"Well, my dear Miss Willoughby, how is your mother this morning," said
a venerable looking clergyman as he pressed the hand of a fair young
girl, apparently, not more than eighteen. Her face was pale with
watching, and her eyes were red with weeping, and though she seemed in
deep distress, there was a subdued and resigned manner about her, as
she replied:
"Not any better, sir, I fear; she has had a very bad night, her cough
has been so very troublesome." Saying this, she opened a door which
led to an inner apartment, into which Mr. Montgomery entered, and
approached the bed, followed by the afflicted daughter, who now tried
to assume a composure of manner, very foreign to her feelings, as
faintly smiling, she exclaimed, "Here, dear mamma, is our kind friend
again." The poor sufferer looked anxiously at him. Her attenuated
frame and sharpened features told the sad tale, that consumption had
done its work, and the hand of death was upon her.
"Well, my dear madam," said the good pastor, "I will not ask if you
are better; I will only hope the same spirit of resignation to the
Divine Will fills your mind as when I left you, yesterday. Remember in
_whom_ you trust, and for _whom_. There are never-failing promises
recorded there," pointing to a Bible that lay on the bed, "and thrice
happy are they who can rely on them in affliction's hour. I have read
them to you, and your own eye, you tell me, has often rested on them;
you have only, therefore, to 'commit your way unto the Lord, and he
shall bring it to pass.'"
"Oh, yes," replied the suffering woman, in a feeble tone, "I know it
all; I know He is able and willing to take care of my hapless
children. I _can_ and _do_ trust them to Him; feeling sure He will
more than supply the place of the only parent left them; but, oh, my
dear sir, convinced, as I am, of all this, it is, nevertheless, hard
to leave them; may He forgive my weakness; but human nature is such,
that--" here she paused from exhaustion.
"It is, my dear madam, meant that we should do so; and trial would
lose the object for which it is sent, did we not feel its bitterness;
but you must try, and rejoice that you are allowed to manifest both
faith and hope, under so severe and trying a dispensation. Let me
entreat you to remember the many instances recorded in scripture,
where answer has been given from on high to the prayers of those who
can faithfully cling to them." But while the worthy man strove to lead
the sufferer beyond this sublunary sphere, his heart bled for the poor
children she was leaving. The first blow she received, was the sudden
news of her husband's death in the Crimea, which came to her ears so
abruptly, that her nerves received a shock, from which she did not
rally for months. This was followed by a letter, informing her that
some property which had been left to her a few months previous to
Captain Willoughby's departure, had been claimed by a distant branch
of the family, as heir at law, the testamentary document being found
invalid. These circumstances, joined to delicate health, following
each other so quickly, proved too much for feeble nature, and she sunk
under them.
Her excellent daughter, whose fragile form seemed little calculated to
breast the storms of adversity that now threatened her, was unwearied
in attention to her dying parent. She saw there were heavy trials
before her, and knew they could not be averted, though she could not
tell how she was to meet them; but there was a trusting feeling in her
young heart, that must ever be inseparable from a trust in God's
over-ruling providence; and as she sat through the long nights,
watching by her mother's bed, a thousand vague shadows of the future
flitted before her, and many schemes offered themselves to her mind;
she tried to drive them off, for it seemed to her sinful. She durst
not _think_, but she could _pray_; and she did so; and oh! the
eloquence of that simple trusting prayer, that her God would protect
and bless her and the two young beings, whose sole dependance she was
soon to be. How widely changed was her position in a few short months!
The petted, and almost idolized child of doting parents, whose every
wish had been anticipated, must now soon exert herself to support her
orphan brother and sister.
Mrs. Willoughby, as is often the case with those suffering from
pulmonary affection, went off very suddenly; and now was every
threatened evil likely to burst on poor Helen's devoted head; but
though weak in the flesh, she was strong in faith. Relying, as she had
been early led to do, on her God, she seemed to rise with fresh energy
under accumulated trials. She soothed and kissed the weeping children
by turns, but their grief was so violent, they refused to be
comforted.
The night her mother was consigned to the grave, was indeed a trying
one to Helen. The good clergyman, who had gone back to the house after
the funeral, now knelt in prayer with the bereaved ones, and
commending them to the care of their Heavenly Father, took leave,
promising to be with them early next day.
"Farewell, my child," said he, to Helen, "fear not for the future, for
it is a merciful and loving God who lays his rod upon you; and though
the clouds of darkness loom heavily around you, with Him nothing is
impossible; and He could, in one moment, disperse them, if it were
better for you. May you be purified by the affliction He sends. Good
night, once more, and remember that not a sparrow falls to the ground
unheeded by Him who made it."
How was it that this feeble child of affliction, went to bed that
night in some degree composed? For every earthly hope seemed blighted.
Her parents, one by one were re-called; her little patrimony taken
away; and she and the little ones left almost friendless. Was it to
make her the better feel where she could and must place her sole
dependance? Doubtless it was. Oh! ye happy sons and daughters of
prosperity, do you read this description, which many an afflicted one
is now realizing, with apathy? Do ye regard it as an over-wrought
scene of trial? Believe me it is no such thing. While you are
surrounded by every earthly comfort, I will say by every earthly
luxury; lolling, perhaps, on your sofas, or in your easy chairs, your
cup filled to overflowing with every blessing, hundreds of your fellow
creatures, young as you, are suffering privations, you hardly like to
_think_ of, but which they, alas! have _to bear_.
Helen rose early, refreshed by a long sleep, brought on by many nights
of broken rest. She kissed the tears off her sleeping brother and
sister's cheeks, and having recommended herself and them to God,
proceeded to commence the arduous duties that now devolved on her.
When Mr. Montgomery came, he found her doing that which he was about
to suggest, viz., preparing for an immediate sale of the furniture, by
taking an inventory, while the faithful servant was busily employed
cleaning the house, for which a tenant was luckily found. The two
young ones were doing their best to aid their sister. Mr. Montgomery
wished them sent to the vicarage, but Helen would not hear of it till
the day of, or after the sale. Well has it been said, that God tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb; and so did she find it; for on applying,
through Mr. Montgomery, to a neighbouring auctioneer, he,
gratuitously, attended, and did all in his power to dispose of the
things to advantage. Mr. Willoughby had taken the house on coming into
possession of the property and furnished it throughout, so that being
in good order, most of the furniture fetched a fair price. The day
after Mrs. Willoughby died Mr. Montgomery had written to a sister of
his, who lived twenty miles off, to enquire for a small house, should
there be such in her neighbourhood. She sent word there was a cottage
in the suburbs, which she thought would just suit, and, therefore, had
taken it for one year certain, it being a very moderate rent. Although
greater part of the things sold, had obtained a fair price, there were
several useful articles that would have gone for little, and but for
the good clergyman, have been completely sacrificed, these he bought
in; among them was a large carpet and the piano; he thought they
might, if the money were needed, be privately and more advantageously
disposed of. The funeral expenses were, comparatively, small; for
although Helen desired to pay every respect to her mother's memory,
Mr. Montgomery convinced her it was an imperative duty on her, to
avoid unnecessary expenditure, as she knew not what calls might yet be
made on her resources. It next became a consideration how the things
reserved from the sale, could be got, with the least expense, to their
new place of residence; but Nancy who was present said there was a
distant relative of hers, a farmer, who volunteered to take them in
his large waggon, which he said, by starting at midnight, could be
accomplished in one day, and as it was anything but a busy time, he
could do it with little loss; added to which, he expressed himself
right glad to be able to serve a young lady, who, with her mother, had
been so uncommonly kind to his only parent, during a long illness.
When did a good action ever lose its reward? Helen thankfully accepted
Mr. Montgomery's kind offer of taking the young ones to stay with him
till she was settled in their new abode, but Henry would not hear of
it; he insisted on remaining with his sister and doing all he could to
help her. So that not liking to leave Fanny alone, it was agreed they
both should accompany her. She was not sorry for this, as she thought
the bustle and novelty would divert their minds from their sorrow; for
herself, so much was required of her, both to think and to do, that
she had no time to dwell on the desolation of her position.
I must not here forget to state, that, though only eighteen, Helen had
experienced other troubles than those which now bowed her down; and
they were such as the youthful mind ever feels most keenly. She had,
with the sanction of her parents, been engaged to Edward Cranston; he
was himself considered unexceptionable, and the match was thought a
very eligible one; he was five years Helen's senior, and had just
entered the practice of the law, with every prospect of being called
to the bar. He was first attracted by her beauty and afterwards won by
her amiable and pleasing manner. Idolized by his own family, where she
first met him, and unremitting in his attention to herself, she soon
felt attached, and, confidingly, plighted her troth, and all seemed
the _couleur de rose_. His stay was some time prolonged, but he had,
at length, to leave; it was a hard struggle to him to part from her;
and he did not do so without many promises of fidelity. To see him
leave her, was the first trial she knew. The pang was severe; but his
devotion was such, that she doubted not his faith, and most
indignantly would she have repudiated the idea that his love for her
could lessen; but his disposition was naturally volatile, and once
away from her, and within the blandishments of other beauty, he could
not resist its power. He became enslaved by the fascinations of
another, and poor Helen was almost forgotten. Painfully did the
conviction force itself upon her, as his letters became first, less
frequent, and then less affectionate. Love is generally quicksighted;
but Helen's own heart was so pure, and so devoted, that it was hard to
believe she was no longer beloved. Hers was, indeed, a delicate
position. She noticed the alteration in Edward Cranston's style of
writing, and fancied it proceeded from any cause but diminution of
regard for her; that, she thought, could not be possible; but soon,
alas! did she learn, the (to her) sad truth, that her affianced lover
was devoted to another, a most beautiful girl, residing in the same
town, and it was said, they were engaged, and too true were the
reports, which the following letter confirmed.
"MY DEAR HELEN,
"How shall I write, or where find words to express all I desire to
say. Shall I commence by hoping that absence has led you to regard
me with less affection, or shall I honestly say, I no longer love
you as you deserve to be loved, and that I am no longer worthy your
affection. It costs me much to say this; but you would not wish me
to deceive you; you would not wish me to go perjured from the altar
with you. I most earnestly hope, nay, I feel sure, you will not
regret that I have discovered this mistake ere too late for the
peace of both. I have opened my heart and most bitterly do I regret
its delinquency; but our affections are involuntary, and not under
our control. Till the last two months, I believed mine to be
inviolably yours. I know I am betrothed to you, and, if you require
it, am bound, in honour, to fulfil my engagement; but I will ask
you, ought I to do so, feeling I no longer love you as I ought? Is
it not more really honourable to lay myself open and leave the
matter to your decision? If we are united, three individuals are
miserable for life; but it shall rest with you, oh, my excellent
Helen; forgive and pity
"Your still affectionate,
"EDWARD."
What a blow was this to her warm and sanguine heart! What a return to
love, so trustingly bestowed! She uttered not one reproach in her
reply, but merely released him from every promise, and wished him
every happiness.
She had, from the tenor of all his late letters, had a presentiment of
coming evil; but she could hardly, till that cruel one, just given to
the reader, realize its full extent; but the young do, and must feel
keenly in these matters,--females in particular,--and, if
right-minded, their all is embarked, and, if founded on esteem, the
affections are not given by halves; and I firmly believe the author,
who says, "Man is the creature of ambition and interest; his nature
leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but
the embellishment of his early life, or a song, piped between the
intervals, But a woman's whole life is a history of her affections;
the heart is _her world_; it is there, her ambition strives for
empire; it is there, her avarice seeks for treasures. She sends forth
her sympathies on adventures, and embarks her all in the traffic of
affection, and, if shipwrecked, unless she be strongly supported by
religious principles, it is a complete bankruptcy of her happiness."
But let the young remember, there is often in these disappointments,
so hard to meet, the most wholesome and salutary chastenings. How very
many happy wives can look back with thankfulness and gratitude, to the
all directing hand of providence, that, by a blasting of their
seemingly fair prospects, they are directed to happier fate, than
their own inexperience would lead them. How often does their Heavenly
Father manifest his care, by leading them from the shoals and rocks of
misery, which are oft times hidden, not only from themselves, but even
from the anxious eye of parental vigilance.
When Helen had paid the funeral expenses and some trifling debts, she
found she had but a small sum left. It was now her all for the present
support of three individuals; and for the future? poor girl! did she
think of that? it did indeed cross her mind; but she suppressed the
murmuring sigh that arose; and her beloved mother's precepts were
remembered, and her injunctions, that in every trial, she would cling
to her God for help. And truly, and wonderfully was this lone girl
supported; and almost superhuman were the efforts she was enabled to
make. Fortunately, much manual labour was saved by the faithful
servant, Nancy, whom no entreaties could force to quit. She insisted
on accompanying the children of her beloved mistress to their new
home. She, therefore, went with the waggon, and the next day, Mr.
Montgomery drove the three young ones to their destination. They were
to spend the first night with Mrs. Cameron, whom Helen found the
counterpart of her worthy brother. Less refined in manner, it is true,
and with few advantages of education, but she had much common sense,
and a most benevolent disposition, and was able to judge most sensibly
of things passing around her. Greatly prepossessed by all she had
heard of Helen, she received her with the warmth of an old friend.
Little Henry soon became an especial favourite; he was delighted with
the change, and the natural buoyancy of his disposition, soon led him
to forget past sorrows; the farm yard, the garden, the promised
fishing from the neighbouring trout stream, were all novelties that
enchanted him. Nancy was up early, and with the aid of Mrs. Cameron's
servant, had got nearly everything into the different rooms, ere that
lady and Helen could get there. The cottage was very small, but nature
had done much for the situation, which was indeed beautiful. There was
a small bed room off Helen's that was exactly the thing for Henry, and
a back one, which Nancy took for granted would be hers, and had,
accordingly, put all her things in it.
Everything was soon nicely arranged, and but little had to be bought.
Mrs. Cameron sent a great many things from her house that, she said,
were superfluous, causing much extra trouble to keep in order. This,
Helen knew, was only intended to lessen the sense of obligation.
Naturally active in her habits, she soon made the little place
comfortable, and while she thought how different it was, to what she
had been used to, she also remembered how much better it was, far
better than she could expect under existing circumstances.
Her next consideration was the possibility of getting something to do
for their support before their little money was expended. She
consulted with Mrs. Cameron, as to the probability of obtaining
needlework, at which she was very expert; though she feared the
confinement might injure her health, of which, it behoved, her to take
especial care, for the sake of little Fanny and Henry. However, if any
could be obtained, at once, she resolved to take it, till she could
fix on something else; and early the next day Mrs. Cameron called to
say, Mrs. Sherman, the Doctor's wife, would have some ready, if Miss
Willoughby would call at three in the afternoon. Helen's pride rose,
and her heart beat high; was she to go for it herself? She, for the
moment, revolted at the idea; but principle soon came to her aid, and
she accused herself of want of moral courage.
"What!" said she to Mrs. Cameron, "has it pleased God to place me in a
position, at which I dare to murmur? oh, my dear friend, what would my
beloved mother say, could she witness my foolish struggle between
principle and pride. Were it not for my good, should I be called on to
do it?"
"No, my dear girl; and that Being who sees principle triumph, will
reward it. Go then, my child; you see and feel what you ought to do,
therefore, act up to it. It is only when the right path is rugged,
there is any merit in walking in it."
"You are right, my excellent friend; may God direct this rebellious
heart of mine. Oh, how unlike am I to that dear departed one,
who,----" here she burst into tears. Mrs. Cameron now rose to go, and
Helen promised to call after she had been to Mrs. Sherman's.
In the afternoon, she dressed herself to go for the work. Her deep
mourning added, if possible, to her lady-like appearance. When in
health, she was extremely lovely; but it was a beauty, one can hardly
describe, since it arose not from regularity of feature. Suffice it to
say, she found Mrs. Sherman alone, who received her, not only kindly,
but with a degree of feeling and respect, that is rarely accorded
those, whom adversity has depressed. She apologized for not having
sent the work, and said, that indisposition, alone, induced her to
trouble Helen to call for the directions as to making the shirts,
about which the doctor was very particular. While pointing out how
they were to be done, a little girl, about eleven, burst into the
room, and threw herself on the sofa. On her mother desiring her to
leave, she cried out in a wayward tone, "No, I shan't, I want to stay
here, because I like it, and I will, too; papa would let me if he was
at home, and if you turn me out, I'll tell him, so I will."
"Susan, my child, you must, indeed you must leave me, I want to speak
to Miss Willoughby alone."
"Oh, yes, I know you do; you don't want me to hear you tell her how to
make papa's shirts."
"Fie! my dear, how can you act thus perversely," said Mrs. Sherman, as
she forcibly led her to the door, which had no sooner closed on the
petulant child, than she apologized, with much feeling, and seemed
greatly mortified at this _contre temps_ of her little girl. "In fact,
my dear Miss Willoughby," she said, "she is, with several others,
running almost wild, for want of a good school in the place."
"Oh, madam!" cried Helen, in almost breathless haste, "do you say a
school is wanted here? oh, tell me, would they think me too young, if
I were deemed capable, which I feel I am; for my beloved mother spared
no pains in grounding me thoroughly in the essential points, and, for
accomplishments, I have had the best masters."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Sherman, "could you undertake to impart the
rudiments of music?"
"I am sure I could," said Helen, blushing as she spoke, at the idea of
having, thus, to praise herself, "for when I left off learning, I
could play anything off at sight."
"If that be the case, I can easily get you a few pupils to commence
with, but how will you manage for a room?"
"Oh," replied the enthusiastic girl, cheered by these opening
prospects, "there is a room at the back of our parlour, which, being
so large, I did not care to furnish, it would make an admirable school
room."
"It is, indeed, a lucky thought, my dear Miss Willoughby, and may be,
not only of benefit to yourself, but to the inhabitants of the place;
that is, if you are capable and attentive."
"Indeed! indeed! I will be both. Only permit me to make the trial,"
said the excited Helen.
"That you shall, and have my little Susan to begin with; and the
sooner you do so, the better; but let me beg of you not to be too
sanguine, for fear of disappointment. Let me see, this is Wednesday;
you could not manage to get your room in order by Monday, could you?"
"At any rate," said Helen, "I would take the few who would attend, at
the first, in our little parlour."
Helen, then after thanking Mrs. Sherman for the suggestion, rose to
go; when that lady invited her back to tea, wishing to get more
insight into her plans and capability, before she ventured to
recommend her to others; and she wished that her husband the Doctor,
should see and converse with Helen, for whom she began to feel great
interest, as she had much reliance on his judgment, and penetration
into character. Having gleaned from the early part of her conversation
with Mrs. Sherman, her anxiety about the shirts, which were a new, and
difficult pattern, Helen insisted on taking and doing them at her
leisure, which after repeated refusals, she at length agreed to.
In returning home, she called, agreeably to her promise, on Mrs.
Cameron, who was as much pleased with the result of her visit as
herself.
"See, my dear Miss Willoughby," said she, "how your conduct was
rewarded, as I was sure it would be, for adhering to the right. Had
you sent Nancy for the work, perhaps you would never have got it, and
your qualification as a teacher might never been known. Was there not
my dear Helen, a special providence here? yes indeed there was."
Here, I must beg to digress a little, to urge the advantage of a
thorough education; which can never be too highly appreciated, or too
strongly enforced. Under any reverse of fortune, who can calculate on
the benefits? to say nothing of the gratification it affords in so
many ways. "Knowledge is power," and always secures its possessor, a
degree of influence, that wealth can never command. Oh! would that all
mothers, as well as daughters, could but be duly impressed, with a
sense of its _vital_ importance. Then we should not see girls, day
after day, permitted on any frivolous excuse, to absent themselves
from school: for if time be so truly valuable, as we know it really
is; how doubly, nay trebly, is it, in the period devoted to education.
If we could only rightly reflect, on the true end of education, this
serious waste could never be. What is it I ask? is it merely to
acquire a certain amount of rudimental information, and perhaps a
superficial acquaintance with showy accomplishments? assuredly not: it
is to learn how to think rightly, that we may by thinking rightly,
know how to act so. Rudimental instruction is necessarily the
foundation; and as such, must be duly and _fully_ appreciated; but it
is the _application_ of knowledge that education is meant to teach,
and this must be acquired by "line upon line and precept upon precept;
here a little and there a little," it is not the work of a day; nor is
it to be gained by alternate periods at school. Who know but those who
teach, half the time that is required to recover what is lost in these
frequently recurring, temporary absences. It is not only a large
portion of rudimental instruction that is lost; but those _many_
opportunities, which every conscientious teacher eagerly, and
anxiously, avails herself of, to enforce good principles. This can be
done at no stated periods, but they must be seized as circumstances
call them forth, whether suggested by the teachings of the sacred
writings, or from the ample pages of history: or even from the lesson
she may convey from the sentiment that often heads a child's simple
copy book. If these, lost and frittered away periods, be of no
account, then there is both time and money thrown away by those who
are regular in their scholastic attendance.
Most amply was Mrs. Willoughby's sedulous care in the education of her
daughter, repaid; what comforts it brought to her orphan children; and
to how many would it prove equally serviceable, and save them from
eating the bitter bread of dependence.
It was but little in consonance with the state of Helen's feelings, to
mix with strangers so soon after her beloved mother's death, and most
gladly would she have declined going back in the evening, and proposed
to send an apology, and say she would be with Mrs. Sherman early the
following day; but Mrs. Cameron, whom she consulted, and upon whose
advice she generally acted, strongly advised her to go, and take Fanny
with her, as Mrs. Sherman had requested.
"Situate as you are my dear," said she, "you owe it to yourself, and
the dear children, to make as many friends as you can. The Shermans
are kind-hearted, and I may say influential people, and may do you a
great deal of good. I have known them many years as worthy and sincere
characters." This was enough: and Helen was punctual to the time named.
The Doctor was in to tea, and his frank good humoured manner,
completely won Helen's heart. He too, on his part, was much pleased
with her. After conversing for some time, he appeared thoughtful, and
then put several questions to her; among others, asked, if she had
ever applied for the allowance from the "Compassionate Fund," for
herself and the children; saying, he knew some who received it; and
that he would inquire what forms were necessary for obtaining it:
adding,
"I believe it is not much; not more than ten pounds a year each, but
as there are three of you, thirty pounds is worth trying for."
Helen was very grateful for the suggestion, and the good Doctor
promised to make the requisite inquiries next day. While they were
thus chatting together, the two little girls were amusing themselves
in the drawing room, which communicated with the parlour by folding
doors, and just as the Doctor was remarking how quiet they were, the
piano was struck, and a pretty sonata played. Mrs. Sherman was
surprised to find it was Fanny, and still more so, on hearing that
Helen had been her sole instructress, as she played very prettily. The
Doctor, who was passionately fond of music, was then very anxious to
hear Helen play, and asked her to do so, but kind feeling restrained
him from urging her, when she gave her reason, which, I need not tell
the reader, was the recent death of her mother.
The evening passed off very cheerfully, and Helen found, ere she left
Mrs. Sherman's, she had secured warm friends in her and her excellent
husband. It was agreed that, on the following day, she should her
introduced to several families, where she would be likely to obtain
pupils; and so successful were Mrs. Sherman's efforts, that she had
the promise of six to commence with on the following Monday, and ere a
month had elapsed, three more were added to the number.
I should before have mentioned, that, on the death of her mother,
Helen had written to an aunt, who was in great affluence, informing
her of the sad event, from whom she received a cool letter of
condolence, but not the slightest offer of assistance.
Finding it necessary to forward certificates of her parents' marriage,
as well as those of her own and the children's baptism, she wrote to
her aunt, for information as to where she might obtain them. In reply,
she informed her where she could get them, and then concluded, by
offering her and Fanny an asylum, for such she termed it, if for their
board, Helen would instruct her three cousins. She took care to
insinuate, that as doing this, would involve additional expense, she
must be content to be received as a mere stranger; she would be
expected even to assist in the family needle work. Fanny, Mrs. Selwyn
said, would not require much clothing to be purchased, as two of her
cousins were older than she, was, and never half wore their things
out, adding, as Helen, would in all probability, obtain the
compassionate allowance, it might, with care, clothe her and help
Henry, if he needed anything. She finished her heartless letter, by
saying: of course, Helen would try and find a place for him, as he
must not, she said, be too particular _now_. Helen read, and re-read
it, and then bursting into tears, fell on her knees, and thanked her
Heavenly Father, who had given her the means, by honest industry, of
saving herself and little ones the bitter pang of eating the bread of
dependence. After this, with what heartfelt thankfulness, did she sit
down with them, to their frugal meal.
She wrote and respectfully declined her aunt's offer. The fact of the
matter was this: Mrs. Selwyn had heard of Helen's successful attempt,
and though she held no communication with her sister,--Willoughby,
after that lady had offended her father by marrying, yet she had
little doubt of Helen's capability; and thought, after the energy and
self reliance she had manifested, she might, for she was, though rich,
a most parsimonious woman, turn it to her own account and for a few
years, at least, get her children cheaply educated. It was Helen's
determination, if she obtained the compassionate allowance, to keep
it, as a reserve for her brother's education. She mentioned her
intention to Dr. Sherman, who expressed his warm approval of her plan.
One day, Nancy, who had been to the shop for groceries, came in, very
hastily, to the room Helen and Mrs. Cameron were sitting in.
"Oh, Miss Helen! do you know, while I was waiting in Mrs. Conway's
shop, who should come in, but Peggy Smith, to say she was going to
leave, the place, and go to her mother, a long way off, as she was,
all along, so sickly, and she herself but a lone woman here; well
she's going to sell that nice cow, and let the field that joins our
little paddock, which she holds on lease. Now, I know that cow is a
first-rate milker, and I thought if you would buy her, as I have a
good deal of time, I could soon clear the five pounds, which is all
she asks for it; she will calve in a month, and Mrs. Conway will take
all the butter we don't want."
"It will be a capital thing, Helen," said Mrs. Cameron, "if Nancy
understands how to manage her."
"I should think, ma'am, I did, when I was brought up in a dairy all my
life, till I went to live with Mrs. Willoughby, and mother's been sick
two months at a time, and I made all the butter and cheese too."
Mrs. Cameron told Helen, she had no doubt it might be made quite a
profitable investment, as Nancy was such a good manager, and even
offered to lend the money, but Helen had so well economised her little
stock, this was not required.
Weeks and months passed away, but no satisfactory, or indeed, any
answer at, all could be obtained as to the compassionate allowance. At
last, Dr. Sherman wrote again to the War Office, and received an
answer, saying, the request could not be complied with, on the ground
that Captain Willoughby's death was not properly authenticated, though
it was not, in the least, doubted, as a miniature of Mrs. Willoughby,
and his pocket book, were found in the breast of a dead major, a
friend of his, and in the same regiment, it was supposed, that he
consigned them to the major, in his dying moments. The grant,
therefore, could not be allowed while the essential document was
wanting.
Among her pupils, she gave lessons in music at their own house, to the
Misses Falkner. One morning, being tired of waiting which she
invariably had to do, she sat down to the instrument to pass away the
time. One of her favorite songs lay before her on the Piano, and she
almost unconsciously struck the keys and played the accompaniment, and
sang it. Hardly had she finished, than Miss Falkner came in;
exclaiming, as she did so, "what, you here, Mr. Mortimer! how long
have you been waiting?" not taking the slightest notice of Helen.
"Some time," said he, "but both my apology, and thanks, are due to
this lady, for the high treat, she has afforded me. I was standing
outside the veranda, when she entered and seeing it was a stranger,
was going off, when she commenced a favorite air of mine, and I was
spell bound! but you will introduce me, will you not?
"Oh yes, certainly," said Miss Falkner in a hesitating tone. "It is
the young person to whom Julia goes to school, and who gives me, and
Eliza lessons in music; Miss Willoughby," here she stopped; she did
not even add the gentleman's name. "I am sorry Miss Willoughby," said
she "I cannot take my lesson to-day, and therefore need not detain
you."
Helen colored, and bowing left the room, the stranger rose, opened the
door for her, and accompanied her to the street door, when he again
bowed his head respectfully.
When he returned to the room, Miss Falkner rallied him on his
politeness, to the village governess, as she contemptuously, styled
Helen.
"Village queen! I think," said he, "for she certainly has a most
dignified, and ladylike bearing, and is very good looking too."
"Well, I do declare Mr. Mortimer, you have quite lost your heart."
"By no means my dear Miss Falkner, it is not quite so vulnerable. A
lovely face and graceful form alone, will never win it: even with the
addition of such a syren's voice as Miss Willoughby possesses; she
sings, not only sweetly, but scientifically."
"Of course," said she, "if people are to get their living by their
talents, they ought to be well cultivated."
So little accustomed, since the death of her mother, to kindness from
the world in general, and made to feel, so keenly, her dependant
situation, Helen fully appreciated the respectful deference accorded
to her by the stranger.
Her pupils increased so, that in a short time, she had twelve, besides
several for accomplishments but the Misses Falkner, for reasons best
known to themselves, declined her future instructions, and just as she
was preparing to go to them a day or two after being, so cavalierly
dismissed, Mrs. Falkner was announced at the cottage. She came, she
said, to pay the bill, and say her daughters would discontinue their
lessons:
"Of course," she said, "you will only charge for the time you actually
came to them."
Helen quietly replied, "that she should certainly expect the quarter
they had commenced, to be paid for." She knew they could afford it,
and she felt it due to those she laboured for, not to throw away one
penny.
"Well," said Mrs. Falkner, "this comes of patronizing nobody knows
who, it is just what one might expect."
"Madam," said Helen, her colour rising as she spoke, "had you thought
proper to have done so, you might have known who I was."
"I think," said the unfeeling woman, "as Julia's quarter is up, I
shall keep her at home too, for the present."
"As you think proper," said the agitated girl.
"Well, well, you are mighty high, I think, for a person obliged to
work for her bread. You are come down pretty low, and may----"
"Hold!" said Helen, "let me intreat you, Mrs. Falkner, to desist these
cruel taunts. God has been pleased to place me in my present position;
and it is, with thankfulness, nay, with pride, I exert the talents he
has given me for the support of myself and the dear children, he has
committed to my care. Poverty, madam, may _try_ us, and that severely;
but while we act rightly, it can never _degrade_ us, but in the eyes
of those, unfeeling as yourself."
"Mighty fine and heroic, to be sure! Is it not a pity Mr. Mortimer
isn't hidden somewhere to hear you, as he was when you sung, and
pretended not to know he was listening. He could see through it,
though, as well as we did; and let, me tell you, artful as you are,
that he is not a bird to be caught with chaff. But there's your money,
so give me a receipt." This, she no sooner received than off she
started.
Helen, who had, with difficulty, restrained her tears, now gave way to
her feelings, and thus relieved her over-charged heart. At this
moment, Mrs. Cameron came in, and having heard all that had passed,
said:
"Never mind, my dear child, we must all be tried, some way or other,
and even this cruel heartless woman could not vex you thus did not God
permit her to do so; we have all, yes, the very best of us, proud,
rebellious hearts, that need chastisement; and it is not for us to
choose, how it is to be done. God knows best; meet it, therefore, my
dear, humbly, as from _Him_, and not _man_; all will yet come right.
You are a good girl; still Helen dear, you need, as we all do, the
chastening of the Almighty, for we every one of us, come short, and
'when weighed in His balance, are found wanting,'"
A few days after this, Henry, who had been out fishing, came in, with
his basket full of trout."
"Look there, Helen," said he, "what do you think of that? There's
trout for you?"
"Why, Henry dear, are you already so expert at fishing?" asked his
sister.
"No," replied Henry, "but a gentleman joined me, and we angled
together. See, what beautiful flies he has given me! He caught three
fish to my one, but he would make me take all. Oh, he's a real nice
fellow. He has hired Mr. Bently's hunting lodge for the season, and
says I may go with him, whenever I please, if you will let me.
"Whenever it does not interfere with your studies, Henry, but you must
mind and not be troublesome to him."
"I'll take care of that; but I forgot to tell you, I met Mrs. Sherman,
as I was coming home, and she wants you to go to tea there, and Susan
is to come down and stay with Fanny."
Mrs. Sherman had seen Mrs. Cameron, and learnt from her the cruel
manner in which Mrs. Falkner had behaved, and kindly desired to have a
chat with Helen, in order to soothe and strengthen her mind, and; if
it were possible, render her less vulnerable to these shafts of
malice. After they had, for some time, discussed the matter:
"Now," said Mrs. Sherman, "let us forget all unpleasantries, and give
me one of your nice songs; I wonder where the Doctor is? he promised
to be in to tea; but, I suppose, he has taken it where he is
detained."
Helen sat down, and played and sang. At length, the Doctor's voice was
heard in the passage; but Mrs. Sherman insisted on her going on, and
held up her finger, as her husband entered, in token of silence. The
Doctor sent Mrs. Sherman to the parlour door, where stood Mr.
Mortimer; when Helen had finished, she turned and saw him. He bowed
and went across to her, and expressed his pleasure in meeting her
again, in such a frank off-hand manner, that our heroine, if such she,
may be called, soon lost all feeling of embarrassment, and went on
playing and singing and the evening passed imperceptibly away. When
the Doctor escorted Helen home, Mr. Mortimer accompanied them to the
gate, leading to the cottage and took his leave.
Their meeting at Dr. Sherman's was entirely the result of accident.
Mr. Mortimer had been on friendly terms at the house ever since he had
been in the neighbourhood, but as both the Doctor and his wife
concluded he was engaged to Miss Falkner, they never thought to ask
him, when Helen was expected, and so tenacious was he, not to win her
affections, till assured he could make her his, that he carefully
assumed an indifference he was far from feeling. He pitied her
position; which he saw was a trying one; and he greatly admired the
way she acquitted herself in it. He gained a great insight into her
character, in his conversations with Henry, who, entirely off his
guard, was very communicative. The following letter, however, from Mr.
Mortimer to an old friend, will best elicit his views and opinions:
"MY DEAR EMMERSON,
"I promised to let you know where I brought up, and here I am,
domiciled in a pretty little country village, where Bently has
property, and I have hired his snug hunting lodge, and, in the mind
I am in, I shall remain the next six months, that is, if when the
term for renting this said lodge expires, I can find a place to
which I can bring my sister Emily, Here there is hardly room enough
for myself and Philips, who is still my factotum, valet, groom, and
I know not what besides; however, he is content, and so am I.
Heartily sick of town, and its conventualities, and tired of being
courted and feted, not for _myself_, but my _fortune_, I care not,
if I never see it again. I am weary, too, of 'single blessedness,'
and yet afraid to venture on matrimony; why is it so few are happy,
who do? There is some grand evil somewhere; but where? 'Aye there's
the rub.' I look narrowly into every family I visit, especially,
the newly married ones, and I see the _effect_, but not the
_cause_. Now, _one_ cannot be without the _other_, we well know. I
fear I expect too much from the other sex, and begin to think there
is more truth than poetry in your observation, that I 'must have a
woman made on purpose for me,' for I certainly do want to find one
very different from most that I have yet seen.
"Travelling between London and Bath, I met my father's old friend
and college chum, Falkner, who finding I had no settled plans,
persuaded me to take Bently's hunting lodge, which is in the
vicinity of his villa. Falkner is a worthy good creature, whom I
should give credit for a great deal of common sense, were he not so
completely under the dominion of his wife, a perfect Xantippe; by
the bye, I think, however wise he might be in some respects, that
Master Socrates was a bit of a goose, particularly if, as history
maintains, he did, he knew what a virago he was taking. But,
however deficient in her duty as a wife, Mrs. Falkner goes to the
other extreme, and overacts her part as a mother; but I am very
ungrateful in thus animadverting on her behaviour, for you must
know, she has singled out your humble servant as a most especial
favourite; and though _she does not wish her girls married_, takes
right good care to let me know that she thinks the woman who gets
me, will be lucky; and that, much as she would grieve to part from
one of her daughters, yet, were an eligible chance to offer, she
would throw no obstacles in the way. I do verily believe she has
discarded a little girl who taught her daughters music, solely for
fear I should fall in love with her; and certainly, she is as far
superior to the Misses Falkner as she well can be, both in
attainments and personal attractions. I am so afraid of coming to a
hasty conclusion, but own myself greatly prepossessed in her
favour. She has been well and carefully brought up; I have watched
her in church, and have marked an unaffected devotion, which I have
seen carried to the sick and suffering poor around her. She has
lost both parents, and now by her talents, supports an orphan
brother and sister. The former, an intelligent interesting boy of
thirteen, is a frequent companion of mine, and if I can, without
wounding the delicacy of the sister, I trust to be of some future
service to him. I have, indirectly, and, perhaps, you will say,
unfairly questioned the boy, and all tells in her favour; now, here
it must be genuine. Miss Willoughby plays and sings like a Syren;
but then, so does many a pretty trifler. Beauty and accomplishments
are very well to pass an evening away; but in a companion for life,
_far more_ is required; much more than these must _I_ find in a
woman, ere I venture to ask her to be mine. I am heartily tired of
my present life; it is a lonely stupid way of living; living! I
don't live, I merely vegetate! I have no taste for dissipation;
neither have I any great predilection for field sports.
"Miss Willoughby is, I think, far superior to the generality of her
sex, but she shall never have an idea of my partiality, till I am
thoroughly persuaded she can make me happy; for although she may
not come up to my standard of female perfection, she is far too
amiable and too forlorn to be trifled with; and, therefore, I will
not try to win her affections, till I know I can reciprocate them.
With regard to the Falkners, I will be guarded. I respect the old
man sincerely, and his family; farther, deponent sayeth not. He is
the beau ideal of a country squire, and I think you will like him!
They are all remarkably civil, and I must, for many reasons, keep
up an intercourse, or give room elsewhere of having my plans
suspected, The whole village, I believe have given me to one of the
Falkners. I do not wish even the worthy Dr. Sherman and his
excellent wife to suspect that I feel more than a common interest
in their protegee. I wish you would come down for a month, I think
you would like this part of the country, and I am sure you and Mr.
Falkner would get on together. Neither have I the slightest doubt,
but you would be pleased with the Shermans; they are gems, perfect
gems, in their way. And as to Miss Willoughby,--but come and judge
for yourself. You are engaged, or I might not, perhaps, be so
pressing.
"Just as I was concluding this, a letter was brought by the mail,
from a distant relative, who is just returned from India. It was
hastily written, and sent off while the ship was laying in the
Downs, requesting me, if possible, to meet him at Deal. So I am off
for a short time, and will write to you directly I return. Till
when, farewell.
"Ever faithfully yours,
"GEORGE."
Every meeting increased Helen's respect for Mr. Mortimer; she often
met him at Dr. Sherman's, but it seemed always the result of chance,
nor had she the slightest idea that he felt for her other, than the
esteem of a friend. The village gave him to one of the Misses Falkner,
and Helen took it for granted it was so. She rather regretted it, as
she thought him too good, and feared they could, neither of them,
appreciate his worth. She occasionally met the Falkners at Dr.
Sherman's, when the eldest young lady always took care to monopolize
him, which, for reasons of his own, he readily fell into. When he took
leave to go to Deal, Helen could not help fancying there was a
tenderness and peculiarity in his tone, as he addressed her, and yet
she thought she must be mistaken, and that it was only his natural
friendly warmth of manner, for she had none of that silly vanity, that
leads many girls to fancy, because a man is kind and attentive, he
must be in love.
She missed him greatly, for latterly he had accompanied her in her
songs, and supplied her with music and books; still, all was done
under the mask of friendship, and duplicates of these little presents
were generally procured for Falkner Villa. Also, Henry, too, was sadly
at a loss for his companion; all his out door amusements seemed to
have lost their interest, and he began to look anxiously for the time
proposed for his return. A room was prepared both for Mr. Mortimer,
and his cousin, at Mr. Falkner's. On his return, however, he preferred
going to his own quarters, leaving Sir Horace Mortimer, his relative,
to the hospitalities of Falkner Villa.
Sir Horace Mortimer's stay with them, opened a fresh field for Mrs.
Falkner's speculations, and not being either so fastidious or
clear-sighted as his cousin George, Sir Horace, at one time, bid fair
to set the former an example.
They were all assembled at Dr. Sherman's a few nights after Mr.
Mortimer's return, when Sir Horace was introduced, to Helen. He almost
started, but said nothing; however his eyes were so completely riveted
on her, that he became quite absent--in short, his fixed gaze became
painful. Dr. Sherman was, during the evening, called to the door, when
he received a parcel from London, carriage paid, which the man said he
had promised to place in the Doctor's own hand. The worthy man
wondering from whom it could possibly come, retired to his own room
and opened it. It contained Mrs. Willoughby's portrait and the pocket
book; the latter he locked up carefully; the former he was carrying to
Helen: who being engaged with Mrs. Sherman in the adjoining room, he
showed it to Sir Horace Mortimer, with whom he had just been
conversing about Helen, and her orphan charge.
"Can it be possible," said he "or do my eyes deceive me?"
The Doctor looked inquiringly, but Sir Horace said no more. At last he
went up to the Doctor, and asked if Helen was expecting the arrival of
the miniature? Dr. Sherman replied, she knew it was safe, but was
quite uncertain when it might arrive.
"Then my dear sir, would you trust me with it till to-morrow morning?
when I will restore it at an early hour," I would not ask, but for
very particular reasons, connected it may be, of much moment to that
dear girl: if as I strongly suspect, I have seen that miniature
before, there is a secret and very minute spring, which I could not
well ascertain without my glasses. Believe me, my dear Doctor, I have
very cogent reasons for my request, and I feel no common interest in
Miss Willoughby: but we are attracting the notice of those people I am
staying with, who are not at all friendly disposed towards her; in
fact, they have done all in their power to prejudice me against her.
The Doctor marvelled much at the request; but readily acceeded to
it--and then both he and Sir Horace Mortimer, joined in the general
conversation.
When the little party broke up, Sir Horace Mortimer undertook to be
Helen's escort, and offered her his arm. Miss Falkner having come with
him, quietly took the other. When they reached Helen's abode, which
was in the way to Falkner Villa, at parting, Sir Horace requested
permission to call and see her at an hour he named next day, and she
promised to be ready.
"Will you send your young brother for me? I have heard much of him;
and must make his acquaintance."
"Oh," said Miss Falkner, "we are going to call at the cottage
to-morrow, and I will be your guide. We have long been intending to
pay a visit to Miss Willoughby, mamma is anxious to apologize for some
little misunderstanding." Helen tried to speak, but her words could
find no utterance, in reply to the impertinent speech of Miss Falkner,
but shaking Sir Horace warmly by the hand, she bowed and went into her
home.
At breakfast Miss Falkner told her mother, that as Sir Horace
Mortimer, had made an appointment to visit Miss Willoughby; they could
avail themselves of his escort, and go with him. This I beg leave to
say, though apparently the thought of the moment, was a _preconcerted_
proposition: but one which Sir Horace declared impossible! as he had
particular business with Miss Willoughby, at which none but Dr.
Sherman, and Mrs. Cameron could be present. This was spoken so
decidedly, that no further opposition was made to his wish to go
alone.
But both mother and daughters were sadly puzzled. Conjecture was rife
among them the whole morning: at last they came to the conclusion that
he had made up his mind to propose for Helen--it must be so, else why
Dr. Sherman and Mrs. Cameron present?--this point, therefore, was
settled--at least with the Falkners, of her acceptance of him, a rich
East Indian, oh there could be no doubt of that. And the elder Miss
Falkner could breathe again, since she was free to captivate Mr.
George Mortimer, with whom she was desperately in love. Thus do vain
and silly people jump at conclusions and thus is half the business of
a country town, or village, settled without any concurrence, or even
knowledge of those most concerned.
The request of Sir Horace Mortimer set Helen wondering, and certainly
deprived her of some hours sleep. His peculiar manner and his ardent
gaze, too, recurred to her mind, as she lay thinking on the subject.
She was completely puzzled, he was a perfect stranger whom she had
never before seen, nor he her, what could it mean? Would not some have
concluded he was in love with her, but a man old enough to be her
father! Such an idea never entered her head: in fact she could make no
probable guess, so she determined to make a virtue of necessity, and
wait quietly, till he came. Early the next day, she sent for Mrs.
Cameron, and told her of the appointment Sir Horace had made, and as
she thought it more than probable, the Falkners might accompany him,
as they spoke of doing so over night, she wished her friend to be with
her. But we have already seen that Sir Horace had decidedly expressed
his determination to go alone. Mrs. Cameron was equally perplexed with
Helen, as to his object. She thought perhaps he had mistaken Helen's
likeness, to some one he was attached to in his early years, and
applying her favorite well-founded maxim and belief in an over-ruling
Providence, made up her mind, that however the mistake might be; it
would end in the orphans finding a sincere friend in the Baronet or
the rich Nabob, as the people termed him.
Whatever were the surmises of Sir Horace Mortimer, he was perfectly
satisfied with the result of his private examination of the miniature
for he exclaimed to himself, "God be praised! it must indeed be so,"
saying this, he put it in his pocket, and joined the Falkner family at
breakfast, where the conversation before related, took place.
On his way to Helen's, he met his cousin, and they walked on together.
At length Sir Horace Mortimer asked, "George, my boy do you not begin
to think of marrying; it is in my opinion, high time you should--let
me see; you must be eight and twenty, why you are losing time sadly,
take care I don't get spliced first, as sailors say."
"Why sir, they do say Maria Falkner has certainly made a conquest of
you."
"They do, do they: its very kind of them to settle so important a
point for me. Do you approve the match."
"I think there are many who would make you happier."
"Miss Willoughby, for instance!" said Sir Horace.
"Miss Willoughby! sir."
"Yes, Miss Willoughby, George, what objection? Should I be the first
old man, who has married a young girl? and made her happy too. I
intend to make her a proposal to-day."
"You! sir; you surely don't mean what you say!"
"But I do, though; I was never more in earnest in my life. But, eh,
George! what is the matter? you change colour. You don't want her
yourself? You know you can't marry her and Miss Falkner too."
"I marry Miss Falkner? Never; I would sooner be wedded to--"
"Hold! my boy; I know the workings of that wayward heart of yours,
better than you think; and, therefore, let us understand each other;
at any rate, let me be clearly understood, when I say, that unless you
make up your mind to marry Helen Willoughby, I shall."
"But, my dear Sir Horace, though I greatly admire and esteem her far
beyond any woman I ever saw. Yet I am,----" and he paused.
"You are what? Shall I tell you? You are so very fastidious, that you
are refining away your happiness, like anything but a sensible man.
You don't expect perfection, do you? The long and the short of the
matter, is this: in your haste to answer my letter from the Downs, you
sent me, by mistake, a confidential epistle, which you had intended
for some intimate friend. Not having any signature, I went on reading
it, nor till you adverted to my arrival off Deal, was I aware who was
the writer. It was a lucky _contre temps_, it gave me a better insight
into your views and character, than years of common intercourse could
have done. I admire your principles, though I think you carry them a
little too far. Now don't blame me, as I again repeat, you omitted
your name at the end. So no more nonsense, my lad; 'screw up your
courage to the sticking point,' and go, and propose for the girl at
once. You must do it, I tell you, or I disinherit you, and give her
every penny; and, as I before said, myself into the bargain. But I am
off to Sherman's and thence, to Miss Willoughby, where I shall expect
you in an hour, so you had best be on the alert. You will not be the
first young man who has been outwitted by an old one, so mind." Saying
this, he left his young relative, who was not, however, very tardy in
following advice so consonant to his own wishes.
It may be thought George Mortimer was too particular, but be it
remembered, it was a most honorable feeling that led to his
deliberation; viz., the firm resolve not to win Helen's, affections,
and then leave her. No, he nobly resolved first to learn the state of
his own feelings; and well would it be if many others would act
equally generous. But no! however men decry beauty, they are all its
slaves, and it ever wins a willing homage from them. They are won by
the attractions of a pretty face, and are in consequence, most
particular in their attentions to its possessor; who is thus singled
out, and in all probability, is subject to the jokes of her friends
till from so constantly hearing, she is beloved, she believes it to be
so, nor awakes from her dream, till she sees herself supplanted by a
newer or prettier face. This is a crying evil: a bad state of things;
and in regretting it, we must not lay the blame wholly on the opposite
sex. There is doubtless too much credulity in the ladies, but this
credulity would be greatly diminished, were they more frequently met
and treated as rational beings, and they would much sooner become so:
for they would have an object in it. How much would the state of
society be improved, could there be a little reform on the side of
each sex. Let the man, as the superior, commence; he will find his
young female friends, beings capable of more than the small talk, with
which they are too generally amused; and I think they will soon be
better prepared for sensible conversation; and then let the ladies on
their part be a little more sceptical in believing the flattery and
adulation of the men, and not fancy every gentleman, who is friendly
and attentive in perhaps merely a general way, in love with her. As in
everything else, there are exceptions, here I only speak of
generalities, and I trust not with acerbity. A very little of mutual
effort, would bring about a great improvement in these matters. The
_young_ have great influence on the _young_, particularly in the
formation of character, and well for those who exercise it
beneficially.
When Sir Horace Mortimer went into the cottage, he had hardly shaken
hands than he asked Helen her mother's maiden name.
"Brereton," she replied.
"Brereton?" said he "not Anna Brereton, for she married a Lieutenant
Bateson; am I wrong then, after all?"
"Papa changed his name," said Helen, "on receiving some, property,
which we afterwards found he had no claim to."
"Then, my beloved girl, in me you behold your uncle William. You have
heard your mother speak of me."
"Oh, yes, frequently! she always said, had you been at home, you would
have brought about a reconciliation with grand-papa."
"Do you ever see or hear of your Aunt Elinor; she was engaged when I
went away, to a Mr. Selwyn, and it was thought to be a good match."
Helen told him she had received two letters from Mrs. Selwyn.
"Which two letters I must see, for I suspect she has slighted you. As
to you, my dear Mrs. Cameron, what can I ever say to you and your
worthy brother, or the kind Mrs. Sherman, I meant to have had the
Doctor with me; but just as we were leaving his door, he was called
away to somebody taken suddenly ill. Helen, there is your mother's
portrait, which was taken for me, but I sailed before it was
completed. I gave the order myself and a pattern; Sherman received it
last night, and this led to my discovering you. Though I was much
struck when I first saw you, by your strong likeness, to your mother,
I never expected, to see any of you."
"But why, dearest uncle have we heard, nothing of you for so long a
time?"
"That my child is a long story, which time will not allow me to go
into now: you shall have it some of these days; as I see George
coming, whom I desired to follow me here, as I recommended him to
consult you about his proposing to Miss Falkner."
"Me!" said Helen, "consult _me_?" and she colored deeply.
"Why not, you are second or third cousins; and he has a great opinion
of your judgement."
"Well sir," said the Baronet to Mr. Mortimer, as he entered, "the hour
has not yet expired: however you have given me time to tell Helen, how
nearly she and I are related, for her mother was my own sister!"
"Is it possible!" cried the astonished George.
"Yes, and I told her you were coming to consult her upon several
matters." As he spoke this, he stole his hat and slipped off giving a
significant look at Mrs. Cameron, who followed the old gentleman to
the garden, and there learnt what he had gleaned from George
Mortimer's letter, to Mr. Emmerson, viz., that he was much attached to
Helen--and added he had no doubt but they should soon have a job for
Mr. Montgomery, to marry them.
"At any rate we must have him here."
The remainder of my tale, is soon told, viz.: that Helen and Mortimer,
were united, and Mrs. Falkner, insisted on removing to a place where
she would be more likely to settle her girls. Sir Horace bought the
villa which still retained its name.