A letter from Captain Fancourt at length arrived, summoning Harry to
join the _Triton_. He bade an affectionate farewell to his kind old
uncle. His brother had remarked the failing health of Sir Reginald.
"I shall be very sorry when he goes, but probably when you next come to
see us, you will find us here," observed Algernon, "unless our uncle
should turn up and claim the title and property, and as he has not been
heard of for a long time, I do not think that likely."
"I have no wish to be here except as Sir Reginald's guest," answered
Harry, with more feeling than his brother had displayed. "I hope that
our old uncle will live for many a year to come."
In those times of fierce and active warfare it was far more trying to
the loving ones who remained at home when the moment of departure
arrived, than to the brave and gallant soldiers and sailors who were
going away to fight their country's battles. They could not help
reflecting how many were likely to fall in the contest, and that, though
victories should be gained, their aching eyes might some day see in the
list of killed or wounded the names of those from whom they now parted
so full of life and spirits.
"Do not be cast down, mother," exclaimed Harry, as Mrs Castleton
pressed her gallant boy to her heart. "I shall come back safe and
sound, depend on that; remember the verse of the song in Dibdin's new
play:--
"`There's a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft
To take care of the life of poor Jack.'"
"Let us rather trust to Him by whom the hairs of our head are all
numbered--without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls to the ground--
instead of talking in that light way," murmured Miss Mary, who was
sitting knitting near the window. "Let us pray to Him, my dear Harry,
that you may be brought back in safety."
"I will, Cousin Mary," said Harry, "and I am sure mother will too. I
spoke thoughtlessly. It is the way of speaking one is accustomed to
hear."
"Too much, I am afraid," said Miss Mary. "We are all too apt to speak
lightly on such matters." The carriage came to the door.
"You will continue to study French diligently, Master Harry," said
Madame De La Motte, as she wished him good-bye. "Though my countrymen
are your enemies, you will love the language for my sake, will you not?"
Harry promised that he would do as she advised; indeed, he was well
aware that the knowledge he already possessed was likely to prove very
useful to him on many occasions.
His sister Julia was the last of the family he embraced. "The next time
I come home I must bring my old shipmate, Headland; I am glad to find
that he has joined the _Triton_. He is one of the noblest and most
gallant fellows alive," he said, as he wished her good-bye.
"Though we shall be happy to see your friend, I only want you to bring
yourself back, Harry, safe and sound, with your proper complement of
arms and legs," she answered, smiling through her tears.
"I would sacrifice one or the other to have my name in the _Gazette_,
and to gain my promotion, so I can make no promises," he replied,
springing into the carriage after Algernon, and waving his hat as it
drove off.
A number of the surrounding tenantry had assembled near the park-gates
to bid farewell to the young sailor who was going off to fight King
George's enemies on the high seas. Harry stopped the post-boy that he
might put his hand out of the carriage to wish Mr Groocock, who was
among them, good-bye, and to thank them for their good wishes, promising
at all events to do his best to prevent the French from setting foot on
the shores of England, and disturbing them in their quiet homes. Their
hearty cheers as he drove off restored his spirits.
"It pays one for going away when the people show such kind feeling, and
I hope when I come back to be received with as hearty a welcome," he
remarked to Algernon, who accompanied him as far as the next town,
through which the coach passed.
There seemed a blank at Texford after Harry had gone.
The next day the Miss Pembertons moved into Downside Cottage. To some
of the more worldly guests their departure was a relief, as they freely
expressed opinions which were looked upon as savouring too strongly of
what was called Methodism to be uttered in polite society.
Although she could not see the expression which her remarks called forth
on the countenances of the company, Miss Mary was often aware by the
tone of their voices that what she said was unpalatable. This, however,
though it grieved her gentle spirit, did not anger her, and she spoke in
so mild and loving a way that even those who were least disposed to
adopt her principles could not help acknowledging that she was sincere
and faithful in her belief.
The Miss Pembertons had not been long settled in their new abode before
they began to visit their poorer neighbours. The blind lady and her
sister were soon known in all parts of the village, and might be seen
every day walking arm-in-arm, now stopping at one cottage to admire the
flowers in the little plot of ground before it, or now at another to
inquire after the health of one of the inmates. The sick and the
afflicted received their first attentions; Miss Mary could quote large
portions of the Scriptures, and explain them with a clearness and
simplicity suited to the comprehension of the most ignorant of those she
addressed.
The sisters had no carriage, for their income was limited; but those in
distress found them liberal in their gifts, and the inhabitants of
Hurlston averred that they might have kept not only a pony-chaise, but a
carriage and pair, with the sums they annually distributed in the place.
Their charities were, however, discerning and judicious, and although
those who had brought themselves into poverty received assistance when
there was a prospect of their amending, if they were known to be
continuing in an evil course they might in vain look for help, and were
pretty sure to meet with a somewhat strong rebuke from Miss Jane, as
Miss Pemberton was generally called. In their inquiries about the
people they were helped by a good dame, one of the oldest inhabitants,
Granny Wilson, who lived in a nice tidy cottage, with an orphan
grandchild. Though their charity was generally distributed by Miss
Jane's hand, Miss Mary was the greatest favourite. The sweet expression
of her sightless countenance, and her gentle voice, won all hearts.
Though Miss Mary never ventured outside their gate without her sister,
she was wont to wander about the grounds by herself. The flower-garden
was under her especial care. She was said to know, indeed, every flower
which grew in it, and to point not only to any rose-tree which was
named, but to each particular rose growing on it, with as much certainty
as if she could see it before her.
A year had passed since the two spinster ladies had taken possession of
Downside.
One morning, while Miss Pemberton had gone over to Texford, her sister
was engaged, scissors in hand, in clipping the dead flower-stalks in
front of the cottage.
"Good morning, Miss Mary," said a voice. "Am I to leave any fish for
you to-day?"
"Pray do, Mistress Halliburt; Susan knows what we require. And you have
brought your little girl with you; I heard her light footstep as she
tripped by your side. I should like to talk to her while you go in.
Come here, my dear," she said, as the dame went round to the back
entrance; "I have heard of you, though I forget your name; what is it?"
"My name is Maiden May, please, Miss Mary; and I have heard of you and
how kind you are to the poor; and I love you very much," answered the
little girl, looking up naively at the blind lady's face.
"Your name is a pretty one," said Miss Mary, a smile lighting up her
countenance as she spoke, produced by the child's remark. "Why are you
called Maiden May?"
"Father called me so when he found me a long time ago," answered May.
"When he found you, my child, what do you mean?" asked Miss Mary, with
surprise.
"When I came in the big ship with my ayah, and was wrecked among the
fierce waves," answered May.
"I do not clearly understand you. Is not Dame Halliburt your mother?"
"Oh, yes, and I love her and father and Jacob and the rest so much,"
said May. "I have no other mother."
"Is your mother's name Halliburt?"
"Yes."
"I cannot understand what you mean, my dear; I must ask Mistress
Halliburt to explain to me," said Miss Mary.
"Ah, yes, do; she will tell you. But I remember that father found me on
board the big ship, and brought me home in the boat, and mother took
care of me, and Jacob used to walk with me every day till I was old
enough to go out with mother."
"But who is Jacob?" asked Miss Mary.
"He is brother Jacob, and he is so kind, and he tries to teach me to
read; but he does not know much about it himself, and I can now read as
fast as he can."
"Does your mother not teach you?" asked Miss Mary.
"Not much, she has no time; but father on Sunday tells me stories from
the Bible. He can read very well, though he sometimes stops to spell
the words, just as I do. There is only the Bible and one book we have
got at home."
"Would you like, my little girl, to come up here and learn to read? My
sister will teach you, and I think I can help, though I cannot see what
is printed in a book."
"Oh, yes, so much, if mother will let me," answered May. "I am sure I
should remember all you tell me, and then I might teach Jacob to read
better than he does now. Ah, here comes my mother."
"You can go round the garden and look at the flowers while I talk to
her."
"Thank you, Miss Mary; I so love flowers. We have none near our
cottage, for they would not grow on the sand," and May ran off, stopping
like a gay butterfly, now before one flower, now before another, to
admire its beauty and enjoy its fragrance.
"If you can spare a few moments, Mistress Halliburt, I should like to
learn from you more than I can understand from the account your little
girl has been giving me of herself," said Miss Mary, as the dame
approached her. "She has been talking about a wreck and being brought
on shore by your husband. Is she not really your child?"
"We love her as much as if she was, but she has been telling you the
truth, Miss Mary," answered the dame. "We have been unable to gain any
tidings of her friends, though we have done all we could to inquire for
them, and though we are loth for her sake to bring her up as a
fisherman's child, we would not part with her unless to those who could
do better for her welfare."
The dame then described how May had been brought from the wreck, and
how, from the dress the little girl had on, and the locket round her
neck, and more especially from her appearance, there could be no doubt
that she was the child of gentlefolks.
"From the tone of her voice and the account my sister gave of her, I
feel sure that you are right, Mistress Halliburt," said Miss May. "If
you can spare her to-day, I should like to keep her with me, and you can
call or send for her when you have finished your rounds. I shall esteem
it a favour if you will bring her up to-morrow morning, and let my
sister see her, and if we can in the meantime think of anything to
benefit the child, we will let you know."
The dame expressed her gratitude for the interest Miss Mary took in
Maiden May, but she could not help feeling somewhat jealous lest the
blind lady should rob her and Adam of some of the affection which the
child had bestowed on them. Still she was too right-minded to allow the
feeling to interfere with May's interest. She readily agreed to let her
remain, and also to bring her up the next morning, that Miss Pemberton
might see her and form her own opinion about the child.
Calling May, she told her that she was to stay with Miss Mary, "and if
Miss Mary wants you to lead her about, you must be very careful where
you go, and mind to tell her everything you see; but don't talk too much
if it seems to weary her," added the dame in a whisper, as, kissing May,
she wished her good-bye.