Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: Then suddenly drawing herself back from Norah, with a
passionate gesture of anguish, the unhappy Sophy exclaimed, "Oh!
if you but knew my misery—the darkness here—everywhere; no hope!
no hope!" She threw herself down on her bed, and covered her face
with her hands.]
THE CONVICT'S CHILD;
OR,
The Helmet of Hope.
BY
A. L. O. E.
AUTHORESS OF THE CLAREMONT TALES, THE YOUNG PILGRIM,
THE COTTAGE BY THE STREAM, HARRY DANGERFIELD,
GLIMPSES OF THE UNSEEN, ETC. ETC.
GALL & INGLIS.
London: Edinburgh:
30 PATERNOSTER ROW. 6 GEORGE STREET.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. NORAH'S DIFFICULTY
II. CONSULTATION
III. THE COTTAGE IN THE DELL
IV. THE WORKHOUSE
V. SOPHY'S TALE
VI. HOPE
VII. THE RETURN
VIII. SUCCESS
The Convict's Child;
OR,
THE HELMET OF HOPE.
CHAPTER I.
NORAH'S DIFFICULTY.
"ANY one of this name live here?" asked the postman, as he held out
a letter to Norah, the little maid-of-all-work, who was on her knees
cleaning the door-step on a wintry morning at the close of the year.
"'Miss Peele,' why, that must mean me!" cried the young girl, with
naive surprise. It was the first time in her life that Norah had ever
received a letter, and it was with feelings of wonder and curiosity
that she took from the postman the note so strangely addressed to
herself. She looked at every part of the envelope, post-mark, address,
fancy-wafer and all, to prolong the novel pleasure by guessing who
could have sent it, and what the contents could be.
"It can't be from mother,—she never writes but her name at the bottom
of the washing bills; and as for Dan—he's not out of round text. Could
it be from Uncle Ned? It is not like a man's handwriting, and I'm sure
he would, never put 'Miss' for a little servant like me. I must just
peep in and see, I was never so curious in all my life!"
Norah wiped her wet cold hands on her apron, and then, taking care to
save the pretty wafer, opened the envelope, and took out the note.
She raised her eyebrows with surprise at the first word, "Madam," and
almost burst out laughing at the notion of being thus addressed; but
Norah's mirth changed to grave perplexity, as she turned hastily over
to the signature at the end.
"'E. Cupper, Matron of the B— Workhouse.' It must be some mistake,—I
am sure there is some mistake—this letter can never be meant for me."
Norah examined the envelope again, but the address was perfectly clear.
Rather awed by receiving a letter from that great prison-like building
which she had passed when on a little journey with her mistress, a
letter that looked so formal and neat, and actually began with "Madam,"
Norah set herself to read, from beginning to end, the contents, which
were as follows;—
"Madam,—I have been requested by an inmate of this house of the name of
Sophy Puller to inform you of her being here, and to beg that you will
come as soon as possible to see her. Visitors are admitted on Fridays
from two till four. The girl is almost blind from the effects of
rheumatic fever, and is in great distress of mind." Here followed name
and date.
The letter dropped from the little maid's hand. It might have been a
study to have watched the changes in her soft round face as she read it
slowly, tracing each line with her finger. At the name "Sophy Puller,"
an expression of interest, first mixed with pleasure, then with pain,
flitted over her features—succeeded by one of shocked surprise at the
terrible words "almost blind." This was the first time for almost four
months that Norah had heard of one who had once been her favourite
companion and friend. Norah knew that Sophy's father had been taken
up for uttering false money, that he had been tried, condemned, and
transported; Norah knew that on the day of his arrest Sophy had
disappeared from the county town in which she had been working as a
milliner's girl,—but here her information ended. Often had Norah longed
and prayed to find out what had become of her hapless companion, bereft
of an only parent by what was far worse than death. The name of Sophy
had never been forgotten in the prayers of the little maid. But to hear
of her thus,—sick, blind, and unhappy, in a parish Union, such news
were more sad than ignorance; and as Norah read the note once again,
the tears gushed fast from her eyes.
"Oh, Sophy, my poor, poor Sophy! You who were so lightsome and gay,
so full of frolic and fun, to think of your coming to this!" And as
Norah's tears dropped on the note, whose contents she could hardly
believe, her mind recurred to the first day of her meeting with the
milliner's girl, and a hundred little circumstances connected with
their acquaintance. Norah could not help remembering how the society of
Sophy Puller had been her own greatest temptation; how her companion
had tried to make her think lightly of sin, had fostered the love of
fine dress, had laughed at her scruples, had lent her bad books, had
almost persuaded her to go out at night without the knowledge of her
mistress! Norah tried to forget all this; she would gladly have felt
nothing but pity and love for the afflicted Sophy, but such painful
recollections would force themselves on her mind. Norah could not help
thinking, "Oh! how doubly dreadful sickness and blindness must be to
one who has such things to look back on! When all that Sophy once
delighted in is shut out from her thus, what can she have to comfort
her, and keep her poor heart from breaking?"
But young general servants have little time to give to reading letters
or crying over them. The step must be cleaned, the breakfast prepared,
before the clock should strike nine. Norah thrust her letter into
her pocket, dried her eyes, and went on with her work. But while she
was scrubbing the stone with her red little hands, she was painfully
turning over in her mind the contents of the note.
"I must go and see my poor Sophy, but oh how shall I ever manage to get
to the workhouse! Mistress is so much put about to let me pay my visits
to my mother, who lives only three miles off while the workhouse must
be full ten; and even if I get leave—how could I ever dare to go alone
to that great gloomy place?"
Norah had led a very quiet life; she had never ventured by herself
farther than Colme, her native village, and her longest journey had
been a twenty miles' drive in a stage-coach with her mistress. Besides
the difficulty of travelling so far, Norah Peele had formed a terrible
idea of a workhouse. Instead of looking on it as a refuge mercifully
provided for the homeless and helpless, she fancied it to be a huge
prison, where miserable creatures were shut up, the doors guarded by
terrible porters, whom the timid young girl felt that she would never
have courage to face by herself. Norah scrubbed her step very hard
indeed, clenching her teeth as she did so, as if she were trying to rub
down the many difficulties which had suddenly risen in her path. The
reader may smile at the fears and perplexities of the poor little maid;
but let it be remembered that Norah was still little more than a child,
was of a tender, timid nature, and utterly ignorant of the world. To go
ten miles to visit an inmate of a workhouse seemed to her as formidable
a task, as it would appear to some to push their way into the Queen's
own presence, through her surrounding guards.
"Sophy can never have told the matron that I am nothing but a poor
little servant; Mrs. Cupper takes me for some grand lady who will drive
to the door in her carriage, or else she would never have called me
'Madam.'" So said Norah to herself as she rose from her knees and went
into the house, more chilled by her fears than by the weather. "And yet
I must go—oh, I will go—if I have to walk the whole way there and back!
I cannot desert poor Sophy now that she is in such terrible trouble.
It is a dreadful difficulty to me, but God will help me through it. I
will tell all to my dear kind mistress, who is always ready to give me
advice and help."