Time went on, and nothing occurred to interrupt the even tenor of the
Miss Pembertons' well-spent lives. They never wearied in their efforts
to benefit the bodies and souls of their poorer neighbours, and if some
were ungrateful, many blessed them for the words they spoke, and the
kind acts they performed. Their young pupil, in winter and summer, rain
and sunshine, continued to come to them every day. She never wished for
a holiday, and it would have been a trial to her to have had to keep
away from Downside. Though she was as loving as ever to those at home,
she was able to bestow an equal amount of affection on the ladies who
devoted themselves to her instruction.
She was now no longer the little fisher maiden she had appeared in
former years; but the charms of her mind and person having gradually
been developed, though she herself was scarcely aware of the change, she
had become a truly lovely girl already entering womanhood.
Adam had lost none of the affection he had from the first felt for the
child, whose life he had saved. He could no longer, however, properly
call her his little Maiden May, for she had become a full-grown damsel,
full of life and spirits; and if, conscious that she was not his
daughter, she did not bestow on him all of a daughter's affection, she
yet treated him with respect, and so lovingly and kindly, that he had no
cause to complain. Her tastes were refined, and her intellect expanding
as she advanced in knowledge, she could not help seeing the space
gradually widening between herself and her foster-parents and their
sons. Yet, with tact and right feeling, she had contrived not to let
the young men feel how fully alive she was to the difference between
them. They, however, gradually became aware of it, and treated her with
that deference which they considered to be her due, as superior to
themselves. To the elder ones this was easy, but it caused Jacob no
small exercise of self restraint not to behave towards Maiden May as he
had been accustomed to do, when under his charge she was allowed to go
blackberrying, or to wander along the shore picking up shells.
May's dress, though plain and simple in the extreme, was such as was
suited for the companion of the well-born Miss Pemberton's, and she had
entwined herself so completely round their hearts that they regarded her
in the light of a beloved niece. She had now for sometime resided
entirely with them. She, however, paid frequent visits to her kind
foster father and mother, as she now called Adam and his wife.
It had been a hard struggle to Dame Halliburt and her husband to part
with her, but they saw clearly that it would be for her benefit, and
that their cottage was not a fit abode for a young girl destined to
occupy a higher rank than their own. Even they felt that there was
already a broad line between them, and the dame, not having forgotten
her own training in a gentleman's family, could not help treating May
with much more deference than she would have shown to her had she been
really her daughter.
May herself, conscious of the change in the dame's manner, could
scarcely tell why she had become so much more formal than she used to
be, though she had too much confidence in the kind woman's love to
suppose that it arose from any want of affection. Adam was, however, as
hearty as ever, but then he had for long treated her with a certain
amount of respect, moderating that exhibition of his affection his big
warm heart would have inclined him to bestow. He still generally called
her his Maiden May, but sometimes addressed her as Mistress May, and
seldom offered to press the hearty kiss on her fair brow with which he
had been accustomed to greet her after a day's absence.
Adam and the dame had undergone severe trials during the last years,
though they bore up under them with christian fortitude and resignation.
Their second son Sam had been crossed in love, and as a consequence
went off to sea on board a man-of-war. He was a steady well-conducted
young man. He had become a petty officer, and there was every prospect
of his doing well.
A short time after Sam had gone to sea Ben, who was his father's
main-stay, had on one occasion gone to Morbury, just at the time when
press-gangs were hard at work along the coast, laying hands on every
seafaring person, whether willing or unwilling, to man the fleet. Ben,
not suspecting danger, was walking along the quay, when a party of
seamen rushed out of a public-house and surrounded him. Though he
endeavoured to make his escape, he was quickly overpowered, and being
dragged into a boat, was carried on board a cutter outside the harbour.
As many other brave fellows acted when he found his fate inevitable, he
submitted with a good grace, and determined to do his duty.
He did not return, and for several days Adam could gain no tidings of
his son, though he suspected what had occurred. At length he received a
letter from Ben saying that he had been seized by a pressgang, and that
he was on board a frigate destined for the East India station. Adam
went to Mr Shallard with a message from the Miss Pemberton's saying
they would be answerable for any sum required to obtain Ben's discharge,
but the lawyer feared that so urgent was the need of men for the navy
that success was improbable. He did his best, but before any effort
could be made to obtain his discharge, the frigate sailed, carrying Ben
as one of her crew.
Thus Adam was deprived of the services of his two elder sons. Still he
hoped that they would some day return, and be again able to assist him
on board the _Nancy_.
A still greater blow, however, was in store for him and his wife. News
came that the ship on board which Sam was serving had been engaged in
action, and as they anxiously read the account of the battle, their eyes
fell on his name in the list of killed.
"God's will be done! Poor Sam," exclaimed Adam, with a deep groan.
The dame expressed her grief in a louder manner, but honest Adam's was
the deepest.
May did her utmost to comfort her foster-parents, showing all the
sympathy for their sorrow which her gentle heart prompted her to
express. Day after day she came to see them, sometimes accompanied by
Miss Jane, who, although she urged arguments innumerable to prove that
excessive grief was wrong, failed to convince them of the truth of her
assertions. Their perfect confidence in God's love and justice,
however, brought resignation to their hearts, and they recovered in time
their usual spirits. The dame became once more as active and loquacious
as ever, and Adam went through his daily labours with his ordinary
industry and perseverance.
Adam Halliburt, who had been out fishing all night, had just risen from
his noonday rest, when the dame returned from her usual round.
"Sad news from the Hall, Adam," she said, putting aside her basket.
"Old Sir Reginald has gone at last. Poor dear gentleman, he will be
missed by many around. I met Mr Groocock, who had been over to Morbury
to arrange about the funeral with Mr Shallard, who was Sir Reginald's
lawyer you know. He pulled up just to have a talk for a minute, though
he was in a great hurry to get back. Sir Reginald had sent, when he
found himself getting worse, for his nephew, Mr Ralph, his nearest of
kin in England, whom he seemed to have a great desire to see again. Mr
Ralph, however, could not set off at once, and when he arrived at
Texford, his uncle was no more. It seems a question whether he is now
Sir Ralph or not. Mr Ranald has not been heard of for eight or nine
years or more, though his brother and old Sir Reginald have been making
all the inquiries they could. Mr Groocock says that Mr Shallard
always speaks to Mr Ralph as Sir Ralph, and says he has no doubt
whatever that his brother is dead, and that he is the heir. He himself
seems to think so, and as Mr Groocock said to me, for his part he is
ready to serve whoever has possession as faithfully as he did his old
master, and if Mr Ranald is dead, and has left no sons, his younger
brother must be Sir Ralph. At all events, Sir Ralph considers himself,
and as such has taken possession, and gives orders as if he were,
without doubt, the owner of Texford. There will be a great change there
shortly, for he has already let Mr Groocock understand that his lady,
and daughter, and eldest son, will be coming down soon, and Mr Harry is
expected home before long. If he is like what he was when he was here
last, he will keep the house alive. I remember hearing that Mrs
Castleton, or we must call her Lady Castleton now, was a very nice kind
lady, and so, though many will be sorry that Sir Reginald has gone,
there will be others who will think that the change is for the better.
Mr Groocock, however, has his own opinion. I would not say anything
against Sir Ralph for the world, but I remember that he was a somewhat
proud and haughty young gentleman, and though he was quiet and grave
enough in his manner, he was hot-tempered too, and could carry things
with a high hand sometimes."
"Well, well," said Adam, "Sir Reginald had nigh reached four score years
and ten, and that's a fair age. He was a kind, good man, and will be
missed by many; but we will hope that Sir Ralph may be like him, and
it's our duty to think as well of our betters as we can. I should like
to see Master Harry again, for I mind the brave way he saved our Maiden
May from the bull, and how he spoke to you so kindly and modest-like
afterwards, as if he had just done nothing out of the way. I blessed
him then, and I bless him now, and every time I hear his name, for what
would have happened to her, young as she was then, without knowing how
to save herself, it's more than I like to think of."
Sir Ralph, no one appearing to dispute his title, took possession of
Texford.