighl
from another, every week of his life." °
"From two parishes?" cried Jacob.
" Ay, he managed it," answered his com-
panion, " by a little hard swearing, and
there was many a one like him. Our of.
ficers found him out, and refused to give
him any more ; but the impudent varment
went up before the magistrate and took
his oath, and the magistrate made an or-
der upon the parish. So he had it all his
own way,
" And \vas not that the magistrate's
asked his friend ;
Hlie law
did not force them to do any thing of th«
kind, unless they liked it."
fl4on't fcn^w," answered ik9 other:
14
I
never
believe
that
into
saw the law, Jacob ; but I do
t very good laws are turned
f,„, ^*'^,''«|°"«s by the way that mams-
nf « r«. °^^f C'°P'" 8° ""' *»>« •'hang,
ing a hnle of the meaning, and anothir
tiung at all. But one thing is certain,
that there were many folks among our-
selves who were in the wrong, though the
Magistrates were in the wrong too ^ StS
there was no need of doing away a good
I^h, ''TK"^"'\P^''P'«^adnotusfn.
ff^.K ""fi"' . P®°P'« ''«'> abused it: or.
L^^^u'^ <=hange it, they might have
made It better, not worse ; less heavy u Jn
the rich, but not throw all the weight uoon
^'epoor. They'll have to change hagaT
depend upon it, or else not act upfo J
aJ'J^^/^^ "°' "'"'"?« 't' ""less they are
driven," answered Jacob; "one of their
eS / 1° 'u°T ^^g^«' Ben, all over
England, whether here or in the factories,
for wi^"'"' ^^"^ '' their greatest help/
Wb Z!f .T •""' ""l ^""^ »° chance
we must take just what thev will give
" I'd rather starve in my own cottage
'
but I do
turned
magis-
chang.
another
e same
3ertain,
g our-
igh the
Still
a gcx)d
used it
it; or,
have
'■upon
tupon
again,
• to it,
tbear
y are
their
over
Dries,
lelp;
mce.
live,
m a
tage
■'
15
w
than go to a Union," said Ben, "if it were
not for the childi'en. I could not bear to
hear them cry for bread. However, I do
not know that it is one ot their objects to
bring our labour down, though they have
certainly taken a good way to do so, Jacob;
and it is such laws as these that makes
poor men wish they had some hand in
making the laws ; for they find none made
by others for their good. Some of the
gentlemen wish to do it, I do believe, but
they do not know how ; and the end is,
they put the sheep in the paws of the wolf,
and tell the wolf to take good care of them;
and then they call that political economy.
It is the same in factory places. The
master can do just what he likes, and the •
workman has no hold upon him. Work
as hard as he will, he is cheated one way
or another of half his earnings ; if he
grumbles, he is turned out to starve ; if he
goes to the poor-house, he is worse than a
galley-slave, as they call it, and if he goes
to a new factcrv to seek other* work, he
will not get it if he has been turned off for
grumbling at the last ; for the masters are
allowed to combine, as people say, against
their workmen, though not the workmen
against their masters. I heard it all from
poor Will Simpson, when he came baok«
labourer e^re;atTh°"''' """"' P"* '^e
Ployer, or ha ve thp V^ ^'^^ "'^ '»« ««"•
j-« tlmt are LdT^" he J::^;,"'-^
bourer. We takp ,. ^ "\g?°^ o^the la-
Ben, becauTe oir Lste V^^^^^ ''"■'"^'
• hundred; but I ^an, n °"f °"« of a
farmers abou a.''".!" .?? "■"' «" •*«»
lowers a Ld deal » -5".: ""'^^ 0"™
Setter be oit"! Vrr'' *« ''-^
shall set in wl?5' ""^ '^*'°'-' o*" »«»
fast, ansflrered the other ««„. -ZFZ
wind is coining sobbing over the mo<W
l''^« "."""ghy child : si|„s ol rain,^
enough J and there will be a gai; too :
don t you see how the dust is swirling
round and round." °
As he spoke they somewhat quickened
their pace, and walked on for a mile with-
out quitting the road that crossed the
moor By the time that mile was passed
over, however, the clear space at the ed^
li fk Vf '^^^"^^ "'''h black cloud,
and though the arch of the vapoury canol
py above was still tinged with "a faint
shade of purple, all looke^l lurid and hea-
vy, and twilight was waning fast,
.„.i -2^^' "P°" *''« ^''ge of the moor—
i'hJ ' '*°'^" ^""^ " «•>«"' fifty
years before— was a tract of woodland,
through wh ch the rushing wind was'
heard ns.ng higher and higher every mo-
ment, while a few large d?ops of rain feU
pattering emong the crisp, yellow leave,
that strewed the grpu.J beneath.
Hark ! cried the mm named Ben.
w^^.'T/"""."""^ ''■« path into the'
dr'nU;:* L"„i? -- -« ^aiiooing
«.M \V" "'^l' '^^"'^'^ '""P' Tommy Hicks,"
«.d the other; «I know his shout well
enough. He la worse than a wiU-<»'.U».
18
wS'5"*,^"^I'"''-a''hi»bones
him
day
for
the
some
«f h" ^°!!''f "*?• ^'"'°^' nonsense f^
would not go to hu a thing that's got no
chi5 ''''«n!f '^ !"r°"^'' '° ^^ « 'J«a' of mis-
lol'tiTlr^^'''°^' "«nd he never
Mes time when any is to be done A
h.kzng w,ulddo him^a vast deal of good
boy t'othpr';'^ T"^^'^ ^''- G'bb's
Doy to her day, because he would
npt him take away his mother W
LTaf^a^^^^^^^-^-S-^itg
and'SeTtriLTrsir'''"^."'""^'
"OSS," said the'ir " ut^ttt'ir
Concluding that it was as his comnani
:?^l-'J^"?.^*«''-!'outproc':ed:K
orher"m^lu;;;T-" i'l*'"^""^' *^«
wood^ merely saying,
path through the
i bones for
" said the
, and you
t's got no
al of mis-
he never
lone. A
of good.
I. Gibb's
would
3r's tur-
'ed Ben;
ar place
le of the
all that,
allooing
? along,
nd or ei"
! rain is
le very
mpani-
d from
J, the
ghthd
1^
_ " I wonder they don't shut up Tommy
Hicks m one of their Unions, or such sort
of places ; there is many a man a great
forlife " ' '' P^^^''*^ ^ mad-house
The belt of wood was soon passed, and
about a quarter of a mile more of moor
succeeded, and then some patches of cul-
tivated ground, amid which were scatter-
ed eight or nine cottages of a very supe-
nor description to those usually met with
m that part of the country. They were,
m fact, all the property of one proprietor^
a liberal and kind-hearted man, who took
the repairs upon himself, and saw that
they were always done in time and to per-
fection. No broken thatch, no unstopped
wall, no door half off the hinges was there ;
bu with a great deal for comfort, and a
little tor taste, each labourer of Mr. Gra
hanri possessed a home— certainly not su-
perior to that which every industrious man
through the land ought to be able to com-
mand, but very much superior to the hov-
nLn r K ^ ^^^ peasantry of England are
often to be found. Neither were they
"~°" 'Ogcmei j each House pos-.
sessed Its own little garden and bit of >.
tatoground, andwas, moreover separat^
Scorn Its neighbour, in most .^s by »
20
Connecting them altogeK hi """""'y'
several paths, well cfviredw.u"'"'' '""^
and one principal 3 ?? l ^'^^ ^""^
to be a private ol ^ ""^"^h it seemed
place b^ZZ^ststTJ- ""T P'''*'^ '»
ler toward AllerK „"^*"'"g 'he travel.
""ad crossed the h!hw?'r ^i'^'« "-i.
the two labourers tlid'^^r '^' '''''"'
»nj to the riffht .1,7 .u' '^e one turn-
in'search o/hi 'ow„ eir '" ""1 '^«' «"''''
this time as dark^" "^^T' ^' '^«« ^y
felling, in hety b^u sSered'w ''"^ '"*'"
the wind dashini it al„1^1f '''"P^' """^
object : a sort of „^!h V** ''^''■^ °Pf^^"S
a man's own d<^r ."felJ'Jf" '^^ ^'g^t of
It was so to Ben HailM ^ P'^^"*"' '° him.
hand upon the latch "S^i,""'^ ^' '^'^ his
comfort and repavl-^ """'^'"'^ °^
labour in the sSs of f Z"' '"."'« ''«y'«
We must faTe oL t ^"PPy ''°™«-
or of bis dweltgTefoSrir '"'T'''''
we may hereafter hZ . ''""' "^
when a few short mo„?,!\° '^^""^ •« '*
^n as he openedTh ' >"" P'^^^'J- ^8
blaze presente'd "ifLfT""', * "heerful
well filled With fi'rL"'feli"g« g'^te.
Wiiere coal wao ^k ""' '^ "f "^ ** comnry
« *^ *^ had aliaoflt for takiag. j^v
country.
'Ver, were
^ray sand
it seemed
' place to
le travel.
here this
he town,
ne turn-
'ft, each
was by
the rain
>ps, and
pposing
sight of
to him,
aid his
inty of
day's
le.
interi-
lim, as
to it
i. As
3erful V
jrate,
mtry
ferior
A
91
good-sized pot hung above, heaving and
sputtering with the broth for the eveninxr
meal, and Ben's wife, a country-woman of
about four or five-and-thirty, who had once
been an exceedingly pretty girl, and re-
tamed abundant traces of former beauty,
was peeping into the black vessel to see
tnat all was going on right within.
Ben and his wife had married early,
and three children of many were still left
to them : a stout, well-grown boy of about
hlteen, known in history as young Ben ;
another boy of about eight, usually called
lit le Charley, a rosy, curly-headed, cheer,
ful urchm, full of fun and mischief; and^
a giri of about thirteen, very like her
nriother, who was knitting blue worsted
stockings for her father at the moment he
entered, while her elder brother was cut-
ting out the soles for wooden shoes, and the
urchin was teasing the familiar cat till
pussy put out her claws and took to the
defensive. Round about were shelves,
upholding various kinds of wares, well
garnished in most instances, especially
with neat, white plates and dishes, and
manifold wooden ^ - • '
Every one started
welcome
nou/lo
€%inn j^ »^ ^^ .•« w«, «>.
turned
o-k • , ^^^^ ^^^ ^*^^®r of the famUy.
ine girl laid down her knitting, the son
22
smock-frock a;;d "aid " v*"" P""^'' h''
daddy." B,u I, ' ^°" are wet
f-hLuponl'ec^LSrel''''"'^-^
«>r we have oth^r 1 . ^'^°'^® ^o"ie,
-'''•o'^itisneoet^/Jtt""™.''-''' '°
CHAPTER II.
^HE IBIOT ANrXHE TOZTHIST.
voice afeaVt^mirin''''"''"-'" •'"ed a
JI«" as the two la tr" '" ""^ ">«•>•.
the little wood, "here herlr "'"'" ""»«""?
f-ioTSS-l«tessedtotho
loud enough Ldth-. v •^'' '^«*"'" '>'««
?no"^h to^be heard h«^r^ '""' '''-'•'^•■
The figure from which , hi '•'" ">" ™«"--
«d was not one wS ,£^ "^"'^ P'-oceed.
^•^r without remark I^ ^^^ T'"^ P«««
^rl .*n alleged him ,^L^r7.°'"'««
been
- ss^^n-'-M
gave him a
» pulled his
are wet,
pause any
^tne home,
hand, to
n.
ST.
cried a
he moor,
entering
re going
-hulJoo f
^ to thQ
5 moor,
foceed-
Jd pass
tt of a
wenty
>^'*tim#
le had
never
28
reached the altitude of five feet and an
inch, und would have looked like a boy
h".U iio> K head prematurely gray and a
grent width of frame shown that he had
at least attained the period of manhood.
In pomt of width, indeed, it seemed as if
JNature, havincr curtailed him of his fair
proportion in height, had endeavoured to
make compensation, like a bad architect,
by runnmg out the building to an enor-
mous extent on either side. His limbs,
too, were all-powerful, tho.igh somewhat
short, and the face was broad like the
person, with coarse, bad features, perhaps
not altogether without expression, though
generally vacant, and when lighted up by
a ra.y of intellect showing naught that was
good or pleasing. The eyes themselves,
*T u ' r^^' ^^®"» ^"^ uncertain, render,
ed the look always sinister. One of them
must have squinted violently, but which
of them it was could not easily be dis-
covered, for it was alternately the right eye
and the left that was nearest to the round
and turned up nose. He was dressed, ao-
cording to the old phraseology, in hodden
e-"v> "*"i » paii \ji biruug Oui iigul-iacinc
boots upon his ieet, which were small in
proportion to his body, and of which he
was wonderfully vain. On his head waa
It
24
of the Blue S/fr^;^ '^^'.^^ ^'^^^^y^
"le ome uoat School, and in frnnt nf
if heaTh T T\°'' "" occasionsa "2
or heath, fresh when it wa«j in ki^ ^
withered when tht d blossom,
^untjcc. It IS curious, howevpr t^
such unfr..* ] cunning and sense in
I sir'Tn^i'fr 'j" "' """^
pose the whL K u"*?""^^' ^^ "'0"ld
fimal? „, '^ • "■» mother had eft a
Jdfnl^^'^y-^^ her death to be employ.
Hicks coulT'r''"''"''^' ^ ">■" To£^
at the col "'7^' g"' •='°'hes and food
uiu ue out ior d«vs w^^^Lo
inootfts, toffethfir. or»^ •""'lu' ""'""^' "«J
wandering? kL ^"*^ ^^ ^^® cpurseof his
•everai workhouses and two jails; for he
lose wom^
r the boys
n front of
►nsa twig
blossom,
3 passed.
idiot of
called ;
to guide
>pellation
^ever, to
fines the
sense in
f whom
men in
licks in
fiappen*
magis*
> would
ild but
left a
mploy.
'om my
d food
voman
y often
, nay
of his
late of
br h%
did not at all deserve the name often be-
stowed on persons of his peculiar degree
of capacity, and Tommy Hicks was by no
means an innocent.
The person to whom his shouts were
addressed had reason to feel that such was
the case, for following, incautiously the
directions he received, he plunged up to
his knees in a marshy piece of ground,
and at another step would have had the
swamp over his head, while Tommy Hicks
stood looking on, with his hands in his
pockets, enjoying the scene amazingly,
but not suffering his satisfaction to display
itself in any thing beyond a grin which
stretched his wide mouth from ear to ear,
and showed all his white, irregular teeth.
The stranger was a tall man, a strong and
a quick one, and perceiving instantly the
trick which had been played him, he drew
back a step or two, walked quickly round
the edge of the swamp to the spot where
Tommy Hicks still stood, and, catching
him by the collar threatened to punish him
on the spot for what he had done. For an
instant the idiot struggled in his graen
with tremendous force,°but he speedily
found that his opponent was still stronger
than hiirtself, and ceasing his effort*, he
said, in a sullen tone, «* It is your own
25
your name, my man v> ^"^^ ^
«'as " Shilling » „„j .L ^, distinct word
l^oo«,pa3;g a"sVwTlket^ '^^^ ^'P™
pace, talking wild] vK ^ "f ''* " ^'°«
M they blew ahd L , ""^ '^'"'^ ^n-^ ««
seeming to for^e?„u'".?S^"'«t him, and
«1 that^had^^E^teft w"'^"'"^'-
however. TommyEs d /"f T ^'
5"ch thing,, ,„, th^oSJlf ° ./°'-g«t
uered, ins pufdospq iiJi„ -"g"ta wan.
Instead of taktoJL- ^^'^^''^Uy fixed.
the wad abJve le iir -J, ^j'«'* ^ward
«wve, uie jdiot Sidled away in the
straight on
" said the
show me
or 1 will
so easily
sks.
'ered the
What's
Tommy
aughing,
ming on
hilling I
e.
hing to
3t word
ee from
a stout
id rain
5% and
3 quar.
not so,
forget
s vv an-
fixed.
3Ward
in the
27
direction of the wood ; and when he had
come within about Mty yards of it, at a
spot where the ground was broken and ir-
regular and the paths very difficult to be
traced even in broad daylight, he darted
away with a shout of laughter, and,
plunging into the woods, was lost in a
moment to the eyes of the person who
iollowed. ,
The stranger stood and gazed around
him for a moment or two, murmurinff,
« This IS very pleasant. Well, it can't
be helped ; I have passed worse nights
than this may be, let it rain as hard as it
will, and though I may have no other bed
than the moor. I will follow up the edge
of the wood; I never yet saw a wood
without a road through it;" and, pursuing
this sage, determination, he turned his face
to the wind and storm, breasting the slope
nobly. '^
It needed a good deal of precaution to
find his way along without stumbling, tor
the ground was rough and uneven, cover-
ed with tufts of heath and gorse, and
wherever a broken bank gave the- bram.hlG
an opportunity of hanging itself, there it
was ready with its long arms and sharp
claws to seize upon the traveller's leg, and
spratch if it pould not detain him. He
S'Sittri/r-^'-pM upon
«ppa.^ntly completeirfi^^?^'' b1.^"P'"e'''
less he strode on Zv ' ''"'neverthe.
reached Ih^et^d" abnf i^ril^f
lore. Judging at oncptha* k: '"'^^ »e-
not lie to the nVht-nn/ f ^ "'^y could
ledge of the coum.7 not f "^ "^"^ ''"o^"
dence on theS^'n • °'" """y depen.
f«>m an haWtutvor LS! f "''''S'^^
"o^ lights on bfth s Set . bufh?''''"^""
sfant to his fip«t i„„ J °"' "® wastson.
onvrard, in abl Z ' '"*°?h'"« Way
knocking JthhLt " m"'^ '""'^ ^e was
day's dcSr ^ '''^ '"'"<'''1«« "» Ben Halli.
tering the cS,. l""*^ """^"f' «"<! en-
abundant W^Jr'? 1««!«<1 ''ound an
«- th certain pieces of m^ P"'-'° '^"P'
whole of which .r,,- ■f"'. '° '*' to tte
*y no wm«^. J- "° °'"°» bad lent a flavol-
T no mean, d.«,greeaHe to the tm^^
z ^
i9
the hungry. Every thing was cheerful,
contented, and happy, ^he handsome
and intelligent faces of the laborer and his
wife, the clean and respectable look and
orderly demeanor of the children, all af-
forded assu ranee to their visitor that he had
fallen mto better hands than when he trust-
ed himself to the guidance of an idiot,
and he paused for a moment ere bespoke,
gazmg over the scene, where the assembled
iamily stared at him in return.
" I be^ your pardon," said the stranger,
at length, addressing himself to Ben Hal-
hday, who by this time had risen, " but I
have lost my way upon this moor, and have
got exceedingly wet for my pains."
, '»Good Lord, then," exclaimed Ben,
interrupting him, " it was you I heard
shouting ! Well, sir, I am very sorry I
did not come down ; but you see mv cou-
sin Jacob vowed that it was the silly fel-
low Tommy Hicks, and I never like to
bring Jacob and Tommy together, for Ja-
cob is always dire with the lad, and vows
he will break his bones."
" I dare sav h wnc fK^ rrv*%i ,,,u^^ _^l_
heard, answered the visitor, " for the truth
Wi I was detained just at the foot of the ^
nioor by an accident that happened, and
nwting ymi a Mow in a grey doat, I
30
»ne into a marsh." ° *^°' "^ led
^iSust'J-^^^^^ " ^«". hew
?f ¥te as a cat i be. pSon' T'^ '""
»g. sir ; but no onelf ZUlu '""^ll;
have trusted Tommv H.vt . Pa"s wouJd
But pray come toX fi '°?"'''^ "'em.
self. rflrB'o . ^'^^' antJ dry yonr
«tuff en^^gh^^tt S'w "^"'^ ""^^ ^-'
Tk^ «♦ ^ ' ^"^ warm you "
tiie fireside, Ze w M^'f ' '^' ^"'^n by
a porringer of ^r^lj'^^ ,^°»P«wk, took
and soon was o^Z . u " '""P "^ bread,
He tallced anVl u^f""^ '" the cottage
stroked the cat w^n i, '^^' ^^ «^en
round his lees iTf '^f '"'"'^ P"'-""g
«.oniousbeafLwa:3^:f «°d "ncere!
tion to the wor h,/ , "^ recommenda-
appearance was L'L7J' ^'""^ ' «"d hi«
. He was a Wn nf ^^ P-'epossessing.
ty. and, asL?b"ee°;Bo?;str'-"^^"-
commonly powerful fhui.^^,^' ^^^ "»-
one of those ^hinfl ?"f^ [^ghtly made ;
«ica, wno have mnm ^f /L — .'"^-^*^^*«ieu
theHerculosi^Ei'^^^Pt*'"'
*- straight and fit^rwith^^S:
31
jyes and long, black lashes and brows,
iark-brown hair and whiskers. His com.
}lexion, too, was fresh and ruddy — not
vith a rosy spot on either cheek, like a
lead upon a sign-post — but all in one
jgeneral glow, from health and exposure.
iHis hands, however, looked fine and deli.
Icate ; and his dress somewhat puzzled the
cottagers at first ; for it was of that sort
which might have belonged to several
classes. It was all of one material, ex-
cept the shoes and the covering for his
[head, being of a black-and-white woollen
check, then not so commonly worn by
gentlemen as now ; and when he entered
he wore a plain Lowland bonnet, which
might have suited a grazier or good Cheviot
farmer, perhaps, better than himself; for
a certain sort of harmony was wanting
between the person and the dress, and it
was thlc» discrepancy which, as I have
said, puzzled the family of Ben Halliday.
As the moments passed by, however,
their doubts ceased. There was no mis.
taking the station of their guest afler a
quarter of an hour was gone. The south-
ern tongue, the clear, distinct, and rapid
articulation, the grace and ease of every
movement, the unconscious dignity of car-
riage, even when playing with the boy,
92
the visitor had "fid nL^ •*""' °^ "" ''°"
came, or what he ^u^hf "alld I'lT'}'
, I'cacy not unfrequent n ?L ^ * ''«-
niountaineers. the e^d ZJ^"^""^^^ "^
have asked a quesi^ f u"' '^""Jdnot
'ong as he sa^ h !^ °'' '''^ '^"'•W. as
his homely fa?e and f ""'' ''""'^""'d ^^'l*
And he dfd ;:::;is •"' '" 'T' '^^
indeed, as tn «/.•»> ^'"^V ' ^ '""oh so,
fcr ther^is anl!7'i^ "P°" '''« hosts
very kindly char,.?'' "^^P'^^"' "^ a
unaffected acoepw"" '? "L" ''''^^''■"' «"d
can do to enSfn f,! Z^u-" P°°'-'"an
the -ndesceSSetSd; '^°"'' ""
man rSt'th^rXh"' ""^rr "^ ^«»'I«-
«g«*t at going, anf said' '<<^' '"^''^ '^"
on njy wav m' /^ •' * ""Js* wend
has done rSiTfh"^-- I<^«'-««ay|[
tended to 8 efn Ji . ^'"''^ '^''^''^ I '»-
thank youtAl^r*^ "' "'»'"• ^ "^'1
-— / " ™"<'" " you can dir«nt ^„ .- ■
h^
1 c^ g^^
Pmi«ipl0 uiw wliith n p^^ipl
83
I scratches his head, in a case of puzzle,
has often been a question of deep interest
! to me ; but I have never been able to solve
the problem. Whether it is that h^ seeks,
by a natural instinct, to stimulate the or,
gan of cogitation, or whether it is that the
Unusual exercise of something within the
skull makes its external teguments to itch
or whether there is an irresistible inclina'
tion in man's nature to do something with
the hands when the mind is busy, and that
the first thing that presents itself to work
upon is the head, I do not know, but cer-
tain it is that Ben Halliday was in a puz-
j zle, and did scratch a spot a liitle above
the left ear with a great deal of vigor and
determination.
" VVell now, sir,'' he said, at lenglh,
" if you had asked for anything else in°the
world I could have better told you where
to find it than a public-house. There is
not a place where you would like to sjeep,
1 think, nearer than Brownswick."
^ " Why, my good friend, that is just
where I have come from," replied his
visitor ; " and I should not like to go baok
ttgaia over the moor to-night."
Ben flaUiday was exceedingly disposed
tobe JjQspiLaljie, a^d ^ w^? JiJ^ wjfe ; ftjjd
w»]r i«i«d. # i«a^|^«Jb«ir,fer,$ iWtfAent
94
«• two, as if inqHJring what could be don-
•out there are thin/rs in .K; "'""^""n*.
^..^ : ■, """S^ "1 this world whir>k
are impossible, though I at one th^o
>o„g|„ „,ere were not. Now sucL!
tb-ng „s „ ,p„,e room is not tol; e"oect
ed m tt hibourcr's coltaL'e nnH n? u
Jacob prrsentintj himself rp^^"'® ^^"sm
Icob H ?.r^ r"^ °"' "P°n the moor »
^ Jacob HiiJliday's eyes had onJv rested
casun ly on the stranger for a moml.
thai they had seen nothing of the bov /hf
young gentleman joined tn he i.^'
t^on, demanding, in a grave tone,"" What"
'^ I';''^^. my good friend ?" ' "**
Why, sir, he is a bov of »Kn„. .....i...
' "'^ " ■•"-•■--" ■iHairida;:'"^"'"
I
^T^^l't^'^^^hd^
/ «li I \f"7'jac«et and lecgins."
could be done.
' world which
at one time
Vow, such a
to be expect-
and no such
id in that of
s be possess-
therefore, to
ite out of the
dering upon
ersation and
errupted by
i his cousin
'6 man gave
?e, and then
inything of
3ome home
the moor."
^nJy rested
I moment,
oth replied
e boy, the
conversa-
What
:> it
•'f
ly. "He
gins.''
aakedtha
85
'« Yes, sir ; have you seen him ?*' da.
nanded Jacob, eagerly.
" Yes, I think 1 have," answered the
young gentleman ; " he was down at the
bottom of the moor when I was cominn; up
from Brownswick. Now do not alarm
yourself, my good man, for he will do very
well, and there is no danger ; but ho has
met with an accident, if it be the lad 1
mean."
Jacob Halliday, a man of warm and
excitable disposition and quick imagina-
tion, sunk down into a wooden chair by
the table, and, with his hands resting on
his knees, sat gazing in the stranger's face.
" I assure you he will do very well,"
said the stranger, who felt for his anxiety,
" 1 had him attended to by a surgeon im-
mediately, who assured me there was not
the least danger — it was that which de-
tained me so late," he continued, turning
toward Ben Halliday, " and the people to
whose cottage 1 carried him promised to
send somebody up to let his father know."
" Will you have the goodness to let me
hear all about it, sir ?" said Jacob, with as
much calmness as he could assume.
" Certainly," replied the young gentle-
man. " 1 have been taking a tour on foot
through this part of Cumberland, and I saC
86
had come out of IvZT ' ^^f J""' «« '
its narno—" vi)lage-I don't knoJ
j.J^Ay,itisA]lenchurch,"saidBe„HaI.
" And bad pone aliout half » m.-u I
<he nnoor, just «),ore th/nl^k '''' "P""
tie stream 1 sm.v „ !• .f^ , '^''^''^fs a lit.
tinued the geZmn" ^°7« P"'"-" con.
what was ,h! matt^ ^nd L ?f."' '° «*''
as he was crossing th ^ . i ^ '"'"^ ""e ihat
he fe 1 forwiird nntM l "'* '^^t' and
the broken par, %'l? ^ '^S ''g^'-n^
scramble ,o ti.e Ll k ''"m ^''''''^^d to
"ot stand ; and S^ r . '"•'''. '^"' *•« '^""'^
thoughtitCtto Lir"""^'""'^^^''
and carry him fn 1 "P '" "^y arms
s^en not iro7\\ZT"' "'"•^•'" had
woman there of thVn '^ "''' '"^n ""d
kindly took him i^„„"r,!°f.«""'!y' -ho
-«nt the old man ;rt^R":!:,?J° ^•i- ^
surgeon, and waited ti'll'lVB hlT"'"' '"'" ^
set the les. «« «» i ""^ "^'"^ and
WM 1» diSie^r ! J?K ?f "^ "'^' there
"**'' "'»<' that he wottld 8oon be
^ Brownswicit j
a gentleman on]
"f ^>utjustasl|
—I don't kno\s\
' said Ben Hal.
If a mile upon
h crosses a Jit.
^^ng boy Jyingj
d Jacob.
pain/' con.
'topped to ask!
told me that!
wooden bridge
h's feet, and
^^g against
contrived to
but he could
«g his leg^ I
' in my arms
vhich J had
;^d man and
rrimly, who
1 to bed. I
i come and
that there
dd 9oon be
S7
well ; and making the people promise to
let you know, I came on myself, for by
that time the sun was rroinrr down."
** And so the poor boy's leg is broke,'^
cried Jacob Huliidny, starting up. "'l
will bet a crown that that devil, Tommy
Hicks, is at the bottom of it, breaking
down tho bridge or something. 1 will break
his bones for him, that 1 will."
"Nonsense, nonsense, Jacob," cried
Ben, as the other moved towards the door*
" don't you go to do the poor Jad a misl
chief for you don't know what. Go and
see your boy, and how he is going on ; but
if you find Tommy there, have nothing to
say to him till you find you have got rea-
son."
" And I will go up and tell Margaret,"
said Mrs. Halliday, " and stay with her
till you come back."
"Thank you, thank you, Bella, said
Jacob ; " but you had better tell her I shall
rest down there, most likely ; for I won't
leave Bill alone in that devil's den, and I'll
bring him up to-morrow, if I can find an
easy cart."
(;
his
((
I dare say Mr. Graham will lend you
spring van," replied Ben Halliday.
Ill|o up early to-morrow, and ask him."
Do, do, Ben," answered his coiiftta>
((
88
.nd^send down young Ben to let „,
*ord of thanJcH V^ "'°"' "*'e"ng a
<Jen,y his het Z^SZ' ' ''"' ^"''•
'I forgot to thank youf sir ftfr!n '
hmdness to my poor boy bm i? •*" ^°i"
^vant of feeJin/ if I ^ ' "' " '« »<" for
I k , ''°""g «, J can proniisp v^., . j
i&L?''-'''-o'peantrt'^^^^^^
no thanks. my^gld^^Snd "' G >"'™
'lstnt^d-°7?^^-ov:?r^
Haliida^a^t JrBt'stl^r ^^^^
S!k?tt%r;r'^f^"^s:t
rand, the y!un""T ^^' charitable er
saying, •^ ^ gentleman turned to Ben,
l^am, the banker „fR ^'^ ^"""""y Gra-
« Yes lil" "^^"^o'^nswick ?"
z es, sir, answered Ben • « T.„„k
and I are two of hi« ,«„- ^ ;'»<'o'»
tar irom here ?"
I found ft letiet
« to let md
3 cottage, and
Jt uttering a
®r; butsud.
' ingratitude,
» be said,
(or alJ your
t it is not for
se you ; and
it out some
^ind," ans.
" I require
Grod speed
recovery.^'
[^ on Jacob
*« Was put-
^d tbickest
ritable er-
ed to Ben,
n's name,
ony Gra-
" Jacob
a better
1 here V
i a letter
8§
rrom him at Brownswick, inviting me to
stay with him for a few days ; and it was
there I was going when the idiot led me
into all the swamps he could find."
" It isn't much above half-a-mile," ans-
wered Ben ; "why, we are upon hisground
[now, sir, and I am sure he will be very
glad to see you. Lord, if you had told me
that before, it would have saved us all that
thinking about public-housi^s. Mr. Gra.
ham would never have forgiven me if I
had let you go to an inn, even if there had
been one to go to, when you were invited
to his house up there. He has a g^-eat
sight of compahy with him, come to shoot,
and all that ; and if they expect you, sir
I should not wonder if they were waitiW
for you before they take their dinner : for
they dine when we sup."
" I cannot well present myself in such
a wet and muddy condition," said Ben's
visitor, in a musing tone.
Ben looked at his knapsack, "which lay
on the floor, near the fire, as if he thought
that It must contain wherewithal to im-
prove his guest's outward annftflmno^ . k.,!
the Other divining instantly what he me ant
replied to the glance,
/* No, that will not do. There is no,
thing m It but some geological specimen^
40
■teau from Brownswfck If v^ P^J"?*"-
- j» .T,r S;;-:: -rd
«ernan took a more serious tnm ^k^ ".
had previously assumed;r„nig™i^^^^^
^ugoned wkh appaS -^i, S"|-
HaUiday answered with franlr »♦ • l
forwardness Hi« JI i • straight-
lia« enough to ad2 'f r^ "°""'"-
though thefe was a^L^d d:7of''''r
sense in them- hut fi,f r °®"' o' P'am
• little to hk's'"ll^ T.'!^^T.f-"'^.«'>t
vehement discont^nnr^rii^^rL':^^
e«n.. even Ben HallidarSf
ai prepossessed in favour of
good
The
41
'eople's Charter." The good man assur*
ad him that the same feelings were very
jneral throughout all that part of the
jountry ; and he seemed so calm and rea-
sonable, that his guest applied himself ta
[prove to him that what was sought could
not be granted with safety to the institu-
tions of the country, and, if granted, would
[only prove detrimental to the very classes
who demanded it. He pressed him close
with various arguments, and Ben answer,
ed briefly, from time to time, but at length
the laborer paused for a moment or twa
thoughtfully, and then replied :
" 1 dare say it is very true, sir, what
you say; and I never pretend that 1 he
charter is the best thing tliat could be in-
vented ; but of one thing I am very certain,
that gentlemen must either allow us a hand
in making the laws which govern us, or
make laws to protect us against oppression*
It is all very well saying, as 1 have heard
some say, that labor must find its own
market like any thing else, and that it is
but a commodity that is bought and sold,
and such like ; but there's a difference be-
tween it and other commodities ; for it
must eat and drink, and will eat and drink ;
and the market is not
fair
one.
every
thing is done by law for the buyer, and
f
43 ,
fiothing for the seller • and «n ... .
'n the nature of thinU ,h "" ""^ ^'"'"J
much of thesp thin„ ^.°°1^ understand!
heard some of ft' T' ''""'°"gh I have
«>«h about them bu „'":,• P^^^ hold
^hich is, that Tu'nS is a htf ^'?^"°'^'
er. and that rich mpn <^ *'^'' 'as^-mast.
?'ke. to drive Z,™'"^''" "«« f"™. 'f they
« a sort of poC Tev LrV^'"^- ^
i-^> and if those wfeJeTn'tSr"'^ "'^
—parliaments or r»;J> °® country
they may beZdo n^t ?«f ^'■'' '"" ^''a'ever
ers. and farmers and I 1*'"';" *''« "^ast-
;jke,do notS;li"tf ' ""'' ^""^
«"ne or another find Z'.hf^ "'^ «"ne
suffering will noVllrf "' P'*''«"«e and
hevery^rrytose^lh^Tf^^'-V ^ '^^^^
'^ell that theVoorToS' • '^u' ^°' ^ '^°°«'
pod to themKs aS » ' '"''• ''° ""
harm to the rich '„^w " ^'""^ "^«al of
'Whether they be InW ,""?"« '''^ ""h.
or Jand'ordsf or Xt not th""»" ■^'"'^•''"•'»
"any as good men as "ve w"' " -"^^
my master here • anrf I "^*"'— 'uch as
.%ht for his ;iL:fl.r «"■•« I '-ould
Wood ; but rn«n ■ ■•' '" ""^ ^^^ '^'■op of my
« a scJrtt- bitter 7L""7 "'"" ""« "'"e
among u, iZrL Z'^ ^P5«a<«ng fast
"' ""° growing blacker
Id all the while,
J"e commodity]
^^yer gets it atf
>nt understand!
mhough I have
5f peopJe hold
"ng I do know,
»ard task-mast.
se him, if they
any thing. Jt
^e beyond the
n the country
or whatever
^^•e that mast-
'cls, and such
y may some
patience and
r- I should
; ft>r I know
'e end, do no
'•eat deal of
'^ the rich,
? gentlemen
' are a great
'<^— such as
•'•e I would
^rop of my
that there
■eading fast
^S blacker
[and blacker, just like a cloud coming over
khe sky, which will end in a storm. It
[used not to be so long ago ; but the new
Ipoor-kiw has done a great deal to make
the change, for that first showed the people
clearly that the rich were ready enough
'to take care of their own money, while
they refused to do any thing to better the
laborer's condition, or make his master
deal fairly by him."
The guest listened attentively, and then
mused; bii; whether he saw that argu-
ment would have no effect, or believed
that there might be some truth in the cot-
tager's views, he did not answer, and at
length, taking out his watch, he said,
"Now, I think I will go, my good friend,
for it is half.past seven, and, in all proba-
bility, they will be at dinner before I reach
the house."
CHAPTER III.
THE COUNTRY BANKER.
Every man should build his own house,
if he can afford to pamper his peculiarities ;
for the mind, which has been compared to
many things, is, in fact, like a fragment
of rock fallou off from the crag, full of
. 44
knobsj and anwies ^n^ jj
all sorts of shaneLnH- °'''^ *"'"'«"» of
"any hu„dreZr^3,r„f ' f^^i'^^^^-re
one ,hat-i„ all the multhuwl "\^T' '°
or cases which are d. ni °^ ^''^af's
Joclies and souls on thl^^eanr""""''^ ^°'
not get one which will fi, ^'^"''--you will
t'cular specimen of in/ ^'J''^' ""^ Par-
^eft from the g^eafro7 M '''' '"''' •>««"
corners for his odrliit^ . " *""«' have
"^t^-^^Z^Sl-Lr^y can
houseLme\?:SJ>«d''"'lth.-sow„
period of which JZ"i:r '^'■"'^ "•«
Portable house it walz.)' ^ ^ ^^'y oom-
arranged-not what is cZl^l '■°°™-^' "'e"
because Mr. Grahmi, Ld „ '""^"'fioent,
jeets agreat fund of il w " certain sub-
ing. become we^khv/fft'^ T"''- ^"^ hav.
«o means so Wn L , " '"''^'■"^ '»'^«n by
the town of BrownL 1 '"'^""factures of
the only bank, he h?d '" " '""'='' '"'« ^as
^ny thing lil e osulr' °"^ "°"'°n that
People remember rather/,' ''°."''' '""'^^
hehad not always been as :r/°T ""*'
'^as. He was a man of ^ "' ^^ now
Rii ♦;.,„.. J . . . ""an ol a vervant.„„ „„j
«he^al and entering te^^^^^
^ood to all around hij
to see
liappy &Q,
d corners, of
> and there are
of chances to
de of sheaths
instructed for
th— you will
^}^y any par-
»ch has been
an must have
nobody can
iih his own
•s before the
a verycom-
roomy, Well
magnificent,
'Grtfim sub-
^> and hav.
^g been by
; of the m,
|iictures of
ich his was
notion that
pW make
^J'get that
as he now
— -V, Ti; OiiU
ition both
ed to do
^ppy fee*
45
J, and to know there were happy hearts,
[e had been industrious himself, and he
)ved to encouraji^e industry. His princi-
)al object in buying a large tract of what
lad been considered waste land, and in.
)ringing it into cultivation, was to give
[employment to the peasantry of a poor
Idistrict : and in dealing; with them he did
not so much consider at what rate he could
get their labor as what wages he could
properly afford to give. He did not at all
wish to do any injury to the neighbouring
farmers or gentlemen, by giving higher
wages than it was fair to give. That
was not at all his object, and, throwing
such considerations entirely out of the
question, he only asked himself what was
fair. The plan succeeded wonderfully —
first, in making one half of his neighbours
hate him mortally ; secondly, in making
all the poor people love him warmly ;
thirdly, in gaining for him ail the best la-
borers in the county ; and, fourthly, in
rendering the estate exceedingly produc-
tive at the very time when every market-
day heard prognosticatious of his never
gCiiing a peiiiiy oi return.
But this was only one of many success^
ful speculations. He was always ready
to @nt«r jyitp my thing whieh held out even
■^•»
*''"'out : he Mk « JT • '"^ "°' set on
he Lou Jt a sfoTn, •"'^"' °^ '"""''s J
terms, and in In,!, ""' '"°*' '^^""We
•mnuf;,cture iLmrhTf"'- ^^^
P;ospered ; the n.iH Tem on S ""^
o^ depression na*;«5Pr? ' ^"® P®"od
^o-; the oontC pVvId^; «"^P"-'
Some attributed all tCo m' T^^'k ""f"
l"ck ; some to a keen foresiS ,f '''"'?' »
events : some tr, ,u" ""^^^'g"t 'o comioe
-Me others tr:^tljedtsert°"
-as, perhaps, a little of all n Thl'h ^^^'^
fd great luck he cenVJiVu ^''T^^'
least hopeful sdpc.Iw ^ ''"''' '°'" h«
suecessflil than^h?,^ ?' 'vere often more
ever, so i las Mr Qr"'''''''^- "<'^-
prosperous ma^ ^''''"" "'«« « Very
j>is?oL:*',urS :'r t '^ 'f •"'°- '•^ i
separated from iSllilTtr^^-'
people called them,
grounds
several masses
the
Itnt money to I
Id not get on
n a mil] which
^^ant of funds ;
y of produce!
period of de-
s offered, he
lost favorable
essfuJ. The
d lent money
; the period
and prices
^ Rood one.
»*• Graham's
»t to coming
3n of great
to hold on
^J^. There
>e business,
^ad, for his
often more
f5g. JJow.
3s a very
-bosen for
p> though
^ uu oaa,
•west Was
rJc, as the
masses of
47
wood, large and small, to which he added
young plantations, arranged with great
'taste, in front of the house, while it was
building, stretched out, sloping to the south
ward, some two hundred acres of opan
ground, rather unpleasantly soft to the
foot, with more rushes and moss than were
aUoffether beautiful or agreeable, while at
the bottom of this marshy tract was a thick
mass of tall old trees, some oaks, but more
frequently pines, which cutoffentirely the
view of the lake. But Mr. Graham set
to work, ploughed and harrowed the whole
of the open space, drained it upon a plan
of his own, gave it a greater inclination
away from the house, cropped it, cleansed
it thoroughly,and then laid it down in grass.
By the time the house was inhabitable —
for it occupied nearly four years in build-
ing and fitting up, Mr. Graham had as fine
a lawn as ever was seen. He then at-
tacked the wood, and cut his way clear
through, till there was not a window on
that side which had not a peepof the lake.
He did nothing rashly, however. The
oaks in general were spared, and he so ar-
ranged it that when the winter wind tore
off the brown leaves from the deciduous
tree, a tall old pine or fir appeared through
the stripped branees. Neither did he any
The cutting was I „""^" forthat.
.^7 left standing CeT"^''' ^""^ ">«!
that from one uindol ' " '"""'' « P°««'on
°ne part of , he sheet of^.,'^°' " ^'^'^ "f
''^'"nd, and from nnoh '"".""'' """'"'«
Po-j'-on, without ZrZtr °I « '"'^''ent
«"d. There was a m, "" '^S'^ning or
*^"' ^h'-oh is uCysj:'"'^ '■-l>outthe%x
0/ land and watl"-^' ^'?'"'^'- The lines
'^«,"-ees ; and -J: L ^'"^^^'-es among
ranging them orS ;°'' "'fht go o„°
h'»d the woody screen • ^^ ^'''^d, be-
swted her best at ,? ' '" whatever vvav
the green slope and the dT k T"'' '^"''
and the catches of th» .' '"'°'^^'' ^ood
*«». bare, mis^ m ttli":" '"^ '"'^' ^"^
,'',"wJ- Often too, ,„ ,"1, ''"'"« '''"« ^e.
*''« scene, a whi e S f "«'«^ '"ag'c ta
^''er the face of the w''' ''°f 'vould ski«
f ™« of .he masse, Z't'T'^' 'f' ''^'"'"^
appear again till u; 1 7 ^®®' '»''c' then re
^hind th^e p^rt of tht ?/"^"?"' ^»'^X
^7 'ef, sta'Td'ng. ^^ °''' '^°od which ha^
in l:'"'^_''r««'n. too, which fl„„..-„_ .
■■'''-ava„nSefo'::-7'>adIost
ItseJf
m
' ^hole late or
small for ihat
"ged, and the
'^^h a position
?ot a view of
^^ and the hills
f a ditf^^rent
beginning or
■ ^^outtheex-
^- The lines
^^^es amonty
might go on
f^^iiked, be.
hatever way
1^- Jn sum-
I scene, with
'•oken Wood,
^ ^aJce, with
^^g blue be.
s^ magic to.
^ould skim
hst behind
'fi then re-
ib entirely
vvhich had
^""^ down
^ ^ad lost
ouse, and
it into a
49
amp, now collected in a fixed bed witft
e or two other small brooks, was led
05g till ^'t reached the top of a rocky
nk some twelve or fourteen feet high*
iid was there left to leap over at its own
iscretion, forming a cascade within sight,
reduced, indeed, by art in which no art
as apparent. Nobody who had not seen
he place before ever fancied that the
tream had hau another bed.
In all these things, as I have before said,
r. Graham had been very successf'uL
n one point of life, however, he had not
een so, and it was an important one.
/Vhenever a man suffers himself to be led
'in pursuit of an object not consonant to his
general views and disposition, he is sure to
get into a scrape. Mr. Graham was not
naturally an ambitious man ; but some
four-and-twenty years before, when he
was nearly forty, he had done a little bit
of ambition. In the straitened circumstan-
ces of his early days he had remained
single ; but as prosperity visited him and
wealth increased, he began to sigh for do-
mestic happiness. He was an enterpris-
ing man, as I have said ; and he married
a lady without knowing very much of her
character. All he did know was, that she
was handsome, about thirty years of age,
00 I
country banke? Mr r °"°"""'*"'"' ''"^ J
less, something it h! ""!• ■ ^«^««he
fence. One miVhf ^ ^""^ '" y"""- del
origin ofVhe S' r ''P°'' """""e civiJ
tie shells ran.Sn'^.'f"^'' "'" '^'•^^'"■•l
was not the case "''' however,!
<'eauf-.^hTt\?;;:i^^^^^ r; ''^-H
and ypt vo,m„ • , '"®'' ''ad made-f
not marr^ a pee a?" ^^^ ^^''« ^^ould
Peers though! ofwwfi I "' ''"' «""'•
not -arr/her'S:; ;7^;;;r'' '''^i
naps, that she had h,n fl. Il^ '""®' Per-
nor her pori^on whlf "'""^"nd pounds |
fifty- A? tSy.^S'lp r """' '""^ ^^<i
that a baronet or an hi ^^.? '° """g'ne
hut they did ^ot P. "'■".'''^ '"""'d°do;
father was dead L.r.^^'.V ^' ""'"^ he;
«mv hairs S'mLr""": f "'"'^d, some
and she marred a f"? *'"'' "'« W«olc,
B". her .e.prrVasTv\r':/Z^-'^-
fan^^ed^rtare ' f'^'^^^^''^
G u " "® " *^ condescending to Mr
01
[ing herself. She felt a degree of spite
herself and him for what she had done,
id her only consolation was that he was
|ch enough to enable her to domineer
^er all .ihe families in the neigh bourhood-
Now Mr. Graham did not approve of
ler consolation at all. He did not con-
(ider himself honoured in the very least
iegree ; he did not think his wealth or her
issumed station gave her any right to
Ireat his friends on anv terms but those of
?quality. He was not weak enough to
rield upon such subject whijp there was a
lope of a change : an*^ jui tUg the first
two years of their union he reasoned, re-
lonstrated, even reproved, but all in vain ;
land when their first and second child were
Iborn dead, Mrs. i^raham informed him
[that it was his ill temper which had caused
the misfortune. There are many ladies
who love their faults far better than any
thing else, and would not part with them
for the world ; and, in general, although a
husband may consider it his duty to get
rid of them as fast as possible, yet he will
generally suffer his wife to keep them, if
she dues Dut aGnere to tnem witii a cer-
tain degree of pertinacity. This very in-
corrigibleness secures them. The maxim
embodied in the words, " Any thing form
ever propounded a " ^a"' that wJ
'"'eerfuJ and hapnv h ™'". •""""«« for a
""an-y solely foH^f '"^' '^ ^e does L?
In'r'f ""-'-'^-^ - y tot r^" ""S
^^»o\mor,;fies ?4 "^f '''"•g'''^e thai
and he feJt it. ""'^"^Wed by the poo/
J-:S!?'^;'^'J'/-^ed to soften the'
qualities of her /if, ' "'''"-^ of t/ie fi„^r
iiim witU <• J 'ather; and sIm ,i '
T, "^"i> Jotid anri ^ '® clunw to
«er mother w„c r?_. ^J'S^r attaehmfn
•f ^"s likelter^n' "'''' "^' because
^ar^ in domes.
' sanr that was
marries for a
^^ Redoes not
Y^en he finds
Obtained, even
Jojerating bis
'^^^ to them in '
l^- He eon.
.^est be could
'is fine lady's
^^ urbanity;
«e was very
forgive that
» . and tbus,
;e/gb6ourino.
^^^^ed for her
am for his
'^> however
y ibe poor,
J soften the
^ome, and
^e had her
*^^e finer
' c'ung to
achrriAn*
) because
but she
^^ not
53
poor spirited, and would not in ball or
ssembly go over and talk to those girls,
le s, who dressed so badly and were
Ittle taken notice of by any body.
It is time, however, to go into Mr. Gra-
am's house and see the interior, and we
hall beg the reader to walk at once into
he dining-room, on the some cold, windy
utumnal night to which the two preceding
hapters have been devoted.
It was a large, handsome room, beau-
ifully proportioned, with walls decorated
with pilasters, between which hung some
fine pictures by both modern and ancient
artists. All the ornamental parts were
very quiet, chaste, and in good taste, and
the draperies which now hung over the
windows, though rich in themselves, had
not the least bit of gold upon them. A
large bronze lamp hung from the ceiling
in th e centre of the room, with the glasses
so shaded that the light fell less upon the
faces of the guests than upon the table,
round which some sixteen persons were
congregated. The plate which decorated
the board was somewhat ancient in form,
and thougii ihere was plenty of it, yet there
was no great display. It might have been
heavier, more rich in design, more orna*
mental^ but every thing that could be wanU
^^Kr^r A^^^ though
ine dinner, iodeerf T
o«en,atious, but Et Va/M'"'^''''''"''^!
'^''o would not tolerate t \^'^'"'^ «ook
. 7^ a great deal ZtCeff " """"^Ht
°f '•er husband's guests jf"" ^ ""'"''«'
^'d aot care about fha,L^**''- «^«ham
W own guests, and bet '^"'' »«"'"ted
she made a great r)l,- ''^'narked that
z>b"'^ ''" hirr "t^*"^^" ''-
She thus specialJv arm^v. • ^^°^^ whom
•insisted of fou7 2Pf°P"«'«d ^ herself
seduced down into rf^ f '!'""" ^''e had
Jw'e Somebody, °if"'"''«^land •• a Lady
« ^ery beautif^ !„ J '°''^' ""^en ringlets^
£-ion, %ht-bt'eyes'"a°:' <^^'-«'e -»
"-'de mouth : her brJh 1 * ^"'er over.
Captain Som^.J^;'"!^^^^ ^ Honourable
and wristbands thai t ui''!*" , """^'ache
llkfVf ^'' ''"at H?1„''«1'^ "ver the
iike Charles /., anj ,„„. "'""S'" himself
{"deed, poor man b. ^'^ melancholy.
*^« navy, named Hall ^/r-^^P'"'" '»
name him-w;.,. "„fr«'.'east sol will
r^i:!i"'e,:ani'cjr„^^
•»»1 others. It
wa^L^'"^ °" "Pon sev.
^^B loDg smcs he h«d
'aham thoughJ
^"^ewhathiorei
'''s. Graham's
»f,vu%ar from
^^ench cook
^ a thing — .jt
[or a number .
'^•s- Graham 3
^er; it suited
parked that
between her
hose whom
' to herself
"^ she had
^ • a Lady
3n ringlets,
cate com-
ither over-
onourable
"mustache
c over the
t himself
'aneholy.
y much
aptain in
so I will
e or two
on sev,
he h^
55
sen any service, was very quiet and in-
significant, fond of shooting and fishings
Ipiayed well at billiards and piquet, liked
[good dinners, and frequented country
houses where they grew. He was, more-
(over, a tall, well-dressed, good-looking
man, who made himself useful as well as
ornamental. The fourth was a baronet, a
member of parliament, a sucking politici-
an, aspiring to n^^ij for the honor rather
than the profit he thing, for he was
wealthy ; but he had a vehement conceit
in his own powers, wearied the House with
large- worded speeches, and not very ap-
posite quotations in Greek and Latin ; for
he had lately come from Oxford, and had
visited the lonion Islands; and he was
considered a very rising young man, sim-
ply because he treated the opinion of every
body with contempt who did not exactly
agree with the opmions which he formed
himself, or which he was instructed to
maintain.
To this gentleman. Sir Arthur Green,
Mrs. Graham was particularly attentive
and gracious ; and, indeed, she had rea-
sons of her own for being so, though he
did not know them. In person he was
exceedingly diminutive, except about the
hips, which had been uitended by Nature
r 6^ I
■or a hitroex-p
speaking hi,„sej&'°" 'r^en he^ waj '
notions— and n,n- ^"'''°'en« attemior ,!, ?•
, '^l' and consequemJv^ .'''^'T '^'^'•'' ""bod!
yj-aham for «„, -T '""'eel over tr, m
f <"• did 4 STT' '"'i^oun^r
^'^^y afd/ng her fa h ^"' ^''^ham per"
P°«'f, although mS'p '° "'^besioC
;f«burGree„T„,rWnotad„,V«|,:;'
'^ about thn r.;„? *''°"' the corn I-,...
" *fce tariff. --B-''<J;es^o„, and as jltZ'
®^ on him byl
^^ approached f
^^^\^e was'
['^^ght people
^^^^Hion to his
i others Were
'Oid contempt
^ed of neigh,
^^i^om lived
fj and there.
^ <|ined, and
f the houses
'^J'e nobod-
J^er to Mr.
I'courtest.
aham per.
^^st of her
iiad pur.
ironet, in
'd. But
«iii'e Sir
'g^t him
' stupid.
as httJe
f^ll ap-
*y with
57
sort of inattentive nonchalence when her
father had made some very just and prac4>
tical observations upon the latter subject,
land pursuing his own conversation as if
[he either did not hear what Mr. Graham
said, or thought it quite unworthy of no-
|tice. That was not the way to the daugh-
ter's heart; but Mrs. Graham. rather ad-
mired it.
The second course was nearly conclud-
ed, and a great part of the usual subjects
of a dinner-table had been exhausted. The
country gentlemen had done all they
xould ©n the topics of pheasants, hares,
grouse, and partridges. .It had been de^
dared that not one woodcock had yet been
seen in the country; which those who
wished for an early winter pronounced a
bad sign, and those who desired a late one
a good sign. The markets and the wea-
ther had been discussed. Some of the
ladies had enjoyed a little bit of scandal,
delicately admiaistered by Captain Hales,
and it was over. The sucking politician's
oratory began to fail. The. Honourable
Captain Somebody amused himself with an
oiange-wood toothpick, and looked afiif
he were about to be led to the block. His
sister sat in patient insipidity ; and Mi*.
Grahwn hexself was heginnkkg to jkad
*'n»8 rather W, ^h^„ .
Pered something to Mr Gr«f.'"'""'' '^hi^
ed pleased, and said/ *^'"' ^*°^
««^e has changed hi dreii''" " "' "^ «°°«i
'"'^'^Zrt^V and Mrs.
" What Pairfav lu ^ ®' ^nquirine
" The eldest^' S"-,^/«''a'n ?" ^'
^as member t^vemr?" Pairft,, n-ho
J^' Ed^va;,, Pairfi7,7J^. and «ephe«. o? ,
"'"h an IOC ination»„"^^"^ -'husband
;^as an oJd acq u ?ma'° ?'r' ' • " *« '"a' W '
'nany good Join," tfol™"'' ''"'' *aj
strange ones. Th. '„"«"' some very
S,"-faxes then became ''"^'"''"' abo«
^y knew a Fair&l <='®"^''a'- Kverv
•Fairfax; anj itas" -.fr """^ '"'o^
second course remoTed wh °'Y' «»d 'he
'oom door opened . j ^. ®" «he dinino-
announced. ^S.T*^ ^'- ^airfa^^f:
^^as greeted warmttr^°'-"'-^^d
'*!«?<>» of an old frii^l'- Graham, as
°f Sir Arthur Greln i'" ^-''"" *>« 'hose
?'m, and every borf! f^® *"™ed uoon
mternalJv Sf-T^.^ade their cnm Jl^"
■0 hoJd Mre. GSfm^i' ","'' «"deavoured
.raname attention, by arft-
to
5»
Ig if she took any interest in the tobacco
bestion ? to which Mrs. Graham replied
lith a sweet smile, " Yes, very," and con-
Sued to gaze at the new visitor.
He was remarkably Handsome — that
fas the first thing apparent ; he was re-
markably well dressed—that was the next
bservation made; he had all the ease,
race, self-possession of a man of high
tation — that was the closing remark : and
Irs. Graham determined that he should
^e one of her set.
The introduction to his wife and daugh-
ler over, Mr. Craham asked if Mr. Fair-
Fax had dined. He replied that he had,
kt a cottage hard by, whence he had taken
bhelter from the rain ; and seated opposite
lo Margaret Graham, he gave an account
Sf his adventures of the evening, lightly,
»ayly, but mingling touches of kindly
jfeeling and good sense, and merry com-
jments on his own wisdom in putting him,
jself under the guidance of an idiot, in a
Imanner which amused and pleased both
father and daughter, while Mrs. Graham
Jdeclared it was delightful, and the whole
party seemed to feel that a new spring of
life and pleasure had burst forth in the
midst of them, to stir the waters that had
been inclined to stagnate. Tno dessert
60
*«in Hales, wh^was Sdt ^f ' """^ 4
. considerate. Sirlr hn, n*''«''^''"'oug
attention ,o him Than fc"'' '"^ "'°l
to pay to any body *^ accustom^l
•^-'njriritrr^^^'"^^
, ration which /oreilners L?P°:'"-^ «^H
upon, music and carr ","'''' <=''y H
Fairfax would ha ^e Zt"^"^ ' ''"' ^
'Jje latter, and Jcem a n '"^ '° ''° *"
««d taste did morel^rT'*' """^ f^elinl
ier singing th^n „11 .k^^ expression o|
^orld w1>ufd We effected *' 'm'"^ '» 'J
aeemed delighted „nH ,?^''- ^airfai
* ?>-eat deal atut 1„ -""^^^ '« 1^4
jnus.c they rambTed on tn'"' •""'^ H
{«>n- painting to po^trv . *° P^'pt'og, and
have gone tbfougK^Lf ''^t they migh,
a«s. had not Mrs rT i?^ ''''"'^le of fhef
;irA" '«"'.at some beaut^;.;. l"!.fL*''1
Which
wftioh were, laid unon „ . m ' ^"^'•avings
*»«»«'8sM«e"Pt" *,.'«'''«• Such,!,
^rs. Graham V pretext
ibr.
tol
lay the truth, she cared not a straw
Vhether Mr. Fairfax looked at the en-
rravings or not. Certainly society is a
btrange thing, and the devil must have had
kome hand in its construetion : for we are
|told that he is the father of lies, and the
whole fabric is filled with his offspring.
In reality and truth, Mrs. Graham had for
the last half hour been observing her
daughter and Mr. Fairfax. His liand-
[some person, his high-toned air and man-
ner, and his very gentlemanly appearance,
seriously alarmtd Mrs. Graham for the
[success of her scheme for marryina Mar-
garet to Sir Arthur Green. She saw
Margaret's eye sparkle with a much
brighter look than usual, and her cheek
grow warmer with excitement, as she lis-
teded to a sort of conversation that she had
never heard before, and Mrs. Graham
reckoned that such a man as Mr. Fairfax
would prove a very dangerous rival to the
monkey-faced, consequential little being
upon whom she had cast the eyes of affect
tion. Wisely— very wisely— she did not
make up her mind to do any thing that
might check Mr. Fairfax's growing admi-
ration of her daughter; for she thought,
judging by what her husband had said of
hk family, that he himself migiit be no
-timuJus of riva?rv m^.h^ meantime, t)
'apidiy into full bo?;''' f ^' P''^^''"'
however, in the timZ. , determined]
lowW effect anrf^-^r""®' '^^^ 'o "le folJ
-usttvXl°';;,f;-,^airft^^^ I .,, , ,,
fcimer years with soL „p ««q"a"ited in
You are%Idest o„ Mr cJT ^^'"^°"«^
Wr. John FairfaT'«,K *''*'" s^H of
Cbventry ?" ' "^^^ "'as member for
still lookdXenJT-''' ^r'^'y' and
-p^onc^thete'^^^^^^^^^^
■ r «'" -nS'e relaSraf r V-'
id .w":*'*^ ^^''W^^ at that ..•;:!_"!
-^^^ -0« 28 not in fK«
-a
^ot in the armv '^
a^njy/' replied
ippare
enev
[know {
[ed son,
bv hinr
of it if
"He
tJEDifta
Ir. Fairfax, looking'up : " he is now an
Hmiral, but has only been so for two or
|ree years."
"Ah! 1 must have made a mistake,"
b"d Mrs. Graham; <» 1 knew he was
tther in the army or navy. How is lady
fairfux ?"
"Don't frighten me, my dear madam,"
lid her young guest, laughing. "If
lere is a lady Fairfax in my family, she
bust have become so within the last ten
lays ; and the very idea of my uncle mar-
King is tatamount to a charge of lunacy,
Ivhich you know is a disagreeable circum-
Itance to a man's race. "You forget how
lime flies, my dear lady; he is now
Wventy.three, and though the best and
'{indest man in the world, he is eaten up
vith gout." *^
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Graham,
ipparently in great surprise ; " then was
le never married ?"
" Never," replied Mr. Fairfax, "that I
jknow of; and 1 think, as I am his adopt-
led son, and have been brought lip entirely
by him almost from my birth, now five-
|and.t\vcnty years ago, i must have heard
of it if such had been the case."
" How strange that I should make such
1 a«»tteke !" exclainied Mm Graham. *
the sort of „„„ wl.Csl,! il ,* """^m
Y'"'out favour to ff ^" ^'""i'"- «reol
there was a bias it vl. ?f' ^'' *'"'ougi,,]
f called La^'^lSl tf"' ''^ '^^l
Green. Besides, 1 e If c''u'"*" ^'''t
«>me, distin»uisJ ed^nl" '"'='' '^ ''and
'hat Has no%" ,t i'"^- •"''" '°°. an
ham'6 opinion. " "^"^^ '" ^'-s- GrJ
About five or »»►, • ' '■• • ]
Graham slipped ou.of"^r'^^ ^^''^' M
^l y^^y to The Jibr ' V wt'°°'" ^"-J •"«*
".Bu'-ke., Peerage and r'" "''« «'"''''^"l
some time. Wbfn I baronetage" foi
''eoame quite radian, to '■''"^^'' ''^- A
fated beside MarLa ' n ''" ^'- ^^"H
J?ne Somethin/pfa";'' ^T' ^"^''^Lady
P'ano,andSirAr&r/ ^^f^'a on the
a wnnoisseur tulmdZ \ '^'"^ ""« air J
^'o.. places. Kar:"?.' «""«'« «» the
Graham's eyes tl^at"iV» .''""' '" ^'A
PteasedvvithierimpaSf""'' ^^'^4
She had never seeXr '°°°^ersation.
as it wfl«> i... . "^'^ so carried „„-^ i'
'^^^- Nephe.
« old and highlj
^^^^^J ; and shJ
'"ipflt to Jet htn
' Arthur Greeii
»'0S although,!
'f^'-lierdauffj
^^ler than Ladi
«"cfa a hand]
? »^an too, an^
^« Mrs. Gra
6«
nded the cause of the continual varia-
nof expression wliich took placo in her
ughtrr's countrnancf — the look ctf half-
izzled thouirht chan<:iii^ suddt uly to ihnt
brltjht intelliijjence, thon sobering down
gravity, almost sadness, and *!».:^ ajrain
nishingaway in a gay smiles or a ^ight
ugh. But in truth Allan Ftii i'Lv's jon-
rsation was very peculiar. It went
unding like a roe, from suhjrct to sub-
ct, and figure to figure, finding latent re-
mblances in the heart of apparently dis-
imilar things, suddenly setting every
ing in a new point of view, the most joy-
ul in the darkest and gloomiest aspect,
nd extracting a smile even from a tra-
edy. So rapid was the transition, that it
as diflicult for the mind to follow him ;
nd yet, like a playful child running away
"rom pursuit, he paused every now and
hen in his gay sport, in order to give the
bllowers time to come up.
Thus passed the first evening of his
isit to Mr. Graham's house, and Allan
airfax retired to his chamber to think
rather than 1 1 rest.
li 4 J 11 J ur i-^^i ,
)i any one,' Biia hand ; the gay, lively, sparkling young
j,^<Mjgb to|tE>iai was suddenly qonyerted ipto lh(^
» «nd thoughtful cffiie ; mi thou ghim
5s after, Mrs]
»om and mad.
■^ she studiodi
ronetage" for
^ned bea^ f^J
^^'- Fairfail
y ^vhiJe LadjI
stasia on thef
'ith the air
music in the)
m to Mrs.\
^ Was welJl
^nversation.l
60
"^he is very )„ve, '^ '« h'ms.Jf „ j,
inclusion he ended. ' ""'' '"'■"> 'iJ
CHAPTER IV
i:''/ -n uJ'P:/l^J ^ horn,l]
P'-udpnt impulses tl if '""""'""'caffJ
"'hich some peri„L»\'"'"'"'" "fm,,?
keep youth out of ?; "l^"''5<">'« 4
''■'•ee, four dav, "^'"P'aiioD. TwoJ
■ p'-«''«m himself Jas obi; !{"''°"g'' W
Jong on ench uZnin. T"^ '° ''^ ^''^ent
•"^''^'s of bns/ncss ^^' ^^"1" ">« ''arioJ
g«ged, s,ili he pressed K I ''^ '"^^ '"n
y sad, yet a ahn^
^is face, and
"^^f'lr at len J
f "lust take car]
^^d with thi
V.
'Piousness pro
^^ a horn, and
'Ommumcatim
induct of maj
'fe to it, still
insufficiVnt to
«ion. Two]
|f' ancJAJJaJ
'tarn's house,
i^ing another]
^^ough Mrl
^0 be absent!
j^e various!
'le vvasen.|
»fs to amuse!
'^e them aa
'ch as tliej
67
irticular set ; and in that number Mr.
lirfax was now marked out with panic-
(ar favour. To the greater part of the
jiiests, too, his society was appareutly
»ry agreeable. The Honourable Cap-
lin Somebody liked him very much, and
jclared that he rode beliorthan any man
le had ever seen out of the troop of
le regiment ; Lady Jane thought
im, silently, extremely handsome ; Cup-
in Halee was, of course, very friendly
nd civil, though Fairfax shot a great deal
etter than himself ; and Margaret Gra-
am said nothing, but smiled when he
pproached at first, and then became some-
hat thoughtful.
Thoughtful or smiling, however, he was
preat deal with her, and, as it so fell out,
ften alone; for Mrs. Graham's health
was by no means good, and Margaret did
the honours of her father's house during a
great part of the time he was absent each
day. She showed Mr. Fairfax the
grounds, which were extensive: pointed
out to him with pleasure and pride all the
changes and improvements Mr. Graham
iia\t iiiau^r, uuu vvu» vvLli picustu lu iiUVU
an auditor who could fully appreciate the
taste which her beloved parent had dis*
played. The only discontented person
TTSsS.r Arthur Green, whose consequence
vanished from ihe moment of Mr. Fair.
Jaxs appearance, and who, coldly rudo
before, was inclined to be warmly rude
atier his arrival. People paid very little
nitention to him, liowi ver, and he did not
venture to go too f.r. A new life seemed,
Ti, 'J?\^''"'d. to enter ihe house with
Allan 1< airfax. Not.ody looked bored any
more. There was always someihins to be
^ seen someil.ing to be done, some amuse,
nteiif, or at least some occupation, Mar.
gant and l,e and Lady Jane visited the
cottages of Ben flaliiday and his cousin,
inquired after the boy who had been hurt
nttd tallied kindly with the labourers'
wives. They called on the clergyman of
the parish, and heard all his details of
parochial matters, and Maiga.^tt listened
with pleasure to the contrast which Mr.
!< airfax drew between the state of hanni-
nrss and prosperity which spread around
iWr. Graham's w.llinjr a„,| some oi her
parts of the country which he hud lately
visited ; but a rather unpleasant discus.
. sioB followed at dinner that day, suggest.
c<l by some observations madA hv W?^.*^-
regarding the condition of the hme'd^.
ses ,„ England. Sir Arthur Green was
an ultra pohucal economist, and, liJw all
^sequence
Mr. Fair.
►Idly rude
mly rude
'ery little
le did not
3 seemed,
)use with
)oredany
iing to be
i amuse-
1, Mar.
sited the
5 cousin,
Jen hurt,
bourers'
yman of
letuils of
listened
lich Mr.
' happi.
around
le other
d lately
discus-
3»*clas-
en was
69
fenatios, made a high science ridiculous
or hateful by bringing it to bear upon sub^
jects not immediately submitted to it. He
looked upon all men but as machines, he
spoke of them as sucli, was inclined to
treat them as such. They were, in his
opinion, but parts of the great universal
manufactory, flesh and blood ei^gines,
whose business it was to produce as much
as possible at the least imaginable expense.
Fairfax reminded him of a slight differ-
ence between them and all other machines
—that they felt, that they thought, that
they lovedj that they hated, that they had
hearts as well as arms, an immortal spirit,
as well as a reasouing brain, that the mo»
tive power was one that he could not sup.
ply, and dared not take away.
Nevertheless, the sucking politician w^nt
on, assumihg much as incontrovertibly
proved which everybody in the room was
inclined to deny, and covering his cold
theories with clouds of schoolboy aphor-
isms, till in the end he declared that he not
only thought it extremely foolish, but un-
just to the majority, for any man to give
one penny more in wages than the very
lowest possible sum at which he could
obtain the labour required #
**Bt^ry ^ri»g te« its mftrket price,^
it was a direoT „T ."'®'^""J"'"ly-'
hand's system bat .h^ "P°1 ^'- ^ra-
not think fit to noLl f/f^""."^""'" ^^'^
replying with 1 lauT " ^"''^'^ '^^'^ ^y
Pl«n might succeed" but as i^'i^^^your
2 own conscience tould not Lm, "2''
"lat, even if we cn..lH i I ' "^ *''>
scale of wages mLt h» f ' ' ^? "'^^''^ ""e
principles.^ The 11 '"'"""'' '^Pon other
and the employers o?T ^^ °' P-^P^Oy
least a sufficiency for f°"' ""'' P^X «
dependent oT°hem'u '"?P°" °'' '''<'*«
Poor's-rates, or pillTL Yi; .!" '^'^''' "'
•node of paymeVt fest • b^ ^ *?'•'"«'
the subject I hnL. ' "'' *° change
Jead, as I must bT'in R '^"'■^^'•^' ^^a"
What think you of a i™'^"««''e'^ «" day.
?nd theMarsras weSr'.J^ ^?Sh'
« remarked, tJ^ere i, n„, "7-«"iough, bo
P'^perlysocS/ln hTwfr'r'?'''
'oneofyou.ithiik^atre'^'l'r}:
"'-y inieresting district." ' "
K
IQ O
ore for any
' unjustly.'
» Mr. Gra-
leman did
'f than by
»r peasan.
too many
lieveyour
Jaw and
'et us do
ft'aid the
3on other
property
t pay at
of those
iges, or
J ibrmer
change
expedi.
3t shall
»n day.
Brugh,
Jgh, be
fnarsh,
rac^ ?
on/1 «A
<^en to
ort, of
71
course ; and all parties agreed that the
proposed expedition would be very de-
lightful. Lady Jane, who, Heaven
knows how, found, or fancied herseH re-
lated to the well-known Ann Countess of
Pembroke, to whom Brugh Castle once
belonged besought that it might be in-
eluded in the ride, and would not be de-
terred by Mr. Graham's hint that the dis-
tance would be very great. She was an
mdefatigible horsewoman, she said, and
she was sure that Margaret weuld not be
tired ; the day, too, was certain to be fine:
they were just getting the Indian summer,
as It was called. November had become
as warm as May ; and, in short, she re-
solved that Brugh Castle should be visited.
It IS wonderful how pertinacious those
fair-haired, wide-mouthed, fine complex-
loned girls can be when they like it.
Every body yielded, of course, and it was
arranged that the time of departure shonld.
be at an earlier hour than had been pro-
posed at first.
^ Oh, the ever eager heart of youth, how
It bminHc (krih , •' . •' -
«po-jj mc uuujiju ui enjoy-
mentl Well may they call hope a flame
and love a fire, for they both consume
tnat^ which nourishes them, leaving the
«rtofee of disappointment and ashen of r©-
- 72
for .heZ:; J ' Tl^'^^'^'T'^
within ; but as whc r. a ^ , ^ "sunshiae
p rays, ne shades his eves rmri ♦! .^ l
they di.' . i, ^,:^ p^'^^i' '" }^^ loveliness
forW H f •"'^?' "'•'"•' •«» looked
«f am'l^ . f """"« "^^y '^•'l' 'he thrill
BunshinelZd Lit H ^^^n^^' ''"''
tour/and fouSd a St/r'T'-" ?^ ^«
Mr. Graham", h ^' "'^ invitation ta
rienced-lit,f: ifd hltnf i.'^LT ''f I
nevpr hov/. ^ """K It, or he would
upon hi«.hf gaThii f";^ ^Yei:^
love too stion^r.Itrr""'""^
ihere was unr^iU^^ l1 „. ^
at house whjrr::.^^^^^ ^» ^it-^i
5 the coming ^^y. but wJ.k :!
Ibe
coming
^eofiatioas
y^
of. ^but with Jess i*--''*t
^wh Itself exp««*^j,
a that night
xpedtaaons
azes over a
ight morn,
on i};,e orb
s proceed,
loyeliness
he looked
^ the thrill
not let his
m all ihat
B thou,^ht,
ofBrown-
)Je sum of
?« of his
itution to
Jult of his
ow expe-
he Would
rming- as
ley wefe
their in.
'ear, and
ew-born
, wit^ra
78
!hoi gh with some timidity. Margaret
saw utat she was loved, and she felt that,
for the first time, she was loved by one
whose passion she could return. It made
her thiill when she thought of it ; but yet
it was very sweet, and no anxiety mingled
with the feeling, for she knew that her fa-
ther's whole hopes were in her happiness,
and she saw that her mother was well in-
clined to smile upon her love.
Every one was awake by daybreak,
and every one looked out of the window to
see the aspect of the fcky. It was gray
and shrouded ; a light frost lay upon the
ground. To Margaret's eyes it looked
unpromising ; for fear will come thrust'^
ing herself before hope, at the first obsta.
cle in the course of enjoyment. Still she
put on her riding-habit, and, looking bright
enough herself to give sunshine to a wintry
day, she went down to the break fast- room,
where she found her father and Allan
Fairfax. She caught Mr. Graham's eye
fixed upon her while she shook hands with
the latter, and she thought she saiv a
slight but well-pleased smile upon his lips.
The colour niounted warmly into her
cheek, and turning to the window she
looked out, saying, in a fahering voice,
"I am afraid it will be a bad day."
T*
•"J you will hLTa b Zt'/'''" "" hour.
your ride. [ Zl nof " "' '"^'•"'"g «"
f»orro,v, and eve," ^.u'lir "','""''■'' '"^'O"
'"'>'« to.niVht • b?. 1 *''"" «'« shall
^'Sl-t or te; hiuis lall"^' ^ "''"'°" "Pon
. ^^ was as Mr r* Y*
l"-eakfa,t «.as over .SIT '^'^- ^^''^'e
spread the sky first bX^ ""st that over.
Pjouds, and then d'sanl 'J**^ '"'° ""in
|^("'e sun drank iheZ^'Tl ""''^^'y' «"
«'s race. Mr r< u P *^ ''« "^se to run
P-'Taxon a pSdl '"'"""«'' A'C
accustomed to keen n ''°'"^', '^hich was
«'<«'ghter ; he Im a^"""^ """> ""« of his
oaptam Hales, and hefesfo^^^ '"""^^ *°
heir horses wi.h ,£'" "/ ">« P««y had
'owed, and all sev^n „ .' "^ ^"''an' Mol-
ten, while Mr. Sa,^ "".' •" ''"'« ''-'"o™
ton and dmve awav t^V '"'*> '^'spi.ae.
P'Weedin. sloX „f r"''"'°'^-
road toward Bri.^l.iw °' ^'■*' a^onff the
the rest of ?hS "^^T' f^''^' ""d
Ae Itenks of the htfl? I T^^ ^""^ "Pon
round the western sZ u' f"'' ^^'^'ng
of themselves and thet'h'""'"'^ '^««otio^
''-av toward the "She >>-'!": '^"""^
'-'•'heyweTffi
"'here the
■«g rose ov»r a aw.
f Mr. Gra,
nin an hour,
morning for
^uch fbr to-
^' we shall
eckon upon
iJ. Before
St that over-
^'into thin
'n^*>ely, as
''ose to run
*ed Allan
v'lich was
that of his
'junter to
Pa»'ty had
'vant fol.
tie before
^is phae.
ick.
'ong the
ham and
^th upon
skirting
'flection
^on the
wound
ere the
ftnar*
75
row neck between two high, saddle-shaped
mountains, and then decended rapidly to
a plain several thousand feet below. From
the highest point reached by the road the
view was wild and sublime in the extreme
— sublime from its immensity. As far as
the eye could see was one expanse, un-
broken, almost interminable ; for the faint
boundary which separated it from the dis-
tant sky was obscured by a mist so slight
that it blended heaven and earth imper-
ceptibly together. To the right, indeed,
faint and far off, could be traced after
long gazing, several waving lines, like
those x)f clouds, but probably some of the
hills of Niddesdale ; and on the left were
the grand Cumberland mountains, which
farther on appeared crowned by Skiddaw.
I have said that it was uninterrupted ; but
that wide plain was not unvar 1, for al-
though the general hue was, in the near-
est parts, of a bright deep-green, and in the
distance an intense Hue, yet lines of dif-
ferent colours, all profound in their degree,
checkered the expanse without injuring
— ..«.s„vr*ij^ . ricrc r:iQ muru was a wiae
extent of what s«emc J iow wood ; beyond,
a yelbw gleam crossed the plain ; then
Gamesome undulations almost black,either
from the nature of tlva soil or from a aba.
aow ca.n oj ciouds whJ^k .i
«ye CO..CI 'no, dSove t fh *'T*^'''°''«
j'X've. Nature herself rir'^^/'«"»ky
from monotony, "^^^ '^''''ved ,he vie,J.
marked the vastne^s of^tk'"* ."""« "me
aliiost at the feet of ?i,5" ^"<^erneath—
. f^'rn the hilJ--!v' » P^'i' '^ho Razed
«»d herds of oxe„ a'nd''"^*'''^ "fi^
.^.^tinguished father off ,°"'"*? """W b^
distance tilJ they be^J'^^Jf^^en'ng in the
disappeared. ^ ^""^ ^'''n' specks, and
'''ere lay the^n^p^^^'^^^cene ; «a„d
fierce and Invincible i^l^"* ^•' ^ ''^n "le
«nd more permaflem '"^ '° " stronger
self." P^™'"»ent cone ueror than hfm'
A«hurSn ;if'C^-«ed." said Sir
''^jn made ,o e.^e^^'"'' '^^^■' hJl
,, Margaret gently LITT P'"''^"«">e.'
•be infinitely mo-fiLw ^^ "« bill, t^
''«f"y. the LTt ±1: ■ '^ '' of human
:!-<! 'hose who"atei'L'!-»div.U
•b'nks as nrell of him ^ ul'L?"*»'e world
'ma« he thinks of hi,,.
e spectator's
^e clear sky
ed the vieyy
sauie time
hole by the
^erneath
who gazed
«s of sheep
' could be
ng in the
pecks, and
said Mar.
i^ almost
^e ; "and
^hen the
stronger
^an him.
said Sir
>rL;i have
ucnVe.'*
se's brU
ill ^a
human
indiviu
t^'ontact
J© vain
> world
77
self, is a wretched creature. Prid3,
though an isolating passion, is at all events
Independent : vanity is d ^p-^nrlent up^n
)ther's opinion for its satisfiction, if not
Ifur its .Niipport. Sir Arthur Green fanci-
[etl himself prou'J, hut he was only vain;
and a conviction which had beer i^rowinij
[upon him that he was by no m^ans par-
Iticularly pleasing in lVIar<raret*s eyes niado
Iiim determine to reven<^e himsf If, by pay-
ing all his attentions to Lady J, me. Ho
could nc have devised a means of mak-
in«^ hims "more agreeable to Margaret ;
ui 1 while i'^ thought he was inflicting
punishmer. by attaching to the lady of
rank, and iiegle ni; altogether the bank-
er's daughter, i.Iargaret Graham was
cantering ^'ayly on overBru<:h marsh by
iiie side of Allan Fairfix, enjoying with
him all that was beautiful in nature, and
when that filled them, findinor stores of
happiness, like hidden treasures, in their
own hearts. The two cij^tains rode to-
gether, and talked fashiouiible nonsense to
each other with long intervals ; and thus
harmoniously paired, they crossed tho
wide plain toward a spot upon its verge,
where, Vom the heights alive, they had
seen some small, black mounds, which
eoi3Lstituted the little town of Bragh, mi
78
the remains of its old ca«!flA 'tj.j.
ces seen from a hpiahf ^utdistan.
to the eye EvP. J^ T \''>' ^^^^P^ive
an hour- hnf ih' „ u 'l " "^^ '^"'n m
after no^r.LZ'ilV'^^ '■"^' '«>"r
two before ,(,;, Zd J^u. T' t^^'''^'"
the small inn to < t .i.^ r i^^"" ''°'"«^« ^t
her in the ascent anfsle toot T '" "'"^
«avv that Lady jki^e had n^°/ "' "^ '^^
^tt:^:£9-v-'^^
f'-om the es° of !|.; PT"!* 'hemselves
«3theyreaXd^he,d^3:'T:rr
was not al all sorrv to T "^^^^^^ -^a"©
a-"sel,errlT'^^;;,'';---,hfng,o
""'v that she had gotfi^re „nd r°?«''
she hiuahcd anri ..ii i ' P™'nerrfore
fine r«ih,ld gatf ,11' """^ """""^ ^er
»»'itiiout the sI.VhVI,tr "•"" '"? "^™ '"c's,
iping one -'steXi'? Ht'tle •'"' ^^^'
But distan.
Y deceptive
'•garet had
the ruin in
^ust, hour
► haJf-past
r horses at
and wevQ
le castle.
rtn Xo aid
t> as she
o scruple
» Sir Ar.
' evident,
love, and
ion werQ
J. The
mselves
as soon
^y Jane
thing to
enough
led her
Jitician
^n^ both
! Jiicts,
^ ever
bother
79
two gentlemen remained with Mirgaret
and her companion ; but every one knows
how easy it is to break into knots in a
ruin, and while Fairfax and Miss Graham
were standing in the heart of the 'jjreat
square tower, ancJ gazing up, ihey found
themselves left alone together.
It was a moment of great temptation.
Should he tell her, he asked himself, how
he loved her — how her beauty, and her
grace, and her gentleness had carried him
away without power of resistance, and
every thing in life seemed valueless but
her! But no, he would not do it; there
was a chain around him which held him
back from such happiness as the hopo of
possessing? her. It might be broken, in-
deed, and her hand might break it ; but to
do so she must see it, and know it, and the
first thing was to tell her all.
" This is very grand," he said, some-
what abruptly ; ** but, do you know, I
never see a ruin without its leaving fur u
long time a m. lancholy impression."
"I think that it is the natjral effect,"
replied Margaret ; *' or, if not melancho-
iV) ^ilfS iiiip: CooiC'-ij wix ill J miixxj. ks ui vraVs
grave and tending to thought. A. ruin is
in itself a monument to decay, to that
which must be undergone, not only by all^
littt by 4h9 works •£ all."
a
'.W
n.TJ^''" '■''P"^'' ^'"■'■'■«»' "snch things
as these we see around us are the mZlt
torsoftheinevitHble f.,r_,he skull a "d
fu I .ar, ,|,.ar Miss Graham, that the
at,d'';;r:::'""'''"'"'-'''-''°<--^pn-s3
"Yes," continur..] Allan Fairfnv™
"whenever I see buil.linos j;one to ^7
rspccia ly where the dilapW'a.ion ha. beTn'
ff.crul n,ore by nephct or violence En
the natural process oft:,T.e, I begin, whe.h
f I «',li or not, seeking out sin ilarit r^
1^' tween its fate and nmfe. I see a^' ^'
«geof,he ruin of bright prosp, ;7„"d7„-
s hopMess u-reparable d. solLiion a pic?
ture of n,y fumre fate." ' P^"
The tears were in Margaret's eves when
J'e ended • but, gazing°down upo„ the
^-u^nd, she -answered: in a 1ow'°LS
"I have seen miny ruins repaired anrt
mad(Mnore bcaulifnl .!,.■■„ ..„,.»'""?
n
i>o so with you ?'
I \Si" fell" •'"\''" "."•"^"^'•^'J F«i'-fi>:
though
ign a strange one, is very short
■ !w
nch things
le memen,
skull and
f J'tJikirgs.
«» that the
an indiv'u
n of ihe
is to me a
su
rprise
airfax, —
fo drcay,
lias brcn
fJce than
\ wheth-
uiiaritics
e an im-
h and in
'? a pic-
c's when
5on the
' sweet
ed, and
iif
in ay a
airfax.
which.
81
" Ob do," cried Margaret ; " it will in.
terest me (Jeeply; I am suie."
" I was born to wealth," said Allan
Fairfax, " and now 1 have nothing — ab-
solutely nothing. Dependant upon thd
goodness ofa kind and excellent old man,
so long as^e lives I have affluence ; but
from the hour of his death, with the ex-
ception of my commission, I have noth-
nig.
*' Ha, ha, ha !" cried a voice, appar-
ently close to them, '' and I have got
nothing either — -jolly, jolly nothing," and
the squat, broad figure, and sinister coun-
tenance of the idiot, Tommy Hicks, ap-
peared from under the archway of the
little door on the west side of the tower.
Allan Fairfax turned upon him angrily*
** Get you gone, you mischievious fool,"
he exclaimed, shaking his horsewhip at
bim ; '*if I catch you near me, I will
teach vou not to mislead a traveller whom
you undertake to guide."
The idiot leered at him fearfully.
" You had better not touch me," he said :
" Tommy can spile them that spite him.
You shail have good measure in return,
Mr. Slick inthemud, I wish you had been
You would
bog
g^
have had a soft bed of it, and might hav^
8%
«nade the moon your warmfnrr «-^ ^
rairtax took a step toward him hut «♦
the same mnmonf 'p «'" liirn, out at
« rik ^ \ I ^^ver s arm, savmw .
<^'n, do not hurt him ^ Tho r.^
•ny tale now I have begunT"' '"" '"'
h£eC,l7-'^T'' "'«P««d' however.
ab;auS7ver'Ctili°r''rr^-''>
where a dumnv fin • '°P "^ "'« ^a".
tha^they wan. ev'er/on^^t f sel?"'"'
Mar^nret and FairP.v fii ■ .
although the sweet 2r4f. '"""'' '■ ""^
what melancholywhon cfm u ,'°"?"-
walked along a stepb^ehTnd'hi^ ^rer' hi '
" Y*et7 th^k r'''""'r' '" aTow'to;e°"'
paired.
ruin might be r*.
g-pan, for
reckon."
ini, but at
Tapered off
?aret laid
sayinor, —
'oor crea-
not know
away,"
^^i^in end
lowever,
>m, say-
e is such
'le wall,
' jacket
Arthur,
56 it."
d; and
? some-
ales in-
as they
ver tha
ofbro-
^» and
in o K ^
3ne, —
bd r9.
83
19
«' It is in a sad state of dilapidation,
said Fairfax, gloomily, but Ihe^-next in-
stant, turning the angle of the great square
tower, they came in sight of a high and
almost detached piece of the outer wall,
on the summit of which stood Lady Jane
ar^d Sir Arthur Green, while on the steps
up to it, formed by the broken stones of
the building, appeared the idiot with his
arms crossed upon his breast, gazing far
out over the waste. At the foot of the
wall were some large masses of fjillen
stone with a plentiful crop of nettles a-
mong them, and^the Honourable Captain
Somebody was busily engaged with laud-
able philanthropy in cutting down with his
horsewhip the pungent enemies of urchin's
fingers,
" Is that a very safe situation, f jady
Jane ?" demanded Fairfax, when he
reached the bottom of the wall, and re-
marked the many stones which had been
loosened by time, and the apertures left
by others, which had been taken out to
build cottages in the neigh}x)urhood.
*' I don't know, Mr. Fairfax," cried the
lady, apparently alarmed at his question ;
** do you think it is likely to give way ?
I should like to get down, Sir Arthur- -
pray help me down."
9%.
descent, " I want m I "'"'^' "'^ ">e
" Well 11 P"*'- "'y '"an-"
minikin ii^°" '"17 P"^ '"'"^-O" can, my
keeping hiT^mTJ ^^"""^ "'■<^''«' «''!'
chest j°. t n „i '^.cr^^sed upon J.ig
bleached, for vour Z.V '" 7°" """e
terrible yelL" ''^'" '""^^ h«' ^loth
Iwii?rn3;'ou'dS>^°"T"K'^'-^''-
ba'-onet, i„ aTreat r "' VT,^ '^^ "'"«
handofLady Janp -l^^ "" S° ">«
and advancinVl ' ':''° ^'fgan.fo scream,
"'y Hicks, STm''l'''''°'- ^"'Tom.'
lightning and a 177'"?' ^' '^"'''^'^ ««
push onihe sho. iw V^-^S ^^^^ f"'"' a
tlirewr his baliri. '"'"''' '"^'■■»""y over-
'vere still indertr' i''" """'^^' ^^^ich
height must havfh ^ d-cnpitation. The
«nallpro"b2i!,tlitrr'"''^*''^"''
not have come To ,L '''T"^' ^^«"'<^
«ndiimbhrdh:!i!.^':'?';:''^/?>"'^'fe
.beneath the shook, and bo,
nettles together.
.;«
bed
Grrayjack.
'}ying his
ssing the
St of the
an/'
can, my
Jks, still
upon his
ion, and
ycu are
ier cloth
idrel, or
he little
go the
scream,
itTom-
jick as
him a
y over-
'n from
which
The
t, and
would
in life
I ri<rht
5 Way
in the
85
Alarmed for the situation of Lady Jane,
left alone with the idiot on top of the
wall, Fairfax paused not to look or laugh at
a scene which was certainly more comic
than tragic, but sprung up at once over
the piles of rubbish, which brought his
hea ! within a foot or two of the top of the
wall. He was stretching out his hand to
seize the idiot by the heel, when, with
one of his wild halloes. Tommy Hicks
sprung off on the other side, and, mount-
ing the wall, Fairfax aided Lady Jane to
descend. As he did so, his eyes caught
the form of Tommy Hicks, scampering off
towards the marsh, apparently unhurt, tor,
though the depth was somewhat greater on
that side, the turt was soft and even.
Lady Jane was strongly inclined to faint
when she reached the bottom of the de-
scent ; but the sight presented by her bro-
ther and Sir Arthur Green, who by this
time were standing face to face, with both
their noses streaming with blood, and
strongly inclined to quarr/', touched some
ticklish point in her imagination, and in-
stead of faintinor she biv st i.ito a fit of
laughter. Captain Haies interposed to
calm the two wounded and irritable gen-
tlemen, and the whole party, after a short
pause, adjourned to the little ian, to get
Ere the hm^K ' "^"^ homeward.
the inn bezant "'e ill.dosed windows of
and . h?l7;°;;"'«;;i<h a rising g„,e,
Then came fhl. JL !■ ""^ ominous.
scamperinToff if r"",';^ '" '''•'«'«. «nd
sto™ But the HlT'^'''"' '° ""'"''« 'he
the hour ha f na!t ,1 "^ 1^^" ^■"^a*- and
they .were sti-jT I 7' '' "'-'" '"^1' '^hile
end, and Ion J er/^^ '^'"^ their journey's
the hills the fain wf^ t^'^''^'^ "'^ ^^^ of
them, mingled wth sh ""^ ''""^ "S^'"^'
very fine Imi] '^''^ P^'^'^'^^s of
thefr:a?h:d^^o:r f^"'^'''^'^ ''^'•-
and gladlv L t '^ °^ ^'■- tJraham •
the a.s S^ ^."^ 'he door open and
take the ho^e" b^t A^T'T- i'"'"^^ '«
he remarked^' Z. 1*° ?''"'"'^* 'ho"ght
haste, eachhur4inV.nT''-'^^P^^«'^d'n
quire of her maiH „k u . Margaret n.
roeet her, ' ''° had come down (o
door ?'» ' °^«^ /* '"^' standing near the
I"i!:',l?f;Kenmore'«, Mi,
tiam.
replied the maid ;"Lut
^'ss Gra-
you had
87
better come and change your clothes at
once, ma'am, for you are terribly wet."
Allan Fairfax had got some way through
his toilet, when, after an introductory tap
at the door, the builer entered with a face
exceedingly grave.
" Mrs. Graham has told me to give her
compliments to you, sir, and the other
gentlemen and ladies," he said, " and to
beg that vou will excuse her and Miss
Graham for not appearing at dinner, as
Mr. Graham has been taken very ill im-
mediately after his return from Browns-
wick."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Fairfax, in a
tone of unfeigned grief; "what is the
matter, do you know ?"
"A fit of apoplexy, the doctor says,
sir," replied the butler ; " but he is a lit-
tle better since they bled him and poured
the water upon his head ; and he looks
about him a little, though he does not
speak. Mrs. Graham told me to say also,
sir, that she hoped to have the pleasure of
seeing you to-morrow, at breakfast.**
Th^e evening passed sadly, all the guests
preparing to take their ueparture eany on
the following morning, although the re-
port of Mr. Graham's health, when they
separated for the night, was that h« was a
68
S?. "^ Mot^'I'fT*^ "" '■"""«'''«« danger
enough .oflvfSr '"■'T' ^«'« '^•"'"g
«l. had he Cn wSl '." '"'^""g*'--
«upport poor MaS" ' TtrT'^" ""^
Was out of (t./^.- ^hat. however,
warm exJecS 1^.'"'''' *" ""' '"•'g''t,
visited hb, on th ° P'^^'j^""^ '''"■'''' ^«<1
been extZn-1 'h ,1''^''^'^'"? "'g'"' had
thousand inteCanH k ii? ^^"^ r"''"'«« »
then end in ^?n«. .''•""""", ''°'°"'-«'<"'d
na in an instant m smoke and dark.
CHAPTER V.
^ A i,ady's mutations.
nig?"; h'Javv fiT, ^f^ P^T"^ » *°'««'Me
him fromtiL^' of sleep had fallen upon
daughters ™,lv r^ .*'"?'•. "'"'••"•"J Ws
gOish-![„S"{' ^"^ «he did not distin.
" mm aftfir h^- rgJ^J^ it
*V0i-, the old
surgeon, who having got
%
f
te danger
'e willing
*s house ;
e linger,
ifort and
lowever,
len he at
th a sad
s bright,
ich had
?ht, had
5se fire-
nutes a
irs, and
d dark.
erahle
> upon
Bd his
iistin-
ween
nber,
' had
3ow,
ot i^
89
diploma from some college or other, had
dubbed himself doctor, watched by his pa.
tient through the livelong night, marking
every turn with the most scrupulous care.
Indeed, he was a skillful man, as far the
old school of surgery went, and besides that,
Dr. Kenmore had an advantage over any
surgeon that could have been sent for in
the case of Mr. Graham. He was his old
personal friend, and he loved him dearly.
Circumstances had changed with Mr.
Graham since first the doctor knew him^;
but no alteration had taken place in their
demeanour to each other. It was always
" Kenmore" and " Graham" with them.
The latter had fine houses, broad lands,
great wealth, important speculations, wore
frock coats and trousers, and drove a pha-
eton ; the other remained with a blue
coat and brass buttons, a white waistcoat,
and black breeches and silk stockings,
and drove the same buggy, though the
horse bad been changed more than once ;
for he, too, had a thriving practice, and
was well to do in the world. But Mr.
Graham was not at all ashamed of his old
companion, though the styk o* am urese
dated thirty yeafs before, and his man-
iief9 were frank even ^ abruptnens^ T^^
Jieads liad ^rowfi w^ite tqpliifry.^'
.y^'^
90
"eZh!"f ''T *° ^'r"^""'' ^^' ""•"ore
it h„i K ^ '■'*''?'" '° Kenmore. Now if
child rhS''" .\'"^"'"' "•• ^ '■-"'erV or a
cmid, the gcod doctor could not hnvp hi
you sitting ;•„! Vour'r'''f,!' ^"^^
should have .lS ml ^'- ""'""• '
for I toll „ ./'"*" "Hie anxiety at all
'hll ^e CodteVf? ^r" ^«^^' -""^ -
you would go^rbrd't-rhTi?'- ^ "'■^'^
you are of no manner p I ""7 ''^"'J
you- soifvl i of good, Icantel
youkr^dSrse'rWo'tu'r''""''''''''
mistaken." ^ " ""^^ ^«'y '""oh
In the mean time. Mm r',„u
long retired to rest -nnt.l »["''*"' ^^^
love her husbandly much '\ '"'' »°'
ove any tbing^ fo^hTS g^ tral?
to'|»e without if. but thi ^f''''e for her
*»od wh, could d7.*t.f"°' *""«'''«
"*" 00. bet own ddicaft
t no more
Now if
'er, or a
ave been
y the side
ni by the
n turned
\\ three
i guard,
he said,
she tears
ore ner.
1 1 saw
here, I
' at all,
nnd vvf
I wish
heart ;
an ieW
'If that
much
n had
d not
could
Lv ac-
him,
r her
what
lica^
!
91
[health was a fair pretext, and afler tdcinr
Dr. Kenmore if she could be of use, and
havinjf been bluntiy told "quite the con-
trary," she went to bed and slept. She
had reasons for sleeping well. SLo was
very content* d with every thing that had
hn opened for the last week, except Mr.
Graham^s ill ess. She was well cap.
tented thai iier daughter should not be
Lady Green — it was uch a vulgar name,
Green. Any one could discover in a mo-
ment that Lady Green must be at the best
a baronet's wife- -she might be a knight*s.
But Lady Fairfax ; that was a dif&rent
matter ; it had an old, rebt41ious, aristo-
cratical sound about it vhich she liked.
Then, again, Sir Arthur looked like a
monkey new breeched- a chimpanzee
baronet — a representative ape ; she began
to think him odious when compared with
Allan Fairfax ; she fancied that all his
disagreeable qualities had made themselves
apparent during the last ^ix or seven
days, and she went to sleepl murmuring,
" Lady Fairfax."
A sad mortification awaited Mrs. Gra»
ham, however. On the following mom-
ing, when the maid opened the curtains,
her first question was, of course, for her
husband. The woman informed her thft(
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U 116
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..^^
he had fallen into a nice, quiet sleen .n,l
K ^"l^!?'""" ""^n asked for her
wWch^ho J !" ?u*" ^^'' 'he first of
wmch she read without any emoii..n fJ
n^as only fmm a dear friend The le
cond however, caused great aRitation f^
^ir^' ''' •■^''•^^'•-^ "^ P''" of its
"I can tell you all about him, mv dear
Mrs Graham," said Lady Ade™;rNews
for him H», •'""7" ''"''« " '"•coking
ror ntm. He 13 a heuienant in the Z
this T"^ ,''~"S''! "P ""V hisoW ul^
the admiral, who would leave him all he
has If he could, poor man : butth^el..!
are all strictly eTailed, and go wfth ,he
Wle, you know, ,0 the son of William
young man— who married Maria GravM.
But the most interesting and curious part
of the whole histoiy isliow he came toh^
broug t up by his incle instead o7bt°M!
^«s\rr;%isi„?"/f «'''' '"'' "^^
rZ."r£f?" '^f ™«". -nd made
w
gnti deal of money in fc «hort time
ID
sleep, and
»n the sofa,
on no ac
id for her
i in bed.
le first of
lotiun, for
The se-
jitation in
t it is as
art of its
my dear
:a News-
' interest,
breakiner
the — :
>ld uncle
n all he
e estates
'vith the
kVilliam
^backed
Grraves%
►us part
lie to be
fbv hio
father,
i made
time in
M
India. When he came back he went into
parliament, and married a Miss Allan—
I don't know who she was, but I think
Dulwich College belonged to her father.
There was not a cleverer man in the
House than John Fairfax, and he plagued
the ministers terribly ; but one day, when
he was out hunting, just about the time
this boy was born, his horse threw him, and
he lighted on his !iead. At first he was
thought to be dead ; but he got better in a
sort of way, though never altogether ; for
a most unaccountable notion took posses-
sion .of him that this boy was a chanselini;
ft* O O
— that his own son had died while he was
ill, and that th'^y had put another in the
place not to vex him. He could never get
it out of his head till the last day of his
life, would not own him, and only left him
fifty pounds a-ycar, because he said it was
not the lnd's fault. That is the way he
came to be educated by his uncle. Is it
not very shocking and interesting? — all
the property went to this young man's
next brother, and is entailed upon the rest
ofthrm. There were four others before
poor Mrs. Fairfax died, which was fro?n
grief, they say. But I must tell you of
the ball at—'*
Mrs. Graham did not read any thing
M
•he had almost burst
into tears. But in.
nng her bell for the maid, who had Rone
nJT , ''\''"P °f ehocolate with which
•he usually began the day, and to dr«»
nerselfimmediately.
The maid waited to carry up the choe
olate however; and whan^he appeatd
in her mistress's chamber, she had two
KikT" "h' -'^— - very „ea! S
ladyUke, and one somewhat clerHike
both taking leave and condoling ; 1h, one
ibrnj^ady Jane, the other 4isi?r
G;:hi.m. Srfr '" '"^'^'^ *^
«.ryt!.\""*''""'" '*P''«<1 the maid ;
"they both went about five minutes ago
and he captam and Mr. Fairfax are onTv
watting for the chaise fn,m B^jwnswick.^
p • r y, ^'v® "^y complimeats to Mr
Wat 1 beg he will not go till I have th«
Jeasure of speaking to^ him folT^*
« Was uttered in the
^**e> and the
bmd^ to be
8weetc3t possible
ight her mistress
verjr gracious to Mr, Pair.
f
her head;
But in.
t better to
had gone
ith Hrhich
to dress
the choc-
appeared
had two
neat and
ilerklike,
th^ one
1 Sir Ar-
ed M
maid ;
tes ago,
ire only
swick/'
to Mr.
md say
ave the
a mo-
>089ib1e
iistress
Pair.
r
fax, for even maids can be mistaken iii
their mistresses. When, however, Mrs,
Graham, after keepinfj her young guest
waiting for about half an hour, till she
was in some degree drcssf d, appeared In
the library where the maid hud found him,
it was very evident to Fairfax himself
that the lady was not in the most placable
humour. Her manner was cold and dis-
tant ; and taking her own chair with a
haughty air she pointed to another, say-
ing, "iPray be seated, Mr. Fairfax. I
have a word or two to say to you before
you go."
Fairfax looked a little confounded, but
he replied, " I was about, my dear ma-
dam, to write to you a few wjrds to ex-
press how much grieved I am at Mr. Gra-
ham's illness, and how much I sympa-
thize with yourself and Miss Graham
under this severe affliction."
" We really do not require sympathy,
Mr. Fairfax," replied the lady ; " and as
you mention Miss Graham, that is exactly
tiie point to which what I have to say
tends. Allow me to observe, that I find
to my sorrow and regret you have mis-
takenly been led into paying much ^reiafer
attentions to my daugter than 1 was pfe»
ykdidf awar» of. T^ pravMit^ tb«ii; asy
&ir!„!l''° ?^PP°l"«"«"'t. I think .•( but
ye^miTJ"-"^"'"!. y°" "»"« ^^ have
very ditterent views for her • nnrl r «„
not bu, hint that it may be /.'w^e f f ."^
acqimintance to cease which, 1 1 usrh!^
no gone far enough to produc Sgret
able results to any party " '"fcree-
«.tl'L'her''"'ThrT'''''''"'^ '^^y "'"*'h
J^am 8 who e demeanour was so marJced
raitrthTp'urS^iir-"''^^"
aolution to the eni^^r^ vas"n "cf ss"?
however to answer, and he replied S
ti^VL- "^ ^"^ """"^ "■"'e f""- <•< flee.
tt;afteUvi„TSed7'''''^'"''''"'"•
1 «li«..u « 1 ^ reached tive.and.twentv.
J should find any thing to surprise a rea
eonable man in life. Neverthelei you;
oemeanour, does so mucii surnrise m*.
2^^ ir^ir^i''^'- G-ha'm hasTn
any way complained, ok Pvnr fK^.,„u* .i_ .
y.ave paid her attenUoo« diai^-Steto
. HtB. Qrahma weald not tail « diraot J»
n'nk it but
t we have
and f can
'ell for an
ti;ust, has
disagree-
ery much
Irs. Gra.
> marked »
so unac- ^
thoughts
brt of the
stance in
ng some
cessary,
d with a
Jld have
>rr(flec-
mndam,
■twenty,
e a rea.
ss, your
r whole
ise me,
1 has in
^1- - *
mai
?able to
Inotlie
9T
to a straightforward queation, and nhd hir^.
aelf was not quite so oalm as she might
have been, so that she answered, "NOi
sir, she has not ; but I hate eyes and ears,
and others have the same, and I really do
not see what should surprise any young
gentleman in your peculiar position that
the mother of a young lady, heiress to a
large fortune, should object to attentions
which can result in no good, and even pro-
hibit intercourse which may produce
evil."
" It would not, madam,'7replied Pair-
fax, " If it had not been preceded by direct
encouragement. We should not have felt
the absence of light if we had always
dwelt in night. But I now begin ^o gain
a little insight into the matter from an ex-
pression, perhaps inadvertedly used. My
* peculiar posltiorif has, I suppose, been ex-
plained to you rather lately, whether by
an idiot who has most likely perverted the
tale in telling, or not, you best know ; but
allow me to say, that my position, whatever
it may be, was fully known to Mr. Gra-
hanr ; and before I say any thing further
on the principal point in question, I shall
wait till he is well enough, as I trust he
soon will be, to express his opinions."
"His opinions are, I beg to say, the
4
98
tho game oa my own," answered Mrs.
• .Yr""?""]; *'l'h a very angry brow ; but
th« .8 nil trifling. Lady Adejiza will be
flattered with the appellation of idiot : and
you may depend upon it Mr. Graham will
never feel disposed to oppose my views
regarding my own daughter. In the
meantime, as you force me to speak plain-
ly, Mr. Fairfax, I must decline the hon.
our of your visits altogether. I trust you
may find a wealthy wife elsewhere. It
must not be here."
The sting of the last words was felt to
the marrow. To be thought-even to be
called a fortune-hunter— was more than
he could bea-; and feeling that if he re-
p led at all his words would be intemper-
• ate, he rtiade Mrs. Graham a cold and Tor-
mal bow, and^hurried into the passage, at
the door of which the chaise wis standing
• W "'a'ling for himself and Captain Hales.
The latter kept him for two or three mi-
nutes after he had entered the vehicle, but
then jumped in ; and with a sad glance
toward the half-closed windows of Mr.
Craham s room, Allan Fairfax was borne
away from that houst-. never to sa* fiv,f !"
aS "r'^^-l^ remawd in pommok '^
tne saoift fan^y^
r
i
ii
PART THE SECOND.
THE DAYS OF ADVERSITY.
CHAPTER VI.
THE BRITISH labourer's REWARD.
Two years and a half had passed, and
time had swallowed up many things most
precious : hope, happiness, and enjoyment,
energy had fled from many, leaving dis-
appointments, sorrow, and the apathy o
despair. Spring was now in the place of
autumn ; but it had hitherto been a cold
and dreary spring, with rain and sharp
winds, and occasional snow ; and the moor
looked even more brown and desolate than
at the close of the year. The winter had
exhausted all its wrath upon it, and therd
seemed no prospect of revival ; not a green
blade of grass was to be seen springing up
among the moss and heath, not a young
rose-bud upon the bare branches of the
extinguished. Like the season was the
fate of one of those persons to whom the
reader was first introduced in this tale.,
Poor Bin Halliday trudged back over
100
the moor, with bent head and frown-
ing brow. His cheek was thin and pale,
his eye hollow and dim ; his clothes, once
80 neat and trim, though plain and suited
to his station, were now worn, soiled, and
in some parts ragged. But it was not to
the neat cottage, with its pleasant little
garden, where we hare formerly seen
him, that Ben Halliday now took his way.
He passed through the little wood, in-
deed ; he went beyond the turning which
led to the spot where he had passed so
many pleasant days ; he gazed toward it
with a sad and sinking heart ; and a mur-
mur rose to his lips, but did not find ut-
terance. " I ought not to grumble," he
•aid, "I ought not to grumble. Those
who should be better off are as bad as I
am. God help us all ! I wonder what
will become of us in the end. We poor
people have no business in the world, I
can't help thinking. At all ctents, others
seem to think so." And he walked on.
The next moment, coming up to the
road which led from the cottage to that
which had been his cousin Jacob's, he saw
A ficr iiro tv»/win*» iVtvimmU *U-. a-
— — Q— -- *ii--rTiijg nwwugii iiiu iruijs, appa-
rently heavily loaded, and yet it was not
the figure of a labouring-man. It was
evening, but not dark ;- and as the person
101
who approached was seen and lost every
second or two, in passing along the hedge-
row, there was that undefinable something
in the air and walk which distinguishes
the gentleman, totally independent of the
clothing which, in this case, could not be
seen. Ben Halliday, however, passed by
the end of the road before the other pedes-
trian reached it, and in the sort of despair-
ing mood of tlie moment, he did not even
turn his head to see who it was that ap*
preached. As he was walking on, how-
ever, a clear, mellow voice sounded on
his ear, exclaiming, " Stop, my good fel-
low ! Here ! I want to speak to yoti !'*
And, locking down the lane, he saw, at
about twenty yards* distance, a tall, hand-
some, well-dressed young man, carrying
a heavy portmanteau by one of the han-
dles.
" I am looking for somebody,*' said the
stranger, " to carry this thing for me a
couple of miles ; if you will do it, my
good man, I will give you a half-crown
for your pains."
_ " Pd carry it ten for that sum," said
iJen Halliday, with his face brightening.
" That will keep my poor girl in broth for
a week."
<^GQod Heaven !" exclaimed the stran-
103
ger, " why surely you are my old ao*
quaintftnce, Ben HallitJny I Do you not
remember Mr. Fairfax V*
«* Oh yes, sir, I remember you well
enough," answered the labourer mourn,
fully ; " but times are sadly changed with
us down here j and 1 did not know whether
you might remember me. I hardly re-
member myself as I was then."
" i know there have been sad reverses,"
answered Allan Fairfax, " but 1 did not
think it had affeoted you, my poor fellow.
1 found your cottace shut up, and could
not tell what to make of it ; so I was going
on to the village, where there is a public-
house, I hear."
"Ay, sir, and a bad place it is too,"
answered Ben Halliday, " not fit for such
as you ; if there is any thing valuable in
your trunk, I would advise you not to eo
there." °
" I am afraid I must," answered his
young companion, "for I do not \<^ish to
go back to Brownswick just at present."
"You know, sir, I daresay, all about
Mr. Graham," said Ben, looking in Fair-
^s s face, and mking up the portmanteau
at the same time.
"I do," answered Fairfax, gravely;
« if had be€fii a sad welcome back to
>
Cf
103
my own country, Hallidny, to hear all
this. We won't talk any more about it
just now. Where do you live now, my
good fellow?"
Oh, just up at the village, sir," ans*
wered Hulliday, ** about half a mile oa
this side the public- house. So, by your
leave. Til just stop for a minute and tell
noy poor wife that I am going on with
your portmantle. • It will be glad news to
her to hear that I have earned balf-a*
crown by a light job like this."
" Are you not in work then, Halliday ?"
asked Allan Fairfax. *^ I should have
thought a good fellow like you would have
always got employment."
" Oh yes, sir, I got work enough," an-
swered the labourer ; *' but people don't
pay as Mr. Graham did, and they can do
with us just what they like, for there are
too many of us."
Allan Fairfax did not ask any further
question, but walked on wi^h his compaoit
on, sometimes speaking a few words to
him, sometimes in silence ; for, to say the
truth, the young gentleman seemed some-
ing gayly at what was passing in hi
thoughts, occasionally plunged ipU
of deep and gloomy meditalio|i.
own
104
length a villago spire came ia sight, and
immediately afterward a group ofcotlages
appeared at the corner of the road. They
were all wretched in the extreme, mere
hovels— ay, and hovels out of repair. The
winter wind was kept from rushing
through the broken windows by patches of
paper and bundles of rags. The doors
let in the rain, and the thatch protected
not what it seemed to cover ; the plaster
was broken from the mud wall in a (hou-
sand places, and hung in loose tatters, bag.
ging and bellying out all over each mis-
erable tenement. At the doors of some
were seen squalid and dirty children, but
half clothed even with their rags ; and at
another, a gaunt pig was* grubbing with
its snout among a pile of rubbish. At the
entrance of one of the poorest stopped Ben
Halliday ; and after gazing at it sternly
for a moment, he set down the portman-
teau, and looked full in Allan Fairfax's
face, saying, in a low tone, « It is here I
live now, sir." •
If he had spoken for an hour he could
not have made a sadder comment on his
changed condition ; but when he added,'
" 1 will just go and tell my wife,*' Pair-
fax answered, " No, Ben, I will come in
>^hyou." ;<
^ht, and
icottages
id. They
le, mere
air. The
rushing
atehes of
be doors
)rotected
e plaster
1 a thou-
bT9f bag-
eieh mis-
of some
Iren, but
; and at
ing with
At the
ped Ben
sternly
ortman-
airfax's
I here I
e could
it on his
( added,'
'' Pair.
:;ome in
ft
^
i
105
"Oh, don't, sir," replied the labourer;
" it will hurt you to set."
" It will griftve but do me good," said
Mr. Fairfui, in a firm tone ; ** I am an
old friend, you know, Halliday. Take in
the portmanteau, my good fellow."
Ben Halliday did as he was directed,
and walking slowly forward, opened the
door. There was no joy to welcon^ him;
a faint smile, indeeed, lighted the features
of his wife as she saw him come in; but
she was busy tending her daughter, who
sat in a wooden chair on the other side of
a hearth nearly vacant of fire, though the
thin white ashes that strewed it showed
that the wood had been burning there not
long before. The daughter's face was
pale and emaciated, with a red spot in the
centre of ' e cheek, and limbs apparently
so powerless that she did not try even to
approach her father. The eldest and the
youngest boy were both absent, and Fair-
fax afterward found that the one was em-
ployed at low wages in a manufactory
some fifty miles distant, th^ other gatjier-
in#» otirtlro in i\\t\ noirrliKnni'innp m/oorla txnA
fields. Povert)' in the most abject form
was evident amid the once cheerful, labo-
rious family, and the tattered shawl that
Mrs. Halliday drew across her cliest.
106
jvhen she saw a stranger follow her hus-
band into the cottage, served to show
rather than to hide the want of eren ne-
cessary clothing.
To Fairfax, however, as soon as she re-
cognized him, she was still the frank,
civil, country wonnan, whom he had before
seen, and no words of complaint passed her
lips. Patiertt endurance was in all her
words and looks, and that one virtue she
had many besides— had been of more
value to her husband than a thousand
showy qualities could have been. Had
she displayed all she suffered, had she
made the worst of everything instead of
the best, had she complained and mur-
tnured, Ben Halliday would have given
way long before; but she had supported,
and strengthened, and cheered him ; and
though she could not lessen the evils which
surrounded them, or hide from him the
griefs still in store, she enabled him to
bear thfTfi with fortitude, if not without re-
pining.' H r*
Ben Halliday kissed her as tenderly as
tever : but one nf hi« firat tKr>.i»K4» ,..«,. r-„
his daughter, to whose side he advanced
as soon as he entered, asking,* " Well
Lucy, how are you to-night, dear ?" '
'' I am better, father," said the girl ih
i;
107
a husky tone, broken by a cough ; ** I
shall be quite well when the summer
comes, and I can get out to help you and
mother."
** She is very bad, sir" said Mrs. Halli-
day, speaking to Fairfax in the plain and
unreserved manner (which some people
might think unfeeling) that is common
among the peasantry ; " she's in a decline,
poor thing."
*' I am sorry to see her so unwell," re-
plied Fairfax ; **but I think a little good
nourishment might do her good. Here,
Halliday," he continued, taking out his
purse ; " I do not like the account you
give me of the public-house, so I think I
shall rest myself here for an hour or two,
if youwill let me, and then go down to
Brownswick again for the night. Run up
to the village, my good man, and bring me
down something for supper. We'll all
sup together, to-night. There's a sover-
eign ; bring down plenty of things— eggs
and beer, and probably you can get a
pound of tea, and some milk and butter.
I dare say you would like some nice tea or
milk, Susan, would you not ?"
" Oh, that I would," cried the poor girl,
eagerly ; " I'm sure tea and milk would
do me a great deal of good."
108
u'u'}^ """".."P '"y®^^^' «^^>" said Mrs.
Halliday, « Ben is not good at marketing.
1 II borrow a basket, and go in a minute:"
^ t airfax gave her the sovereign, adding,
in a low voice, " Bring any thing you
think will do her good, Mrs. Halliday."
liut Ben heard him, and said, " God
ble^s you, sir," with tears in jiis eyes.
Mrs. Halliday was hardly out of the
door when their cousin- Jacob entered,
gaunt as a wolf, with his coal-black hair
floating wild and tangled about his hae-
gard face. ^
"Well, Ben," he said at once, "have
ypu been at old Slumps? I saw you
come back — did you go ?"
"Yes, 1 went Jacob," replied Halliday
with a sigh; "but it is no good. I told him
1 and Bella and the two children could
not live Tupon seven shillings a- week, do
what we would, and he said he could not
help It If we did not like it, we might
leave, for he would give no more. He
said, too, that many a man is glad to get
It, (which IS true enough,) so why should
he give more to me."
' Hell seize him !" cried Jacob Halli
day, vehemently.
down the wages here ? But what did you
answer, Ben ?"
Who first brought
p
109
«< I said that I must see if I could not
get some help from the parish," replied
his cousin ; " but then he got very high,
and mighty, and said that I should not
have one penny of out-door relief; that I
was an able-bodied labourer, in employ at
full wages, &; it was contrary to the rules of
the New Law. He made me a little angry,
he did ; so I said, then I must come into
the union ; for it was earthly impossible
for a man and his wife, and two childrea
unable to earn a penny, to live upon
seven shillings a- week and pay a shilling
a- week rent. But that would not do
either; « for he answered, with a sort of
a laugh, " You may come in if you like,
but I'll answer for it you'll soon be out
again. Master Ben. We take care to
make it uncomfortable enough in order, to
keep all lazy fellows out, and the first
thing we'll do with you is to part you and
your wife and children . He knew he had
me there, Jacob, and he is one of the
guardians, you know."
" Ay, I know," answered Jacob Halli-
wiih a bitter curse; "they have
be taken care
dav.
J 7
given the sheep
of by
wolf in their New Law,that's what they've
done; but they may find sheep, even,
sometimes turn wolves too, and that over-
,>
110
driven oxen will toss. But IVe wme-
thing to tell you, Ben, that may S
matters with ypu a bit_,hough it^s Had
vay of mending them, too."
J^^^u'-' "''''•" "^^"^ ''^ cousin, ea-
gerly ; " It must be bad indeed that I
would not snap at."
much, said Jacob; " but, however, every
rnan to his own thinking. You know old
Gnmly, who had the care of Tommy
Hicfcs, is going info the union-house on
account of his bad leg, and as his wife is
dead there is no one to take charge of the
Idiot ; so Mr. Golightly, who hasihe pay!
mg of the money weekly, came up to
ask U I and my wife would do it. It's
five shillmgs a-we"k, and he's often absent
vandermg about for days at a time; but
Mr. Golightly wants to keep him as far
away from Brownswick as he can, for he's
troub^some. I told him that if IJ were to
take n I should for certain break his neck
before a week were over, but that you
were a quieter sort of man, and might like
The nrnnnsnl ffifoTir pr.,ii!j__. * .
sr ~^i — " vJxz^TT ndiiiuuv into a fit
of deep thought. « Like it I
he finRworoA it MU^ :«. t j.. t.
he answered
shillings
Where
- don't,
likQ it I don't ; but five
week-.that's a good sum-
could I put him V
ill
** Why, there's that shed place at the
back," said Jacob Halliday ; "if you
could get some timber, k would be easy
made into a tidier room than he's ever had
at Grimly's; I'll lend you a hand at night's,
Ben, and they say the boy is quieter a bit
now — dogged, but not so spiteful. Then
he has got his own bed and clothes."
" But the timber," said Ben Halliday,
"how am I to buy timber? Why, it
would cost fifteen shillings, what with
boards and nails."
" Do not lei that stand in the way, Hal-
liday," said Fairfax, who had been talk-
ing to the sick girl. " I'm poor enough.
Heaven knows ; but you shall have the
timber, my good fellow, for old acquaint-
ance sake."
The poor man was very grateful ; and
though he made some scruple, ypt the
temptation of five shillings a week was
too great to he resisted by his poverty, and
it was agreed that he wa^' to go down to
Brownswick on the following evening, and
close with Mr. Golightly's proppsal.
A K/-.11* Qv» Knur nacqoA hpCnra IMrc PTpl.
liday returned, and when she came back
Jacob had gone ; but her husband at once
told what had been offered, and his deter-
rhination to accept it. The worthy wo-
112
nan was evidently ill at ease under the
idea of having the idiot an inmate of her
dwelling, even poor as they were ; but the
thought of the money affording some relief
to her husband, reconciled her to it at last,
and with quick and busy hands she pre-
pared the meal which the bounty of Fair-
fax had supplied. The little boy, Charley,
had by this tim« returned with a load of
dry wood ; ard a degree of cheerfulness
spread through the desolate cottage which
It had never before known. The tea seem-
ed to warm and revive the poor, sick girl,
and Ben Halliday himself felt comforted,
less by the food, perhaps, than by the
knowledge that there was still one on
earth who showed him kindness and sym-
pathy.
Fairfax himself a.te and drank to en-
courage the others to do so ; but still it
was little that he took, and indeed he
seemed thoughtful and uneasy. Some-
times he talked a good deal to the cotta-
gers, told them that he had been in India
since last he saw them, and amused the
little boy by the tale of a tiger hunt, and
snowed him some scars upon his hand
were the beast tore him in his last agony.
He revetted, unwillingly it appeared, to
lii» former visit to Mr. Graham's House at
lis
Allerdale, and the very mention of the
family threw him instantly into a deep
revery. At length, toward nine o'clock,
he rose, saying " Now, Ben, I will walk
back to Brownswick. I will leave my
portmanteau here for the night, merely
taking out what I want, and will send up
up for it to-morrow.
Ben Halliday offered to carry it down
that very night; but Fairfax would not
suffer him to quit his family after the
long and ill-repayed labours tf the day,
and opening the portmanteau he disposed
of some necessary articles about him, and
prepared 4o go.
"Here is the change, sir, said Mrs.
Halliday, taking up a number of shillings
and sixpences which she laid down at her
return, on one corner of the table.
" No, no," answered Fairfax : keep it
to get Susan some milk and broth every
day ; and I had nearly forgotten the
money for the timber, Hallid ay . You said
fifteen shillings would do."
" At the same time he took out his purse,
and though there was both gold and silver
in it, Ben Halliday saw that it was very
meagre. " I really do not like, sir," said
the poor man ; " I dare say I can manage
acme how."
114
** Net a word Halliday," replied Fair.
fax ; " there is the amount. It was a
bargain, you know, that you should take
it. Good.night to you all. I shall see
you again before I leave this part of the
country ;"^and^with thanks and blessings
he departed.
"Don't you think Mr. Fairfax very
dull and sad, Ben ?" asked his wife when
their visitor had departed. " Every now
and then he seemed to mope sadly."
"Til tell you what it is, Bella,*' replied
her husband, "1 know as well as if I
could see it all. He's sad about Mr. Gra-
ham and Miss Margaret, and well he may
be. He would fain help them too, if he
could ; but it is clear that he is not rich ;
and^ though he can help such as us, he
can't help such as them, and ^\ery now
and then he goes casting about in his head
how to do it, and does not find a way any
how. That is it, I am sure, because he
would not talk of them at all."
^ But it is time to turn and explain many
circumstances that were in Ben Halliday's
mind at that moment.
115 ^
CHAPTER VII.
THE RUIN AND THR SACRIFICE.
When Allan Fairfax quitted AllerdaFe
House, two years and a half before, Mr.
Graham lay upon a bed of sickness. The
attack had been sudden and unexpected ;
for he \^as a man temperate in all his
habits, placid and equable in disposition,
of a strong and healthy constitution, and
showing no tendency to the disease which
had assailed hitn. But his illness was not
without a cause. Some slight anxiety had
indoced him, on the day of the expedition
to Brugh. to go at an earlier hour than
usual to Brownswick, and allow his guests
to proceed without him upon an excursion
which he would have willingly shared.
The anxiety was, as I have said, slight,
very slight. He had written, nearly a
week before, to a great merchant in Liv-
erpool, whom he had aided in an exten-
sive speculation, and in fact befriended
through life, for some information regard-
ing the result of the operation of which he,
Mr. Graham, had furnished about one-
third of the func»s, and he had received no
answer to his letter. The sum at stake
was about fifty thousand pounds ; but to a
man of Mr. Graham's wealth it was not
116
•ufUcient to cpuse aiij great uneasineeg.
JNev'3rtheles8, he was a man of business
and he was not satisfied. He therefore
set out for Brownswick to see the letters at
the bank, and take whatever steps might
be necessary, rather than 'enjoy a ride
with hifl daughter and his friends. The
first news that met him was that Messrs.
^v Co. had failed, already gathered
Jrorn the newspapers by his chief clerk.
Ihere must be considerable assets,'*
thought Mr. Graham, " and I am rery
^rry for them. If they had dealt more
»ankly, and told me the difficulty, perhaps
1 might have been able to avert so unfor-
tunate a result.''
He was turning over his letters while
these ideas passed through his mind, and
at length he fixed upon one the handwrit^
Tig on which he knew, and opened it. As
he read his brow grew dark, and we)^ h
mighfdo so; for he found that there wrM
not be paid a shilling in the pound, u.dt
the man m whose honour he had trusted
havl been actually insolvent at the time
whfc the money was advanced, and had
uor^^h V. it r.-<jreiy to retrieve, if possible,
his i^Ly :i iortunf r by risking another's
me&m m i rash speculation.
« This is gambling," said Mr. Craham,
117
" and gambling with other people's money.
It is dishonourable — it is ungrateful."
He felt the ingrothude more than all. It
was indef«l the fir it considerable sum he
had ever Ior', and it mortified him the
more !> cause it was the first; but the in-
gratitude of a man whom he had so of\en
serfed and assisted, his want of confidence
and frankness, inflicted a severe pang
upon him, and he brooded over it during
the whole day. " The money," he said
to his head clerk, in directing him to an-
swer the letter, "is a trifle compared
with the insincerity and the want ot* good
faith. Pray make them feel that I am
less pained at the loss than at the deceit
and ingratitude of the conduct pursued to-
ward me."
Nevertheless, he pursued his usual
habits for several hours, read the rest of
tis letters, he answered maAy of them
witl hia own hand, looked at various ac-
counts, and prepared to return home, when
the result of all was as we have already
seen, a terrific apoplectic stroke. His
good constitution came to the aid of his
friend the surgeon, and he recovered from
the fit of apoplexy which had seized him,
but not entirely. Mr. Graham was never
the same man as before. He had a numb*
118
ness of the ri^ht arm land leg, the clear
manly enunciation was gone, he tripped
oyer small obstructions in his way, and
his mmd wa^ not so clear and firm. It
was the same with his fortunes as with
his health. That day was the turninir
point of his fate ; that blow he never
wholly recovered. The conduct of his
a«airswas teeble and uncertain ; neglect-
ed during six weeks of sickness, they be-
came complicated, and small obstructions
proved too much for him. Besides, the fai-
lure of the house in which he had trusted
so fully entailed the failure of several
others with which he was connected.
Uther speculations turned out unfortunate-
there were two runs upon the bank in one
month ; he was obliged to realize at a
great loss ; the jealous and the envious
began to triumph and decry. But why
need I pursue all the painful details ? Ri
oiie short year, which, let it be remarked
was a year of crisis and of panic, Mr!
i^raham was a ruined man. Amid all
that he lost there was one thing that Gra-
ham did noj lose—his honour and his sense
" ^"^ " "" iu5,tice. He did not, when he
e unfavourable, and one thing
found fortune untavoura
failing after another
, eithev discharge ser-
vants or change his style of living ; for he
119
believed that, to do so would only In-
injure his credit and render recovery hope-
less ; but he kept his eye always vigilant-
ly upon his accounts, and when he found
that nothing was left but barely sufficient
to pay all he owed, and leave a mere
competence for himself and family, he an-
nounced his intention of stopping payment
the next day. The same night his he^d
clerk absconded with ten thousand pounds.
Mr. Graham was a bankrupt ; but still his
propertypaid twenty shillings in the {)ound,
and left, over, and above, for.himself and
daughter, the sum of thirty pounds per
annum, an old annuity, which h6 had
bought up, and, in ready money, one hun-
dred pounds. Strange to say, this sad
reverse affected his health niiuch less than
might have been anticipated*. It was Mrs.
Graham who suffered. She had many
acquaintances who had flattered her pros-
perity ; but hor haughty assumption had
not left one friend to console or assist her
in adversity. Every neighbour triumph-
ed in her fall ; those whom she had morti-
ilCl^ iivJTT CUSSi^lll Olii;-* IWtiliWl ZlSViZ,tJ -^-^-^-Tf- •-- ■=
to mortify her in return. Mrs. Gi^aham
could not brook adversity, and she died
within three months after the failure of he|
husband's bank.
ISO
thaffh!? k''^ *""°"n«emept was made
dav Mr '';!."\^''"i'l fop payment next
aay, Mr. Graham had calculated that
after paying all, ^ix hundred per annum'
would be left to him, and the UbZZ
his clerk did not of course amount to a de-
pmation of the whole of that sum. But
aZ^! "?^^'",'^ '"^" ^'" '" ^o'ne degree
over rat^ the value of their own posses
sions, and Mr. Graham had done so!^ Be
rxt!nt^fh''^"T \«''r"«="'-red to a greater
result was,, as I have said, beggar>-, or
something very like it. Wh;n hfgave u^
his property, he had taken a small and
X^T^% ^°'''' ^° Brownswick but
Si?» ?-^ -^'^fovered how much he had
overestimated his resources, that house
' ^Ja\ f P^°«'^e for him, and he re-
moved to a little cottage belonging to good
Doctor Kenmore, at the villa|e of AuTn-
church which his friend putlt his dis^o-
sa^, furnished ^ ,t was. But then the
s^unnmg effect began to work, and one
mormng all power left the side which had
been previously affected. In this sf«t« h.
Ztur'Tt' ''''^ ^^ generalMih^
health good, but no capability of movin/
fro»''L"' K ^' "r '""^ °f his dauK
from his bed to his chair by the fiilside,
m
and with his mental faculties, eapecially
his memory, sadly impaired. It was not
indeed that the powers of thought and rea-
son had gone — they were only inert ; and
I from time to time, by a great effort, he
I could rouse himself to argue or to judge
as sanely as CTer. As very often happens,
too, the qualities of the heart seemed to
have h' come more keen and sensible, as
the powers of mind and body had decayed.
Affection, frieneship, compassion of others,
sympathy with suffering, were all more
easily, and yet more deeply excited than
in former years, when reason was strong
and active to guide and control them. But
there is another of whom we have as yet
said very little in her day of adversi-
ty, and to her we must now turn.
Margaret Graham had in no degree
given way under the evils which blasted
her own prospects in life, ruined her fa-
ther's fortune and health, and deprived
her of her mother. The high qualities of
her mind and heart seemed but to rise in
energy as opportunity was afforded for
tnpir PYortmn IMrvf o rv»iivi>-»ii»» a«^»..>«J
her lips ; and although the first shock was
terrible, yet it was for her father she felt,
not for herself. If she wept, it was in her
own chamber. None saw a tear in her^
11:-
122
6ye, or its trace upon her cheek. She
WM as cheerful in the small house at
Brownswick as she had been in the man-
sion by the lake, and in the cottage at Al-
lenchurch she was cheerful still . She had
tended her mother through the short ill-
ness which ended in Mrs. Graham's death,
with unremitting care ; she bore the pee-
vishness and complaints of a proud, irrit-
able and disappointed woman in the hours
of sickness and despair, with unfailing
meekness and patience, and now she was
the guardian angel of her father's declin-
ing 1 jfe. She sat by him, she read to him,
and in every interval she laboured eager^
ly to turn those accomplishments which
he ha'd bestowed upon her youth to some
account for the purpose of supporting his
old age. She felt grateful to God that in-
structi(m had been afforded to her early,
and that she had not neglected the oppor-
tunity. Yet it was difficult to render h^r
talents available. Lesspns she could not
give, so that her knowledge of music was
of no service. She could not leave Mr,
Grahani alone during the whole day,
while she was teaching, with an inexperi-
enced servant girl of fifteen, the only p^r-
tspn to attend him. But she drew and
ip^tj|4 iik wa^ex'-Qoloum very buautifully,
12S
and she passed a great part of each day
in painting landscapes, which she sent into
the town for sale. The sum which she
obtained fot each was a mere trifle, and
after a while she devised the means of ren-
dering her skill more profitable. P6W
people in Brownswick had taste to appr^-
ciate the productions of her pencil, or inbli.
nation to buy a mere drawing. But mul-
titudes were fond of painted baskets and
I boxes, and bags, and not half the time was
required by her ready fingers to complet#
I a dozen of them which she would have ei-
mended on a finished drawing. Never.
theless, the resource was a very poor one;
it enabled her to supply a few corhforts
for her father, but that was all. By th6
end of the first year after the bankruptcy,
the hundred pounds which remained, aftfer
the payment in full of all claims, #as
nearly expended, and nothing was left but
the small annuity of thirty pounds. Mar-
garet saw that another step must be taken
in the descent, that the servant girl must
be discharged, that she rtiust do All and
cvcijiniijg iiuiBUii ^ uui sua iviargaret
Graham did not murmur. Her great dif.'
j ficulty was, how she should speak to hei
father upon such a step. She knew it
would catise him a deep and terrible p^tgi
w
124
nqt for his own sake so much aai for hers,
and she shrunk from the task. Even
when it was accomplished, she thought
their situation . would be terrible with
nothing but thirty pounds each year to sup-
ply her own wants and the still greater
ones of her father. If by her own exer-
tions she could add twenty pounds each
year to that sum it was as much at she
could do, and perhaps more. The first
step, however, must be to discharge the
me servant, and she determined to ask
their good old friend Doctor Kenmore, who
came to see Mr. Graham almost every
day, to break the necessity to him. She
took an opportunity of speaking to the
worthy old man when he appeared one
morning earlier than usual, and before her
father was up. She laid before him a
complete view of the case, and the worthy
doctor was moved almost to t^ars.
"You are an angel, Margaret," he
said, looking in her face— "you are an
angel ; that's clear to me ; and I will tell
you what we must do, my dear : we must
cheat your poor father. Now, don't look
surprised, for the matter is only this. It
was with the greatest difficulty in the
world I got Mr. Graham to accept the
loan of this cottage and furniture. He
125
never wonld be beholden to any man for a
penny in his life, even when he was a
lad ; and when I spoke to him the other
day about helping him a little, he got so
excited that I thought he, would have done
himself harm. Now, Margaret, I hare
neither wife nor child, kith nor kin, and
am well to do in the world. 1 don't spend
onehalf of what I've got; and you must
just let me make up your little income to
one hundred a year, and not say a word
to your fiither about it."
The beautiful face of Margaret Gra-
ham deepened greatly in colour; but she
laid her hand kindly and tenderly on that
of the good old man, while she answered, '
"I cannot; I must not; I never deceiv-
ed my father in any thing. I promised
him solemnly never to have any conceal-
ment from him, and I dare not break my
Word. I wo^ld do anything, my dear,
gopd friend, to. obtain comforts and neces-
saries for him ; I would work all day teach-
ing ; I would go aut as a governess, only
that he eannot spare me ; T would do any
thinir eXCent deCftivR him. hut iha* T nan
such a matter as this."
even
"Well, Margaret, well," said the old
docttr, with a rueful shake of his h€^ad,
*' you are as bad as your father. I will
W^-ia
126
talk to him, and see what impression t
can make upon him. He is my earliest^
my best, and dearest friend : we were boys
^t school together * and I am sure, if at
any time I had wanted a thousand pounds,
he \^ould have given it to me without a
thought. I will see what can be done
with him ; but you must not discharge the
lass before .we have spoken further."
To this condition Jilargaret willingly
consented ; but unhappily all the skill and
friendly zeal pf Doctor Kenmore were ex-
erted upon Mr. Graham in vain. He
said he would not live upon charity, or
sponge upon friendship. If he required
any thing further than his limited means
allowed, he would demand it of the parish,
\i^h6re he had a right to apply; and he
added much more in the same strain, in
which early habits of thought were seen^
only rendered more keen and vehement
by age and infirmity. There are certain
ftialadies which, as is well known, render
the patient obstinate and pertinacious to
an exceeding degree, and such is, I believe,
similar to that under which Mr. Graham
i^as suffering. Argument on a subject in
regard to which he had long before made
dp hiib mind only irritated him, and rend*
127
ered him more attached to his own opinion,,
so that Doctor Kenmore was obliged to
give the matter up in despair, only be-
seeching Margaret to keep the servant oQ
till the cold weather was past. He him*
self, in the mean time, was more frequently
than ever at the cottage, and Margaret had,
often the pleasure of seeing some dish upon
the table which she had not ordered, some
little addition to their comfort which she
herself would not have ventured to think
of. Now it was a large salmon, aiow some
fine trout, now game, now the Christmas
turkey and chine. She divined easily
where all these presents came from ; but.
she took care to ask no questions, as they
were sent to her father, not herself, and
Mr. Graham, in his feeble state, did not,
remark the fact, or compare very nicely
his own means and the expense which,
such delicacies would imply. But Mar-
garet remarked also that various articles
of consumption which might be classed
under the head of necessaries lasted amaz-
ingly long. It was wonderful to what m
extent a tun of coals would protract them-
! selves, and with lights it was the same.
She saw through the friendly fraud, and
wag somewhat uneasy ; but what could.8bl|
tio ? 0y D«€tor Keninoxi5;«^Dwd ^Ue%
■w^--^-,^^ 1 jJIHj
i(.AJ^^o£'ii\'!l:J_!^'LA .
\4
m
nnconsbioua ; he oame and went everj
day, and sometimes twice ; but he never
spoke of coals or candles, or any thing of
the kind. One day, on the 25th of March,
he seemed a little uneasy when Mr. Gra-
ham directed his daughter to write to Shef-
field for the usual certificate of the
existence of the person on whose life
his little annuity was granted ; but he re-
plied —
" Let me write for it, Graham. Mar-
garet has plfenty else to do."
A terrible .doubt instantly, took pes session
of Margaret's mind, and her face turned
very pale ; but she dared ask no questions
at the time, and her father readily eonsent-
ed to his friend *s proposal. The life on
which the annuity was secured was better
than her father's by twenty years ; but yet
there was something odd in Doctor Ken-
more's manner, and . it seemed certain to
Margaret that their last prop was struck
irom under them. It was three days after
that when she first had an opportunity of
speaking to the old surgeon alone ; but
then she seized it immediatelv. Uncer-
tamty, she thought, was worse than any
reality, and stopping their kind friend as
he was hurrying away through the little
garden, she said,
129
" Stay, stay a moment. 1 were is one
question I have to ask you, dear doctor.
What made you so anxious to write about
the annuity ?"
" Because I thought I could manage
matters of business better than a girl," re-
plied Doctor Ken more, abruptly, and was
hgain hurrying away. r
Margaret detained him, however, laying
her hand upon his arm and saying,
" One question more ; I must know the
truth — is Mr. Jones dead V
The old man turned toward her and
gazed in her face with a look of solemn
earnestness, and then took her hand in
his.
"Margaret," he said, after a pause,
" will you be my wife ? — 1 say will you
be my wife ? for, on my soul, that is the
only way that I see of helping you and
your father."
Margaret's surprise was very great.
Such an idea had never crossed her mind
— the possibility of such a thing had never
struck her. But then came crowding upon
her mind all the particulars of her father's
situation ; his and her utter destitution ;
his broken health ; his hopeless prospects ;
his need of care and constant watchful-
ness ; the utter impossibility of her sup-
5
u^
180
porting him without leaving him ; his de-
solation and wretchedness if she did, all-
all came rushing upon her like a torrent,
carrying away every obstacle, every
repugnance. One moment of terrible
''truggle took place witiiin her ; and then
gazing in the old man's face, seriously and
sadly she asked,
" Are you serious V
^ " Yes, Margaret, I am,'* he answered
m a tone as grave as her own ; " there is
a choice of evils, my dear young lady. I
have done what I could ; I have, been an-
xious to do more, but I have been prevent-
ed as you know. I have turned the mat-
ter over and over again in my own mind,
and I see nothing on earth that I c^n pro-
pose but this. It is hard upon you. Mar-
garet, I know ; but as my wife you will
have a house for your father with every
sort of comfort which you could desire
and which his situation needs. Neither
will it be as if he went to the house of a
stranger. He will sit down foi- the rest of
his life by the fire-side of his earliest friend.
Consider of it. Margaret, my dear. I
do not ask Vnn tn rit^nlAa '
only moved by one fee
affection and friendship
Consider of it."
iv/i
1 cim
181
" No," said Margaret, warmly, taking
his hand in hers, " I will not consider of
it. I say yes, at once, with deep and
heartfelt gratitude for all your kindness,
and I will try to the very best of my power
to repay it to the utmost."
The old surgeon pressed her hand, say-
ing, " I know you, Margaret — I know you
well, and although there is not another
woman in England whom 1 would ask to
be an old man's wife, yet I am sure you
will love me as much as you can, and will
leave nothing on earth undone to make my
last years comfortable and happy. Of
my own fate I have no fear, and in regard
to yours I will try hard to make you banish
all regret. Now I had better go and tell
your father."
" No," said Margaret Graham, " no, I
will tell him myself: for he may ask
questions which no one but myself can
answer, and it is better that it should be all
done at once."
She paused a moment, and then added,
" I will tell him that you offer me as much
happiness as I believe it is possible for me
to know in life."
'* You are a good girl, Margaret," said
the old surgeon, with an almost sorrowful
shake of the head — " you are a dear, good
girL"
132
" And you are the best and kindest of
men,'' answered Margaret, with tears in
her eyes : and turning away, she left him
and went into the room where her father
sat.
" You have been talking a long time in
the garden with Kenrpore, my love," said
Mr. Graham ; " now, remember, Margar-
et, I will have no borrowing money that
we can not pay : I would rather go into
the work-house than do that."
'' We have not been talking about that
at all, my dear father," said Margaret, in
a cheerful tone— a very cheerful tone.
" He has just been proposing to me that
wliich makes me as happy as any thing
within the bounds of probability could, I
believe, make me. He has been proposing
that I should marry him." '' " ^
" You, Margaret !" exclaimed Mr. Gra-
ham. "You marry Kenmore ! Why,
he IS two years older than I am."
" I do not think that matters," answered
Margaret; "and one thing I am very
sure, that among all the younger men who
were once our acquaintance and have now
forgotten us, I should not find one more
generous, good, and kind. Besides, these
things depend a good deal upon taste,
and I am quite certain, my dear father,
13S
that, take the country for forty miles
round, there is no one I should prefer to
himself."
" Indeed ! indeed !" said Mr. Graham ;
"well, my love, well; but I did think
. However I will not try to con-
trol you. You always judge ri^ht, my
Margaret; but you must let me live near
you. 1 must see you every day."
" And all day long, my dear father,"
answered Margaret Graham. I would
not have consented to enter any house of
which you were not to be an inhabitant :
but Dr. Kenmore thought of that himself,
as he does, indeed, of every thing that can
make us comfortable."
" Well, it is very strange," said Mr.
Graham, and fell into a deep fit of thought.
Cheerful smiles are very often paid for
by bitter tears, and it was so in some de-
gree with Margaret Graham, When she
had retired to rest, and her door was lock-
ed, she wept for more than an hour ;
but the next morning she rose again,
apparently as cheerful as ever. But
■>-"'.- -.".'iiTizig vj-ii, HIT,' ijt\jt.vi,i.i!s \jx rr liniii
we must dwell upon somewhat more
minutely.
134
CHAPTER Vlir.
THE INAUSPICIOUS MARRIAGE.
The matter of the marriage was talked
over between Mr. Graham and his old
friend ; but Doctor Kenmore saw clearly
that Margaret knew best how to reconcile
her father to an arrangement by no means
consonant to his own views, and he there-
fore followed as she led. The worthy
doctor, too, became smarter in his appear-
ance. He had his long, gray hair cut by
the most fashionable barber in Browns-
wick. He no longer affected the modes
of thirty*years before, biit came out in a
bran-new suit of black, with trowsers upon
his legs; but his buckles— the beloved
buckles in his shoes, which had belonged
to his father, perhaps his grandfather —
those he would not part with. His house
was hastily put in order; and all the peo-
pie of Brownswick began to ask, " What
is going to happen to Doctor Kenmore ?"
It was soon buzzed about that he was
going to marry Miss Graham, and mme
laughed, and some said, " Poor thing/' an^
some declared that theydetesteti mercenary
matches ; but all agreed in the story that
it was to take place immediately, and cwn
no means
135
this point they were right. Margaret did
not seek for any delay; her mind was
made up, her fate was sealed, and she
thought it would be wrong and insulting to
a benefactor to show the slightest appear-
ance of reluctance.
March had passed away into April, the
marriage was to take place in a week ;
and Doctor Kenmore had just left Mr.
Graham and his daughter, when a note
was brought up to Margaret in her room,
whith information that the messenger wait-
ed for an answer. She did not know the
hand, but she opened it hastily. It con-
tained the following words, and was dated
from the " White Lion," the great inn at
Brownswick : —
"Dear Miss Graham," the writer said,
" I have just come back from India, in
which distant land I was ordered to join
my regiment immediately after I last saw
you. On my return I found much melan-
choly intelligence awaiting me ; but my
first journey has been to Cumberland,
whftrA nlpn rp»r tirinnra r\f nil flint haa Kia_
fallen you and yours reached me last night.
1 know that Mr. Graham is ill and does
not receive any visitors ; but allow me to
plead the privilege of an old friend, and
1.36
beg of you to let me have the pleasurs of
seeing you for a few minutes, even if your
excellent father is himself too unwell to
give me admission. I would not venture
to come in person without asking your
permission ; but I do trust and hope that
you have not yet entirely forgotten
" Yours, faithfully and ever,
" Allan Fairfax."
Margaret laid down the note upon the
table, and trembled violently. " Yours
faithfully and ever," she repeated in a low,
sad tone ; but the very next instant sh(3
added,
" This is weak, this is wrong ;" and,
opening her writing-desk, she sat down to
answer the letter. For a moment she felt
sick and giddy ; the paper seemed to move
to and fro under her eyes ; her hand would
hardly hold the pen ; but Margaret had
learned the hard lesson of making the hijgh
purposes of the soul command the thoughts
of the mind and support the body in its
weakness; and after a struggle, she
wrote words that almost broke her heart to
trace.
"My dear sir," she said, " we have not
forgotten you, believe rae ; and under any
13T
other circumstances I should be extremely
happy to see you, and thank you for your^
kind interest. My father is somewhat
better in health than he was, but still our
situation is such that I must, with great
regret, decline the pleasure of your visit.
At some future time I trust I shall be
better able than now to express the thanks
of
" Your old acquaintance,
" Margaret Graham."
She would ncL read it over when she
had written it, but sealed it hastily, and,
calling the maid, directed her to give it to
the messenger. When that was done and
she was alone, she sat and gazed at the
paper, which bore the handwriting of Fair«
fax, and it was several minutes before she
moved. She then only uttered the words
" madness and folly !" and taking up the
note she put it in the fire. It burned
slowly away, a small spark lingered and
wandered here and there, and then went
out, leaving all black.
U Vwav^^n Mi^^%r-m i%^%4^w«
.. r-^*.^ 9ff ^^zA ii/r»'.^»«^«
TKjuv^ii lias u^^cii Hi J luiu; oaiu iTiaigaici,,
to herself; " I will think of it no more —
no, no, not for a moment."
During the evening she was very grave,
but the next morning she resumed her
i:
i \
I.
IBS
ordinary demeanour, and nothing occUtred
for two days that could shake it. Then,
indeed, old Doctor Kenmore told her, in an
ordinary tone, that in going his usual round
of visits he had seen a young gentleman
whom he recollected having once met
in the grounds at AUerdale with Mr.
Graham.
" I have not told your father, my dear,"
he continued, " because I thought it might
vex him to hear the lad was wandering
about down here, without ever trying to
see his old friend."
, Margaret was agitated ; but she would
not hear a charge against Allan Fairfax
unrefuted, and she replied,
" No, my dear doctor, he did try to see
my father. He wrote a note to me expres-
sing a wish to come, but I declined, as in-
deed T have done with every one."
" You did right, Margaret," replied Doc-
tor Kenmore ; ** Graham should be kept
free from all agitation that can be avoided,
and the very name of AUerdale moves him
a good deal still."
There ended the cnnvpraation ! and the
wedding-day came rapidly. I will not
attempt to pry into the secrets of Margar-
et's heart ; I will not inquire what the
passing moments .brought her ; I will not
189
dwell upon the thoughts of the day or of
the night, as one after the other went by
hurrying on the moment of her fate. She
grew somewhat pale and thin in that last
week ; but she gave no cause to say that
she seemed melancholy. A little graver
than usual she might be ; but what woman
can prepare to change the whole relations
of her life, to enter upon a new and all-
important task, and not be thoughtful. In
all else but that light shade of meditation,
her demeanour was to every eye the same
as usual. She smiled sweetly upon her
father, kindly upon the good old surgeon,
was pleased with all he did to please her,
and approved and confirmed all the ar-
rangements he had made. She preferred
only one request, that the marriage might
be as private as possible, and to that Doctor
Kenmore readily agreed,
"We will have nobody there, Margaret,
but our own selves and the lawyer, and
your old acquaintance. Miss Harding.
The people who come would only very
mistakenly call us two fools, me an old
R one and you a young one ; but we will
not mind what they say — a nine day's
wonder never lasts ten."
Mr. Graham did not meet matters quite
calmly as his daughter. Ho seemed
140
ill at ease, and often sighed heavily ; and
though Margaret, whenever she saw his
spirits depressed, talked cheerfully of
coming years, yet it seemed to have little
effect. He had watched her mind and
character from the cradle ; and perhaps
even though stricken with severe infirmity
and enfeebled in body and mind, the par-
ent's eye saw the daughter 'n heart.
His corporeal health, however, did not
seem to suffer ; on the contrary, leaning on
Margaret's arm, he walked slowly out into
the garden. He went the next day, in
his good old friend's little phaeton, to see
the room prepared for him ut Dr. Ken-
more's house, and he showed himself
pleased witn all the arrangements made
for his comfort, and still more with the
attention paid to Margaret's tastes and
habits. He approved, too, of the plan
which Margaret proposed, namely, that
after the ceremony he should remain for
the rest of the day at the cottage, while
«he went to take possession of her new
dwelling, and that early the next morning
the doctor's phaeton should come to brinff
tiim to Brownswick. Margaret took care
that an old and faithful servant of her
future husband should be ordered to stay
at the cottage to watch and assist him dur-
141
ing that day, and he seemed so well that
she had no fears.
The day preceeding the marriage was
a busy one for Dr. Kenmore ; he had a
thousand things to do besides seeing all his
most important patients. The good doc-
tor himself was fatigued, though he was a
hale, active little man, and his handsome,
short-legged cob was completely knocked
up. But that day went by, and the sun
rose upon another.
The liltle church of Allenchurch was,
luckily, some way out of the village ; there
was no crowd, no gazers, and Margaret
Graham stood before the altar with her
father's old schoolfellow. It was a fine,
clear spring day, one of the first which had
visited the world that year, and. Margaret
Graham wanted yet three months and a
day of being two-and-twenty — Doctor
Kenmore was sixty-eight. She had dres-
sed herself very plainly, and in a manner
to make her look older than she was ; but
nothing could conceal that she was very
young, and very, very beautiful. Her
whole demeanour through the service was
what any one who knew her well would
have expected of Margaret Graham —
graceful, quiet, grave ; But it was very
calm also. The trial was not then— 'it
142
The words were spoken, and she said,
^* I will," distinctly: the ring was upon
her finger — she was Doctor Kenmore's
wife. The curtain fell between her and
the past ; the prospect of the future was
clear before her — clear and cold !
It was impossible for Mr. Graham to be
present ; the vicar of his former parish
gave Margaret away, and she and her
husband drove at once to the cottage,
where her father waited to see them before
they went to their home. They stayed
with him about an hour, and then imme-
diately turned to Brownswick. Doctor
Kenmore had gone to the church in a
pair of tied shoes, but as soon as he get
home he resumed his large silver buckles,
declaring. that his feet felt cold without
them.
There were a great many things to be
seen to and arranged about the house, so
that there was plenty of occupation till
dinner-time ; tor the good surgeon's habits
were like his cloths, in an old fashion, and
he dined at four exactly. A few minutes
before that time, he pointed out to Margar-
et a large iron safe in his own little study,
saying,
" In there, my dear, are all my pa-
pers of importance J and they are valu-
143
able, for God has prospered my handiwork,
and there are several mortgages and
deeds ; but, above all, my will, which I
made a week f*go in such terms as to ren-
der it effectual if I died before or after my
marriage.*'
Before Margaret could answer, the
good doctor's footmati came in to inform
him that one Mr. Lifred was there to pay
his bill. The surgeon was inclined to
send him away a^;ain ; but the bill was
a heavy one, amounting to nearly a hun-
dred pounds. Mr. Lifred was going away
to London, and Doctor Kenmore went out
to receive him. When he returned he
iiad a roll of notes and seme gold in his
hand ; but it was announced at the same
time that dinner was upon the table, and
thrusting the money into his pocket he
led his bride to the table. Hardly, how-
ever, were the soup and fish gone, when
the bell rung violently, and Doctor Ken-
more said to the servant, in a very imper-
ative tone.
" I will go out to see no one — ^let them
go to Mr. M 'Swine's; he's as good a
doctor as I am, and thinks himself bet-
ter."
The man returned in a moment, but
bis face was very grave, and he whw-
fe^
li4^
pered a word or two in Doctor Kenmore*s
ear. The old surffeon's countenance
fell.
"Order round the phaeton directly," he
replied ; and Margaret, gazing at him in-
quiringly, said,
" My flither ?"
The old surgeon rose and took her hand,
answering,
" I will go and see him, my dear, and
come back and let you know how he is
going on."
But Margaret answered,
" I must go with you :" and he made no
objsclion.
They were both clad for going forth, and
standing in the passage with the door half
open, waiting for the phaeton, when
a poor woman, dressed as the wife of a
laborer of the lowest class, looked in,
laying her hand at the same time upon the
bell ; but Doctor Kenmore stopped her,
saying, •
"What do you want, Mrs. Halliday ?
I can not see any body to-night — I am going
out ; Mr. Graham has fallen down in ano-
ther tit."
" Ah, pof r gentleman ?" said Mrs. Hal-
liday ; " 1 don't want to stop you, sir, and
incfeed have no right ; but Ben is very
145
bad, poor fellow ; became borne yesterday
with a stitch in his side, and to-day be
can not fetch his breath at all, and is ter.
rible red in the face and restless. I went
over this morning to the Union to get an
order for the doctor to see him, that is
seven miles, and then 1 had to come here
for Mr. M'Swine, and that is nine more,
and Mr. M*Swine is out, and bis shop-boy
says he won't be home till ten or eleven,
and poor Ben says he is sure be will die,
and I am ready to drop."
" And seven miles more to walk home,"
said Doctor Kenmore ! "I will see your
husband — be is a good mru. —I will see
him. Here, come in and take a glass of
wine. M'Swine is in, but be does not
choose to go," continued the surgeon,
multering to himself ; " this comes of farm-
ing out the poor to the lowest contractor —
I will see your husband before I sleep,
Mrs. Halliday," and he poured the woman
out a large glass of wine, adding, howev-
er, some water, to prevent it from getting
into her head.
By the time this wag all done the nhae*
ton was at the door ; and hurrying away
with his wife and 'the servant (not without
a regret that there was no place in the
small vehicle for Mrs. Halliday), the good
ff.
old man drove to Allenchurch, and arrived
The door was opened as soon as the
sound of wheels were heard, and Margaret
ran in, inquiring eagerly for her falher.
Ihe woman replied that he seemed a little
^r, and she instantly hurried to his
room. In the mean while Doctor Ken
more had ordered his servant calmly to
drive the horse back toBrownswick, butnot
togoto bed before twelve unless h; heard
from him ; and having given these orde«
he also entered the house and went to the
room where Mr. Graham lay. As soon
as_he saw him and heard his breathing!^"
l,»l**''n^*'^^l' '^y *^^'""' *'« must remain
here all mght ; this is a case in which I
can not bleed him; for, though irSh
produce temporary relief, i. wluld X
lowed by more serious evils. We must
proceed more slowly but more safety, and
I rust we shall succeed. IJe must be
water, bottles of hot water to the feet di.
^^uy, ana It we can get some sal volatile
down so much the better."
All was done which the good old surijeon
recommended; the stertorous breathing
m
ceased in about an hour ; Mr. Graham
moved his right arm and put his hand to
his head, and a moment or two after opened
his eyes -and looked round confusedly.
The next instant he closed them again,
and fell into a quiet and gentle sleep with
easy breathing, and a face, which had pre-
viously been very pale and covered with
profuse perspiration, but which now resum-
ed its natural hue.
" Now every thing must be kept quite
quiet," said the good old doctor, in a whis-
per, to Margaret : " reaction will take
place in a few hours, and then he must
lose a little blood, after which I trust he
will be quite safe. You sit by him, my
dear, till I return ; for I must not forget
poor Ben Halliday, and there is nothing. to
be done here for six hours at least."
** But you have sent away the phaeton,
have you not ?" asked Margaret, somewhat
anxiously ; and going to the window she
looked out.
" Never mind, my dear, I will walk,"
said Doctor Kenmore ; " it is a beautiful
evening, and the quarter moon ther^, just
rising over the trees round the church will
light, me better than the sun. 1 shan't be
long, for I know what is the matter with
Halliday already. He has got inflamma^
148
tion of the Iqngs, and I must bleed him
largely. To-morrow it will be too late
and M^Swine would let the poor fellow
die--so good-night, my dear, for the pre-
sent." "^
Thus saying, good Doctor Kenmore de-
parted, and Margaret sat down to v/atch
by her father's bedside, falling into a long
sad fit of meditation, which lasted for a
considerable time. Hour went by on hour
— eight, nine, ten o'clock came, eleven
struck, twelve approached, and Doctor
Kenmore did not come.
«!,!
CHAPTER IX.
MEDICAL RELIEF.
It is time now to turn to the history o
me person toward whose cottage Doctor
Kenmore had bent his steps; and I must
take it np again at the period where I last
quitted it. Allan Fairfax left the family
of Ben Halliday comparatively happy.
His children had had food— one sufficient
meal, which was more than they had ob-
tamed for months. The sum of thirteen
shillings and some pence remained, the
change out of the sovereign. Think of it
149
reader ! What does it seem to you I A
trifle, not sufficient to provide the daily-
dinner that smokes upon your table ; little
more than the price of two of those bottles
of wine, whereof so many are drank in
your household every week ; and yet to
Ben Halliday it seemed a treasure. It
would add nearly fifty per cent, to his wag-
es for four weeks. It would keep the
wolf from the door. I would give bread
—bread enough ; ? ^I he asked little more.
The laborer — oh, uie poor laborer ! what
a life is his, in the richest, the most indus-
trious, the most charitable country in the
world ! It is not alone the hard, unremit*^
ting daily toil for bare subsistence which
makes the sadness of his lot ; it is not the
privation of every material comfort, or
relaxation of warmth, of sufficient nour-
ishment, of care in sickness for himself or
his children, of every thing in the shape
of enjoyment ; but it is the privation of
hope and expectation— of prospect; the
blighting not only of the present harvest,
but of the seed for the future crop. Is
this an exafirsrerated nicture ? Let thoBe
who have lived much among the lower
classes, as I have, answer. What has ttie
British laborer at any period of his course
to look forward to ? what are his prospects I
150
A life s unremitting, ill-requited toil, con-
stant necessity, without the power of pro.
viding aught for an evil day— cold in his
dwelling, want at his table, sickness in the
train of want, neglect in the time of sick-
ness ; age, infirmity, and death in the rigid
imprisonment of the Parish Union. Add
to this the sight of his children, brought
up to the same lot— to live like him with-
out hope, and to die like him in beggary.
Such are the prospects of the British la-
borer ; and I defy any one to prove that
they are generally better.
Take hope from man and you render him
a demon. We have done it ; we are doing
it ; and we wonder that there are flaming
ricks and stackyards smouldering in their
ashesj Let us beware before it be too late,
lest the fire extend somewhat farther. It
was an ancient custom, in Morocca, to
punish criminals undergoing sentence of
death by giving them small handfuls of
couscoussou, just suflTicient to keep them
alive and protract their torture ; but the
wise rulers of Morocca impaled them first,
so that they could not spring upon their
tormentors. We give our men the same
di«t, and leave them in nearly as much
misery ; but" we do not secure ourselves by
fixing them on a stake.
151
However, Ben Halliday was comparative-
ly happy. When Allan Fairfax found him
he had not a penny or a loaf of bread in
the house; he had seven shillings a- week
as a recompense for six days' incessant
profitable labor ; he had himself, his wife,
a son incapable of gaining any thing, and
a dying daughter to support ; he had been
told by his mastor, one of the guardians,
that if he applied to the Union he would
not receive any relief unless he came into
the house, with his wife and family ; and
that if he did come in, he should be sep-
arated from his wife and family, and be
made so miserable that he should soon be
glad to quit it again.* Such was his state
*This is not a fiction. The case occurred with-
in my own knowledge ; the farmer made this exact
reply ; the labourer had three children ; the wages
were seven shillings a week ; hut the county was
not Cumberland.
when Fairfax founil him ; and now he had
m#re than thirteen shillings in the house,
and the prospect of obtaining five shillings
a- week more, merely for the care of a
mischievous idiot. It was wealth— it was
nrQfiir«:»ri*tv
r "i'~ * "J
'VV
whole family blessed Allan Fairfax I He
seemed like a guardian-angel, come to save
and to restore. The next morning Ben
was up before daylight, working away in
152
the shed, to render it fit for the reception
T?^^Y ^^^^^' ^"^ ^^ ^^^ ^one all that
could be done without boards and nails ere
the sun rose, and his time of daily labor
returned. In the evening he went to
Browns wick, and concluded the whole
arrangement with the person who paid for
the idiot; and at night he worked away
at the shed with his cousin Jacob, his wife
havinp in the mean time procured the ne-
cessary materials. By the next morning
all was ready, the place m >de warm and
tight, and on the third day the id.ot was
installed, his bed and clothes moved up
and he an inmate of Ben Holiday's dwel-
ling. They began well together. Father
and mother and children did -ill they could
to niake the unhappy man comfortable,
and he seemed to like the change from old
Orimly s cottage. He laughed and talked
amazingly, and leered fearfully about him,
and said he should be very merry there
and would show them strange tricks!
1 Here was only one matter of dispute be-
tween him and Ben Halliday. He took a
particular affection for Mr. Fairfay's nnrf_
njanteau, and would sit on nothing else.
When It was taken from him, he tunied
Bulien and walked out of the house,
wandering about without returning for
153
twelve hours. He was not far distant,
however ; for amid his ramblings he twice
found his way to the cottage of Jacob Hal-
liday, and he seemed inclined to curry
favour with his family, cutting a stick for
his son BiU into various grotesque forms,
in which art he was extraordinary skill-
fuL
I have said nothing of Fairfax's move-
ments subsequent to the day of his letum
to Cumberland, except what t lie reader has
seen in his note to Margaret ; but it may
be necessary to mention, that he returned
once to the cotiaf^e of Ben Halliday, the
day after his former visit, and took out of
his portmanteau some clothes and a dress^
ing-case, which he sent down to the inn at
Brownswick by a little boy of the village.
He was seen once or twice for a day or
two afterward, but then disappeared for
some time.
In the mean while Jacob Halliday began
to regret that he had not accepted the
charge of the idiot himself; for with a
4)erversion of affection, not unfrequent in
such perions. Tommy Hicks seemed to
attach himself to Jacob in proportion to
the dislike and threats of the other. Be-
sides, pecuniary matters were no better
with Jacob than his cousin. It ir true, he
154
had but one child ; but then his wife was
not as careful and as active as Ben's, and
she bore her fate less meekly. Misery
and wretchedness were at their height in
his cottage. There was hardly a bed to
lie on, or clothes to cover i.s inmates, and
Jacob's impatient spirit fretted under the
yoke. He used rash and angry words,
and at length he went down himself, and
vehemently, but not without rude elo-
quence, represented his condition to the
larmer whom he and his cousin both
served.
/ Farmer Stumps was irritated, and threat-
ened to dismiss him altogether if he heard
any further complaints ; and Jacob, after
gazing at him sternly for a moment, turned
upon his heel and walked away, muttering,
, more than once as he went,
" We must teach them better.''
Two days after his wife seemed more
^ntented, ad^dhe himself in better spirits ;
and one lipt he brought up to his cousin's
house a porringer of very excellent soup
for poor Susan. The girl was delighted
with it, and said it tasted better^than any
thing she had ever eaten ; and Jacob ^ugh-
ed, and replied that it was made of nothing
but what grew in the fields. The idiot
took a spoonful, aadlaughed aloud, an-
fwering,
155
« Ay, with fur and feathers for leaves.'*
Jacob said nothing in return, but went
away ; and two days after, Tommy Hic':s,
after having been out till after nightfall,
came back with a brace of rabbits in his
hand, capering and grinning, and showing
a trap of his own invention, which was
quite as well adapted for snaring hares or
any other animals as those which he had
caught. In vain did Ben Halliday attempt
to make him comprehend that he brought
himself into danger by such proceedings ;
in vain did Mrs.^Halliday refuse to roast
the rabbits for him. Tommy set to work
himself, and skinned and cooked them in
his own peculiar fashion, devouring them
both when they were done, wfth all the
relish that even wiser men than himself
find in game of their own taking.
So far all went well enough with Ben
Halliday; but three nights before the mar-
riage-day of Margaret Graham, the little
boy suddenly pointed to the window, about
nine o'clock, and cried,
" Look, look, dad ! What a pretty color
in ihf. filfv '
~ V '
coming alrej
Ben went
&;ji_iiia CIO li. iilUiliXUl
was
saying
the door and gazed forth,
«
It's the north-lightsj I think." But
156
the moment after, he exclaim* d, " No, I
do believe it is a great fire somewhere !"
and, without waiting to take his hat, he
r^n out, and proceeded till he could see
cloar down over the moor. The road he
took was not the same as that on which he
had lately met Mr. Fairfax ; for, as I think
I have before explained, the moor extended
far along the side of the hills, broken by
patches of wood and cultivated ground,
and in about five minutes he had a fair
view of all the country toward Browns-
wick. At the bottom of the descent lay
the principal farm of his present master,
with its rick-yard and stacks all round it,
and from that point rose the fitful blaze
which ilftiminated the whole heaven, and
ahowed him the lines of bam and stable,
housetops and trees, at about a mile and a
half distance, with the undulations of the
moor in red light and shade between . Two
ricks were already on fire ; the wind was
blowing cold and strong over the yard and
the buildings, and, without waiting for fur-
ther examination, Ben Halliday mn on as
^t as he could to orive assists^r^, As-
he approached, he heard loud Toices, and
curses, and threats ; but there vkta, at the
moment, a hedge and some tall^ trees be-
tween him and the scene of conflagration,!
157
and he could not perceive what was going
on. When he had passed that soreeq,
however, a sight presented itself which
has been seen more than once since in
many counties in England. Three large
ricks were now blazing, the wind was
I driving the sparks and lighted straws right
jupon the rest of the valuable produce of
the last year's harvest. The farmer, his
son, and some of hie house-servants, were
labqring furiously to extinguish the flames,
mt only adding to their intensity, and
endangering the rest of the property by
throwmg down the blazing corn. Around
stood no less than twenty laborers from
that and the neighbouring farms ; but all
their arms were crossed upon their chests,
and not a man moved a finger to save the
wealth of the hard, rich man. In vain he
swore, or threatened, or entreated : no one
[sUrred.
*\ You villains !" h© cried, « you have
set it a-light yourselves, I do believe V
— sweat ,
I many ^ poor honest man, Farmer Stumps,
158
%id another, " blazing up to heaven, to tell
how you've used him.''
" We should never have had a bushel
of it," cried a third ; " let those save it as
were like to get it."
But at that moment Ben Halliday burst
into the midst of them. 4
"For shame ! for shame, men !" he
cried, " to stand idle there and see a neigh,
hour's corn burn ! Do you think bread
would be cheaper if all the yards in .the
country were in a blaze ?"
"No; but wages woufd be higher if I
masters were taught not to starve their
men," said a voice, not far off, and a
loud laugh from several of the peasants
followed.
Ben Halliday listened not to this rejoin.
der, but leaped over the low wall of the
rick-yard ; and running up to the farmer,
exclaimed,
"Don't, Master Stumps, for Heaven's!
sake, don't stir the fire that way. You've |
tot plenty of rick-cloths ; get them all out,
ip them in the pond, and draw them over I
the nearest stacks. We've plenty of|
hands to do that, even though those fellows!
won't help ; ay, and to keep them wet with
buckets too, till the engine comes up fipom
Browns wick*" ^ •
159
" That'i a good thought— a devilish goocf
thought V cried the farmer. " You're a
capital fellow, Ben. Here, help us to get
down the cloths."
" Some one get the ladders V* cried the
laborer, running with the farmer .oi^^ard
the loft over the barn where the ri<, k clotl 3
were kept.
His simple suggestion soonchang i ihe
face of affairs. The heavy canvas cloths
were speedily brought forth, dragged
through the neighbouring pond, and then,
not without great labour and exertion,
drawn over the nearest ricks. Several
men were employed to keep them constant-
ly wet, the rest to throw water over the
ends of the barns nearest to the fire ; and
the farmer's wife, daughters, and maids,
though in a strange state of confusion and
agitation, were directed to watch the roof
of the house, and guard against the sjmrks
catching the woodwork.
In every effort, in every exertion, Ben'
Halliday bore as great a share as any one ;
but his example had no effect upon the
other labourers, who, after seeing that the
fire was likely to do no more damf^e, and
hearing the engine coming along the road,
dropped away one by one. It is a sad
thing, but it too often occurs, that he who
i
160
on any occasion renders the most service
to others is the one who suffers, as if a
certain amount of disaster was to be in-
flicted, and that those who turned it aside
from friend, or neighbours, or country, or
society, took it upon himself. Thank God,
we know that such is not the case, and
that all is ordered mercifully and wisely ;
biit yet, as I have said, so it is, the greatest
benefactors are the worst requited, and
generallysuffer by their exertions in favour
of other men.
Sad, sad philosophy ! Too terrible
tf uth !
Poor Ben Halliday laboured hard for an
hour and a half amid flame and intense
heat ; he was wet with the water which
he brought from the pond ; he was over-
heated with the fire and the exertion ; and
when all was done, and he saw that the
rest of the property was safe, he turned
away hardly noticed, barely thanked, and
walked musing over the moor, toward hia
own miserable abode. The night wind
blew keen '^nd sharp ; but he went slowly,
for he was both weary and sad. He had
much tboc' for thought, too ; for a voice
had sounded in his ear which he knew
well, and had raised painful doubts and
suspicions. Suddenly he quickened his
161
pace, for he felt the blast strike and chil)
iim; and when he lay down to rest upon
his hard bed with scanty covering, an a-
guish shivering seized him. The next
day he rose feeble and feeling ill ; byt he
I'went to his work as usual, and returned
worse. Still he would not apply to the
j Uflion for assistance — he had never receiv-
jed any aid trom it, and he disliked the
very thought ; but at length the pain in hi$
I side, the difficulty of breathing, the utter
I prostration of strength convinced him hie
was very ill, made him believe he was
dying, and he consented that his wife
should go and seek the aid of the parish
I surgeon. It was a thing that could not be
refused, but, as we have seen, that to ob-
jtain it she had to walk near twenty miles,
apd to be absent from her family the whole
I day,* She did not mind the toil ; she did
♦The case, as it actually occurred, was as fol-
j lows : — A poor woman, whose husband was seize4
with acute inflammation, living at S , went
thence to N , to get an order from the oVeraeer
fcr medical relief^ the distance there and back
I bpwg iive miles. She had then to cany the ord«
to ^ — r-. five miles, but on presenting ittoAe
|»84ioal officer at E— , he told her thather i^dus^
WIP hi a parish out of his district, and sbe ww^
Jmtj||Hi>|(j|v«miii»itQ2>7.r^^. ^ewaatfaciirilit
U$ tha ovaraeer to tlie ralieving offiiw at P'mn,mir,
6
102
It even care about seeing Ben Halliday
pitten down as « pauper,*' so that she
tiot
written down as "paupei,
obtained speedy help for him ; but when I
she got to Brownswick, and found aid was
likely to be delayed some eighteen hours
longer, the poor woman's heart sunk.
The Union authorities were bent upon
lowering the poor's rates ; it was the obJ
ject of the institution — they thought it the
sole object — for they very well knew as to
its improving the character of the labourer
by throwing him more upon his ownexer.
tions, that was all nonsense — Parliament.
ary commissions report nonsense. They
took care, in their individual capacity, that
his own exertions should be as unfruitful as
possible ; the new law and the increase of
population only gave them the opportunity
of doing so more easily. The old law, by
an easy, constitutional, and, if wisely adJ
ministered, safe operation, acted as a check
upon the rapacity of employers; it pro-
vided, that what was not paid in wages
nbout two milf»8. The officer was not at home,
and she could get no aid that night, but returned!
,^^r own houpe, n distance of more than threel
tmUjf. Med cal nttendnnoe was not obtained tilil
the middle of the next day, when she had walked|
©ight miles in addition to the twenty she had pi
vkiuly journeyed.
163
should be paid in poor's-rates ; but that
law had been swept away, and the object
now waste reduce the rates. They there-
fore cut down every thing, and among the
rest the allowance to medical officers.
They demanded tenders ; they demanded
DO testimony of ability, skill, kindness,
conscientiousness : all they demanded was
cheapness. The cheapest man in Browns-
wick was Mr. M'Swine, surgeon and
apothecary, and he was appointed. But
Mr. M'Swine bad no inclination to put
himself out of the way for paupers. He
farmed them upon an average of twopence-
haltpenny per head fur mtdicine and at-
tendance, and it was not to be expected that
he should give them much of either. His
was a true homoepathic system as to the
former, and as to the latter he called on
lie sick poor when it was convenient.
The more of them that died the belter' for
him, provided it could not be proved that
it was his fault. It is all very well to
presume that men will not be scoundrels,
iwit much better not to t^mpt them to.be so.
Mt. M'Swine was at home when Mrs.
Haliiday came with the order ; but his
fihop-boy had directions what to say on such
occasions, and the poor wife of as good'a
jsmi 9M ever existed stood before bis dibr
164
ik ie^pklr. Shfe saw some 6he Hrig Dr.
itenmore's bell ; she kkiew him to be a
good, kind, humane man, though Some-
what roiigh, and taking hieart of grace,
6he Went over too, after a few mitiutes'
thought.
The good doctor's reception of her We
have already seen : and revived by th6
Wine he had given, she turned her steps
home Ward with hope refreshed. She found
her htisuand tossing about anxiously in
bed, and trying every position in order to
draw his breath more easily, but in vain.
The two children were close to hisbed-side,
the sick girl at the pillow, the boy near
the foot, in the farther corner of the hut
sat the idiot, Tommy Hicks, on the bdoved
portmanteau, talking to himself in a ioW
voice, and cutting a stick according to
(Custom.
Ben Halliday's first (Question wa^, ^ Is
Mr. M'Swine coming, Bella ? If he does
not make haste, it will be too late.'*
" No, Ben, but DoctDr Kenmore is,"
answered his wiffe, drawing near and
dov/n on the side of tltfelJed ; " tie
) here directly, God bless him ; and
)f .wine to co»^f6rt
«ittincr
i
he gave me a glass
*
« Ah, he is a good mtttt
me
»
BenHM-
i
m
liday, •* and he*ll cure me if any onecftfli
Now, run. out, Charlie," he continued, ill
a low voice, " and see what it was Tommy
Hicks put away under the thatch. He bI
always hiding something, like a tahid
iraven/' 'H^
Th6 boy ran out, but the moment t^i»
idiot saw him approach the thatch, he sCaitr
td up to follow him. " Sit down. Tommy
Hicks," exclaimed Mrs. Halliday, in tit
authoritative tone, fixing her eyes upon him
as she spoke, and the idiot resume^his seat
without a word. The little boy, Charles,
i^turned the next minute with a tablo-knif^
mhk/h Tommy Hicks had hid under the
Ihatch ; and a dandle being lighted, Mr».
Hallklay prepared herself a cup of tea>
as some refreshment after her long walk>
About thi'ee quarters of an hour elapsed,
and Ben Halliday became anxicHis, witti
<the impatience of feverish illness, for the
arrival of Doctor Kenmore. The llttfe
boy was sent to lock along the road by
the moonlight, and see if he was coming.
Nobody was in sight, however, but tfeeir
klnisman, Jacob, who was wending his v^ay
slowly toward the moor. After m few
iminuteis' pause, the boy went out again ;
bkt this time he returned Instantly, aay^^
l< H«rt» h& tbmeiS'-^fere he come% mm
m
his stick up to bis nos3 ; I see him qwitt^
J M The sick girl got up from the stool by
her fethtil'*s side, to leav - a pli^co for the
doctor, and as soon as his step wys heard
Approaching, Charlie Haliiday opentd iHe
clijor. As^ - x)n isa he entered, however,
Tommy h^.^^i^ ^^tarted up with a laugh,
niK? thrust tlie ^ick he was cutting between
4be good old pvrgeon's legs, nearly throiv.
i^g him dowt], and exclaiming,
j ."Ri^ in. Doctor Kenmore !"
The good man on wiiom he played oil
thi3 trick was constitutionally somewhat
irascible, and several things had occurred
to vex him on a day which he had set
apart as a dc^y. of happiness* Without
more ado then, he lifted his canp,and struck
Tommy Hicks a smart blow .over the
4lhoulders, saying,
;; ** I'll teach you to play me such tricks,
you mischievous devil !"
With a howl of pain and rage the idiot
ran out of the cottage, and Doctor Ken^
«iore, approaching Ben Haliiday 's bedsidf
«at down, i^nd resumed his kindly natU'
«itx)nce. . ^ »
my po
ym have got youifself into a bad vrayl f
^mmi^don of the lungs, caught h^l|>ii
Farmer Stumpai to put out the lire."
im ^ItB
3 stool by
E} for the
AS .!i©8r{*
)entd ihc
however,
a laugh,
between
y throiV-
ayed off
^mewhat
occurred
had set
Without
id struck,
over the
5h tricks,
the idiot
or Ken?,
bedsidf
^^liatti^
1^
I
m
ud
a
i.
if
167
As 10 spoke he laid his hand on Halft-
day*s pulse, and the labourer replied,
" I don't know what it is, doctor, but
I am very bad — I never was so bad as
this.'*
*» Well, you shanH die this time, Ben,"
answered Doctor Kenmbre, putting his
hands in his pockets. ** Give me a basin,
JVfrs. Halliday ; we must have a good drop
of blood, Ben ;" and, taKing out a pocket-
book and two rolls of list, he spredd therti
out upon the bed, and chose a lancet.
Ben Halliday's sleeve was then tucked
up, his brawny arm extended, grasping the
doctor's cane, and in a minute after the
thick, dark blood was spouting forth into
the basin as if it had been propelled from
a syringe. Doctor Kenmore suffered it to
flow for several minutes, watching the la-
bourer's face, as he did so with earnest
attention, but at last Halliday spoke
himself, saying, with a sort of sigh of
relief^ - ?)^ *1d
*'0h, that is so comfortable ! it seems as
if some one was pouring cool water dpDh
"I know that," answered Doctor Keh-
more ; " but we must go on till you feel
yourself faint — ay, and must repeat it t«-
laiOTTowy in these cases it is no use doing
168
&i««s by halves. Open and shut your
hanq on the stick, my man — do ve feel
Mntr
" A little, sir, and not much," answered
Ben Halliday, in a low voice ; but the next
mement he lell back in the bed, and Doctor
JCienmore put his thumb on the vein, saying*
« That is all right." ^
Mrs. Halliday was a little frightened ;
but «be bad great confidence in the doctor,
t»nd in a. few minutes her husband
WAS restored to consciousness, and de-
fClared that he felt comparatively qtUte
well.
*^ Ay, Ben, but still you will need to be
Wed to morrow again," answered iDo0-
ftfMT Kenmore. "But we must manage
ithe matter shrewdly. Goody ;Hallid ay. If
M'Swine does not come to see him to-
m^mw before twelve, let me know, and
if he does, tell him I said Ben was 4iot to
{be Jbled any more, and then he is sure to
bleed him."
Doctor Kenmore knew his professional
rl^ber w«ll; and after giving a fewracMie
directions, and leaving a blister, wbich he
had brpught for Mr. Graham, to be put
Ufon Ben HalUday's side, he bade 1*«b
^rateCul family farewell, and set out upon
iw ielmyi toward AlkncburcJi. U^mm
etm hy & tfefvant 6f the raanufactiii^e^
who had bought Mr. Graham's former
house, just at the crossing of two roads.
He Was met by a cottager and a little boy,
about a quarter of a mile farther on, just
at the edge of the moor. These, it would
appear, were the last persons but one who
saw. Doctor Kenmore alive.
CHAPtER X.
THE WIDOWED BRIDE.
Let us return to Margaret. By th#
time that eleven o'clock had arrived $h0
kad grown somewhat anxious; but sM
consoled herself by thinking that poor Ben
Halliday might very likely require mnr#
immediate and ccmstant attention than her
firther ; but when twelve o'clock c*-^e, afid
Doctor Kenmore neither returned nor sent,
riie became seriously alarmed. The next
(pestion was, what should she do. Ho*
father still slept, but there were only two
maids in the house, and the nearer €90tu
tj^e was nearly half a mile distant. It
was necessary to do stiiothing, however ^
and after revolving the matter in her own
mind for some minutes^, she sent the eldi^
aenraii^ down, to th4 Reclofy Houses u
Allepchurcht N^^ith directions to call up the
clergyman, who was a very worthy man,
and tell him all the circumstnnr.^-,^
It luckily happened ihiu ihe rector was
composing his sermon, and had not yet
gone to bed j and, putting on hat and coat,
he cati e down instantly to Mr. Graham^s,
bringing his manservant along with him.
After a kindly consultation with Margaret,
and endeavoring to allay her fears as much
as possible, he sent his servant to Browns,
wick, in the belief that Doctor Kenmore
might have returnrd to his own house for
•oiri:> medicioes for the two sick men. In
about an hour, however, the servant re-
turnedi with the worthy surgeon's own
foQJman, bringing intelligence that he bad
HQt been heard of at Brow swick. The
matter now bee. me serious, for it was by
t\m lime two o'clock in the morning, and
Jfergaret ft.t suie that if nc '.essurily de-
tained so long, Doctor Kenmore would have
mnt some one to inform her of the fact.
Sorme cottagerswere rous.< fr n their bee
lantefttF were piocured, .n» headed b/
fh?i rector in person, the whole party sc
out from Alienchurch, to trace the good
surgeon's course up to Ben Halliday's
houie. %)reading out for some way on
#ach sideof the road, they walked on, aod
171
reached the top of the hill without disoori
ering any thing of him they sought for*
The good rector bognn to hope that they
should find him at th^ cottage ; but when
they approached it all was. dark within.
To make quite sure, however, they knock-
ed, and Ben's voice was heard imm liately
after, sayinj.!, "There is some one knock-
ing at the door, Bella. Get on some
clothes, and see what they can want at
this time of nij:ht."
" We wi *it to know if Doctor Kenmorft
ishei-e," sa. the rector, speakiivg through
the uoor ; *' yo nred not trouble yourself
to open, Mrs tialUday, only let us knowi
where the doctor i f you can. iiJo :
*'0h! dear sir, he has been gone froni
here these five or six hours," said Beft
Haiiiileiy's u ife. *' Has he not got back
yet ?" and at the same time slie opened
the door.
" I am sorrv to sav he has not," answer-*
cd he rector of Allenchurch. ^
*' Then he must be at Mr. Graham's,
sir," rf joined Mrs. Hulliday, as if the
At 1-^ _- 1 • „ - 1 -1 — I -- - it
ifiuugni jsirucK lie I suvicieniy j
ere, for 1 heard 1
I
so
it
going
u
Hew
IS ex
pected,
»
answer
gyman, " but has not returned
im say
d the cleri
perhcpi
178
h» may have taken the short paths ov^r the
moor. We will go and see.
Now it happened that there were twp
roads between Allenchurchand the villa'ge
at the top of the moor, by either of which
a foot passenger or person on horseback
might reach Ben Halliday^s cottage. The
public road was the easiest and best in
asoeijding the hill, for it was not so steep
as the other, which was not fitted for car-
riages. From habit more than aught else
the searching party had taken the broad
way in ascending, but they now pursued
the narrower bridle path back toward Al-
lenchurch. The lanes to the moor offered
nothing to call their attention ; but within
five hundred yards after they began the
descent, close by a spot where stood the
remains of an old cottage or hut, long
abandoned, they saw, by the moonlight,
something dark lying on the road before
them, and one of the men, running quickly
forward, exclaimed, "Here he is, poor old
gentleman ! He's fallen down in a fit."
** Do not move him," cried the rector,
who knew, from Mnrrravaf^o annrxt^n* iKaf
|te had a large sum of money on his per.
money
son when he left Allenchurch ; ar ' hurry,
with the lanterns, he stooped
.15
forward
over
dawn over the body.
179
<< Here is blood/' he said, as he gazed;
«' this is no fit." .
Doctor Kenmore was lying on his face,
with his head toward Allenchurch, as if
he had fallen descending the hill. His
hat lay at least ten yards farther on, and
at first all present imagined that he ha4
not been moved since he fell ; but a very
little inspection showed them that such was
not the case. The pockets of his coat
were turned inside out, and so were those
of his trowsers ; but, strange to say, his
gold watch and chain, the seals appende4
to which were quite visible, had not beea
taken. Yet the silver buckles were gone
out of his shoes, and the gold head had
been wrenched off his cane, which lay
bent underneath him. On further exam-
ination, a severe contused wound, as sur-
geons term it, was found on the back ot
the head, which had actually driven in the
skull, and his face was somewhat cut by
the gravel, apparently as he fell. The
wound had bled a good deal, an(' stained
the road, but no instrument which could
have inflicted it was found near,^ unless it
were a very large stone, weighing tifteen or
twenty pounds, which lay at the side of
the path ; but no hair or blood was to be
found upon it. Tl 3 hat, hs^emr, wa$
l" •
174
Rented !n, and stained with a'little blood
in the inside, so that it had evidently been
on h!s head vvhrn he was struck. No foot,
niarks wore found near, nor any evidence
of a struggle having taken place. The
crime seemed to have been suddenly per.
petratcd, and the murderer to have taken
his victim quite by surprise.
The rector of Allenchurch made strict
examination of every circumstance; and
the peasants, who loved the old man, as
well as his own servant, were profuse in
exclamations of piiy and regret. The
clergyman only made one remark— that
It was strange that his watch had been left •
and then gave orders that the body should
be removed to Brownswick, all signs of
Itli having being found entirely extinct .
even to the perfect rl^my of the limfs'
Another and more painful task than that
of accompanying the poor surgeon's body
to his late homo was before the good cler
pyman. He had to break the tidings to
Margaret Gndi.m; and, fmm long ''and
intimate comiuunion with his fellow-creaa
tures, he had too clear an insight into the
fiuman neart to doubt that she would be
very much' afflicted. That she hadioved
l^octor Kenmore with the deep and pass.
lonate attachment of youth, he did not at
175
I all believe, and indeed Margaret had never
affected to do so ; but that she had a sin-
cere and strong friendship, he did fully
believe, and he felt sure that she would
mourn his fate with grief little less poig-
nant than if she had lost her father.- The
mode, too, in which death had reached
him was very painful to relate ; and as he
walked on and pondered, accompanied by
his servant, he determined to give her no
particulars, but to merely tell her that her
husband had been found dead on the com-
mon, and that a coroner's jury would be
summoned immediately, in order to ascer-
tain the cause of death. This was dis-
tressing enough ; but many of the tasks
of a clergyman are so, and he was loo
frequently called upon to administer com-
fort upon various sad occasions to be at a
loss upon this. Yet there was a certain
diiiicuilty, too, not to render his manner
commonplace, lest Margaret,^ for whose
feelings and for whose character he had
a sincere respect, should shun his consola-
tions, from a belief that he judged her mar-
riage with the old surgt'un harshly and
wrongly, and yet not to attribute-to her a
warmth of attachment whii^h he felt did
not e'list.
The object of all these ccQsjdf^&tioDJi
%' *-
176
taei him as he entered the h'ttle parlor of
the cottage, with a face pale and anxious •
butthe worthy rector delayed his answer
to her questions for a moment by asking
kindly after her father. ^
,,"^^, is much better," she answered :
he woke about an hour ago, quite himself,
and has smce fallen asleep again— but, mv
dear sir — '' ^
" I am very glad to hear it," replied the
rector, "for that will be some comfort to
you. I trust that your earliest and best
fnend may be spared to you for many
years— nay, my dear young lady, sit
down and listen to me. You have lost
one who was deservedly dear to all who
Knew him, and to you more than all ; but
you must not repine at the will of God •
and as you know that there was never any
one who on this earth acted a more truly
Christian part, so you may well trust that
he has only gone from a scene were hap-
piness is never unmingled with pain, to
pure and perfect felicity in the bosom of his
Redeemer."
Margaret sat down and wept, quietly, but
^-^-.i^iijr. iuen siretching out her hand
i'orthy clergyman, she said, in a low
tone,
u
Tel} me all. How did it happen V^
177
" The particulars, my dear young lady,
we do not yet know," replied the rector.
'' It would seem he took the small footpaths
back from ppor Halliday*s cottage, over
the moor ; and, after having gone up by
the ordinary road, we found him as we
came down the other way. He had fallen
upon the path, and it is probable he never
moved afterward."
" But are you sure ?" exclaimed Mar-
garet. " Is there no hope of restoring him ; #
1 have heard — "
" It is quite in vain," said the clergy-
man; life had been extinct some hours
when we found him. Do not buoy your-
self up with one false hope, for nothing
can restore to you the friend you have lost
on this earth ; and your<jhief thought must
now be your care for your good faiherv
A coroner's inquest must, of course, be
held, and then, perhaps,we shall learn more
than we know at present."
Margaret asked many questions, but
those she did ask were wisely answ6?red ;
for her mind never turned in the painful
direction from which the rector sought to
lead it. From seeing the attacks to which
her father had been lately subject, she was
fully possessed with the idea that Kenmore
had fallen a victim to a similar fit seizing
179
him when all aid was absent, and In that
belief she remained till the following day
revealed to her the particulars of her bus.
t^Ar ./""l ,''¥"• '"'^'''^' «he w^
dreadfully shocked, and her distress Was
increased by being called upon to give
evidence before the coroner's jury. She
went through that task, however, as she did
all that fell upon her at this period of her
1 . uh . *" '"' ''"''"*' g'""ceful fortitude,
* and. strange to say, so much true feelinJ
mingled w,th her grave tranquillity, that
no one even m his inmost ■ houghts accused
her of insensibility. She proved that
when Doctor Kenmore left her father's cot-
tage he had a considerable sum of monev
upon his person, but that to the best of her
helief, no one was. aware of the fact but
herself and the gentleman who had paid
him the amount. His servant, indeed,
Biigbt know It, but the man had been sen
back trom Allenchurch to Brownswick,
^nd easily proved that he had never quit.
ted his master's house till summoned to
i,lr *! ^ i^ '^"'■8^°" ^' 'h^e top of the
moor a tpotifi ,j .u . „ t . "^ .
moor all testifi -J "- >
U^ .„. h" " """ ""fr. tney saw him
„nH!^n'.I '"i? '*'°"g With a Stout Step
and no other evidence of any k- "
be procured. Suspicion turned
kind
was to
in various
179
[directions ; but the general feelings of the*
Icountry was expressed by the countryman-
Iwho, with his little boy, had last seen the-
good doctor br fore th^ murder, and who
[said, in giving in his evidence,
I am sure it must have been some
jstrano ^r who did it, for there h not a man
in all the coimtry round who would have
'hurt Doctor Kenmore."
The coroner's jury, however, were
[forced to return a verdict of *' Murder
against some pr:»rson or persons unknown,""
for they had no means of arriving at a
more definite judgment, and, as usual, the
story of old Doctor Kenmore's marriage
and death on the same day made a wee V»
marvel, and was then forgotten, by all but
I those more immediately concerned.
Margaret knew not well how to act
under the peculiar circumstances in which
she was placed, and thorefore she did the
bpst thing she conid : she asked the rector
of Allenchurch and (he lawyer of her late
husband to act for her. The k^r^rml took
place with as little ostentutiori a^> possible ;
but manv \uinf\tc^Aa r.f iV . .^rrvtJ^s -^
Brownswick and the neigibourhood spon-
taneously follo^ved the body to the grave.
The iron safe in which the deceased had
kept his papers was broken open, for the
s
180
key could not be found, and the first thing
tiiat was discovered was his will, by which
he left to Margaret Graham, about to be.
come his wife, if the proposed marriage
should have taken place befere his death
all his property, real and personal, and ap!
pointed her his sole executrix and residL
ary legatee, taking care to guard against i
all cavil, almost as if he had anticipated
the very fate which had befallen him. Of I
what his property consisted had been ac
curately known only to himself before his
death ; hut every thing was in good order,
and in the end it appeared that his wealth
was much more considerable than had
been supposed. On the examination of all
the papers .Margaret found herself in pos-
session of considerably more than a thou.
sand per annum, principally accruing from
lands in the neighbourhood of Brownswick,
though there was also no small sum in.
vested in the public funds, the savings of
a long life of industry, unstained by aught
like parsimony or meanness. There was
one passage in the will which brought tears
into her eyes, for it was a mark of confid.
eace wljich siie felt deeply.
n^"^u"^^ dear Margaret Graham
well, the good man had written at the
f ad pi the paper ia his own hand, « I q&n
X81
)t do better for my old servants than by
javing them to her care, and begging her
reward them according as their services
me may appear to deserve."
The servants had no cause to regret
Ihat their old master had not provided for
ihem more specifically, and they all re*
lained with her to whose care they had
jen confided.
But Marcjaret's sorrows were not yet at
mend. The fate of poor Doctor Ken-
lore was necessarily communicated to
[r. Graham, and the effect upon his spirits
ras even more severe than Margaret had
[anticipated. Gloom seemed to take pos-
session of him entirely, and for some weeks
Ihe could not shake off the sad impression.
His daughter's devotion and care were
unbounded. Her whole time, and appa«
rently her whole thoughts, were devoted
to him ; but she could not succeed in
rousing him, till she bethought her of
I calling for his counsel in the management
ot the landed property which had so un*
expectedly bocome hers. Fix)m that mo*
mftnt Mr. Crrahjim <4f>pn!ied to recover e.
portion at least of his former energy. His
old servant Ben Halliday was called to
advise, and assist, and direct. Plans of
improvement were suggested, and their
188
execution commenced : and. Ben, engaeedl
as a sort of labouring baliff, was brouSJ
down to the cottage at Allenchurch, which
Margaret hud so long inhabited with hJ
lather, whi e they removed to a neat, small
ftouse to ihe^ westward of Brownswick
All seemed fair and smiling, when on.
mormng, about six months after the death
of Doctor Kenmore, his old school-follow
was found dead in his bed with a placid
smile upon his fi,ce and the eyes fas^clos.
ed, as If he had expired in sleep so calm
that death itself had not power to break l\
Margaret had again to weep though she
praised God, nevertheless that a short pe.
nod of renewed prosperity, a bright gleam
of sunsh.ne at the end of a stormvday,
had been granted to her father before night|
She was now alone in the world, with.,
out a tie, without a connection, but those
whose conduct in the days of adversity
had severed the bond between her and
inem forever.
Did Margaret ever think of Allan Fair.i
lax. _L,et us not inquire too closely. Ifl
B^i^jHd She tried hard to avoid it ; and yet
how could she help it. h ;as her|
?7 ''^' ?*y> her only love. She
J^ never loved but once-ahe never
183
PART THE THIRD,
THE LAST TRIAL,
CHAPTER XL
THE RESOURCE FOR DISAPPOINTMENT.
With the reader's good leave and per.
lission I will turn awhile to one of whom
have nor spoken for some titne : namely,
Jlan Fairfax. 1 can not take up his his-
bry exactly where I left it, though there
IS one scene in that history of deep inter-
st, which I should much wish to write
5yen here. The construction of my tale
i^iil not let me ; but 1 proniise to return to
[it hereafter, and give its details. 1 must,
therefore, pass over about a fortnight in si-
llence, and, for the moment, leave the read.
ler.'s imagination to fill up the interval as i^
It was barely gray daylight, on the
[morning after the murder of Doctor Ken.
more, when some one knocked at the door
Ipf Ben Halliday's cottage, and the little
boy Charlie, who was already up, opened
jit, and beheld Mr, Fairfax, with one of
the porters of the " White Lion" inn be.
I hiad him. The young gentleman's face
,;^*
184
was pale and haggard, his dress notsol
neat as asual, and there was a look of mel I
ancholy wildness about the eyes, whicM
struck even the little boy very much
" Is your father gone to work V asked
t? airtax, as soon as he saw him. " I have
come to get my portmanteau, Charlie, and
to bid him good-bye, for I am going fr'
over the seas, to the land of lions andf
tigers.
** Oh ! no, father is not gone to work,"
replied the boy ; ** he can't go.' He's been
very ill ; md was dying, like, till Dr. Ken.
more bloi^md him."
^ Sometl;u g almost approaching a ffroanl
broke from the lips of Fairfax; but at k\
same moment Ben Halliday raised his I
voice, saying, in a feeble tone, interrupt, j
ed by a cough, " Won't you come in, sir ?
—my wife will be here in a moment:"
and Fairfax entered the cottage, and
walked up to the sick man's bed-side |
without saying a word. For a few mo.
ments he remained in silence, gazing atl
Ben Halhday with an absent look; but L
then rousing himself, as if by a great etm
iuf c, ne said, .-^ ^
you are ill, Halliday— what has!
So
been the matter ?"
*' Oh I dear sir, I am glad to
see you,
))
185
lid Mrs. Hallidj
, • entering the cottage ;
husband has been at death's
loor, witn inflammation of ihe lungs,
he doctor says. But he's a deal jet-
' now, only the cou;;h is troublesome.
li the pain is gone and he can breathe
sy. '
*' It is unfoi luiiate," said Fairfax ; " he
ai be out of work for some time, I am
fraid, Mrs. Hallid»y," and he mused for
minute or two. '' Take up that port-
lanteau, my man," he continued, speak-
ig to the porter, '' and carry it down.
et it be put upon the coach with the other
lings. I will be down aln ->st as soon as
irou.'*
The man charged his el -ulder with
5 load, and walked away ; and then
airfax sat down for a moment, saying,
" I can not stay now, my good people ;
itl am very sorry for you, and would
illingly do what I can to assist you.
!ere, Mrs. Halliday, here are five
•verigns to help you through your hua-
ind's illness. I am somewhat richer
Ithan 1 was, Hallidav. so vnn mn«t nnt winA
- - ^j — ^ — — ___ _.^— .^(rt-y.,^
"akmg it."
" Oh I Mr. Fairfax, I cannot, indeed,^'
lid Ben Halliday ; but Fairfax beck<aied
vtbe mfe, mid she, like a wise momaa,
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180
, suffered him lo put the money into heri
hand, thanking him a thousand times fori
his poodnpss. r
"Fairfax stayed a few minutes longer,
almost all the time plunged in deep though^
and then rose suddenly to depart.
"God bless you, sir !" said Ben Halliday,
as the young gentleman shook hands witli
him; and Mrs. Halliday also said, God
bless you!" and the boy and girl looked
earnestly in his fhce, as if they would havi
said the same, but for shyness. But, d
the same moment, a head was thrust in at
the other door, and a face grinned at hio
maliciously, while the voice of Tommy
Hicks cried, ]
" You have sent away my seat, and 11
spite you if I catch you."
Fairfax shook his fist at him ; and, bid.
dmgthe cottagers adieu, took his way
back toward the town with hasty strides.
"How ill Mr. Fairfax looks," said Mra.
Halliday, speaking to her husband, " and
so sad, too." I
Ben Halliday shook his head gloomilJ
and answered, ''
" AV, Bella, fhprp'o manxT « UU4. «*-
sr - -7 - tilting a s^iiici siur
among the rich and the great, as well /
^mong the poor and the lowly. A fit*
coat often covers a sad heart ; and I fti
187
ifraid Mr. Fairfax has cause to regret that
\e ever came down to Brownswick.
yell, he IS a fine, noble gentleman. God
wess him V*
In the mean while, the person they
bpoke of procepded on his way till he
preached the town of Brownswick, and
Nked through the streets to the door of
Ihe " While Lion,'' at which was standinir
khe raornmg coach for London, with the
toes heing put to it. Fairfax saw, though
be hardly noticed, a number of groups of
Ihe townspeople standing at the corners of
^e streets, and talking eagerly together,
lije guard and the coachman, too, as they
bustled about round the coach, and in and
)ut of the office, exchanged a number of
■Biitences with a party ot idlers who were
tandmgnear; but Fairfax heard not a
i^ord of what they said : ai>d pausing for
jn instant at the inn-door, he called for
W8 bill, and paid it without going in. gaVe
uraiters, and chambermaid, and boots, the
usual fee, and, putting on a thick great-
coat, which was officiously held for him
by several of the people of the inn, he in-
lUired if his limrmrvA UnA k -...* -_
- . -"&-o"o'- ""'^ uccn pus, up,
hen took his place upon the coach-
In a minute or two the coachman
^tt by his side ; two fat, elderly ladies
rolled out of the office and into the vehicleJ
a dull-looking man got upon the top; ai
away went the coach for London as fa
as thjB four grays coi^ld carry it.
Nothing of any kind occurred on tl
journey which would interest the reade
in the slightest manner to repeat. Allj
Fairfax arrived in safety, about thi
o'clock on the following day, at an inu
the giant of cities. He instantly set odl
for the chambers of a lawyer in Gray'il
Inn, gave a number of directions, signei|
scTeral papers, and then said,
" Now, Mr. Tindle, you must mam
all the rest of my affairs yourself, fori
shall set out to-nwrrow morning early m
Plymouth. I shall there ?h the Joi
Green East-Indiaman — at ^ .dst, I hope
— ^and 1 trust to be in India and with inj
regiment in a few months."
" Dear me, sir, you surprise me," cri«
the solicitor; "why, when you left La
don, you intended to sell out ; and I can^
act in this business, or any other, withou
a power-of-attorney."
**It does not "matter, Mr. Tindle," saij
Fairfax, " all my views are chanr^ed.
a power-of-attorney is necessary, you m«
fet it ready directly, and let me have
lo^tii^ht at the mn where I am staying I
the city ; I wilflign it immediately."
I6d
«Btit will you not see your bfoth6rs,
lir ?' asked the solicitor; "I am sure
they have acted very handsomely in this
Ibosiness."
" When they could not do otherwise,'*
Jarrtwered Fairfiax, bitterly ; « you will say
Iprobably, that they might have protracted
■the affair by a suit-at-law ; but 1 muit
ever feel, Mr. Tindle, that by affecting to
Jbelieve there was some ground for my
felher^s wild— I must call it insane— no-
tion regarding my birth, and takirjg ad.
Jvantage of that to deprive me for so long
[of even an equal share of his property,
they dissolved every tie between us. 1
wish not, in the slightest degree, to haVe
lany dispute with them, rnd trust that, if
ever I return from India, we shall live oa
amicable terms ; but I can not forget the
past, and therefore shall go away without
jsecing them. You may say any thin^
civil on my part that you like, when you
Morne to wind up the whole affair ; but it
would be better for me not to see them at
Ipresent."
"But will you not want money, wiy
JT""^* °" •' itiiiuireu me iawyer : »» money,
[Without which, as you have lately found,
|nothipg is to be done on this oarth. 1 ^m
•ure if, under present circumstwi^w, I diti
I be of any service—"
f^
190
** No, no," answered Fairfax ; " I hare
«nouch for the moment. Many thanks to
you, however. When the w hole is finish,
ed, you may pay a thousand pounds into
the hands of my agent, as I shall want to
buy some horses and other things when I
get to Calcutta ; and now, pray get thepaJ
pers ready directly, that there may be J
delay, for, signed or not signed, I go at
five o'clock to-morrow." [
And Allan Fairfax went. At Plymouth
he caught the vessel he expected to find,
embarked, aii^ reached Calcutta in safety.
His fellow.passengers remarked how cold
and grave, and disagreeable he was ; and
his brother oflicers, when he rejoined his
regiment, observed that Fairfax wassadlj
changed. The gay, light spirit was gone;
the brilliant fancy that played round all
things, no longer enlivened his conversaJ
tion ; one stern thought seemed to have
taken possession of him, and to hold hinl
bound, as in a chain. Always famou^L
for his gallantry, Fairfax was now rash]
and in the dispatches from one of the manj
battlefields which have latelybeen foughtifl
India, his name was twice marked om
as deserving public thanks for his servio.
i^ainst the enemy, and once as severelj
wounded.
191
There was an eye which read the dis-
I patch in England, and a cheek that glowed
warmly at the account of his chivalrous
daring. But when the list of killed and
wounded was read over, and Margaret
Graham came to the words " Captain Al-
Ian Fairfax, severely,'* there were tears
dropi-ed upon the paper, and she laid it
down with a heavy sigh.
Two vears had passed since Fairfax
tiSat Brownswick, and Margaret had laid
by her widow's weeds. Young, beautiful,
graceful, excellent, and bright, who, with
free heart and hand, would not have sought
her ? But the life she lived was so retired
that no one had any opportunity of plead-
ing love. She came upon the people in
the neighbuorhood by glimpses. Some
persons were necessarily admitted on bus-
iness. The rector of Allenchurch and the
vicar of Allerdale dined with her often,
with their wives, bringing the daughter of
the latter: the former had no children.
But Margaret had made a hard bargain
with them, that they were never to ask
^^[j^ return. There was only one other
person of whom she saw much, and that
as a
was a Miss Harding, who had acted «» ,
bridesmaid on her marriage to Dr. Ken-
Wore. She was ' he daughfer of a neighl
,.;4.„::
J
192
bouring clergyman, who, at his death, had
left her in great poverty ; but she had re.
oeived a very good education, and sangi
beautifully. Without hesitation, she had
instantly applied herself to earn her own
bread by teaching music, and she had
been Margaret's first instructor. Her
oonduot had been praiseworthy in every
respect ; her manners were graceful and
ladylike ; and though she was fifteen or
sixteen years older than her pupil, a friend.
ship had arisen between them, which Mr.
Graham had always encouraged, though
his wife had not appeared to approve of it.
In the day of their adversity. Miss Hard.
ing had been of service in many respects;
and now she was Margaret's frequent com.!
panion during her solitude, taking part io
her pleasures, and with a gentle cheerful-
ness, brightening a house into which mel-
ancholy thoughts would still intrude fre-
quently.
One day, when she was sitting with
her friend, shortly after the news of the
battle which I have mentioned had
arrived in England, she looked up froa
the Dart of the newsnanpr rHa wns raaAinai
askmir,
Did ym Qot Qnqa Jcnow a Mr. I'Airf^x,!
MBA <i*.4^# *' • ' I
tt
MMgfLret
IM
" Yes/* miswered Margaret, with a 8Ud2
len stare. " Is there any thing about him
ire ?^I did not see it."
"It is about some relation of his, I sup.
"IB," replied Miss Harding. " See here
Death of Sir William Fairfax, Memb.
it for th^ Western Division .of the county
*f-^, departed this life on Tuesday last,
It his house,' iii Portland Place. He is
icceeded in his title and family es.
by his cousin, Captain Allan Fairfax,
io lately distinguished himself so much
b India, the late baronet having only left
Jdaughters. Sir Allan is expected daily in
[England.' " ^
Margaret wiafdnavJihg; kni she contin-
led to draw J but, after a few minutes,
jhe rose and left the room ; and when she
"?tifrh%d. Miss Harding thought she had
^eri #eeplrig. Prom that moment the
lattet-ntefver mfentioned the name of Fairfax
in Margaret's hearing. TWo more months
jfiitted over without any event, ahd Mar.
Jgjlr6l Graham reached her four-and."
pjbtieth birth-day. Miss Harding pas.
^ rae «l$yjvith^h€r, iihd Margaret would
i^r!^^^"6«ife« n€^r to stay several more,'
mhir fHend Replied ^ ^"
Jr.l'ftirft^l^FMhfidrAfatgjir^t: I itti e^gagec^
^^Mftaw evbhiiig t^ Sif Wife Clerfc's; to
i
104
sing, you know," she added, with a tmile,
*l and I have still to ffain my bread."
" You need not unless you lik<^» Eliza/'
replied Margaret.
^,*J, What, change the friend for the de.
pendant, Margaret !" said Miss Harding ;
" no* np ; it is better as it is. At all events,
I must go to these good people, for I hsve
promised ; but, if you like, I will come
back the next morning."
/'^I do like, very much,'^ answered
llargaret, with a smile : and so it was
settled.
\
CHAPTER XII.
▲ COUNTRY ROUT
i}\
Trb party at Sir Wild Clerk's wa^i as
large as the neighbourhood of Brownswick
would furnish. He was a wealthy man,
a man of ancient family in the country,
and, ini fact, a very good sort of person ;
but he had been seized with a desire of
seeing his eldest son, a raw lad from col-
lege, represent a borough in parliament,
and, therefore, he cramnied his house full
once or twice a month. Something ha4
deUyed Miss Harding til) more than one
' of thcf gue«t8 hi^ arrived. She ex*
Moted no tery great attention ; she knew
that ihe waa invited for her voice, and as
,he had no vote, that if she had not been
able to sing and amuse others she wouW
not have blen invited at all. She was ac-
customed to the thing— had made her mmd
m to it, and therefore was not at all sur.
plised that, with the exception of two or
biree of her pupils, who in the simple
kindness of a young gir 's heart, greeted
iier warmly— nobody took much notice of
her till Lady Qerk asked her to s.t down
to the piano, and she sang a little ballad
of which she was very fond, and Margaret
also. At the end of the first stanza sha
MiMd her eyes, and saw _^a gen;l«'"?«
etanding beside the lady of the house (who
wemed to be paying him verv great atten-
tion), with his face *"">«! toward h^,
gazing at her steadfujuy. She thought
Bim remarkably handsome, and certainly
there was something in his air and manner
which distinguished him from every one
else in the room. He was a young man,
too, tall and spare in form, with a tace
«^ «»!«. and an air of tboughiful_gray|.
ty'whwh always has something ol mgmty
'in it^ The moment that her eyes met his,
he averted the glance, and continued w«b
Ms head bent as if to htaf what La«jr
When her aonjr was done, the iMlvto h!:
her hv IT* ' 'l^K *«« in'roduoed to
hw by a name which sho did not he*r •
fcr a patronizing connoisseur yowir I^
•-they are • cl«s»-came up to dfol^
next thing she sang might be " 9^£
Heaf oTlh"'' «"> «»««deof her and
^
iirr
iMWr U again hat the efTeot of the poet's
■pice winds in the Indian seas, which bear
over the wide waters the perfumes of brfght
lands left far away. It calls back haMy
4ay8 that never will return/'
^V I do not know that any one has a copy
of U but myself and one friend,^replied
Miss Harding ; *< the music was composed
by my father, who is dead, the wordsbj
a young hi^ud who is dead also," and sIm
sighed, if* n
** May I ask who is fortunate enough to
Fwwa the other copy?" asked the
ftrapger,
*»0h,ye8," aheaswered; "ilisMrol
lUliniiore, formerly Miss Graham. Per-
kajMI you may have heard her sing it.'* .r.
Tte stranger's cheek flushed for a m^
ment, as if the sudden blaze of a Ai% had
flashed upon it, and then turned deadly
Pam ^aip y but he made no answen for
fftifefal moflfients. When he did speak he
Iflked, somewhat abruptly,
n^Iash^aiiU living in this i^ighbotif.
1:"^ m" Implied Miss Hai^iigs'
-am i# iiving at her house at Nutley,
ab^ tir« q(m|^ from this place, ladeed
«bo^ll€iy(W qiifta^it.'^ nr • ^ ion -
« I have just heard," said ^ Mrai^
108
%ltfitfce sima abrupt jtnami^rii^^'tkd^tei^
Imsbaiiditdead."," : ' T^
^iffiiMl Handing gazed at him for irti inifc.
M^ for 8h(9 thought his tone was veir
rtrange ; and she saw that his eytmwett
w^ ujBjpn a spot on the ikw^, while
^Up was quivering as if with^ stmng
MM dead for more than two<ytohr» H#
Wm murdered on his wedding.day.*» li^ift
ir.TAertrw^er started as JfahiS lliad^n)-ok
*im; *ut for s^yeral mimites h«i uitemtl
^l**'l\J^^/''''''''"« ''''" both odd w*
«M««»«bfle, she was going to Orosrf the
Wat* tosome people wjfem shfe kiiotr'Uni
«aw««ithe.oth6*sidej Whefth»»nei»redih#
wwr«»«,to. with ;. ,i,iy n^
X^ T^miist think mev^^sttiiii^^ftl
<Wter^tionrtecai[ /times fcvifg past altil
jwrsons long gone.) Immimm^mi
ttokme quite »savageih6wbver, althoLh
iJtl^- r^^ l°«g !« very undvilizediil^
^WiHi«hi must plfeadimve»eni*fef .11
n^^^heifioads kfi«| ti^tri^M^
BOt
Ttt Qiiec^fl
itii
^,i?
19*
^Ut^yt^ lived, then, aamimy yean
among blacks?" demanded Miss H^^
log 5 :" I should think you had hardly
M tiipe |o forffet the piistoms of your
QWM l»nd; buti certainly do n^tineaii
jtahnply that you have done so, ^Ithojugli
ma^ of your questions we^^^abrunt
enoufirh.''
y " rwie to forget !" rejieatt her eonj^
]iuiioii J /^ it does not depend upo|9 tin%
my dear lady. Time slowly grinds oiji|t
t^e characters of the past s thereiavst^yeiits
tM^^e them, in an instant, ,,.t4ong>ah|
^ cherished ideas, feelings that we t^i|ij^
ingrafted in our very nature, wiU 8om%
tildes give way under bitter soicro^fi or
severe disappointmerits, or acU wblioj^
Bifeep the world of the heart lik^ a ^i^S
oaner '^d \e&ve nothing to be rememlMiiad
but themselves." : AfW^
« I fcnowi^,^' replied Miss Ilardipg. .
.^^IfeyourUnauired the fttrangjE^rf,?!
am sorry for it ; for none qan k|i0)9{^^an^
qoropreMnd such things but tboSjiwro
J)?^ye. suffered tt^ijm." : ,
** Women oflen jMiflfer mnra thsf*-' "^
rfi^lied hisoompanio|^; 'll;n|^i^|hfy
Wgm^ powers of sutmiMlori, if I
gf .p Uieit^m. They|)ai;ei«ihu|tiiifit
It ffc#y>#re bom to endui% ani thiyr li^
lurt move patiently than men/*
^ *** Oif, l[>6i?htitw^ thdn meti disutr dbncrfve,"
< ^"^ ABsunedly," atisMrered the lady ; <«%i6
Mire Wihstaiice of it very hear, t^
Jdt l^Iieve that any man cbuld iinagfde;
till^i^ he had seen and kn6>^i) it all, ste^
i^ k^J), how much hai been endured W^
unmurmuring patience and high resb]iitibii
WMafgaret Gr&ham— for I musft stillcaJl
#1^ s6L Sh6 is ever Mj^f gtirei Grahiim to
«^woft;^^^,^Il hdf s6, c)in heri^'^^id
difeithi^er, ea'ttteistly-^^sb-ektiie^tly^ thiat
fli^ UdV g^ised ftt hii^, but no hii^eic Wi^
^^'^ •^otf^u^^hiiv^ kiibwi' Kfer wfeH,« i^
fTlk^i^g^r^ld ti)t replijr W'^'fm
Wm'tM ih^h '^W^ed,m^loW tbR^'^'>
''I thought so." -v!..., ,' n .
_^«Th^ri f 6u dM," t^l^lied.Misi^mi^ihg,
#artnfjp^ «* fbf no ttiie <Jan everbe dfecfeived
ftfMV^fir^ ©raham/' C ^ '
^^ » TO ybu^ «t ^ Watch th6 dbud^;"^^iki
ed the stranger, " when owW teal nVttutdnii.
nar cra-vinejr uoai ©Krvviy ^lojig iim i?erg©
201
\jl^$fim of i^mXa ; bow wol vet or Upns,* or '
c^ipcodilfts, or sometimes a, miglity em
looking out in radiance upon us from the
inidst of a thick veil 1 Who can say how
much of all we see is the work of our own
fwpy> how much in reality th*5 foww pre-
"I have," she answered, " and hav«
often thought those cloudy shapes are tr^Q
i^ag?s of the qbjects of man's dcaiws*
J(Mt Margaret is not one of those sh«pe««
Tp^^e finest ^spence^ eii^t ip *e most firiii
i|i^t^i^s. Though her inftagin^^ipp mf
h»^ vi^ripd a* the clouds you hay© apokft*
Qfi, iIh^ Ij^^my of Jhf r chari^oter is »,ttP
**.,t apf^Mwi wy illustration to mymV
lij^t ^ her," replied her companion ; /^ I
HOa^n have fancied whfit doep not ^riHrrrl
Ji^ei ^pne so with inanimate objeots; Yfhf
m^ with ^ thinking being, without <hal
i^ing having any shari^ in the de^it ?" i
"lean not answer you * why not,* ".wd
thfi la4y, "and y^ I donot WieM it.
'I^ijere ijB a cowvinaingness in Jl^rgi^rel'i
fputh whidi makes me feel that it is alDQK^
impossible to; m^taif e ; b^rj* ^ ^
^ n Afid do€« A» lim %ui*o takne W de*
llPiid^tl^ i^hfi^ 9ud<M3f^«hangkigli
§»#* p^ of th^ mil^sqlt • - 4^
'i<»»rifa'afl»h'^with her," siimik^ml
mt; '*!i« at othttr times she doesliVe
qtflte aldne^" -n^ ^* '■-'■^fHAmi
' « And is she hippy ?" asked the strM^ffi
^*Natf ^at k questiort,'* exclaimed
Miss Harding, with a smile ; " if ycWi Will
define happiness, pei^haps I may be able to
-^« That is impossible," he said • it isoh^
elf those siwiple objects whidh, like 'tlie
great facts of ah abstract scienbe, are feft
^agh i^ndefinable. We l^now ^Vhfet't^
i^i WiB idmit them to bur miiidi at 6n6bi
They are tniths^to nian^s irtbral cdiis^l^
ousness what an axiom is to his intelfecfii^
rffeciiltiei. We do ric^dbubtfthem though
TOy ' oliri not be explained to us, tior bjr^i
fo others. I have known what faaf»piMeti
»'^ liiyself,^ >* havesfeeri it - but, ilasfli
k;^^my that thbse whoNieserve it best
find it 1^ this ivorW-^hiit thete ti' ii
ilbther.*'"i * (^iv/ ; f 3w^,it<i iof^fri;-^ !'*
BUss H apding WAS alfoiit «6 reply f b^t
at the fiibifbent one of the diiughlero of thfe
^^^^^ ap<)r^«ihed to ask her tb i^ miiyii^
e conveiisatioh dit>pf»^V' i - ^ : *^
^hoM^^tbali^ntlemiiti ;^^ ih# iiidiir.
she wdJ^ towai^ the Jiiiuk) #fiR
ung (M»npanioii; (<I dlitiai K^
r
&er
Btnuito;i
da Will
able to
t isondi
ike -tb^
ire feft
3dt
though
ithm
li lU
ofthb
agsrii^
aqtiir.
208
fbp fiftme wben Lady Clerk intioiin^ed
him." .ab
i^fOh, don't you know?" replied the
Mj** That is the Indian hero, Sir Allan
;i,Ml88 Harding muse^ but made no
reply.: t
' vCHAPTER XIIL
EE0NITED LOVSBS, '
a/d -'r )7: -/M <, : -f .■: , .■ .'\ nm ;. -l* 55 ■*
jCfCACB, Eliza, put on your hooinel, and
SI irithmeto HaUiday*8 eottage^" aud
l^rgnret, the morning after the party at
Sir Wild ;Clerk>. rto i , c^j
y^-QKsi&y a little w^ile till I havellii*
tthed copying jthts song/' replied her
ifje^d; " you ,wUl have plenty of ^nw
•S^rwa^rdSff piHaimin tmid^^mh.:
Margnretatfiyed ; buiMiss Hardmg Wai
i^ery Ic^g in copyio^ the song, longer than
ilnirgaret had ever seen her at a similar
t|ff^« ; .When it was done, she had soai0
<^ber little mi^tter to dp^ and she was very
id^WAOVf^^ thiit, toa« iJl^argaret w^dered
}l^^i4 Qoi^d be tl^i mfitter with her, 1^11 H
|pQ|ii^i|tjoC; Aa
*>mftu?i^ m
m
^ Jl
■ IS
Im^
sot
ly»«*TDo jrou Ihitik it win tontiftue 'fiiief^i
she asked. ,^ ,1
"Oh, yes," repliifed Murgaret, "iPhfere
IS no* a doud in thid dky. Cdttife^ Elii^
you are idle this morning, or .tired #fiH
tbatpwty last kiigfht. The airU'ill^d^ou
good; and Miss Harding went to pat bn
her bonnet and shawl, saying to her.
self, "now he will come while we are out
thin s^* ""^ *^^^ ^ "^ ^^^^'*^ '" ^^^^'^
'^J^lt^ no'tjiurry KerseiffhS^e* er, but
»^i»ih*sifei* sh6#a§ dressed for hei-Wkk
^out of th6 gandeii geA^ #itK he^ IVfertt
mmm Why Visftoi* -hiaking his ftbttfeiiJ^^
!^4 J^r*"? ^ their A,^y m/pt^^
^ed^itaghiiiri^ei^Jdi green ^^Ls,
ll» pjiths sriimetinfieiS winding -bh^ hetitdii
ftigfc Nnfcs uehich^hiit ou^'the scki^<¥
me^n tfe(^tr^,(yf the sweeping Hi,^^^^
thelttWergtoiind, with hill ati^liidby'rtfc
%putjle behind. Hbtv be^tfi?lilly tit.
t^often frames h%f pmm, khThi^
flmchrlttcfre they j|fcin hy thit frttn^i^bi*
XST^ ."°«gn% or ■ grey, rwsfe' > b^ Mil
world. It was a fine summers
969
Vrigbt) yet no lottger ^Midut tt "ctbud^ '^t
nibw itmisto 6f yapo^ bw doWii iti ih^
iky, wi^ke «^ th)6 loii^risr edge's utiel ffe^y
brdlvrn ti the i5entriB,'*wete movitig 6l6wly
iioOg thfcAigh the air and sweepkig the
Mrth ivlth their blue shadows. Margaret
oflMi paused to gaze, for, to use k curioitli.
lyi.i^msti'Uoted phrase, ^e had much of
the poetry of the painter in her nature^
Wm Haraing h&d le«s. She had more of
the ti» than Hie e)re ; her ittiieiginatloit r&t^
eited in siounds^ atid shb was fond^f shiit-
tiilj^ het «yei$, hot, a^ sdrti^ peopk do, to
MUd andistUrbed the pictdres of Fatlo^f, btit
ts^ar her lEtongi. B^id^, sihe was ah^
iloas fo g^t ba^k again as sbon a^ possiibliB,
80 tlii^t ihe oft^h ckl 1^ Ml^tfi^fleit forwiird
whien hi^r iki^ ccMilpanton, all un(3on§blot[iil
of whkt Wa6 pais»lAg hi her bosom, wotllll
Mh h^ve stayed to gaz^ and madltai^j aikd,
with ^d m^motites softened, tb dreaiil'
sweet dreams of whatiii^ightfaave b^n. >^^
FoUr-and4Wenty, it is no unpleasant
ag^. There is nothing like decay in it ;
theilowe^i'had g^ro\<in and expanded, but'
ilMHhe teiry ^d^ with^^tisd^-
im pefilinie of hope mvm still be in nl
breast, tinlesl it be blighted kdete^ l^ isohi^
nmmi dt^v ^e Ws le^kinl y%ty
M
erer.t Whether it wm that,, like tfie oh«r
meleon, she toojcher hues from thst which
surrounded her, and the loveUness of
the day made her more lovely, pr that
spme mysterious sympathy told her a
change was coining, aqd brightened her
ilNw .with hope and expectation, 1 can
not tell, but certainly she was very beau^
f Tljey had gone on for nearly a mile,
apd wwe within a couple of furlongs of
IW Halliday's comfortable house, when
s^dd^nly ^rojSping down the bank fr^m
tl^e ?ide.9f» tall ash-f^e appenred the^
bipad but stunted figure and disagreeahb
OQiintenance, with its wide mouth and
4«h^ly.squinting eyes^ of the idiot, Tmw
mnioka. He stood right in the, wny be*
for^ them, and Mi^s Harding suddenly
stopped,^yiqg.«f Ah! ^ere is that fr%htfiil
I
la^. ^ He always alarms me. Reallv
they should shut him np."
h'rOh, he will do usnoharm,"answcied
&!^' with ji sjmle^,, MHe Um Uttb
in(^med to mischief, but more I belieifeiii
a spi^ of iun than an^r thing elfe • hnt
come: on. and '^'^ ^n* c>aa««. /ur^L^.- •
^-.^ mim while jlbmn^y itipj^ i^
?¥^ WW*|^g, ffOWiig f i| ^6 way
M which
lioefg of
or that
d her a
^m^d her
n» 1 can
ry heaii^:
r a miUi
ioogg of
©, when
ok fttm
ared tW
gtreeahle
\nh and
►t, Tmw
wpiy be*
tid4DjiI|r
WghtAil
ReaHy
iswefed
xit little
liei^ein
iied at
jf *
e
he c^^'Ib & low and muttering toli^i
•oAi^fiiiies laughing and sometimed sweati^
iile, ftjr he Wftis not at all times very chqidii
in hia language. n^^:im
" Ah, my pretty girl," he said, com-
ivk up to Margaret, " so you are out Walk-
i^." Z^*^' ■ ^' ''^ ^--.' :--
• **Yes,'* answered Margaret, trying to
pass him, "it is a fine day you see.'^ '^
^•'Forbirdi to look for theii^ mates'^
aiis#ter^ Tommy ; *^but you shan't hav^
l^iihV 1 won't eiv6 my coi^ent— -it'si no u^
tklkihg, thou^ he were the suii, and th^
thobn, and the starsf, yoii shah't have hirti
and to prevent it you shall maJ^ry mel ; <6
come along. ^
•^ I am iffraid I cdn't thfe morning, Tohi-
ttiy,'' iAtitfWered Margaret, mildly ; ^ yoti
niuist let me pa^; hiy good inari, fi^i"! a*h
going on business." ** ,
^*^o, I won't," iinswiered the idiot;
<* my business first j you shall marry m%,
fiiiW,tiiid^r the green trefef^ Then you
^n'f have two hiidbands in one day, rtdt
am determine that fellow shall not hate
tirettv Mm^ rf All^rdftle. May he be
L >' an| th^ idiot began to' rn^irsi^ arid
|#iaf %fi)«t mUtfmyi " Jm ^^t *Ave
#b lnitfNitfidiSi^ (^'^ r Ml fm it
it 4afiiW tBi4i#: Khg Omrttif^oiM
li^ d^ae tha tame if 1^ oouW, hm *«v
JWW not Ut hii», for tH«gh King Di^^jS
M^a nine vivm, «n4 Ub apns iaorvaiad
and mulUplied, yet that waa a Ipi^g ^i^
^ I^et me pass, sir," said Margaret, «>ina.
what sternly fixing her eyes firmly upon
<Mm, « Stand out of the way directjy!" .
But idiots and ipadmen have an extnu
ordinary power of divining whether those
Who^^tfeiupt to command them ar^ rmJIy
g^htened at them or not, and Tommy
fHp^? perceived atonoe that, notwithstanct
m mtM^^^ 9*lmaeiw, Afaigaret waa
" ^ ^on't," he cried, with a loud Wh ;
« you shail be my wife thiei minute. 1 take
ypt^ fcrmy wqddedwife,'' and at the same
H^menl he stretched out bia hand and
grasped her tight by the arm,
. Wa.yju^t did not scream, but>fi9a^^^
ing d;d lou(| ^d fearfully. ^
;" UpW your tongue," shouted tji^ i^
ffur tpT^gue, prl will dasb yo^r braina out.
that t|ie way ^^bri^e'a maldi sci^
•U Oil
bursty
g J^mi
>pgtinA»
iy upon
Ectjy." .
Q extra*
er those
jTommy
thstnod.
»et wnf
laugh;
intake
iHard.
flJ^ they had oo««e. Miss HanJinp
kgijiitlfii^iii op^ horse^lHick ipUowed bf |i
MHf fifif, adYancing at fuU spep^, apparent^.
Iy aUriped by j^er cries* He was up ia
a isoomept and off his horse, md the next
instant his horsewhip went round end round
the shoulders of Tommy Hicks, applied
f ith a ^ight good will and a powerful arnst
^ a numner whioh soon sent^ the idiot
bowUpg down tie lai^.
Margaret Graham turaied as. pule i^
death ; l^t the gentleman w|tMre^ bia
lei^ arm from his rein, gave hie horaet^tba
aes^ant, and holding out hi)) hand 10 tha
lady, said in a low tone, " Maigaret, (k> you
l^otknowmer' ,,„'» ;^ i •
^he hfpod rushed back again into pdailr
^rgajre^'s (ace, writing the glowing t*li
pf the heart, on cheek, and ibreh^^
andtenipies. ".Oh, yes, I know yo«>'*
siie ai^wered, giving hi^ her hand, Hjiil
I hf^ve ^en aljarmed> ^ud am agitated stilly
'^t^ean upcm jme,*^ said Fak^pc, d*aww
ii^ i^; firm tbirpMgh Ws, and gazing it
||efr|^#4^K(y, l^henT^pollootii^thattNeilk
pl|r||.f Pilars present, he Jur^d iolfisy
l^rdifig f^i$kM m}^etmd holdout Ais Im^
220
fm Harding, ihaking hands with hlih;
bjit I really think, Sir Allan, th«t wi
as soon as pot.
ha4 better gee home age|in ., _„ „
Mble, for Mar^^aret has been yery much
Irightened, and so hate I, loo/^ «
--'*It is the best plan we can pursue."
tifiwered Fairfax, « if she is ableto walk
to far. I have been tb your house," he
continued, turning to the beautiful girl on
hij airm, "and most foriunately inquired
yhich WAV you had gone, when the
i«ff ant told rtio you were otit. Cart you
Wblkl Mamaiet, 6t shall 1 send for a
oarnag^ V* ■ K " /ml,; ^/ ,i m m I'l ^
" I can walk," she answered! with a
filterihg voice, «* 1 can walk quite well,
i^l v^ry s6on be better. iVas going
a-HallidayV cottage to speak of %ml
mirtters to b^ done at thfe farm ; but per-
^» It wil be better to go h. . i<^ f^wy
M^Uuch^f ar^Wered Pair^:^: t^« ^ leiid.
ing her toward her own houoc, ^le tdd hit
aemnt to follow with the horses, and for .
f^U five minuties walked oh by Manraret's
dde in ^tfm iihnibe. h was iifoi hit
je?t arm iJW» leaned, litowev^ jf <uitf ^m
#^art biratt%1fi a^way whidiliail 1^
togs ¥^ere there in the bosom of Fairlasll
^ith him;
), th«t wt
on as poi.
ery much
pursue,"
le to walk
use," he
>1 giri on
inquired
^hen the
Can yoa
M for a
!, wiijj a
litd well,
i^asf going
of some
but per*
!?* ^ leafd.
iioid hit
, atici for
E^mret'f
iiStm hii
rthi^'feft
(tilfii^.
^airlfti^l&
that moment! And poor Ifargiret, toc^
what were her sensations ! Between thoss^
two no word of love had ever been n>ok«
sp b^j^ the* a are languages which nave
w wnrdS) and she knew that she was
loved. When she had last seen him he
j^ called her ** Miss Graham/' and now
three times he had said VMarparet."
How did she read it? That she had a).
w|ys been Margaret Graham in his
th^ughts^— that she had been his ** M argaf^
et" ali)l, in absence^ in danger, in sufl^ring^
throughout five long years. She forgi^ve^
h^ Ipr calHiig her so ; sh^ i>lt, she com-
pifhended that he could give her no
other name, and so they went on in si-
lence. . •< ■■ . . f' i)<| ; <H>i;*»k>'Mj
Poor Miss Harding iKcrM have g[iY#ii.
§11 she had to be any where else i but
wJ9sly and prudently, as soon as she Qptttdi
thipk of what was wise and prud^qt, she
deteimined to seem not to see what she
oould not help seeing ; and, therefore, at
kstshe began to talk herself, as noon^
^ was likely to renew the converst^n,.
^» R is a" firightfVl t^jng, ^^r A^W' "M
■|^^**i^ai such a dangerous Cf^aiure as
1^|{|l9«|lfl be sii^red toroa^midiOHlithf,
ooont^ unrestrained. I am sure somsi
lieoidjE^ii^ will iu^pen; befor#
2IS
m'mmmBi im'm toffy of tft*
.n^the^rtWtfer/' iaid Fairfax j « fo^ K
o< « ottrn-saJrt he ottght to to taken ca^ tf
^/?" .'**'f "Jber, Ma^gdret, thdt strtdge
and ali«t)st;*ftd«Jrious idene #ii!ch ^
, st^ethat todk plate resfa a* rftidlV <*
«r^rjr, i4 if all had dceuM 45^
'ras aone. ■■■> .:. - . ; iv'»iflnrir»!#'
^Ijent to bed " replied P^nhH ;H
|fl*i*i>«-' fhiin the eiWbus cibW'
tfred
^'/^'UI« *i^f-ss, I , ,|.
u ^
f ?^tteii^^ >wiis at ^ WaiCMrk^^to
„ bielf^' sttid Mni^reii »6oMiig tb 9k^
ieod, " and yet, Eliza, you never told^kl§
"libit very sat-d Sir Allan wd6!d*6«bi
tfell ybu himself," replied Miss ffii^^iig?
'mi did tt(yt wish to play Mar|iWi i<ar
p6a' in^%reeaM« Surprise.'^ '-' ^^J^^^^^
^^Ttiat'wa^ really kind/' -'said FAirM^
lidti^^t H^r #ith a beaming smite'j '^bM
m^^vh^ o^ld ^he have tdd V'^h&im^
m^- tdt^iftg^ <6 his feir coftil^fttbltj
#iiy that' iiib triet ^a iitran^e, Bhtii^, sM.
teaiknt itiab,'who treAt^d hbr fbthiW'm
Mf b «' bottv^sation which mcH tdm
Wm^ it)ilt oi-^all iJefbre."- »^''= ''''^"^
'^{certainly did think, Ibi* it l«^1feif
rtftitik,'^ Miss Hitrdirtg an^w^ir^, lii^ll? ,
ih^, *^ thtit you w^re the most disagi^BifeiW
nip J evfer had tn<|jt with." ^^ ir . ji m n ii
piteiriel gazed ^t her with an ^^n^^^
^ of astonishment which amused l|i#i^
biil Fairfax replied, « Abd sh6 wis ^nite
r|«t,tbo, Margaret; for I felt thattti|^
dbhVferfeition i^As "very strabg^; I Wm
iM thiiity ineti in India, coihinjgi^ri
#^, diigb «Very pisrkai atid tiiitt| ^ddfi
draught
attiirst
<Sdurtei^iM
»Wj ftrn», and questioned he^
„.,J'*T'*' '^'^ ^"""i her eyes 'till rt
«£?.. X' '^'^ *»" her cheek, bu J
becBoie more ^^y, and continued «, 3
&/,!r '^''^'" "ightoftheh^J
<2«?«nwhed m a degree, and she could eZ
^yKat she^called her humble dwefl
WM was thp deep-seated cause of 3
* Vf^"« one. She meant it p J
A? »^ ' ". a promise to a loyer ; Ji
Aemomentthey had entered the dra;iS
J^^J^ner Hjent a«^,^ tak,^^
li^P^' 'hough not large, was well.
ggo.JP„edapd lightsonie.* There It
&7r^^^J^J^y about it ; yet whe.
Z^^' ^«h a f«<^ whiol, had beeom
RtSr^t^f^!^'"**' »!«««'?. to. her «.i^ I
I*m4 at^wiv;^^*!^i!^ "^f^??!
W^,Jts
hcrwitlj
^Iwcho
WllUIMIld
an expreapQu. j^
[t #ould^ have aoAie^WtshM tnflue^
the^hand which irested oil th6^ aftii «
chair began to shake, so that she Walt
jed to withdraw it and let it fell moife
\iy upon her hnee. That rtbreifteht
lied her lover to himself, for ii showed
irt'how much emotion she feh, and
fifing a chair, to her side, he took th^
?^«he had withdrawn in hisj andpr^
^hi3 lips upon it; - . .-^J ^^-vrnK
'^Margaret," hb said, « do ybu thfttk^
fy^r-donfident ? Do ybu think me ftodholi
> treat you as I do, after an abscnbe^
!ti' years? -Yet listen to me bi^foi^ you
Bply. Hear first how atid why I^i<**
Wi cannot, I ahi sure you will ndtdouMt
iieh I tell you; that 1 loved you %etieJr
^9^' all eke' on ' earth, With the fiiist, ded^^
incere, ardent love of a heart which hfiii
none other. That love seemed bot
leasing to you ; and I treat y6u ttcNT
f only ji few days had passed iin^eW^
t and parted, because the ' time whicfl
hMgorie by, though it has worked a chtti^
trpdtt ihy outward' form, though it and m&
SKngS -ii i/rOligfil Willi ii iiaT5?.wt«»sr-« wr.*«
iittUfe light spiHt which once m4k4i
at a^isity, have touched not itithe^ lei^
lAjmm or itslove for Margaret Gi^iim^
tibilik if Act an hour WW paswdalftoul
m
*Ml other m your breast and miaej
*we were at that now distant hour. W
**W%J*»rgaret though circumstaw
wcurred, on which I must not dZ
*> n»he me mistake you? thoui^h .,
|^««lf. unwittingly/^"' bet"?./'
firmed my error, nay. crushed my hi
'Wd made me seek deathin the baM
g^^fly I^B 1 so^jht at ffuT
^£^j;i«* Allan /»^^^;l
f»>% laying her hand on his, "do n
«»;«eftven'»«ake, do not sny that"
^We« 1 was, I shou|dTa«e died W
2««2««ght been ,dded tp'my^JjS
•«» ^Imrst wtp tears. „ • **^v^ i
g^^fe^^hj^whisarms^u^d^;^
WwM.h.s hps, on hers. "Deai^ 'J
^'; . '" "''^f "I an? answered. M
jr«t« "he added, "how /.^..ij ' »# "'
l{ii.O>«ldyoM^:Laftil^?fi!!!l'
ifioniAir
loo
ifecei?e^ but Qi^|rthadp
ver
nm ik>iti "jfohiiadif licyt quite ^iM
and a half agfb j and there was m'
^_ of love."-- u - ■■ , ■'^' -k'^- '^^- ■ ■ ■
r<*I wrote to yottt<<^ Jayrttftef rWI
Iterdab, and though my letter remained
laosw^red, I hoped ^tili; &Ut it matted
I can easily coneeite, frotti jytJur
if^s conduct to myself, ih&t th6 teftel
r<jir reached ybtir hands. I wri>te not^
Uigiiret^ tn ask yt:)a to d(^ atight thiit'WM
Mg. I simply told ydu tay fcve, kM
mio l^w YCu itd l^tehsitys atld' I.^IKI
)ii^ ydflj' If you felt thttt ycu «OfQM tt^
%ih apf^al t6 yotiT esicelleniifdtlir(^|
'sdori as heWAd well encnigh td hfe^
fmrrt thfe decislbu of yottr ni«llWj
mk I Mt stl^e hdA been' pronbOfldM
ftftout h48 Knowledge or cbnsenti -^1
Wj*ht Ihad taken hnl^an^ to insure th'it
ilhduid teadti jroii dalMy^ but it seeing ir
iverdid.'^' 'm^"- ■ • ' - 'fj^}^^^
'*< Netei^ !" IhsWered Margarei, ek0fi
|J5'** nfeVet^, Fai^falc. Had I ever ^eWH
MdUld have been ^aved much w#ef&lllM&
5S^} fbr t had such confidence in ^dltf
■liOiiUtrr, inu£ XXI uii inc vrrxiiwWTi.xwa x
mti that besk liie sbdt^ ail^iv I
Writt^ t6 ybu
Without h^ltif^ildt
Idli^rto l^g aMi#ri^nli(^ftti<S; dt^id^^el
#
I
SI18
Mt .uro you did ; bm you had never ^
mini and love, I had heard say, I
with menin general a fleeting and ohan,
•*fe:pa«ion. I believed th!t jt S
» m your case, when for more than t
twgjrenn I heard nothing of you »
id, »",/«' a^ay." answerediAll,
Jwrfax ,M waited for amonthlnho
^.rwent to seek honour and fortune, if th
WW to be obtained, in the purauit of at
'^ S^J^f^T^ }y °*^'^ Thenagaini
# rairl of aughtthat bad ^a^, '
i?j!?? «^^««»"y to your door tilll n
WWaret. I came back, indeed, on W
««««y obfajned. to transact some busind
^_»mix)rfence ; for I had received in S
*»H letter from an old and rogdisholJ
of mv father's, informing nfe "ba° hi
^mm me in possession |f papers whid'
Hf V'V^*** '«'"«<^y.tl>^ injustice mi
g^lwd done me, under a terrible d^
Sli^ .howjng that the delusipn wh
iWWTed befi^re hrs death, and th«» I •
•*«> •tops to make reparation. My ,
MQdact to me is a long story, wl
Ml you another time. At piw
»» wy, that when I uiind
#r'
oii«:
2id
i<m't ftu^^^ that this clerk wlisa^.
ijiir for debt, and that hb reqtiired tH«
iMotMe hundred poutidsfoHhe paperg
possbssedl The though^ of Mai^aiireC
fthim had brought me badk ; the thbbghi
Margaret Graham made me reiolV^td
iw theke papers by any means ; biit.|
come away in ha$te, almost all I hdld
ready money was gone in the expenses
my voyage hopne ; my lioble 6ld uhli^
s d^ad, und I had not a hundred poUndfs
kll the world. At the same tirtie, t^e
m threatened if he did not red^ivetl||
1 withih ten daj^s to put the bapehi lii
haiidii x)f bthers or destrby them. ' 1
:erhiined to sen niy comtnissiSn ioralsii
le amount, blit just then I heard by ii6i^';.
pt'of ail* Mt had occurred to fi^uf
m^tM yourself. No, i^bt ill, biitl.
Irt. I hastened down hUh^i IbaVihg m^
itjreir to transact the business in Londei^.
k tpe,'att^d herfe I heard a repc^rt .ilirhic*
mM and stupefied me. ; r irtqtiit^
IrtHer; r found the report vaiy iii dtSr*
itttioiiths; 1 t^^rote to you—f hi^ tttifcl ;
5, indeed, ^s yet to offer but hopei
'^hNia i wtnM offer ^hose, an* ii
Mi' b^ ybik still to unilie" your firte
ine, and let me labour fbr the suppoft'
n«
* \
1
I*
IVi
820
SMStdrove jtijie ma4.'?^ Z.. *^ ^ ^
^^,*y copW aot jielp it," es;c]aim^4 m
W#»;^f 4eed, ipd^^d, Fairfax, fcpi
na^ help It! .iwillteMyouailbYanJf
m P^^ go on. Tou will forgive a^
m wUl find exc^9e fpr me when yp^hel
^^at did YOU do then?''
«-^" i ^>W kpow," answerecj F^drft
• yf>^^# ^' London like a madwiin; b
*^i^ ^y^flg® aqcident which I can not^o
H^te, I suddenly became possejssedofi
mii^ Required. I wen$ away to the Kin
OTP% obtained the papers, ^nd fo«
^"|9Rf ^l^em on© written ^ntjreljr in u
WjSj;^ pwn hand, ackn^i^wledgW that!
ttrt^Q^e^y^cl himself-^that his 4^^ of j
i?^ ^ cb^ffelingw^ Wi hallucinate
in^Jeai^^g me anequalshveof hisj^^r-,
V^^l W^^ W tW9 brothers. ThS
IrBW f^f F^«H ftod yielded to my claM
•"Ti.MS^t ^vanced ipo^ey ^ onp^jl
\9m if^nould be in twef but I wn|
^*it!1^%-^JMa^gwet,had given her Wl
m
nm
_ in bitter .„ _ _^
i^ g»wd at hii^ wW» teaxq in 1m
,d?fl?j^^))j§^ine,.F||i^a^'.''4fti(^^
sW
8^
;li^in)[ypu know that I wiHt«llypif%
'Wljtjuth/^,,^ ^j,^.-. ^^
"Ho—l «m gvre of it^ <J^aTi Mw-gat
t^; h^ relied. "Indeed, it 4^ l^i^r%
Bcwary that you should, for I have heaj^
k of the truth since I came doir^
sr, ar^d should have heard it long,ji^gp(|
H not hurried away from «y sq^ufi
l^re I t^i^ht ^l my l\ope^,vr^p'^ Umt^t
Plf»el^ any ia|e ^h^ch woulia^rdreH^
JW)^ thought. Yet spe^k of ,tl:^t ^^^,
pA^f« Margaret, it certiainly lya^ y^iy
ilffyou haid knojv^ hqw it wnin^nr^j?
^fu^ to tpak^ it so, Fairfax,'' Jmk4
^"j^et, *1 you wo^ld have pitted i^^jS i^qI
i Wgry wi^ n\e. We mi^t, howj^ve^^ri
. kj?f painful subj^qts, and, :ti^ieii^%f|
i|^l da it at once, Sly father wimi |«|^
.mm ^9 heggary-t-yes thiit is the i^nn.
1^ waf m, lipoapable of mpvii^pE l^p.
ling himself in any wdy ; he 4ependea
vW-^f fc' ^yefy thing. J( cpiji4 .not
jlfivei bim to go out as a,governe^.;
would have ^broken )m3^ Jieart,. & wpi
I hate hmlfftn vnino^ T nrviiM ^/v^ a—^w*
' 1¥«
^W <|*y ^mf>i4ngf far heh%4 do^^a
.could aid him b^t mys^^ Wn filj
: ^.Bl^y pp9^$ a^yeai? to Uv^ up^^^f.^
^^IWWep|WW» won the Ufeof|i,ipi»,p)un^
!?I'l>Lfh .n?i?i
thin himself, and a cottage which #b^t J
!2ll'l"??t'''* K'^ kindfriend, a surjU
wlio( had been his school.fellow. It %«(
jKthat my father would accept from a
^rte— -the loan of that smaSi cottage, i
did What I could by selling my dr?wh^
toihoi-ease our pittance, but suddenly jy
Mnuity failed. There was naught before
J? ^^\J^^ .^nion workhouse, when thu
ttnd pld man, Whom I had known rtJ
wfancy, #ho had received me in hisarav
Whfen first I saw the light, after endeavour.
l?f t^, conceal the fact of the failure of
IkII**"'**^?^''?^/ I»^viri^ attempted evcit
l7M'"/«^.^o induce my father to reOciw
^bro^josed 16 me as the only resourtl
fme my dyhig parent a'home arid <m
^^"^^^^y^^^^- Had he beeii J
2^ng: tpan, Fairlax-Istrange as h mj\
T^t'H^il^^f^ '^''"'^ ^^^^ '^^olted mm
S! ^* ?^' ^^ ^^®^^® best, the kind«^
'M w*^ g^^erous of men.**
i.;^S *"'?^ very pale ; Mai^ret ».
^W It, and hurried oui ndt topain wJ
.^re than necffessary,
'f He askkd mf4 ni%*
- - -- — ii,\fb
required;
228
_ ly it. For no consideratiqn upon eftrth
mUl have broken that promise ; yoii
yald not have loved me-^you csoujd not
live respected me, Fairfax, if I 1^4.
lut then came your letter. Its tone iras
tlyU of friendship, but not of Ipye, yet
\ioW it agitated me, how it shook me, nonf$
|liMcver known or can know. I <tetef»
mined to trample over hesitations, hopes,
affection, which 1 believed it would bo
leriminal to indulge, though I crushed my
|own heart with them; but, ojb, Fairfax, I
knew not I was crushing yours also, or I
believe that hour would have killed me.
YoD knour the rest, I think, and I will^fiot
^well upon it— that terrible weddlD^4»y
m its awful termination. Now, teH nm,
eould I have done otherwise than I did |,
—should I have been worthy of mk
honest man's regard if I had acted 0tli;
wise?" , .^^,_,.^ „.,j..
Fairfax had buried his ejH. In hii
hiMids, but now he raised his head suddeoN
fy> wyii^, " No, Margaret, no ! You mf
«n angel. Oh let me hope, dear» ^x<9di|^
Mitgirl, that it may be my lot to mdiA
• to soften the rememtoiiiot
ve suffered. Mikrgarat> aiii^
Uf
Tmnune?
sho^m
LHiH
aide r* aba itpIM. ^'IhaVi
you my whole heart.''
f
li
\ i
^imftm6il het td hl8 "Wrt, ahdi
Mlifg^ret rerted thfere, with Kef fab^ hid
^n his bosohi, and the warhi mtn J
nrny tniAgled ettioliont in her eyei.
''Miiis HftJtJing gare them rtidre ihan m
TOiir ; And #heh shis came down at lenirth
Mar|am'fl hand was daiiped iri hi«, dud
m dW not fttttetn pt to ^^ithdf iiW it.
cmil^krtti ^ncottfUge and cbltl¥ate M
^#ucttve(rf^tlie ftl» peff0fmahce tof her
fmei m fttheiis, and «^ hbd ttofr ddne 4
in this instance. On the contrary, ^
llj««fea(iaf ^ml fiil^ly striVfiii t^lfeebk
tiijigte ftdm^^ltiftg oft lie^ tflfedtidh fti
Al«aM^Fairfo3iua.rd# nm sd:f she Wdllt^
g«i»t sdddfieded, Imm^ l^d trife»iiiihw^
«ff^M r««iU*i& image, fthojr Woiitf
^^enmra'^weMiltfoti tJle ttaSt, l^itri^
«^»tl«iift«b il^*.44iltfi%j %i
2£2®f!^' ^efouhd her mind' jfc^^p
225
Endeavouring to betray her peace, shehaid
lirays made a great effbrt to recall her
,/andering thoughts, and give them em-
ployment in other things. She had always
felt that she loved him, but she knew not
iiow much — she knew not even how much
she was capable of loving till love was
lappy. Oh then how it overpowered her !
fhow she dwelled upon every look and
.one ! how she gave up heart and mind to
[the one deep and tender affection. Never
lin the whole course of her long sorrows
land adversities had Margaret wept so
luch as on that night after Fairfax had
[left her. But it was a clearing shower,
[that flood of tears ; and after it had passed,
all was bright and smiling.
Toward dinner-time, on the first day of
their meeting again, Fairfax felt himself
bound in courtesy to tear himself away
'from her and return to the house of Sir
Wild Clerk ; but ere he went he made her
pronriise to fix the day of their union when
they saw each other on the morrow, and
he added,
" I think, my beloved, it may be as well
to itiform my worthy host at once of the
Bituation in which we are placed, that
BfeHhet he riot Lady tierk may think ttiy
Qontinued absence strange or rude. We
8
226
have nothing to conceal, and, therefore, J
will be best mentioned at once. I am toi
proud of my Margaret, and of my love foi|
,.her, not to be well pleased to have" it knowj
that she returns my affection and is at
to be mine.'*
1^^ Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
' " Surely 1 have cause to be proud, too,"'
she said; "do as you please, Fairfax •,
^whatever you do will be pleasing to me!
The family of the Clerks have been veiy
kind, have called often, and asked me mow
than once to their house : but 1 know nol
.why all society was unpleasant to me but
, that of this dear friend," and she turned
h( r kindly eyes to Miss Harding. Fair,
fax took that lady's hand in his, and thank,
ed her yviih p> culiar grace for all that she'
had done for Margaret.
" I trust 1 am not ungrateful," he said,
"toward those who show kindness to my.
iSelf; but their services to me, my dear
Miss Hardin<r, would seem of little value
in my ryes when compared with acts of
friendship to this dear girl. I trust that
1 shall have ample opportunity of show,
ing my grailiude, and in pther ways
than in words, and in proving to you
itat Vthe JDOst disagreeable mattio'tbe
.«■ ,**!-«
227
Iworid' is not altogether the moit insensi:
1 We one."
He smiled gayly as he repeated Miss
I Harding's expression regarding himself,
land then, mounting his horse, rode back to
Sir Wild ClerkV
During dinner every one remarked that
ahhough Sir Allan Fairfax often fell into
fits of thought, yet that when he did con-
verse he was infinitely more cheerful and
gay than on the preceding day. One of
the daughters of his host, a light-hearted,
familiar, merry girl, rallied him on hw
happy looks, declared that she was sure
he had met with some delightful adventure
in his morning's ride, and insisted upon
knowing what it was.
"Let us have a ti^uce till after dinner,"
«aid Fairfax, in reply, "and then I'll tdl
you, upon my honour, when we have not
m many eyes and ears upon us."
** Oh, then, it is a love adirenture," said
the young lady.
"What, is there nothing but love that
requires discretion ?" said Fairfax ; " but
mind, you must be very secret whatever
it it ;" and after dinnf r he told her, as a
matter of strict confidence, that he was
C J to be married to his first and ouly
«iid who tho penoo wm* This muf
228
team a aftrange proceeding; kit Pairfai
calculated justly, and before the party
brpke up the secret was known to e?ery.
body in the room, without his taking am
more trouble about it.
Day after day he now spent with Mar.
garet Graham ; and when the period which
he had promised to remain with Ladj
Clerk was over, he removed to his owa
(juarters at the White Lion, where he eouJd
be more at liberty. Margaret was very
happy, and Fairfax was all in all to her.
He was a good deal changed, it was truej
since the time when she had first knawfl
him ; he was graver, alniost sadder, it
seemed as if present happiness effaced
with difficulty the traces which past w^
rows had left upon his heart. She re.
marked, too, and so did others, that he
never mentioned the word Kenmore, and
Miss Harding noticed, almost amused, that
her friend's lover never referred in any
manner to the period or the circum-
stances of Margaret's marriage to the old
'^urgeon. _ -^^^
♦vWhat jealous creatures these men
«*i?, j^Hc? invugm ; " ii is eviUent he. cat
not boar to think of her having been evw
nominally the wife of another."
929
avoid pronoucing the name he seemed
Ito hate, but he did it pertinaciously. His
Ibride was always named as ** Mai^aret,'f
to herself and to Miss Harding of €ourse ;
but when he had to speak of her to others
it often caused a good deal of cii^cumlocu-
tion. He called her **the lady formerly
Miss Graham," " Mr. Graham's daughter^
lof Allerdale," and to her servants it was
always ** your mistress." It pained Mar-
garet a little, for she could not help re-
marking it, and her own feelings toward
poor Doctor Kenmore were those of grati-
tude and esteem. She did not suffer it,
ho./ever, to interrupt her happiness much,
for she thought when once they were mar^^
lied the cause of such conduct would be
removed, and she named as early a
day as possible fbr her union with him
she loved, for Margaret had no aHeota*
tions.
All the neighbours became amazingly
kind when they found thht Mistress Ken.
more was about to be married to Sir AU
Ian Fairfax, and she suffered herself,
though with a feeling of timidity from
long seclusion, to be persuaded to mingle
with society. She to<^ nK>re pleasure in
if, too, for every one was loud in praise of
kr promiaed husband, and only on one
830
OccasJon did she meet with, or rpm«i*l
one of those linle .ouch.s of rrmievoa
Wh ch arnoflrn brought forth in .he br, a^
ofthe discontented by the sight of happi
Hess in others. "^n
rZ "r -iT^f •' '■^' '"y ''''«'• Mrs. Ken.
more, said Lady Clerk, « that Sir All J
«ever mennons yo« by your present name
and never .s, e.k.s a word of your fi«
Ijusband-it i« quite remnrkable."
Margaret felt all the rudeness and th*
Arl?J'""!r'' '■^^"'s fnore pleasantly to 1
nwddm. Indefd it is much more agreea.
We ,0 us both to think as little as p<IX
frrinf "°? f f'^'^'^y' *'"^"'' "nd s«f-
bS, K '" '" T'^^'y '•««• o" those
br^hter hours when I was Marganst
Graham, and he was simply Allan Fair.
Cle^rkl"^^"'''' ^'^ ?"' g° '""''' '" Lady
Clerk s any more. In the mean time all
•rraDgements were made, the marriage.
^ni,in,agati;.;z:;;;ij:h:x,K
difference between love and friendship.
••rofwr officer oS Sir AUmi'
s omne
231
iown from London to be present at the
jeremony ; Mirgaret chose only one
[brid( sm lid, rhe same who had accompan-
ied her lo the altar before ; and when
Fairfax was about to take leave of her on
the day prrceding that which w is to un-
ite them f)rev« r, he turned to Miss Hard-
ing, and lakino: up a pack' t which had lain
I on the table since th • n)orning, he said,
''Dsar Miss II irling, you must show
Mfir<?arf»t and myself that you are not
proud with two dear friends, an I accept
this little testim >ny af our united regard
atid aff ctlon."
"I must know what it is, Sir A 'Ian,"
said Miss H* rJinjjj ; ** proud you shall not
find me ; but still th^ re are thinfjs, there
are f elings which I am sure you would
not wish .me to give up even for your
sakes."
"I should wish you to accept that
packet," said Fairfax, with a smile ; " it
18 Margarl's wish, too, and I amsur'^you
would not refuse her on the tveof her
wedding-day.'*
** But what is it ?" said Miss Harding,
a little agitated, though she was usually
Tcry much composed.
" Open it and see, Eliza," said Mjr^ar-
•t; «Vall I can say is that Fairfax an<l I
232
have done our best during: the last monill
to make It what we could wish for yo„'
and if you rufuse it you will inflict great'
pain upon us." ^
J T"Ji- " il""'' '"'"''='' •'•emblcd n good
deal, Miss Harding opened the thick en.
velope, but found nothing within but some
old and new parchments, and a slip of
K ''PPT""3' « catalogue of the rest.'
A« the head was written, "Conveyance
of the Mount Cottage Estate. Adam
Brown, esquire, to Elizabeth Hardin»
Spinster '• Thm followed, " Fine and rl'
^Z?^'a^m:' t°- *=*=- "°t °"e word ofl
which did Miss Harding comprehend.
anJJWA"^^:^^^"'^ " at all," she said,
Ss ^^'''^^'*'' '" "'^ faces of her two
Jl U^^^ ^'^ ""^ title-deeds, deaf Eliza,"
said Margaret, " of the cottage you have
always so much admired just coming out
of Brownswick, and the grounds about it.
1 hey ^re trora me and him I love, in our
«Z 5 P''°?P"''y aiKJ happiness, to her
who was a friend to me in the time of ad.
vereity and sorrow. You must not refuse
.•n» !i, .■""« Wargaret," said Afiss ffanJ.
Wgr throwing her arm rouod hit frfend's
toaoi, and gissing hw. «I ean bea^
233
ilitude, for that is very difierent from*
lependence."
*' But when at an after period Mis9
iHarding came to incjuire of what the gift
jcoilsistedi she found that the beautiful lit-
Itle cottage was accompanied by furuiture
las beautiful, and that the grounds Mar-
caret spoke of were not the gardens alone,
but the fields around, which rendered her,
moderate as she was, independent of the
{world altogether.
The marriage-day dawned brightly ;
[the church was fuller of people than eith-
{er Margaret or her bridegroom wished,
land the ceremony was performed, making^
Margaret and Fairfax man and wife.
With a heart thrilling with joy and grati-
tude to Hfaven — none the less because
some solemn memories mingled wiih pre>
sent happiness — Margaret was led from
the vestry to the carriage which was in
waiting, end left her native county for a
time with him she had loved long and
well. At the end of the honeymoon, as
it is called, they were to return and spend
a short time ut her hoiiso near Browos=
wick, till the old mansion of hei husband's
family could be made completely ready,
for it had been somewhat n^lected of
late ; and we must pass over all thai SsJU
234
voijje MatK. buflice It that when thnv aLi
return a,.d when Miss HHrdii'^nS^
-wn. vvouiij that vve coulH Qt»m k 'I
aiioge,h.vt:ri::/:r„TjT;,cTr
course yet a liitle further "**! "^'I
Vf.i.
CHAPTER XV.
■ ■■ *HK FIRST Clou D,
he visitrd R n h"T. ''^ "'' "hTtfor,.;
grand co„.ulX,':S: or •"m'"'^
ek^.r.u .. ' ' ' »t take its emivfif^ fnf
snould knc
time, and she was
so Ii
it til] in
Py,'that every KhTrt^^' '^ T*^ '"*P-
235
At length, on the Tuesday mornm|!r^
fier boin«£ absent from the drawing-rooirt
for sorrn* mitniir«, Fairfax rtturmd to fiis
•autiful wife with an open note in his
land. • ,^.
*' I must ^o over to Brownswick direct-
ly, dt arrsi," he snid ; and then throwinif
his urnis round h'T, he kissed h^r teiid^^r,
ly, ad<ling, *• I will now t(>ll you, mv Mar-
Igaret, I have bought AIJrrdale,Hnd in the
beloved scenes whore we first met we will
pass a part of t- very \ear."
" Oh, I am glad to hear it," replied
Margaret ; " but the money, Allan ? 1
know it was sold for fifty thousand pounds.
I hopoyou have not disposed of your 0I4
family estate manly to ixratify me."
'*Not an acre, dear Mirguret," he an-
swered. " I told you somi time ago that
a circumstance, which I cannot relate,
placed in my possession a hundred pounds
at the moment when my fate was in the
balance for want of money. That hun^
dred pounds procured me a number of old
papers of my father's, which^his clerk ha4
«?pt, or ruiher stolt^n. I'hose papera
compelled my brothers to share my fa.
tners property with me^ and the sum I
received was more than forty thousand
pounds. Since then some inter^M basaot^
little of the sum demanded for Allerrfl
Wgreed that a par, shall Z^^'S
mortgage, and [ thought I could no, inv'^
my money better thun in the purchZ 5
a place so dear to you and me/ However
J mus, go over ,o Brownsv.-ick a7onl ,'l
conclude ,he bargain." *'®''°'
Margaret was°very hannv if tu;
rangement. for all ilJnZZefotZ
dale were sweet to hpr Qk« l j .
spent the early! ^TdaytfS't
had there enjoyed in^he days of his bone
ficient prosperity the society of her S
and h.gh.m.nded fiuher ; she had there
firs, become acquainted tt'i,h him whoZ
now her husband, and she ,ha^W p^
anj Allrtn Fairfax rode on eagerly toward
xroued up to the door of the dwe Jin,
in ,he place. A servan, in <Tor„»„... i:„.i
Fairfax that Mr. fjank
With the other magisu-ates at the Towli
urn was not at home,
he wohM
28t
Hall. To the Town Hall rode Sir Alltin,
and after sending in his card for Mr.
Hankum to the magistrates*- room, was
soon joined by that gentleman, who was
Ipscttliarly polite and courteous. He led
Itlie youni? baronet into a committee- room,
and b'^gwini; him to be seated, said,
" Well, Sir Allan, I suppose all is set-
tied except signing a Httle memorandum of
the terms. It is a beautiful place, and
nothing would induce m3 to part with it
but that I find it takes m3 away from my
business. However, I am delighted that
it falls into the hands of a gentleman of
such distinction, and a friend of poor Gra-
ham*s. who, 1 may say, made it."
« You are very kind," replied Sir Allan,
"and I think we may as well draw up the
memorandum at once. You are more
conversant with such things than I am ;
perhaps you will have the kindness to do
so." ^
"Certainly, certainly," answered the
manufacturer, and taking a pen, he wrote
a little preamble, and began to state the
At the very first, however, a difference
of opinion arose between him and Fairfax,
«s to whether timber trees were to be in.
Alluded k the purdiase for the sum ^med*
In
t88
Mr. Hankum thought that he bad ennml
ly reserved them in his first letter on t*
suhjeot. F,urf„x assured him that he 1 J
not. Mr Hankum, in the politest mannpr
r.qu,-ste.l to vee the letter, declaring him!
self quite ready to abide by whatever J
iiad said. . P
Sir Allan answered that he had not f^
letter wnh hin), but that it could be ml
cured Jn a short time, and he would send
his servant for it while they went over tliJ
other particulars. Taking up a pen aJ
a pK ce of the committee-room paper, he
wrote as follows: ' '^ ' I
J* Dearest Margaret,~Open my writinj
desk,ofwh,ch I send i he key, and take
out the packet of letters which you will
find on the right-hand side at th^ top If
you have any douh as to which I mean,
the signature, *Josiah Hankum,' #3
show you. Send the packet to me by
groom who bears this.
" Your affectionate husband,
** Allan Fairfax.'' j
Jnclosmg the key of his writing-desk, he
sealed the pr.cket and srave it to hla »r^^l
ordering him to make haste and bring backl
an^answ^r.
Then returnir g to Mr. Hankum, he pml
« deqd to discLss the other itenas of
299
iroorandum, which were gone through
1e«8 thiin ten minutes, as no further
[iffiuuhy occurred.
" Pr»y Ho not Ipt me detain you from
business, Mr. Hankum," said Fairfax,
80011 as all was concluded ; ** I will
rait hore and send in for you when the
frvant returns.'*
"Why not walk into the justice-room
nth mo, Sir Allan ?'* said the great man.
ifiiCfunr; •* you will doubtless be soon
ipon the b(»nch, and, by the way, there is
case coming on that may intVrc st vou,
)r the man is a noto* us poacher, wha
m been at my pr serves up there—
^oursthey will soon b% I trust."
*' What is his nam « ?" asked Fairfax.
"Jacob HrtlJiJay," replied Mr. Hank-
im, ** a icousin, I think, of Lad v Fairfax's
)ailifr."
** Poor f How," answered Fairfax, in a
fone of commiseration, " I am sorrv for
lim; he was hardly treated by the fir-
ner who employed him, I have undyr-
rtood, anil driven to desperation.
'' Mr. H mkum was not sorry to have
is indication of his companioil's vi^^ws,
ffor he was v^-ry well-inclined to court iho
iendship of the young i)aronet, who was
' m to become his lieigiibour, and he led
MO
tbo way to the justioe-roem^ deten»ined>|
take the be$t possible view of J[acob HaL
liday's case, it was already before the
raagisl rates when the two gentlemen en.
tered, but the proceedings were immedi.
ately interrupted on their appearance, and
Mr. Hankuin introduced the young baro.
net to a fat, shrewd, small.eyed man, in
the chair, named Sir Stephen Grizely,
«nightj.> He was a jocular magistrate,
yery lenient in his way, and who seemed
to look upon all the functionsof justice as
the best joke in the world. We must all
have seen such men on country benches,
aad therefore it would be useless to de.
scribe him further, merely noticing, that
notwithstanding his lenity and his merri.
ment, he had great tact in finding out the
truth, by not the most formal or custonianr
processes.
As soon as the magistrates were seated
again, and Fairfax with them, the case of
Jacob Halliday was resumed; and as he
stood before the justices, with a wild and
haggard but not irresolute look, he turned
his eves toward thft fno.e^ nf tht^ vnun^ Ko-
onet, with an expression of hope, as if h«
ejjpected to find syn^iathy there.
A game-kecyer and a looker-oitt pn^ved
Hiat they had foU^dthfli P^wow i© <w*# of
iteroained u I
Jfacob Hal.
r before the
itlemen eo.
ere immcdi.
a ranee, and
'oung baro.
ed man, in
n Grizely,
magistrate,
i'ho seemed
»r justice as
e must all
ry benches,
Bless to de-
icing, that
his merri.
ing out the
customary
^ ^s^8 of Allerdale during thepre>
ceding night, and that a littlei farther pa
tbey had found a har^ in a springe.
Ther^ had also been found upon Jaqob
Halliday's person several very suspix
cious-lqpking bits of wire, but none of them
made up into the form of a noose, springe,
or gin, nor was there any game found
upon him. This was the whole of the
evidence, and it was just the sort of case
in which one bench of magistrates would
)nvict and another dismiss, according as
leir prejudices led them.
" Now, Jacob," said Sir Stephen Grize*
ly, ** you know, my good fellow, you are
a terrible poacher."
"Perhaps I may be, your worship," re-
plied iJalliday ; ** but if I am, I should
like to know what made me ?"
"My good friend, you must not |p|
|wkward interrogatories to the beneh,^
said Sir Stephen, chuckling ; ** perhaps
you may say it was Farmer Stumps^^
Stumps IS a hard fellow. Perhaps the
peiBT poor law — the new poor law is a hard
Aikll/\u/ • Kilt 1 aim oTt'oirl iiiintrrv mite ntxA
empty purse cannot be received by us as
an apology for poaching."
"But I was not poaching then," ans-
ii^iiad Halliday. ^
249
' ** Yoia were trespassing, at all •fduti,
obiflirviscl ione of the mfiorigtratesi" ^
'* Ho^ I was not," said the prisoner;
".the p^ith Is a beutcri path, and ievf ry one
about there kiir)ws it.'' ^
'^* I think I cyan. answer ror that fact my.
s0y^\: «uid Puii-fiix * " [• have passed
thi^a|ih the cjppice bv that, pdth several
^^ What; at night f asked Sir Stephen.
**YM^ at night," Replied Fairfax, ♦* If
PuridlfMahd the dbs^cnptiort tightly."
*' It is the path that crosses* aw^ay from
the red posti" said t lie gam ^-keeper, in a
stiriy tt>ne| ''poople do pjo alotig it, I
know; but th3y'vj no ri:>hT, aVid they
bad bt^ttrrhot let me catch" 'tniv'
^ ** I'n reg?ird to th ' right," said the young
baruntt, *; I can fbnri fid correct judg-
4ji|it ; but I know that it is frtqueiitiy
use<f by people of all c'kj^ses, and rt was
fiik pointed out to me hy the late Mr.
Graham, as a short cut from his house to
(he ftnor."
** What do ybu say to all this, Hank.
• i*
«txi r «3at;u iiiu j^^iiy uiiiiinimn ; " ti you
lire fond of roast p?iG;isant you must block
up thiit path, I think."
-"^*1 think. Sir Stephen, the case wOn*t
stand," said Mr. Hankufti. " i Ibfi
pheasant well, but juatice better."
U9
« Bravo r' cried the knight, , /^Pklih*
prisoner make any resistance, keeper ?'*
"I can't say he did/' ar^swercd th©
person questioned ; " but that was 'cause
he knew he had nolhing upn him. If he
had there would have been precious work
going." ,
"Case dismissed," said Sjr Stephen;
"but take nr?> 1 vice, Master Jacob, and
cure yourse • 5 f your taste for game."
" 1 don't mean to be saucy, sir,", re-
plied Jacob Hall iday, *' for you're a good>
kind gentleman, and as ready to do jus-
tice to the poor as to the rich. But I will
feed my wife and chtldri?n, somehow ; and
as for this fellow, if he stops me in that
path again, he had better mind his bones."
*' I'll stop thee, wherever I rfind thee,'*
replied the keeper; and with these mulii-
al indications of good- will they left, tfe
justice-room.
Another ^ase was being called on,^
when the groom of Sir Allan Fairfax re-
turned, and sent in the packet of letters to
his master, who retired with Mr. Hankum
to the com mitte^e- room, and the first pro-
posal of the manufacturer was read. It
turned out that Fairfax was neithc i' quite
right or quite wr^g, for the stipulatbn re-
latndi^ the timber-treee wf^r^ not vQrjr
m ^
distindtly put, yet it tiil^t be implied, and
both yielding a little, it was agreed that
the timber should be surveyed and valued
And that Sir Allan should pay one half
the estimated worth. Some other minor
arrangements regarding the speedy trans.
fer of the property occupied about half an
hour mofe, and then Fairfax mounted his
horse and rode home, to find all its sun.
shme clouded.
" ^M?!:? ^"17^ ^"^ ^^y* ^'"'^ '"y Jady is
very ill, said a servant, meeting him in
thidhflill. o «
" 111 !" exclaimed Fairfax, in great
alarm ; « what is the matter V*
" Slie has fainted twice, sir," said the
man, "and this time we cannot bring her
too, all we can do."
P^ff^^ passed him in an instant, and
M upstairs to Margaret's bedroom, with
feolmgs in his bosom which he had not
known that he could experience.
vKAFi £iK XV L
,THa WORST
fy writing a ao
STORM. li!
#as sitting calm*
aboirt an] hour albt fill
lu^nd had lefl her, when a servant eit*
Iteffed Wiih a small packet in his hand,
saying, ** John says, my lady, that Sir
Allan wishes for an answer dirpctly."
The lady took the letter, and opening it,
found the words which, as we have alrea-
dy seen, her husband had written from
the Town-hall.
" Wait a moment," she said, " and I
will bring the p ip^rs directly ;" arid, pro-
eeeding with the little key in her hand to
a room which had been fitted up expressly
for Fairfiix durinjsr their absence, she ad-
vanced to the table on which the writing,
desk stood, and put the key into the look.
It opened with some difficulty ; for, in
more than one campaign which it had
gone through, the lock had been somew
what damaged, and on arriving at the in-
side, Margaret deranged the position of
the desk on th3 table, and nearly threw it
down. It opened at length, however, and
she found the papers where Fairfax hiid
told her, methodically tied up by them-
selves. Without closing the desk again,
she went to the door, called the servant to
hei^, and gave him the packet for his mas-
ter, and then returning, she shut down the
up^r part of the writing-case, and pressed
I down to look it. In rci doing, ishe 07i&iu
2^0
Wt the balance of the desk upon the table I
£ b.Mhi '" '5" g'-'""'d «''"ost upon Q
leet. but the sudden concussion q„used Jk
the upper and Jowcr part to fly open
number of papers strewed the fl^r; and a '
cases, I be leve, came partly out. M«r
garet hurried to gather up^he papl^'
placed hem on the table, and then S
the deHlc, when the drawer came farTr
out» and she could not heir seeZ Sj
«?n.amed. How strange is aSfio 1
There was nothing there but a pa;r of
Ddfeshionfd silver shoe-buckles- butfl,.
violently SIm) tuiued away her eves
she: would not look at them at first • D
mth a cheek like marble, she gathered a
iHmers from the t^ole I h a hts^f
mf. and ,hru.t them, in conSion. 2
w^^nZT-"^'^'^'^''''- The bucket
t^ev l!^ h f """. •""■ '"'h«fi»ce; then,
h^*y«« to then.selve.s, till at length shf
^o«d,«nd gazed at them. i.n.. W- .^ •
"" H^sk. She could not raise U-
'Pm out; she turned them ro
was i» mark upon one of them
Jjr finger M, pressed it: an«
The
24t
leinnelr rim of each engravecl " A. K*^*''
I" Andrew K'nmore." '-'"^^
There couM be no doubt of the fatot ;
Ithey .v6re the buckles worn by her mii¥'
dfred husband at the time of his death';
th*'re was the nun k of his blood upon ihemf
Margaret put thorn hastily back againy
shut the drawer and tlie desK, and th*^rt
|stO(xl leaning on the tauie ihlhou<jhii '^^
♦*Howclth Fairfax have got theni ?*'
she asked herself, while a crowd t)f pain'-
m\ and terrible m mories crowded U|)Oii
her; " this may lead to the deudtion bf
the murderer. H i was ffown wandeHnjj
about here at the tim* I know, for D-letor
Ken mo re sa whim. V V h ere could he
have found ther'n? I must tell him whiat
has happened, and ask him— yet I hardly
dare. Any reference to that time or jhe
poor old man seems to pain and iri*lflt6i
him. Yt't it is a duly, and I must do i|.;
It is very sti*ange that he should be so uti^*
willing lO sp.'ak upon that which sui^<y
can wake no jealous susceptibility in his
heart;**' ■ l'«H\^-f5"Mi:
iTiirgarct sthoughis were wpprdHChiiig'
dangfrous ground. As yet the enidftion
she had ftlt proceed<^d solely fro-rii the as-
•ociation* which the dight had called ''^fj^
What hiade hei turnsosii^d'eniy paiii^
$48
it .h« '„ ?^ ''°'^ indignantly she repelled
« »he next moment, with expanded n^iri^
and curhng lip, as if some one eJse T
hmted a suspi-ion of him she Wed! '
thL W"""'^^^ '° """k of such a
3.1,^'""' ^"''•■''*^' 'he brave, ih
Hn.f J u .^"'-oh, that clinging thins
then' i°clirh'^''''''\'° ""« hu^ma^n 2
wnen once « hw got the least hold .' She
ft met7h'^r''t"'^'"'« '°^« '"ight M
oSIrrS '*'\''"«''«nd, and whether son,"'
quarrel might not have ensued ? T
wT- '''°"; -'-H^*^*" and earth, howl
Lunw""" T^l^ • ""»' "ysterious hundN
^otio,^, without ever stating how H^
S I?"t',: '*'"'■"« ''^•- '•« could not e"
m T~ f ^'''''"•'•ence of the subject of her
finS "ir^*-— f 'he ver^ name I
, *' Nonsense, nonsense." she criprf • hn»
the agitation of ,he very .houaht waJ 1
^ SI e S t, '■^"/"'"'"■« "^" '" -
^ on© did not Jie thora uZ, a.- .l_ :
wiir-T "^"'''"g. ''«'' "» te" her that
Ifi8 tnsQ.
249
Mr mistress fainting on the carpet hd
rung loud, and called for help, and Halli-
hy himself ran in with the maid. When
^aid upon the sofa, a little water sprinkled
tonherfiice soon brought Margaret back
to conscidusnes ; and when her recollec-
tion fully returned she felt ashamed of the
lagitation she had experienced and its
(cause. Rising gracefully from the Couch,
she thanked the faithful people round her
said she was better, and seeing HallidaV
'here, asked if he wanted any thing.
"Yes, my lady," replied the good man:
<< but It will do quite well another time."
" No, Halliday, no," she answered, «* I
jam nearly well again now. I will spemt
jwiihyou in a minute," and she put her
ihand to her head as the same train of
pou^hts which she strove to banish re-
turned. " What is it, Halliday," she in.
(quired.
The man paused, looking at the s^.
[vants, and then replied, " Another time
will do quite well, my lady."
L "»f ®^^® r* ^^'^»a"^» and you too, Maf.
[tna^ said Margaret, speaking to the foot,
pati ana her maid. <» Now, Halliday.
[What is it?" ... ^»
Pittd),ttyladjr," r^pHed Ben HWlittaj^j
250
?*'I h^ive never yet liked to ask you to
give him work ; for, poor lellow, he hasl
5e?n driven by poverty and other thingji
to do a good deal that he ought not to do^l
and I have helped him as far as I could
myself ; but he spoke to me about ii th«
pther day, and seemed very much vexf
that he could not earn his bread honestly;
and he promised, upon his word, if yoB
wpuld give him a trial he would never
a wrong thing again. I told him that
would let you know what he said, but tha
I lyould not hide from you that I knew
had been a good deal out poaching ; bull
do believe it was only to feed his wife an
boy." • 1
"Well, try him, Ben," replied Lf
Fairfax, with an absent air; *' but onlj
you must see he keeps his word. Wj
there any thing else you wished to sayll
" Nothing, my lady/' n plied Hen iliilj
liday, " but only if Sir Allan had U'p(
at home, to give him back something tha
he left at my cottage one morning, betweei
two and three years ago."
" Ah, when was that ?" asked Marga
ret^ eagerly.
^ **0h, ma'am, it was just at a time thi
ii not pleasant to speak of," replied t
§0(4 mm ; '' he oame so kbdly«--*U w
d5i
the very morning after, and hardly day^
light; and when he found how ih'l was
B gave me five sovereigns. When htf
em away we found a key upon the floors
ust where he had been sitting. He must
Bve dropt it when he took out his purse,
think; 1 have always been wishing to
ive it back, but had forgotten."
"The morning after !" said Margaret,
azing at him with a straining eye, "after
""hat ?" vr
**0h, a very sad night, my lady," re-
ied Halliday, " when we iodt a very
od man in these parts."
"A key'" said Margaret, "a key I
me see it."
" Oh, yes, my lady," replied the pea-
nt, feeling in his pockets. " Ah, here it
" and he produced a strong and very
culiar key.
Margaret started up and caught it from
lis hand. " It is mine," she said with a
isp, gazing at it with deep melancholy,
it is mine."
She knew it too well: it was the key
Kenmore's iron safe, and the next mo-
i fell back again in another deaths
swoon.
What a fool I was to talk to her about
lood doctor'! murckr," aaid Halliday,
ineui
i'
S59
running tp the door to call the servant!.
But this time all their efforts were uni.
vailing to recall her to herself,and theyhad
carried her to her bed-reom about five
minutes when Fairfax himself returned.
He was by her side in a moment ; he
held her in his arms ; ht directed prompt
and judicious means for her recovery, and
in about a quarter of an hour Margaret
opened her eyes again and found her head
resting on her husband's bosom.
Who can tell the emotions of that mo.
ment ! Love, confidence, fear, dou bt, sus.
picion, mingled in the most strange and
fearful chaos that ever found place in hu.
man heart. She there lay and sobbed,
and Fairfax soothed and supported her, ut.
terlyignorant of all that was passing within.
She grew a little calmer ; but fits of deep
and intense thought seized her, which be
eould not at all comprehend ; and though
•he declared she was better, and rose froa
her bed, readjusted her dress, and strove
to appear as ordinary, her manner was*
di^rent from that of the frank, straight.
^irwurd, warm-hearted Margaret Grahaa
.««Ujhi wer iiusMsnu was paiDtu as weii lil
alarmed. She was cold, absent, thought
&di aod sometimes she gazed at him witij
^•a full of tenderness and a&ction^
253
•eeaied to shrink from him with «
My shudder. Then she would fall into
ftveries so profound that he would spe^k
iriihout her hearing him^ and start wbco
^ repeated his words^ m T caught In
le guilty act. The ^)nii tt in her
mat was terrible durii,- all that liv«t
ag day and the night iml followed.
)raetimes the emotions of different kinds
mU come upon her all at once, somer
kimes present themselves singly. Now
love would be triumphant, and she would
Vy to herself that it was impossible
k could be guilty ; such deeds w^re
pot in his nature; and she would resolve
► tell him all ; but then again she would
joollect that he had told her the news of
er marriage to another had well-nigh
Iriven him mad— that it had changed hi9
ptture and his character— that for some
* he had hardly known what he did.
Jhe would ask herself, if she did tell him,
M the dreadful suspicion should prove
-je, what was to follow then ? It bad
sllrnigh turned her brain ; but still s|m»
kused and pondered, weighing all the
plvMi^atauc68, ihlukiiig over all ihie eyeiUily
^ iitill she (bund fearful evidence 9gaini^
ihieh she had nothing to oppose but lo^e
'-* IqW« coofidenoe. At oqa m^^iMit
SS4
<*• thought that any thing would be belter!
^fiLTL'^'""'*'^ '^''"'"' ""'^^he det«.
^Tl^fl *° 'P!?'' > *»" t''^" her 00*
jBge^ftiled her. She feh she dared not •
»llh« happmess forever. It was pluck.
ingthe fruit of the tree of the knowledj
of good and evil, the taste of which wonid
bnng death into the Eden of her love.
She thought what would be herfeeiinmif
he hesitated, if he faltered, if all could not
be^explained clearly .of what must be
J»r conduct If her dreadful doubts wen
TOnfirmed-^f the new struggles that must
^tl T/f^^^ ""guish and thefeaJ
tiwtivould be in store; and she fancied
»atignorance-^ven partial ignorance-
T:7 •X'tter than more certain knowledge.
^ength^e resolved to k-lieve him inno.
•««, to forget what she had seen ind
«Mrnedrto_^trust implicitly that all couU
f^^}^'^^^- To -believe! to forget! to
trust,! Those are things beyond man'.
Will to accomplish. She felt it— she felt
±^»^^^''^iAMkye, and forget, and
tftist, why^not speak at once? Luther
4»art failed her, and hermind vacill«tadi
•Mw^TO convictions and linesof conducti
naoompatible with one another.
vWti»d W ' ey«a tiwt!aigl^a^«iMiMi
255
t jjfle and wan, and still sad and thoughtful.
I Fairfax seht for a physician ; but wiat
could the man of healing do ? He felt her
pdse ; he declared her somewhat h^stpr-
ical. He could see nothing more. He
ordered her some insignificant draiight.
He could do nothing less. Fairfax que^C
tioned the servants as to whether any thing
had occurred to agitate or alarm their mis-
trpss during his absence. They knew of
nothing. He questioned Margaret her-
wlf, and she burst into tears and did not
answer. The tone of her mind was sha-
ken with the struggle. The natural
frankness of her character was overawed
by a great terror, and though now she
longed to speak, she could not.
Fairfax was puzzled, grit ved, alarriied,
somewhat offended. Another day pasdej
and another. The phvsician saw ^
twice, and hintrd that there was no dw-
ease—that there must bp somethJWg men-
tal. Fairfax tried to soothe ; but the de-
lay had rendered that conduct still m6fe
difficult, which she had at first shrunk
worn, and had given suspicion stroiiger
— - «j^« u^j siiiiiu. ine lacis iiad ar-
ranged themselves more clearly. Two
•rtwles of the dead man's property seem-
M dearly traced to her husband's pos.
255
Ule and wan, and still sad and thoughtful.
Fairfax seht for a physician ; but wftat
could the man of healing do ? He felt her
pulse J he declared her somewhat hj^sfpr-
ical. He could see nothing more. He
ordered her some insignificant draiight.
He could do nothing less. Fairfax que^.
tioned the servants as to whether anything
had occurred to agitate or alarm their mis-
tress during his absence. They knew of
nothing. He questioned Margaret her-
self, and she burst into tears and did not
answer. The tone of her mind was sha-
ken vn'th the struggle. The natural
frankness of her character was overawed
by a great terror, and though now she
lonped to speak, she could not. ; ' .
256
session. He had suddenly, as Ke ae.
knowledged, become possessed of a sum
of money, which she knew must have
been about the amount on the murdered
man's person J he must have been near
the spot at the tiu e ; he never explained
how he had obtained that sum ; he studiJ
ously avoided naming the dead. She
tried hard not to believe it, not to doubt,
not to suspect; but still she could not
avoid a sensation of shrinking fear when
he touched her.
Fairfax perceived it, and his spirit took
fire. His brain, too, seemed to give way.
He grew cold, and haughty, and stern.
He called Margaret — his Margaret-
« Madam," and, at length, on the morJ
ning of the fifth day, he started at day.
.break from the bed which had become a
jplaceof torture for him, and which MarJ
gaiahad bedewed with her tears; and
telling his servant that he should most
hkelynot return all day, he went forth,
f W ^^^ ^'^^ way in search of utter solitude
tpVi^firds the moors.
]&•
.^:.
357
THE FOURTH. «>^r
HE CLEARING OF THE t>Alt.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE DISCOVERY. ^
It Was a clear, fresh morning, in thfe
refy infancy of autumn ; the air wascodl
ind fre§; the sky was checkered with
WssihJT douds. Fairfax took off his hat
lo let the wmd come freely upon his buri*.
lag tow. It seemed to revive him, td
balm his thoughts ; and they arranged
Mifirjiselves into more regular trains as he
MTfdked on and began to climb the hill.
1 here is something dark and mystermud
anderthis," he said to himself. " Whftt
Jan It be ? To suppose her guilty of any
m a<;t, of any deceit whatever, is out of
he question-^and yet this is very Strang©.
\ What have I done to alieniate her afi
pction^and so suddenly, too ! , In a m6.
nient—in orte brief moment— in the tmdk
M our great<ist love and haooiness. to m^
wcpmpiet© and terrible a* change is, in*
wed, beyoftd all explanation. Bat it emi
MH b^ endured longer— her afifection k
i^her eottfld^tiee. Siie shrinks fhwi
9
258
me— she does not trust me. * We niujtl
part ;" and Fairfax set his teeth hard, am
nourned over broken hopes. " We musn
part," he repeated, " after so brief a pJ
rjod of happiness, after such a short dreanj
. of passionate love— we must part ! I shall
ever love her still ; but she shall shrink
from me no more. She shall no longer
tremble at the approach of the husband ofl
her choice. Oh, God ! this is very
t>bear." , . /
He went on climbing the moor by the
narrow path which had been followed bj
poor old Doctor Kenmore on the night ofl
Ms murder. He did not absolutely gazef
over ihe scene around, for he was far too
busy with the internal world ; but still
beautiful nature has her influence like the
spell of music, which lulls even when we
listen not, and hear unwillingly. The
wide, froe landscape, the moor all purple
with the heath, the long lines of light and
»hade, the blue aiiy tint that spread over
the whole, the flitting sh dowa as they
wandered across before his TjnobservaDtl
eye, the fresh, free air were impressive ofl
harsh in his thoughts was
.tirod's beautiful creation ;
%aore benevolent spirit seemed to pervadel
A II «Lm* •«••■■
JXii iiiai M SB
259
me atmosphere than in any dwelling
made with hands, and when he had nearly
I reached the top of the ascent, ho paused,
and sat himself down on a boundary.stone
marking the separation of t.wo parishes.
'«P(X)r Margaret," he -.aid, " I will make
j one more effort. She suffers, I am '-are.
' I will try once more.
By a strange coincidence he had seated
himself within a yard or two of the very
spot where the body of Doctor Kenmore
had been found. His back was turned
toward the ruined cottage or hut which I
have mentioned, and bis face toward Al-'
lenchurch and Brownswick. All was
still and silent | the grasshopper was
heard, but that was all. A crow winged
its slow flight along, but naught else was
seen to stir in the wide air ; and on earth
the only moving thing was a wreath of
blue smoke which rose up from a cottage
chimney down far below, and curled slow*
!y up till it had passed the line of the hill
and caught the fresh breeze. *
One could have heard the tread of a
beetle, and Fairfax distinguished the fall
of a focrtstep behind him. It was a dull
and heavy step like that of a peasant ; but
he did not wish his thoughts to be disturb-
•d e? en by a rude " Goai-moming^" mi
,g !iJS
%0Q
ih^reiore he paidno atljen Joe, ko^pm.. .,,
eyes lixedina forward dinction oveSr the
cjecleviiy of thr moor. The step came
QjQaer and closer, so near ihat Fuirikx
iboMght, >' The fMlov/ ^ ill run over me,"
'Wftien suddenly he bei rd a rush and 'a
^trqggle, and a loud voice exclaim—
*' Ihmn thee, wouldst thoq kill him as
^m kiUedst the old dootorr' and at the
mm moment a large sf one flew past him,
slightly brushing his shoi Jder and ffrazioe
hi^ cheek. ^
As may well be supposed, Fairfax
started up and turned rqund, when he be-
^^Id, within two y^rds of him, the idiot*
Towiray Hicks, strugirling in the strong
gjNiSp of Jacob Halli^ay. ^
V *< Op my life and soul he h^ nearly
mm it/' said the man, holding him ^va^
ly. *vj, hope he did not hit ypu, ^r.
Another minute and he would hav^ dash-
m your brains out.
^^;*Ji«any thinks," answered Fairfa:^*«b|^
this must go on no longer, Halliday. W^
«nW tj^ him. The ur ppy creature
mil4i>Q put underrest . 4... Here, w^
J|ii^ tift his arms Wi^/ v $iik haudker^
^u^ a|id take him d. mo Brownswick.
Ife /Should have he^ . ^o^Bmd iuespme
jliljflum ye^^ ago."
261
!g hjs
n over the
step came
at Fitirfex
))
?vej me,
&h and a
jxclaim-—
ill him as
ind 9tthe
past him,
d grazing
Fairfex
5n he be-
the idiptj
he $trppg
d nearly
you, sir*
ly- ¥(?
cr^atjUre
^ere, Wf
k^nsvvick.
<!>
Ajr, that he should," sa
Kday, aiding to bind the idit
not done without a tremendous
aid Fairfax,
Jeeob Hiir
<i
I always said so.
** Now his le
ch wa«
uggle5
<f
his
.*gs," sail
own cravat will do."
«* But if we tie his legs, sir, howci^n he
walk to Brownswick ?" asktd HaJJi,dttry>
naturally f nough.
"Do it for the present, at all events^"
replied Fairfax, *• we can loose him a
little afterward ;" and Jacob did as he
was.dfrected.
It was all done very rapidly, although
the ijdiot resisted vehemently, and w&i
very vociferous, shouting out, " I won't
be hanged — 1 won't be hanged, you ve«-!
itiil*. There must be a crowner's quest
f^l won't be hanged."
Seeing that he was fully impressed wirii
^)e Idea that they vvfTe going to hanghioi*
Fairfax assured him, noi only ihuit j$i^i
Was not the caso, but that nobody wm
going to hurt him in any way. V^hen b«
was s«'curtd comphttly, so as to be un^
able to mov€^ hand or foot, Fairfax thoiioh*.
ed Jacob Halliday's arm, saying, *'Com»
to a little distance. 1 wish to speak with
you for a moment."
"Now they're going to fetch. a xop$p^
:',
262
criedTommy Hicks. «0h ! I won't be
hanged— I won't, I won't," and making
an Sfortto run he fell forward, and there
lay howling.
" Now, Halliday," said Fairfax, when
they had goae about fifty paces distant,
"you just now used a very strange, but
most important expression in speaking to
the poor wretch. I heard you distinct y
say, " wouldstthou kill him as thou kill.
edst the old doctor.' " \ ^^
« I was a fool for my pains, sir, re-
plied the man, looking down sullenly.
"I think not, Halliday," said Allan
Fairfax ; " you were acting a good part
in saving my life, which was, at all events,!
in danger, and you gave way to a good
and generous impulse in wh.it you said.
«* 1 did save your life, ten chances to
one, Sir Allan," answered the man, "for
in another minute he would have knocked|
your brains out with that monstrous big
■ stone ; but I was a fool, nevertheless, for
saying what I did, for of course now you
will go and tell all about it ; and I shalU
- " #4 fn enpnk too. and sret myself into"
trouble
99
U
For saving my life you shall be well
savmu -. ^ , ,
Fairfax, " and th(
law of England requires no man to ge^
rewarded.
203
I himself into trouble, as you calj it. Yoir
can never be called upon to say anything
that can injure yourself. I partly divine
your objections from what I have heard
of your pursuits ; but in giving evidence
in regard to the horrid deed to which you
alluded, no question can be pressed upon
you which can at all tend to criminate
lyou. Of this I pledge you my word, and
would explain further if I knew the cir-
Icumstances."
Jacob Halliday rubbed his head.—
I" Well, sir," he said at length, "you did
le a kind turn a day or two ago, and I
|arn sure you are a man of honour, and
iron't repeat a word of what I am going
s£fy without my consent."
*> Of that I give you my word," ans-
wered Fairfax ; *' but I telF you fairly,
lailiday, I shall give infornxation to the
lagistrates at once of what you did say to
[he idiot when you tc*me up, so that an
ivestigation must take place, and it is
luch better for you to have good and
friendly advice as to what your own course
Ihould be during that .investigation, than
) ^0 to it unprepared, and perhaps con^-
lit yourself,'*
'That's very true, sir," said Jacob
[alliday, " \ery true, indeed; and I
''^^'
464
^.ii*'e uiten thought of telling all too, and
tijould have done ir, if it had not been for
^ar of getting mvself into trouble. (
should hive i'rap ' over that, how, ver,
.if I hud seen any other poor f How nc
^iised ; but I thought it was no good when
there wns only the idiot to bl am?, for it
was he who did it, and I saw him."
** But let mo hear thr^ whole pirriculars,
Hallivlav," sai 1 Fuirfix. "You might
have placed yourself in very unpleasant
circumstance's."
"Not I;" repliod the labcjrer, "I
rtever touched a p^nny, and ku'^w nothing
about it, but that it was d )ne and who did
it. The way of it was* this, sir, and as I
am going to tell you every thing, I hold
you to your honour ih ^t you won't say a
wo ^ — [low t le bruta 'is howling ; I
Wisii he would iiold his tongue." Aler
this exclamation he proceeded as follows:
JACOB HiiT .iday's tale.
*' Tou see
ti(ftt. There
teed arid clothe, and not able lu do a hand's
Ir ( was driv n todespera-
.vao my wife and m> boy to
turn to help. My
lltigs a-week, and
#as one and
wages were seven
he rent of
sixpence. I ha
shil
cottagi
■e
five and
869
llipenoe to keep and cover three person^
and that only as long as I was well and
iiParty. B« n and 1 spoke to our nmster
about it, »nd he trtuttd us like do^'s, bet
cuusf he knrw \v« could ^ii no uut-dt>or
jclitf from the Union, and ilmt we should
do any thing rather than be driven iulo a
pl^ce which is worse than ^ prison, have
all our little goods sold, and be forc» d to
live separate from our wivcsand cbildrcn.
One day, however, he was cursmg the
euine, which had diimag«d some of hie
Pi >p8, and said he wonderr d the labour-
ei: who came tt asing him about low
wage- did not he Ipihemsdvesio victuals,
whi' .here was plenty of it running io
the firld' S>), sir, [ took the hint, and
turned poucner ; but I was not a bit more
obliged to Farmer Stunjps, and oftea
thought, and said, too, that he ought to be
one of the first to suffer, for drivmg
nwn to do what was not right, just tc
pinch something out of their pay. Well,
sir, about that time, Tommy Bicks went to
live with lien, I had had the offer of him
and five shillings a wei k to ke< p bim^,
but my wife said ^hr'd \u v. r eat i rnoratl
after he came into th^ house, and 1 had »
^re&t hatred to the 1 mip, loo. However,
il Beft'a I saw Mr a very often, and b»
«66
*ome how took a great fancy to me, and
foun i out what I was about with the game
forthoughheisabornnatural, heT«
■ cunnmg as the devil ; and he used "
come out and help me, and wonderful how
sharp he was at it. I have often thought
he must have been a bit of a beast himself
Mme that. business of the fire in Farmer
Stumps's rick.yard ; and I know Z
always suspected 1 did it. I did not, hoj.
ftwl ^'"•^ •^°u "7 ^'"■''' "'o^sh I knew
It wasgomg to be done-tlmt I don't deny.
But I was very sure that, with one thi4
or another « would go hard with me if
JT ''n"!^' poaching. I did not leave
i,lf "" '''"K"°'*^'">«'anding,and though
"was a bad time of year, I uled to go out
usprff • f P°' ''°"'"S. and especially
ZtZ ?'"\,"5 *, ^°°^ '^"'^^ ■■°""d about
that old tumb led-down hut there, for it is
a regular walk for all sorts of game from
innh^*"^^ r^? ''°PP'"'^' ^^here there is
such a deal, down to Pemberton's farm
fields ,„ the hollow. Well, one night
^hen poor Ben was so ill. I nnm« H°u,n
nere and set all my traps and Vhingsrand
got^into the hut to watch what would come
SmL Hnlf -L^"^- ""^ '^" '*'■'«'•' Tommy
joined
me; and a curioui
267
way he was in that night to be sure — mad*
i der than ever, if possible ; for something
had gone wrong wilh him up at Ben*s,
and he kept mutterinjT, and cursing, and
lau«;hing, till he half frightened even me.
I could hardly keep him quiet. At last
we heard a gulp and a flapping, and I
knew it was an old cock pheasant had got
his neck in a noose, which 1 had stuck
between two bushes just in his walk, and
I ran and got him out in a great hurry,
for I was not likely to get many, and this
was a wonderful chance, for it was after
roost time. 1 found afterward that he had
a lame wing, which was the reason he
kept walking so late. I should have told
you the moon was shining very clear;
and when I had got my bird I happened
to look up to the eastward there, and saw
a man coming down the path. So 1 crept
back to the hut upon my hands and knees.
But when I got back Tommy Hicks was
not there. There was never any know-
ing what he would do the next minute,
and I was resolved to look after him as
soon as the man was past, for I thought he
would spoil the sport. Looking out
through the chink of the door, I soon saw
that the person who was coming was good
old Doctor K|pmore ; but I took oo noMcei
41
269
L ' '°'"'. 8"er the nalura ; but inc .'
he got ,0 thos. tall bush.^you ^e^X,
up JU.np>d Tommy HickTfrom hA- ^•
them, and hit him n „rjl, kT '"'"'
back of ,he head vvit a^sLl^'bir "^
gaJfon loaf, and do»r„ kulhe ,1 V.
ptJeman, just like an oxln the sh^^L^^
I ran out as hard as [ em. .1 ,'*'"'''«•
h«ld of the devil jL The'h^H T"^"
stone up to hit him a^'h. ThS'J*''
plenty of hard words be veen . , '''
"•ay think, «nd 1 Iml n : ITjnA L7°'
dashed h..s brains out for hfm f u '""'*
wer^. just like a fo j S'h^T; f'^fh"!;
» right to hit the doctor, because th.''
tor *a,J hit him ; a„d I 'eo Jd „ot find Jr "
my^n to hurt the natura w1 1
Mt^ at the poor old manTf ^^''™ '
<laite dead. There wT,"/ k ""1 '^ '^^
.*aiu„dif.,t''so"sirat"mZ';;';':;-"
not knoiv what to do. TormL iT . J^"*
sneaked a bit away UmI ,s Ze 'J'' 5''''
standing «„d lookin. t 71""'^ "I'^'
minutes, I heard so,,;. ZjZu '^ "'"
distance, and thou.l X L4 , ""Ij""
Wan In r„n U '- „" *" ''« ' could do
<norrow, as to what I shmiM^ u '" *^
»gr-dater,ibi:;4ti1i%tt"X
1 shoiil
dd."
\wn
sure. But when the morning cttfflfe I
Uncled there would be no use of telling
of tht idiot unless some one else was ac-
cused; and I said to myself, too, * if you
do tell, they will ask you what you were
doing down there at the hut, afid youMl
get into trouble,' and so I held my tongue
till this blessed day."
" But I have heard that he was robbed
as well as murdered,'' said Fairfax, « and
a large sum of money taken from his per-
son."
" And so he was, sir." answered Jacob
Halliday ; « but it was all the idiots dd-
in*, for he is desperate cute after what he
calls praperly ; and it would be a go6d
thing if one Could get hiin to tell Wherfehft
put^.t all. I have asked him more thdfi
once ; but I never could get at it, for h^ is
as cunning as a magpie, and hides awajr
things in all sorts of holes; and now, &ir,
I should be glad to know what I had be^t
do."
"There seems to me, Halliday, only
one thing for you to do, namely, to g6
attack
•mation
idiot made upon md, and relate how you
ihtcrfered to save me, as well as the word*
jNm spok4» td the idiot when yeii ntx up*
27(y
You must then mv^ vAn„ ^ -j
regard fn ih.. ij ^ . ^^"' evidence in
regard to the old man's death. If ^J^
ZtjT """'' ^'^"^ '' '^- hut, you et
refuse to answer. Thpv hnv^ J'"" can
man, so as to fiv hi - ^ ^^^' ^^^^
"I think not," answered Fairfax « f„,
your very exclamation, in coS'u^t
2 assistance, is presumpt^^A^
you had no share in the de^d yoLllrT
&0 It IS, sir," replied Hallidav « »,
least it ought to be." "«"way, at
. "And it will be," said Faiifax • "hut
you cannot help seeins that ThV »ff •
must now beinvLiga.edVorough /a^T
depend upon it, the onl> way! escil'
suspicion yourself, is to give LZJ'D^'
nation i, is in your powf; to aS wit
out, of coursft. dninX „„.. ...._ ^^'^^'"-
nate yourself. " We °XlT' hlv^ tS
trouWe to get him down to BrownswiTl
sin afraid: but we pun nK»»,„ ".";'-«.'
«t AUenchurch.'^ °'*""" assistance
271
«0h, ay, we can get a cart, sir*' re.
[plied Jacob Halllday, who seemed satisfied
[with his companion's reasoning; "and,
[indeed, it is high time that Master Tom*
my was shut up, for he'll do more mis-
[chiefif we don't mind."-
" He has done too much already," said
Fairfax ; " in truth, the ways of Heaven
are strange and wonderful. How many
destinies have been affected by the acts of
one miserable lunatic."
He knew not j^et how far his own fhte
and happiness had been affected.
The young baronet's expectations were
fulfilled to the utmost in regard to the dif-
ficulties of getting the idiot down to
Brownswick. He resisted, he refused to
walk, he threw himself down upon the
ground, he bit with his teeth, like a wi,d
beast when any one strove to raise him,
and it was not till the assistance of two
more strong men had been obtained that
he could be forced on as far as Allen-
church. There, however, a light ciirt
was procured, and Tommy Hicks being
placed therein, the rest of the way was
easily performed. Much was the wonder
and admiration of the townspeople to seo
the well-known idiot brought uAo the
place in a cart, bound hand and foot^ and
272
Sir Allan Fairfax following, vilh a frj
«e«r upon the side of his fa^e A cro^
gathered as the vehicle proceeded, wh,*
had swelled to many hundreds by the ti™
It had reached the door of the 'I own S
Many too, were the questions asked ; b m
the only reply obtained was; that Tc ,U
Hicks had attempted to dash outFuirfb'I
Of a good deal of noise and confusion, h
T 'u"^ ''?™' "P *° "''^'^ •^joining
hW n^ '^l niagistrates usually Lj.
Wed. But what took place in the ju.S
room must have a chapter to itself
CHAPTliR XVIII.
THE MURDER OUT.
VI J ?fi*^'. *'*"'* magistrates are assem
Wed }" asked Allan Fairfax of the ^'
stable, whom he found in the hall
■™..sir, replied the other; "thev ■»
^Mltinff (or iw, .,, ,„„:j.. ..' ^ •'*
F^&x rf -""^ them directly," said
ff «*ffM , »nd u» aa ftnother mipM^ J„
«78
|w|» ushered into the presence of the tWQ
Ijustices. Both greeted him warmly, aD4
Impressed their regret to hear that Lady
Fftirfax was unwell ,• but the young bar,
onet, with a somewhat cloudy brow,
brought that part of the subject to a speedy
close, and tlien proceeded to say, " i have
come, gentlemen, to lay a charge of as-
sault against a madman in this neighbor-
hood, who has attempted to dash my braia*
lout with a stone. He is a very danger-
I ous person ; and I must say that I think it
extraordinary he has been suffered tp
wander about the country so lonj^.''
"Oh, my dear Sir Allan," re'plied the
chairman, interrupting him before he hacj
quite done, with a low laugh, " you know
every country town must have one fool at
least at liberty. Now, the people of
Brownswick are all so wise, that we could
not find a more inoffensive one on whom
to bestow the freedom of our city. But t<^
be serious, the matter should have beeu
takan up before, ..ad phal.1 be mw.''
"I am afraid ihat the fact of its not
having been takcu up before," answered
Sir Allan Fairfax, *» has led to % cata«-
tophre of a very painful kind. I really
m not aware of the fbrjTial inode of prp^
mding, but I have information tq giye^
274
r
which can afterward be reduced to prooer
ishape, and which may tend, I trust, to bring
to light the facts connected with the Tiolent
death of a gentleman in this town about
two years and a half ago."
. Fairfax spoke upon tfie subject in a stiff |
and hesitating manner, which showed the
pain that i: still gave him to refer to one
who had once, for a few short hours, call.
ed Margaret Graham his wife ; but the
magistrates, with their curiosity suddenly
awakened, paid no attention to the mode
of the intelligence, and instantly over,
whelmed him with questions. He replied
succinctly, stating what had occurred to
him on the moor, and the words which
Jacob Haliiday had uttered.
"lam inclined to believe," he said,
" that Haliiday is willing to give his evi.
dence without prevarication or disguise.
What he told me, I cannot, of course, re.
peat, nor would it be any benefit to do so;
but I am sure that, if questioned, he will
throw light upon an event which has
hitherto remained in darkness. 1 believe
a^so that it will not be found impossible,
treatment, to gam, perhaf
iot himbclf, some clu
of the
eon of
unhappy
property which was upon the per.
le deceased gentleman, or at all
275
[eyents to obtain more subtantial proofs ^f
the fa«ts than the mer§ testimony of one
witness of no very good repute."
, " Leave him to me, leave him to me,"
Isaid Sir Stephen Grizley, '« I am accus-
Jtoraed to deal with my friend Tommy, and
I will get the truth out of him by one
means or another ; but we will hear HaU
liday's statement first. He's a terrible
fellow after hares and rabbits, but not so
bad a man as he is called. Poor Tommy,
it seems, is somewhat worse than he was<
said to be ; and now, gentlemen, you must
not object to my proceeding a little infor-
mally with Master Hicks, for you see
madmen are no formalists, and we must
humour them a little — Ah, here comes
Mr. Greensides. • Constable, bring in
Tommy Hicks and Jacob Halliday, and
while we take down Sir Allan's informa.
tion, you may just as well amuse our
friend Tommy in thi> corner with any
[thing you can get hold of"
*' He's awful uproarious, your worship,"
[said the constable.
** The more reason for nnttino" hJjvk m*r^
good humour," replied Sir Stephen;
show him my stick with the head carved
I upon it, and ask him if it is not like ita
master? You need not lock the doors.
viti
27«
jrou know Art would look bad ; but y™
can keep the good people out by tcJIi^
them to e«ll another day." • ^ ^
While the prisoner and his accu,e,
were being brought in, the case was ex
plamed to the other wonhy magistra' "
who had just entered, p/irfax's info '
ZTVu '*''"'"' ■»"'' '^^ """^ const"!
ed itseli the young baronet seating h b
self at the corner of ,he table, 'fomr
''^M ^t?""""^ in screaming ; but The
constable d,d not try hi.s powers^upon hil
.n vam ; and while Hulliday was bmu5
subsided mto a wild and incohLnt 2
Tersation wnh the officer and other m^S
who were admitted to restrain him in ca'e
^in^Zt / ''"'' u "'^ ^"-^ "f about ten
In the meantime Halliday made his de.
•nent to Fairfax m the slightest particu.
lar. He omitted, it i, true, all mention of
the motives Which had led him tX ruin-
OU8 hut upon the moor, and when Mr.
Hankum asked what took him there. h«
repi ittu
(^
question
I thoiight I was not to be asked
that
TU
You w« ttot to answer it unless yw. I dwuu
277
like," replied Sir Stephen GHdey ;
"there is a very great difference, Jacob»
between mtgistrates beinu permitted to
j ask questions and witnesses being obliged
[to answpr them."
" Wi^ll, then, please vonr worship, I
would mhor not," snid Halliday, with ^
[low bow to Mr. Hankum.
" The court is at liberty to guefeS^ Ja.
cob," said Sir Stephen, winkin^ at him^
and we have no great difficulty in the
present case. But now, tell me, what be-
came of all the money and other articles
jthit were upon the person of poor old Dr.
Kenmore at the tim.^ of the murder ?--.
Glerk, have you got a copy of the evi.
I dence before the coroner ?"
" Yes, your worship," replied the clerk,
and went to fetch it, while Halliday ans.
wered for his pirt,
" I don't know, sir. I never saw my
of them but once, and then I caught Tom.
my looking at the head of a stick which I
I could swear was the poor gentleman's.
He ran away as soon as he saw I was
sditchft's cottjige, where he lives i
y^
III iiiiO inr», vjrriiji.
now since
iked that | he left my cousin Ben. I sho ild not
I *;on<^er if it was hid somewhere there.
iless fm ■ ftbuts."
278
"Can you give us a notion of where?'
asked the magistrate ; '^ do you know tl
cottage well ?"
,. ," Can't say I do," answered Jacob Ha
M-yj "I haven't been in it for ."j
ten years, because you see, you worshi]
ahe^ my wife's aunt, and wWc, 3
<?J1;^" *''?f'^".* reason," replied Si,
.^•^"- , . ^"^ yo" positively know
nothing of the rest of the property ?"
;' Nothing at all," answered Halliday.
Then you may fall back a little"
«aid the magistrate ; « but wait there, i\
you will have to sign your deposi,io„!'a5
m may want to ask some ■ loreques ioM
■ nTf '"'l" "'^ «°"«g« searched!"
^^Halljday then retired from the room,
not feelmg qu,te comfortable : for there
was a consciousness that some suspicion
Wtached to hunself which he couK
shake off, and he would have given twoorl
Jree fingers of h,s right hand to know thJ
something would occur to fix the gujll
^^NT '""''1 y "P°" Tommy Hicks.
fi.-;i.!^^'_..r '■"-'I Tommy," saM
cane
to
The idiot had by this time quite for.
27D
_, itten his terrors, and walked forward to
:he table without hesitation on hearing the
tiagfstrate's message ex j^ctly in his ^wn
ords. /
^ Ah, Tummy, how do you do V aid
iir Stephen ; - Take a seat. Tommy-.
m Mr. Hicks a chair; and let us look
I me cane. Now, Tommy, did you ever
lee a prettu • head to a caiie than that ?
»ee what a great nose there is. Now,
|tell me, if I had a mind to change, would
|you give me the head of old Doctor Ken.
Imore'scane for 1iat ?"
Tommy Hicks lai nrhed, but'he replied'
k A "^ "^^^^^ * ^''^P^^"' shake of the
head. That was something gained, for it
[seemed like an acuiiission that he had it to
me. His next answer, however, destroy.
ed that impression.
I " And why not, Tommy ?" asked the
magistrate.
^'Because his was all gold, and that's
Inothing but wood," replied Tommy
nicies, H have seen his a many times."
" But suppose I cover that all with gold
=- anu aa f said the persevering mag.
The idiot's eyes twinkled, but stillh e
quite for.l!f ^^^ cunning for the snare; andh o
^ n*^wered, ■
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280
«f
No, no, that won't do."
« And why not ?" asked Sir Stephen.
*'I want that hi ad of a stick very much,
and you can do nothing wirft it."
" Oh yrs I can," crit d Tonmiy Hicks,
thrown off his guard ; ♦» but what do you
want it for?"
" I wan't every thing of old Doctor
Kenmore's I can get," replied Sir Ste-
phen, apparently not noticing the former
part of this reply, ** just out of spite, Tom-
my. I want to know what become of
them all, and I'll give any man who tells
ine something very nice."
At the same time he beckoned to the
constable, who came up, and a whispered
conversation took place bctwrr n the mag-
istrate and the officer, which seemed to
excite some uneasiness in the idiot, iox he
moved to and fro on his chair, and at
length exclaimed,
"What is that all about.?"
"Nothing to you, Tommy," replied
Sir Stephen, "only T am going to give
these gentlemen some marniulado."
^^/* Orange mnrmalade'?" fiskrd Tommy
mcKs, wi(h a very voracious expression
of countenance.
^J* Yes," said Sir Stephen, "do you
like it;— bring some constable* Now,
I'll tell
a whol
nfiarm>i
put all
doctor
But
remain
with ai
Sir Ste
out on
sides.
Bltrht {
I'll If^ll
for Ja(
to be \
"Oil
« Jacol
all. To
"No
ins did
«N(
the ma
dipped
"Tl
tome.'
*^Nc
feaii a
a dull I
fao6^h
r Stephen.
^ry niuchy
my Hicks,
I at do you
1(] Doctor
I Sir Ste.
\\e foriiner
>ite, Tom-
u come of
who tells
nf d to the
(Vhispf red
I the niBg.
seemed to
iot, for he
ir, and at
* replied
r to give
Tommy
Kpression
'do you
Now,
I'll tell you what, Tommy, Til give ftm
a whole pound ofthe most delicious orange
wiarm>ilado, if you will tell m« where you
put all the things that were about the old
doctor when you spited him on he moor.**
But the idiot onlv shook his head, and
remained firm, till the constable returned
with an immense large jar of sweetmeat ;
Sir Stephen, dipping in a spoon, put some
out on a plate, and sent it to Mr. Green-
sides. , n ,
" ril tell," cried Tommy Hicks, at the
sinrht of temptatioti to him irresistible.
I'll tell, if you promise not to hang me*—
for Jacob H il lid ay always says t ought
to bo hanged."
" Oh dear, no," replied Sir Stephen;
"Jacob's a fool. • We'll not hang you at
all. Tommy."
** Nor put me in the stocks, as oil Jenlf
ins did.?" asked Tommy Hicks.
" No> nor put you in the stocks," repli-
the magistrate ; ^nd, at the same time, he
dipped the spoon in the jar again.
*q'll tell," cried the idiot. "Give It
tome."
"No, no, Tommy. Tell first, attd
feait afler," said Sir Stephen ; butseeintf
a dull shade come over the unhappy niftti'l
faoei he added quickly, " I'll give you a
283
taste, just to get your tongue in order,
^ake him that spoon full , constable."
' The order was immediately obeyed, but
the quantity given was skilfully appor-
tloned to stimulate rather than appease
appetite ; and after Tommy Hicks had
.swallowed the whole at one large mouth-
ful, he cried,
"Now, I'll tell. But you'll give me
the whole pot V
" The whole," replied Sir Stephen.
** Nobody else shall have a spoonful, un-
less you stop answering; then Til give
some to one, some to another, till it is all
gone. Now, tell me. Tommy, like a man,
where did you put the notes and money V*
" The yellow ones in the thatch of Ben's
cottage, and the s. r in my pouch," re-
plied Tommy Hicks ; " ^he yellow's there
now. 1 counted it by the moon t'other
night."
The magistrates looked at the notes of
the coroner's inquest, and asked,
" The head of the stick, what did you
do with that ;"
"It's at Mother Grimsditdche's," said
i hole hj the pig-sty. Ay,
that is what you are wanting, I know well
" And the buckles put of his shoes I
lagistrates
At. _
iiie
91
asked the mi
»
But T
a minutC;
ter, sneei
nevolent.
the jar i
eagerly,
" I p
through t
took it a\
Fairfa
mand o\
was an
those pr
morbidly
men ha\
off his ct
"Gooc
He sa
and Sir ^
incident,
the idiot.
" Let
take his '
"No,
with a w
better tf
goes tic'l^
ing thinj
"Tha
said the 1
n order.
5."
syed, but
^ appor-
appease
cks had
B mouth-
give me
Stephen,
nful, wn-
I'll give
1 it is all
Lea man,
noney ?"
of Ben's'
ch," re-
iv's there
n t'other
\ notes of
did you
's/' said
y- Ay,
now well
But Tommy Hicks did not answer for
a minute, leering ai Fairfax with a sinis-
ter, sneering expression, by no means be-
nevolent. Sir Stephen put the spoon in
the jar again, and the idiot exclaimed
eagerly, pointing at the young baronet,
" I poked them into his leather-box,^
through the chink, and then he came and
took it away, and stole my buckles."
Fairfax had usually a good.deal of com-
mand over himself, except where there
was an immediate wound inflicted upon
those prejudices, or loug-nourishod and
morbidly acute sensations, of which most
men have some ; but now he started up
oflT his chair, exclaiming,
"Good Heavens!"
He sat do.^n again the next instant;
and Sir Stephen, without noticing the little
incident, went on with the examination of
the idiot. ^ ^^
" Let me see. His watch ; did you
take his watch ?"
"No, no," answered Tommy Hicks,
with a wonderful cunning look. "I knew
better than that. A watch talks. \\
goes tick, tick, tick. I will have no talk-
ing
srs
97
«(
shoes ?'' I said
thin„
Thank you, Tommy
the magistrate
ir
thank ycto,
think that will io
I
;f
S84
You may give hitn the pot, constable — but
atay, did you take any ihing else V
** Nothing but the big key," replied the
iditt ; " and that 1 dropped down on Ben's
jfloor that night; an J when I saw it in
fiejla's hands the next day, I would not
ask font, because Jacob hud said 1 should
be hanged if it was found out how 1 had
spited the old Doctor. Ay, he hit me
with a sticky and I hit him with a stone,
and that is all fair."
"Give him the pot," said Sir Stephen.
"I think we must c mmit him for trial,
geatlemen ; but, by your leave, we will
aoy nothing about the marmalade."
" Without which we should have done
no good," said Mr. Hankum.
** The great moving powers are rarely
•^n," replied the knight in the chair,
who was at bottom a man of sense ; **but
it is not only that : a scribe shows his good
discretion always in omitting every thing
that does not give digniiy to his narration.
Bveiy thing important in the world has
aonaething ludicrous in it — its marmalade,
ia fact; but history suppresses the ludic.
^ roi's, and we will suppress the marma-
* lade, lest some foolish writer should get
^M of the record, Mr. Greensides, and
bold us up to posterity as ' The Marmap
ladeM
one mc
rant, 1
Fair fa:
ture'e <
"So
silver I
1 had r
" 1 can
at Ben i
and jui
for Indj
not ope
more fi
found t
writing
felt a <
where 1
"Pra
more's (
look the
Mr. Gr<
"Cei
with the
from se
never h(
Eiiglan(
"Or,
th
tep
Si?l5i
265
lade Magistrates. ' And now we want but
one more testinnony. Make out the war.
rant, Mr Clerk. May I ask Sir Allan
i'ttirfax if he can confirm this poorcrea-
ture'e statement regarding the buckles V
" So far as having found a pair of large
silver buckles in my portmanteau, which
1 had no knowledge . of," replied Fairfax,
"1 can fully I had left my portmameau
at Ben Halhday 's cottage for several days,
and just when I was on the eve of sailing
for India I called and took it away. I did
not open it for some time, for I had things
more fitted for sea ; but when I did I
found the buckles. I put them in ray
writing desk, and have them now ; for 1
fe t a curiosity to know how they came
where I found them."
" Pray, were you aware of Doctor Ken»
moresdeath, Sir Allan, at the time you
{ook the. portmanteau away?" demanded
Mr. Greensides.
"Certainly not," answered Fairfax^
with the blood glowir)g warm in his cheek,
Irom sensations difficult to define. " I
never heard of his death till I returned to
iiiigiand, not lour months ago."
*^0r, perhaps, he would not have taken
""**•• the portmanteau at all," whispered
^ephen to Mr. Hankum. « I think
t.i^
|]
^
si;
f
^
■ t !
'^P
286
he ought to give the idiot something hand,
some ; but we must give him room in the
jail. Is the warrant ready ? Now,
Tommy, as a further reward for havino
told the whole truth, I have to tell you I
that you shall be removed from Mrs.
Grimsditche's, which I know you hate, to|
a fine, airy room in Brownswick, and ♦o
be lodged, boarded, and clothed by your '
grateful country."
" Perhaps with a hempen cravat," whis.|
pered Mr. Greensides. ^ ^
" Oh, dear, no, " answered the worthy i
chairman ; " every sort of folly is punish.
ed in England except the greatest. Tom.
my Hick's wisdom is too well known for|
him to run any risk."
The warrant was placed before the]
chairman and signed, and Tommy Hicluj
was quietly removed from the justice-room,
eating hi^ marmalade all the way. Jacobl
Halliday was then recalled to sign his de.
position, and an immediate search was
ordered tor the stolen property in the!
places which the idiot had indicated.
** I will send down the buckles imme]
diately,'' said Sir Allan Fairfax, as he]
rose to depart ; " if you are not sitting, l\
suppose my servant had better de]pe4
them to the clerk ?"
287
"To-morrow will be quite time enough,"
fe&id Sir Stephen, " for I think we shall
rise directly. Indeed, we might sit as
long as a hen without hatching such a
brood as came forth to-day. We are
really much obliged to you, Sir Allan, for
having brought this dark affair to light.
There can be nothing more disagreeable,
I may say painful, in a little neighbour-
hood like this, than to have suspicions con-
tinually hovering about, like dark clouds,
overshadowing from time to time very
good sorft of people.'*
Fairfax cordially agreed with him, and
went away musing. By some link, he
did not clearly see what, the events which
had just been brought to light connected
theniselves with the unhappy change
which had taken place in his domestic lift
He asked himself if Margaret could have
seen the buckles in his desk, for he recoK
lected that the alteration in her whole de-
I meanour was to be dated from that day
when he had sent her the key. But then
he asked himself again, and the questions
I were most painful, " Could Margaret
j-orrahamhave eAamined otiier parts of the
deak besides that to which he had direct-
ed her attention ? Even if she had, and
had fdund the buckles there, and had re-
cognized them, was it like her to •uspecl
her husband— him whom she professed to
love and honour above all men—from an
accidental circumstance like that?" thus
he proceeded to reason, without knowing
an the facts— a course which men are
sometimes obliged to pursue, but which
they do ptirsue much more irequpntlv
than 18 needful— and thus he went on
torturinor his own heart with inquiries
Which he could not answer. Neverthe
ess, for Fairfax's character was a pecu.
liar one in some respects, he drew a de.
greeof relief from supposing an explana.
tion of Marpraret^s conduct. That it should
have a cause, though an insuffici^m one,
was some comf>rt, and he said to himself,
as he entered the garden-gate,
. "We must have a full explanation:
frankness on both parts is the only thing
Which can save us from miserv. I shall
icon know whether I am to b^ wretched
-• ■. i*iii lu ut; wreicnea
br happy for life. Where is your mis.
f he demanded of the servant whom
tress ..,..v,^.
he found in the halL
"She's ih the back drawing-room, sir,"
fnA Mrtort It ^*,j» *.L^ ^11
^'-' "'-"» ««« erie loia me, toteli
fir6]iedl
as
|dU that she wished to see you as soon
Very well," cried Fairfax, and walfc
edon
)r to tuspecl
professed to
n — from an
thftt ?" thus
>ut knowing
h men are
but which
trequpntly
le went on
fi inquiries
Neverthe.
fis a pecu.
drew a de.
m explana.
mt it should
fici<mt one,
to himself,
:planation :
only thing
^ I shall
3 wretched
your mis-
^ant whom
'oom, sir,"
me, to tell
as soon as
26d
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DOUBTS REMOVBD.
With heavy heart, and aching hmd,
itfid langaid eyes, Margaret rose from her
bed ^ot long after FairfaJc had left her.
She dressed herself slowly, speaking not
one won! to her maid during the whole
time she was arranging her beautiful hair;
and then descending into the breakfast,
itwm, she rung the bell, and proceeded
mechanically to the ordinary task of the
morning.
" Let Sir Allan know that hreakfast i»
ready," she said to the servant, and was
falling into a fit of thought again when the
man's reply instantly roused her. ' >
"Sir Allan is out, my lady," he repH4
dd, « and he said he should not be back
till night." ^
« Not back tii» night f" exclaimed
Margaret. " Do you know where he is
gone to?" ,
• " No, my lady," answered the man ;
"he went out on foot." And as Margaret
mid Rothinir more, he Quitted ihd rmm-iu
"What im I d^ing?" thought MarU^
m^ "what have I done? His affection
• ••i^ed. i cAii iee it ia faie 6ym^ in
lii^iwy »oir, kihif iriiole n^saper^ ani I
if
ii
790
love him so fondly still. For the first
time in my life I have wanted confidence
and frankness toward a being whom I
love ; and how terrible is the consequence'
Oh, God ! what shall I do ? 1 will U\\
him all — let me consider — let mo try if
my brain has any power left — let me take
■ome resolution and keep it firmly. Is it
possible that Allan Fairfax could commit
such an act ? that any provocation, any
temptation could induce him to injure a
poor old man like that ? What ! gallant,
and noble, and kind, and gf-nerous as he
is, that he should do such a thing for any
consideration on earth! Oh, no, no, no!
—but yet the proofs— but I will not think
of them. It is impossible — I have done
him injusticip, and now I must do right.
I will tell him all ; I will humble myself
before him ; I will sue for pardon on my
knees, and beseech him not to take his love
from me, because F have been weak
enough, mad enough, to suspect himf-
Aere, there, I will think of it no more. I
will have no more casuistry, I will tell him
all, and till I have done so I will not a^
•M«» Kaaw*
*ss
J'*'
3XitS
She
Hen: ehe
became calmer upon this resolu.
flome breakfast
Mm attsMpied t» rrad I abt wm miw
991
in short, to fill up the time in any way,
lett her mind should revert, against her
will, to things she was resolved not to
think upon. " It will seem dreadfully
long m he return," she said to herself ;
"he will not return till night! Good
Heaven, if he should never return ! But
I must not think of thai either, or I shall
die;" and she gasped for breath.
Shortly after she rung the bell, and
bade the servant who appeared to tell hia
master, as soon as he returned, that she
wished to see him immediately. Th n
going into the back drawing-room, where
her little store of books was collected, she
took several down one after another and .
looked at their pages, but hardly saw their
contents. Often during the next two
hours, she took out her watch to see how
the time went, and thought the day would
never pass. Eleven— -twelve— half-past
^elve came, and she said, " Thank
Heaven, it is half.over—hark ! That is
his step on the gravel— he has oome back
sooner. He has not quite oast off his poor'
Margaret."
But though the thought was like a rar
« hope, she nevertheless trembled violent.
"^"We-Wini his itep'i fliiniitM^r^rf Iftfl
f
292
h«Il ; thB heard the servant deliver her
message, and she struggled for calmness,
aiie bad resolved what she should do
and her only fear was that the swimmiw^
brain and shaking limbs,and failini? breath
would render it impossible to doit/
Fairfax entered the room with a quick
•tep, and eyes turned toward her with a
look of some anxiety. That very anxiety
i|pokelove still unextinguished; it com.
forted, it strengthened her. She me
from her chair, steadied her steps by the
toble as he approached, and then taki'!i|r a
stepping or two forward, sunk slowly u^
her knees, clasping his hand in hen.
.^ Forgive me, Allan," she said, "forgive
me. I have made you unhappy. I have
acted wrong toward you-^4 have wanted
oonfidence--I have doubted and hesUated,
fcdlishly and madly. Forgive me, fenrive
your Margaret, and do not--^o not Uke
your love from me."
^ He raised her in his arms ; he i^ressed
m lips upon hers; he held her to his
h«*rt, and answered, « Any thing, iWbfga,
ret, if you love me." ®
*' Uh, Ihanfc you, thank you, Attan."
8l».8ai4 « yet hear me. Let me teUuH
While I have strength and resolution, an(k
tiM», pityiag AM £k my weakoM^ ^
298
fer all I have suffered during the last flv0P
terrible days, forgive your poor Mvgaret^
though you may indignantly call her mad
for having entertained the thoi^hts whicii
have nearly driven her so. You will bear
me, Fairfax, to an end, is it not so ? Yoii
will let me tell all without asking a qilet.
tion till it is done, lest my powers fail me^
and then you will torgr'*3 me all, Allan/'
"But put confidence .n me, dear gipl,'^f
he answered, soothing her, « and I ota^
forgive almost any thing." -'**
" Ay, there is my fault," said Marga«i
ret, with the tears m her eyes. **I wanl^
Qonfidence^for the first time in my life, I
dared not speak my thoughts — and that ti>
the only man I ever lo"ed in life. Biai
now I will atone--I will tell vou all ; b«jfe
first think of the punishment I have mt»
fered---thiafc of the torture of the lastfiv^
days, and let pity plead for me. Now 4b
will tell vou." 'Z
^ " Nay, sit beside me her©/* said F«f4
fax : ** you tremble, my love." yf
" I would fain kneel and teUJt at wiir'
SaiQ i?Jc4f
gare
lor as i cotem
near the tale I feel how wrong it baa been
w^ to ^ufe* you, and I diread that I mnjif,
not be able to make you eomprebend ifii^
«w»atiw» ekiirly^^iiB^^pi,! JwHi/dfe
i'
Si
294
longed to speak, yet Was withheld by a
thousand painful dreads." '
"Calm you rsolf, my Margaret, calm
youwelf," said Fairfax, tendeHy, "speak
think, I do believe, that I hav^ ever want.
M kindness or gentleness. Yet first let
rflnilr r" ^T having .sought this ex.
planat on first, without leaving me to ask
It, as I should have done this day. And
■w, my love, teii ms all." ^
" I will, I will," she answered, and yet,
« SI"?- t' ."l^ ^"y ^"'^ ^P^^^ upon
«a«bj«ct which I know is disagreeable to
^ .„! ■ . ^"^^ "'"'"y^ "^"'"^ed » with
me and with others. Some have even
Oeen DOW enounrh to rpmnrlr iir^^« ,
««dio«s avoidant: Tf T tmT^K
perwn m your conversation, and it has
rtruck me as strange ; for you cannot, my
dear husband, surely feel aught like eal-
ousy on the score of the past! You must
know, you must feel, that [ have nTvel
bved any one but you-lhat I am yours
^T have Keen, altogether from the
c^l will own it," answered Fairfax, "I
'SJi "'..*'"" ""y "ne "hould have
IS«vi»- »r° ^^ "" ''°'"- I know
3«o»*» mine, Margaret—mine only J but
205
yet, would you had never borne another
name than Marpnret Graham and Manra.
m Fiurfax. Bur it is very foolish-I
have been very foolish ; I will be so no
more. Spe«l<, lovr, I will not shrink from
the topic now. What more '"
"You remember Allan, ""she coniinti.
ed, sitting with her hand in his, « that one
day, at the beginning of this week, yorf
sent the kfy of your wriling-d.sk to me
for papers. Well, I found them at once.
as soon as I could open the desk, for that
IS difficult to do."
" 1 know it," replied Fairfax, "I should
have thought of that."
" I gave them to William," Manraret
continued, " and then returnrd to lock the
desk. I give you my word, dear Allan. i
™°v Iff -f . r'J'"'- '/'"'"''^ have h*t;d
myself.fl had even felt a curiosity; btrt
somehow ,n trying various wavs to open
the desk 1 had pulled it partly off the taWe"
and m shutting u 1 pressed It down."
"I understand," said her husband, «« it
aJII^^'" '■^P^f'^^argaret, "and in a*
doing a secret drawer came open, whew
A pairof Silver buokles,?' answewa
FwrfM, firmly, |'.which bed belodMd fc
poor Kenmore^ fcuow it."
206
I ••Thank God J" murmured Maivaret,
M • low tone, as she heard him pronounce
fte name m calmly ; . but she added, aloud
•*whidi were on his person when he left
me on the evening of that fatal mar.
"If *!.. y.\ "^^J?}" "® ®^^" now ^^rked
W«n his blofid."
- ■ ^ Ay ! I did not rema rk that," answered
l^arrfiix ; but surely, Margaret, that could
. Miearme, Allan— hear me out," she
*wd. " My fi rst sensation was horror at a
sight which recalled suddenly the terrible
dew* that had been done. I gathered up
the papers hastily, replaced them, and
tl(Mied the desk. Then came the question
suddenly, how came those buckles there 9
A wn^fused crowd of images, all terrible,
rushed upon me. It seemed as if some
one accused you ; and I felt as indignant
at It the charge were against myself; a
^emon seemed to recall all that was terri.
ble; your avoidance of his name— your
faaving been in the neighbourhood at the
Ume— your having suddenly received a
tmm of money to the same amount that
wa» upoQ his person, which you said you
would not explain — all came whiHing
ifwugh my brain tn a mofnent ' '-'^
•lA awlfid^, and I faintod^ .
297
" Suspicion— oh, what a dreadful thioMr
k suspicion !" said Fairfax. ,< .
" Most dreadful," answered ifargaret^
iiJf' ^? "°' suppose that 1 gave way to it*
When I had recovered, evtn as L was im^
covering, I strove to cast it from me. I
called It a folly, a naadness; but yrt it
presented itself in various forms— I kitew
that you were warm in temper— 1 koeil
that you had even then loved me but loo
well lor your own happiness— you had
told me that the news of my marriage had
almost driven you mad— that you knew
not at the time what you did. 1 thought
you might have met— a quarrel, and a
Chance blow might have occurred— I know
not what I did not fancy, or what I did not
struggle against."
*; I see it all my poor Margaret/' said
Fairfax. .
" No, not all," said Margaret, "hear me
yet a moment. One of those -who had
tound me lying on the floor was poor Ben
HttllidHy, who came to speak with me o^
some busmess, they said ; and as soon a»
1 had somewhat recovered. 1 resolved to
iiear wiiat he wanted, jn the hope of drivi
wg such terrible thoughts from my mind,
Uorget what he first spoke of; but when
w»t was done, he told me that he wanted
208
^LUIIT!, 'J'V'"**' l""" J'*"" """J « half
•»»-an^ he indicated the very day with
• dreadful exaotness-you had come to hi,
cottage ,n the gray of the morning, and
Jeturn. He showed me the key, Allan
iu t .7 "^ "" \T '='>^' '«''"•<' the
wall in the,, poor old man's house in
*rown8«rick. He hnd shown it to me thM
■ ♦ery day he died. H3 had it wirhS
when he was killed. Here it is • foM
•Hatched it from him in terror, lest it'shond
be shown against you, and then I fainted
«1^o' a^fj ""y Margaret," he said ;
•^b« why did you not tell me all this at
"I was wrong" she answered; "but
oh, Fairfiix, what had I not to dread if I
2SV"k^^'^'^'''«^^ I had to com
upon a subject you abhorred : if you ex-
Plained all. you would hate me for mv
would those doubts become V [ feared to
lose TOU anv ivair K I r • .. .
«n>».ki„i "j -.vt ■"'" 1 nesitaied and
toembled, and reurfed into myself, and felt
ttatj was weak, yet could not conquer
»y WoakneM-knew you were innocent.
299
yet had doubts still wringing in my eauM.
1 was wroDfir, vrry wrong, Allan ; but oh,
if you could t« 11 how I have sufTfred, what
anguish 1 have crdurfd, day hy day,. and
ni^ht after night, you would pity and for-
give nne. Oh, forgive nne, Allan, forgive
me" ^ I
" I do, my Margaret ; nay, I think you
weil.nigh justified for all but not confid.
ing every thing to me at once,'* Fairfax
answered tenderly ; " even for that there
18 much excuse. But never, Margaret,
doubt me again, never withhold your con-
fidence from me on any account. And
now, thank God, I can explain all, though
yesterday I could not have done «o." ♦
"Yet a word more," said Margaret j
"I want no explanation, Fairfax. Last
night you were angry with me I could
see; this morning you left me, saying you
woiild not return till night I saw that
your. love was passing away from me. I
felt it was my own fault. I sat down and
SiPiiggled wi'th mysrlf, and i conquered
Ifilt that no guilt could attach to Allan
Fairfax; that, wiatever were the cirdum-
stances^ i ought to believe naught ageing
him. Nay, I did really believe naught
against him, and I resolved at any cost to
Ml you and crave foj^iveness. Iha^
p 1
800
'•coomplished the task, and in doin* «
*ave freed my bosom from a serpent .hat
guilty, I woul.j not believe it."
" Yet you must hear the whole, love,"
before to.day : the good man made a mis-
take. It wu dropped in his cottage by
the same person who placed those buckles
m my portmanteau I had left there ; in ,
word, Margaret, by the murden^r of poor
hu.b8nd, he was not so. And now. Mar.
bmught to light who was the assassin, and
knJjv/^' ni''"^\'° '"y- *"'■"«>"» «ver
f^l' f , "!!-'"'"'■ •«°' *''«" »•« con-
fessed the fact, that these buckles had be.
tonjWd to the good old man he killed."
«;, J hen he has confessed I" cried Mar.
garet, with an exclamation of joV, "he
5.!lTtT»- ^''«» •»>«'« """'be no
more doubts"
th»l^. '" *" acknowledged
•tetmed Mawareti " when every inquiry
Has hitherto been made in vaia."
ID doihgao
serpent that
k no expla.
to oall you
lole, love,"
never saw
lade a mis.
cottage by
se buckles
fiere ; in a
^r of poor
I him your
now, Afar,
vered and
assin, and
)out ever
m he con.
8 had be*
riled.''
ried Mar.
joy, ** he
ui be no
for he has
property,
>wledged
itf ex
' mqmrj
SOI
Fairfax imiled faintly. "ImaddtlM
4(ic^v)ery, my Margaret, by a very singu*
lar coincidence," he said ; and at the
MRia time he put his arm round her, and
held her to his heart. " Do you know,
love, that, at the very moment when I
was sitting on the moor, and thinking I
could not five without Margaret, but that
1 would rather die than live without hei
k)ve, she had nearly lost a second who haa
ealied her wife on the very same spot
where the first fell, and by the very same
hand." ,
Margaret turned as pale as marble, and
Fairfax elasped her closer to him, saying,
" Do not agitate yourself, love. YoU
iee I am here— safe, unhurt." ^
"Oh, Fairfax," she answered, in a
low and trembling voice, «* if you bad
died then, when 1 was wringing your
heart hy injurious doubts and weak hesiu
tatiensi what would my fate hare been)
-^estraction ; it would have been nothing
else— ©r death. Good Heavcf I you hav^
a sear on yoorface, toor He must have
rtruek you. lOh, Allan, Allan I" and
iie hid her eyes and wept upon hii
bosom. J
-'•'He hurt mv hardly at all," replied
Fiir&x; ''fo he WHS seised kttb^miU
302
ment he was about to dash a larse •tono
upon my head, by a.poor man nZSZ
oob Halfiday. He thpn threw it with «n
JSh^of f. V ''"PPy m»n'8 malicious dis.
have heard, before, he never forgives a
SSmer?"" ''' y'"' '''^'=°^*' "»'"'"«
. , "J *j" tell you, dearest," replied her
Ja4 had occurred shortly, hut with .ufli
went accuracy to show her that all doubt
St'2e£ '"":^«'«'^^^''>« '>" -
^ ".'And now," continued Fairfax, «'there
,ihe one I shall, perhaps, have difficulty
w c,pia,n,og_a„d yet I know "«^
Others mjg^ not comprehend it, yet you
may. The second must, hf the present
re«na.« uneisplained, perh# for yea^
^rhapsibr ever. Bi.t m3.~.. inf^
<ioubt me now—" ■*»---6-v. mu j»i
U «^h, no, no, never !" she cried : « .ml
it>;
808
^9 that I have ever been ao Weak, ao
wrong."
*' \ will never refer to it again," answer,
ed Fairfax, «* nor think of it, my love.
That is, my thoughts shall never rest upon
k for one minute. But to my further ex-
planation. My love for you, Margaret,
has been, from the first, of no ordinary
kind. It has been the one passion of my
whole life ; you, you alone throughout my
existence, have been the single object of
my strongest affections. In our union I
am as happy as my brightest dreams an.
ticipated ; but in almost every sky there
b some cloud, be it no bigger than a man's
hand— it were not well for us were it
otherwise. I feel and have ever felt that
you should be mine — mine alone."
f* And so I am," cried Margaret — "to
I have ever been."
HBuf another has called you his wife,"
•aid Fairfax, " another has called you
Margaret*"
"He did so from my birthi Allan," she
replied ; « you might as well be jealous
of my father.'^ « .
^ 'Ml is riot jealousy, dear girl," be anft.
wered; "but Whatever it is, i waibaniifli
it ; for it has produced evil, and I fiml it la
^^M^^g* Yet audi have beeil m^ M^l^,
.''^
•04
ijT« ; Md they made Uie yery thoucht of
bear .^ speak of you. to think of yos, Z
,f **"«?«« Grahai«_„ my MariJ
It must and shall be. But even errrg
»y Margaret, have sometimes b..„ .ficW
•onsequences. Had I not had tj„s faul
toward you-and I feel that it is a fa"
toward you_I might have thought it haJd.
er, stranger, that you, so universally frank
and candid, should not have trusted at
onoe all your th.ugh.s to him you love."
« «-„ ? ' "^"*"' replied Margaret," love
' ^re r^".^"*' ?" '*• become Umid ; nay,
Mt 1 will promise two things, Fairfax-
iTeU^^ai 1? "^r "' '■™"' y°" 4th?ng
that n fc. J''' '" • "*""'■ «*» «'■«' "P"'" to
tna» II -fated marriage, or to theWJ old
«a«n who proposed it. I believe solSv fmm
cbaruableand benevo.« „ l< ,li^7
band •'?tt<!',1: ^'"■«"°' r ■■''•"^^ ■"' bus.
b«!d , "to the first promise I will keep yo«.
•«y love ; but with rega«t to the sS
IHX only do 1 set vou f~« K... I „:ii _ .'
90S
a«ry cause. I will conquer mrwif. Joo
.ndmthe end there .hall be JhWS
lustn^' '" °^ '""'**" *^"'«'"-«' '"^l^
CHAPTER XX
CONCtUSIOlf.
But little more reiriBins to be told^ofthe
history of Margaret Grahan,, thouJh .
husband and herself was left unsaidZ
two or ihree years, and, therefcrej it should
be related at the end of the tale! fZt
ousJy, however, one or two little «iroum.
stances affecting several persons mentis,
ed m this history, bad belter be nalicej.
1 he personage who acted so conspico.
OM « part in all the events related-^
mean lommy Hicks, the idiot --was
brought to trial for (he murder of eld Dr
Kemnore and the nwney, the, head of th^
wck, and all the other articles *Wiefc i^
«w stolen from the person of the deoeMd
««vttig been discovered by iba indication.
WKsh he gave, and the state of bi* mini
mmg been clB8rl> proved, !i wa^aM
306
dUlcult to come to a decision as to what
.wa«1o be done with him. He was con.
,mQed for life to an asylum, where he is
.deprived or the power of doing further
^»l|schlef ; and, in short, as so frequently
happens in England, that was done at last
which should have been done at first. One
or two .circumstances came out at the trial
tvhich ^ave c^use to suspect, and perhaps
more than suspect, that to the hands of
^ommy Hicks was to be attributed the
fiw in the rick-yard of Farmer Stumps ;
jmd,^wiih a convenient enlargement of
^IB idea, not unusual in all communities,
-mery one of the numerous fires which had
«»orred ditring several precedini? years
'1^1 "P^" ^^^ shoulders of him who
.4»a8 known to have been gutlty of lighting
_l^eob Hallid ly did not ftltogether escape
^hout suspici )n, not of having willfully
i^ompted the idiot to the act, but having
•ugrsted it by his fierce declamations
Igimst the tyr mny to which the ,K>or were
l^ect. He had obtained at this time
«tiffi©i«nt^em ;)loyment to maintain himself |
X'*"TT7 "^* ^^® ^®"^s of Lady Fair.
:^V but Jacob was somewhat of an un.
ymedji^sition : he bad heard a great
ileafc of Wealth and independence to lie
307
obtoJned in another continent} «Ddli»T.
m <wawn some aid from his cousin Bern
who is^now a wealthy and prosperou. «atti
he betook himself to the land of LiK
•nd of abundance. Ben Halliday tliliri
Wd prospers ; his eldest son gladly qtritt^
rte manufacturing districU to Tgain
liealtli, and enjoy tranquillity in ruraloe.
?r"T^- T'f ^'■•■' S"**" hung betweea
hfe and death, health and sickness, for sei
wral months ; but of all the medicine,
that ever were pre^jribed, the most effica*
Clous for diseases of the stomach, the heart.
Md the chest, are prosperityand happioMK
Md on these she recovered. Charley *ai
grown a fine, stout boy, and iaalreHA*
ableto assist his father in many thinirg,
Ihere are only two other personii haik
heve, except Sir Allan and Lady Pa,fe«
Siraephen Grizley was, at the time w«
Have been speaking of, a widower without
children. It is an uncomfortable ^,
tor, one misses sadly (to say notbiiw of
more weighty things) all the ilittle ,pl«»»
•ures and the little annay.!i«« .^!=!r
ned life. In short, e.xisience'b^ooiner*
Jtagnant pool that wants stirriiw. m
aephen resolved to bring a streawof fwafc
wwr through it,^d to marry agMn. .k
SOS
^%at Wondei'fiil what an intetest he began
to lake in the arrangements of the Mount
Oo^gB after ^iss Harding became its
j^ssessor. He offered her a great deal of
^roftdadviee upon many things, much of
which she did not take ; and then he of.
fered her his hand, which, after a little
««isideration, she did take. Though she
Waa past forty, she still retained traces of
beamy. Sir Stephen was fifty.two, and
had fie¥«r been pretty; but he was an
eMdieht and amiable man, and though
«tt- originai in his wav, was easy in hi$
tomper, and gentlemanly in hb habits.
it Wii'by rto means an ill-assorted union,
i»d proved a very happy one.
Aikr^ie House and the estate aftaeh.
^tt it became the property of Sir Allan
Wmrfkx, He removed some of the im.
fWoirnments of Mr. Hankum, but did little
or nothing himself to the buildings or the
§foi^niiHj ejccept restore them both to the
•tMe^ in whieh they had been left by Mr.
Orahamv Mai^aret felt that it was a
eomplimetit to her father's memory, and
^?J g*'<itefiil for it^ thot'-h not a word was
wassi 9j tiiii&f upon the subjects They
Mh lovod the spot, and every year visited
li ill the eady autumn, wandering, with
Jive iwdocay^, through scenes wh«w
yfe first began, and where eT«ry object
around them recalling some happy hop*
of early years to lend new lustre to- frui.
tion* * ' ^
lit was there, in the month of Septembe^
and toward nine in the evening, that Fair,
fax and his fair wife, and an old brother
officer, who had been major of his ret^U
ment, were seated after dinner, on the day
that the latter had come down, in somew
what bad health, to pass a week or two
trith his friend. They had dined at six.
m that they had remained chatting togeth*
ef some time after the dessert was put upon
the table, calling up old scenes, and gointf
through past campaigns. Margaret M
and listened with interest, and love, and
pnde, for assuredly all she heard told to
her beloved husband's advantage; and
sometimes she would ask for further de.
tails of adventures barely referred to by
officers, and then they would sit for seve.
ral minutes silent, musing over the past*
or enjoyinor the present, while to the mind
of each the shadowy end of the dininiT
>00m would bec^omA nnnrJoH witK tU.^ L^
^8 Of memory or fancy. ,.^
*; Do you know, Fairfax," isaid the M
|J"j^ «}, length, "that poor Hmingtot
919
^ "No, indeed," replied Fairfax, "I had
not heard of It. Where did he die?"
. ^In Paris," replied the other. <»It
was put in the papers that he died sud.
aenjy ; but some people say he committed
suicide.
>-*^ I hope not," said Sir Allan : "that
would be indeed a sad termination to a not
very satisfactory career. J met him
once after he sold out of ours, and we
passed an evening together at an inn. He
was then m good spirits, because his purse
was full ; and you know, Leslie, it was
miytwhen his pocket was empty that he
mn melancholy. Nothing on earth seem-
•ato touch him but that."
i^i?*' Ay, poor fellow, 1 am sorry for him "
answered the old officer; «he was awil'd.
thwightlessdog, but a fine, honourable
^•OW."cjt ■ n
YdFairf«x was silent; but at length he
mmr He was generous and kind-heart-
pa, but, 1 think, very weak, which often
m^oedhimnn very unpleasant situations.
«e, was uncommonly clever, too, in almost
J^very thing he Undertook ; but |, do not
Know n ryjow^i A __ ■.
^ -., .z.vj^ uoiigerous* uomMmation tor a
muD 8 own self, or for others, than abiUty
MHJ weakness." ,
311
_ "I believe you are right," answered
. ifere the conversation in regard to this
indvidual ended, and shortly after the
party returned to ths drawing-room; but
even there th.y did not protract the night
^gj.tor lady Fairfax was in rathe? a
jeJicae situation, and about half.past nine
she retired. She had not long been in her
dressing.room when her husband joined
Jier^ and sitting down by her a^ she lay .
upon the sofa, he said, .. , , l^^
^^" Leslie has gone to bed, for he is sadly
Shaken, poor man ; and so now, Margaret.
1 have come to tell you a story "
"Indeedr she said. " Is it an orien.
lai mie, or a romance of our own land ?^'
w^rpH Tv""*^'^^' dear girl,- he ans.
wered. *< You remarked, I dare say, our
conversation about Captain Harrin^n ?»
nnn. *' I ^*^' ^"^ ^^^ sorry for him,
P^f^'^J^^n/' replied Margaret.
_" Well, my love, upon his life hung the
oaly secret I hid from my Marga^
8»ia Fairfax. «,l c*nx>r. rv.„ u^„^.-^.l_. »
jouu «ot reveal it as long a» he lived, not
jven with the reservation of the name;
wr one part of* the transaction was so n^l
«»own, that the other, if told, was sure to
BI2
be fixed upon him. When I was a very
young man, Margaret, I entered intoi
distinguished regiment of foot, my cood
iincle having purchased a commis.sion for
tne, by very strenuous saving ; for he ^*ai
libera], and a somewhat careless man bv
habit and disposition, and no income would
jiave been more than sufficient (pr him.
I was in that regiment when I fii-gt knew
you, and one of my early companions, as
a^feUow ensign, was this very Harrington.
tie had exchanged into a cavalry rm
nwmt some years before J came hither;
Wtl, having no means of paying the dif!
lerence, remained where I was. After
the sharp dismissal I received from your
mother, and the vanishing of all hope of
Hearing from you or your father, I became
80 gloomy that my uncle inquired the
cause,, and I told him that 1 was most anx.
Jdua to see active service, and to obtain
some means of distinguishing myself. The
only field open was India, and the kind
oW man found means to raise, upcn his
books _and pictures, which were to have
formed a httle fund for me after his df«tk
ifle sum requirtd for the purchfise of
^t??^u '"rr^^® ''^^y *°"^ nrgimcnt
W^ch Harrington had previously
into
diaag^
when J
for he
nooe
becom:
aequaii
chmge
bitng a
showint
wasger
laid n
loose pr
mikem
by a cc
ooltce, I
kindly u
u^that
at cards,
htmselt I
I '.he avei
dealt for
n ridicu
saAkm, I
*- »
you da I
lemxM n
^took
[ was a very
itered into a
518^
3t, my good
mmis-sion for
; for he Hag
^less man by
come would
if'nt iQT him.
I fii-st knew
ripanions, as
Harrington,
ivalry r^gj.
I me hither;
'ing the dif.
vas. After
I from your
all hope of
r, I became
iquired the
; most anX'
I to obtain
yself. The
id the kind
. upcn his
re to have
his death;
:;h»se of i
mcnt into
ousiy «i.
ctoged. I found him with the regiment,
whe^ I jomed, and was delighted tS do so.
^ rr\ ^ ""^'^ agreeable man, and
none of the bad pomtsof his character had
becam3 apparent during our first short
acquamtance. I found him very much
dimged however. He was fond of ^am-
Wmg and the turf, had a gor,d deal of the
iMrag^adocia about him ; and though stilF
showing great abilities, and a heart that
was generous and noble by fits and starts,
I aid not feel that a mm of such very
lows prmc.pies was one of whom I could
make ray friend. I believe he Was piqued
by a certain degree of reserve which be
mnxrked m my manner ; but he took no
nolKje, and we remained upon civil and
kmdiy terms. One night hrwas boasl^
M^ that such was his luck, as he called it#
« cards, that 4^ coiild feel sure of dcaKna
JsrmseH a certain number of honours upon
I Jie average every time the cards wem
daalt for ten times. The thiirg struck me
M ndiculous, and excited by the convert
«tron^ I exclatmed, * Nonsense, Harriniii,
Z* / "^'"/^.^ y^^ * hundred pbund(f
jrott do not.' He instantly said, * Done.'
retract,
♦^.1 . 1 - 7- ' -^ the next nii^ht thv
TOl todt place in hi^roorai, btfcr^aiiBi.
314
ber of brother officers. He won the bet
and I paid my hundred pounds, thoiigh it
left me poor for the next twelvemonths.
Themitter was over, and 1 thought no
more of it hut as of a very foolish act on
my part, the punishmorit for which would
cure me, for the rest of life, of using a
silly expression to prove my conviction.
Harrington sold out of the regiment some
lime after, and returned to Europe, and 1
followed upon leave at the end of six or
eight months. By this tinle my poor
uncle was dead. I had nothing but a
very small annuity and my pay. My
funds were very nearly exhausted when I
arrived in England ; and I had no means
of purchasing the papers on which my for.
tunes, as it turned out, dcpendtd-lpur.
chasing, I may caJI it, for although the
rascal asserted that he detained them as
payment for a charge against my poor
father^ which the executors had refused ta
pay, that was all pretense. However,
hearing of your father's disasters, I came
down to Cumberland at once. I wrote to
you : you answered me, I set out to Lon.
don again like a madman, to hurry ft
ward the sale of my commission. It w
feodoi^ uciseoessary by the event I «
vron the bet,
3, though it
Ive months.
thought no
Kjlish act on
/hich would
of using a
conviction.
rirr)ent some
rope, afid I
id of six or
« »iy poor
hing but a
pay. My
sted when I
d no means
bich my for.
?ndtd — pur.
It hough the
led them ai
St my poor
i re fused t»
However,
era. I came
I wmteto
out to Loo.
815
ton •ill Ihe daZLjlf:" ""y"'^^ •» ««
found there inThfn ^ 'fP«irerf. "I
soldier H^rr Lton ZT^^^ '"^ .°''' '■'•"°''-
M Weil a.. .h<. i ' ° entertained me
«». however fc*'°"''^.P«'-'"''- «*
wg tb London to seU L . ' ""'"• '"""'■y^
Wieved .hat mv Th i^ <'°'"'"'s«'o>», as I
•mall LI: t- P°" *''e command of W
""■ti sum of money whinh i a:a \
»ew. Hb im,„ J- •'^ wnicn I did not pos.*
«^e, but Sir ^"T^*""*^ ""' ^
*« not one 1,1°"^ ^'""""'' ' '""''l"'
tbu r»ni„ i-"" 1°' '»"<'«' money, anrf
•i-per" fit' o7rpX ?• "'T '"'"' "■"">*
" it CttL? *•• ^^ '^^^ «ne "'hat
matter accepting the -losn of «4fe<r
?«J
I
9ia
hundred pounds from an old friend, when
they could easily be repaid at any time
hy the very step which I was rashly
foing to take at once without necessity,
tola him that one hundred pounds was
•U I required, but even that 1 would not
borrow.
, " This plunged him in deeper raedita.
tion still, and then he sent fcr wine, and
drank a good deal. I had often before
remarked, that, when affected by wine, a
naturally frank and generous character
appeared in him which had been terribly
obscured by the t fTects of vic^ and weak.
nesses, and as he warmed on the present
occasion, he urged me more strongly to
accept the money I required. 1 still w.
^ted, and told him my resolution was
Inalterable, and then he became consid^
en^hly agitated. Ho rose, paced up and
down the room, and at length grasping my
hftDd, he said, * Take it Fairfwi,. take it;
jpad relieve my mind of a great load.' I
lifilied, with someihing like a smile, that
I did see how It would relieve his mind to
burden mine; but that such was my firm
seaolutioo, that I would not borrow n\
^ my whc^ fortune in life depended
it# J ^nfliot teU you all the
Mto
•gain
lO Wfl
oondu
lasisti
#eive
wasai
ealm,
lix, y(
lellyoi
upon y
wlmt 1
m to t
boger,
• very
uponm;
eduki te
3f»u sonn
passed b
Iwldot
became i
iresolve
Iniake re
you. I
ftUowiitg
3*ttrgoo(
«d to you
riend, when
It any time
was rashly
It necessity,
pounds was
i would nol
per raedita.
r wine, and
iften before
by wine, a
i character
^en terribly
tand weak,
the present
strongly to
1 still re-
olution W8f
ime consid^
lied up and
rasping mj
i^^^takeit^
U load.' I
sraile, that
[lis mind to I
as mv firml
817
M to the coDcIuaioB. He had TMMt^
10 waver and hesitate: aid. inde«*l KU
«i8tanoe upon » man u2wilI,„iT«f
WM affected, when suddenly he bect^
«d«, .at down .„d ,aid. ^Now7f\^
fa, you mu« take the money, and I wM
M you why ; but you m«at pS S
2 to ,Ji n'^^ promised, and he w,S
b««rT' P^ ''"\„'*" "V feeling. wJ
tager, Fairfax. When fint I plavMl vou
•very somr trick, I tried to'^pSTit^
von myself a, . g^ j,^ , ^^
P»eo oy, and I did not tell you» awl thea
J»Jd out and we were ^i»^^
>came ashamed to write to you bS
i««Ived to tell you the while fee? Si
r«i^?i.^'l«^*«'«'ei««l«ad,.taf
.-_ ^„..^ g „j^ ^ij oppc!iit»iniiy.of
I imddle course, undnotjiirtiii-
opnion ferevw, whi|» I iMiMNt
l$)Howj
lywr »
I J . * — r-""^' •w»c»»r, wrote"
H to you what ia your own. X
M
ymtt^
h'
318
member a bet between us, in regard to how
Mmny honoura|I would deal myself in so
inwiy times rlnning, and that I won a
iMAdred pounds of you V I replied I did,
perfectly ; and his rejoinder was, * Well
then, Fairfax, I tell you that sum was not
won fairly. You piqued me by contra.
4iotifig my assertion regarding my uni.
fcrm luck, bef6re the whole mess, and I
determined, right or wrong,that you should
hmvo^r bet. I marked the cards. Fair.
fiw, by running a needle through the cor.
Mr of every cploured card ; I reinclosed
them oarefblly in their covens, to escape
aU ecMpieion, and completely deceived you
and every one present. I thus dealt my.
Jelf what' I pibased, and won your money
lieif uaJQStly. Now you can have no I
i^fttpieat reeeiving it again.' At first,
mf'i4imi I could hardly believe him, andj
dm^tit was a generous sort of trick he
ddiigm to play me; but he assured me,
Aoet eolemnly, that he had stated the plain j
ft^ ; and, as you may easily imagine, I
iMd BO farther hesitation In taking that
which wiM my own. He eagerly boundf
me to the proripse I had made, however,|
confession
repettt
any
9mimgmt he liVed, and I repeated it wi
Bgard to how
myself in so
lat I won &
•eplied I did,
was, * Well
turn was not
3 by contra,
iiig my uni.
mess, and I
t you should
oards, Fair,
jgh the cor-
i reinclosed
s, to escape
leceived you
is dealt my.
yrour money
an have no
' At first,
e him, and
of trick he
sissured me,
;ed the plain
' imagine, I
taking that|
rerlv bouniii
e, however,!
to any onm
ated it wittl
919 >
late. JNothing on earth would havn in
duced me to relate this .tory befor! 1*
death, aad pn^bnbly I should n^^K
now, bu. that I feel the,* should be ^
lubject whatsoever on which I and M„?
Reret should not l« able ^o speak 4'
you only, dear girl, shall ,he tale ever S
told; for , hough I could not agrw wiS
Leslie .n thinking, poor HarS, J
t'inTrM""""'' y^' ' """fc ^'^
was in him, as there s n a ^rpnt r^^^ e
the b3tter olass^ in En^knf muJ^lff
« ver^ good, though thS b" IjJuiSS
were, in his oa«e, smothered by vices feSf
ues, and affections." ^ ' "*
^Such was the tale told by Fairfoy ,„
Margaret, and such the incid^ent! whfch
'.elf 7:hS'""°'"!.'"^ """•''• i 4ti
ffilti \ L "'"^' """^ Pi^mised to tell
|*vulge the secret then, how could M«,?
THE END.
\ix^
^•Oiil
■r-^* -,
n
m.
!?.?
!
i e
ii
It
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