A PROMISE.
“I am sure that Mr. Eardley was thinking of Mr. Arthur Madden this
evening when he spoke of active labourers for God being smitten down by
sickness,” observed Rebekah Holdich to her husband, after the little
congregation had dispersed from the cottage.
“Mr. Arthur—I hope there’s nothing the matter with him!” said Holdich,
with a look of concern on his manly countenance. “The last news was that
he had been ordained at Jerusalem.”
“But I grieve to say that worse tidings came this morning to Mr. Eardley
in a letter from Mr. Arthur’s youngest sister, who has been nursing him
in a dangerous illness. The doctors say that the climate does not agree
with his health; he was ordered to England directly—he and his sister
were to start by the very next steamer.”
“It will be a real pleasure to see them again,” observed Holdich. He was
a man rather of deeds than words, so the simple sentence expressed a
great deal more than it would have done from the lips of another.
“But Mr. Arthur may never arrive, he may sink by the way,” faltered
Rebekah, who was of a disposition naturally tender, and not very hopeful.
“Wife, he is in God’s hands,” said Holdich; “sick or well, on sea or on
land—he will be given what is best for him.”
“Ah,” thought Rebekah, “my husband is always one to see behind the fading
blossoms the germ of the fruit. His is a faith that can bear wind and
storm; he can trust not only himself, but (what I find so much harder to
do) those whom he loves, to his God.”
Mrs. Bolder, as usual, carried back to her suffering husband an account
of the cottage-lecture.
“There’s a word of comfort for me,” observed Bolder; “maybe I’m like
one of these nine thousand seven hundred Israelites sent back to their
tents. They were not to be trusted to gain the victory, lest they should
boast that their own strength had won it. God kept them in the background
to keep them humble; but they were not rejected—no! Nor is many a poor
sinner like me, though shut up from active work—we shall yet be allowed
to join in the shout, _Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through
our Lord Jesus Christ._”
Lottie Stone had returned to the Lodge that evening with a very heavy
heart. Her mind was far less occupied with the lecture than with the
tidings which she had heard of the dangerous illness of one of her
earliest benefactors. Already perplexed and distressed as she was on
account of her father, this new trouble had come on the little maid as a
shock. The words in which Mrs. Bolder had communicated the news to her,
“Have you heard that Mr. Arthur Madden is dying at Jerusalem?” had struck
like a knell on her heart. Already that young tender heart was bleeding
from home anxieties and troubles of which Lottie could not speak even to
the kind mistress for whose counsel and sympathy she yearned, and now
this second blow seemed almost crushing. Her father in difficulties,
out of which she could not help him, returning after the absence of
years to his country, but sick, tied down by debt, unable to reach those
who loved him; and now the generous friend of the family dying in a
far-distant land—thoughts of all this were a most oppressive burden of
sorrow to Lottie. Her mind was so full of its troubles that she was more
than usually awkward and inattentive in service. She was unpunctual in
bringing in tea, the milk-jug was empty, the plates forgotten, the water
had never been boiling. Isa was a little displeased, Mr. Gritton was
angry, and his peevish chiding increased the confusion of poor Lottie
Stone. In her nervous haste in removing the tea-tray she knocked over a
letter-weigher which had lain upon Gaspar’s table. It fell with a clatter
which made the invalid start, and the various weights were scattered
hither and thither, some on the boards, some on the piece of brown
drugget which covered the centre of the apartment.
“The girl must have been drinking!” exclaimed Gaspar angrily, while poor
Lottie went down on her knees to gather up the weights. Isa, pitying her
confusion, said, in order to draw away the attention of Gaspar, “I have
not yet told you of Edith’s kindness; she has promised to send my poor
consumptive girl to Bournemouth.”
“I feel no interest in the matter,” replied Mr. Gritton; “I wish that,
instead of hunting up cases outside the house, you would manage to keep a
little better order within it.”
Lottie rose from her knees after her search, and timidly placed the
weigher on the mantel-piece. She had recovered all the weights belonging
to it but one, the smallest of the set, and that, in the dim light thrown
by the solitary candle on the table, she had not been able to find.
Lottie was nervously afraid lest her master should examine the small
machine and find it imperfect.
“I will hunt for the little round thing in the morning, when no one is
watching me,” thought Lottie, “and I’ll never rest then till I find
it.” The letter-weigher was the only elegant article which Gaspar’s
study contained; it had been a birth-day gift from his sister, and had
particularly attracted the admiration of Lottie, who, in her simplicity,
had taken the gilded ornament for gold. The loss of the little weight was
to the young maid a sensible addition to her heavier troubles.
“If I can’t find that little gold bit, what on earth shall I do?” thought
Lottie, with the fear before her mind of having to replace an article of
value unknown; “I dare say that it is worth half a sovereign, and master
may say that the whole thing is spoiled by its loss. How shall I ever
pay for it out of my wages, and just at a time when I would do anything
to win more money for father? I’ll get up early, so early to-morrow, and
search every cranny in that room before any one else is about in the
house.”
Lottie Stone could hardly sleep that night from the many anxious thoughts
which haunted her brain. She arose before dawn to hunt for the weight,
crept out of her little chamber, and softly descended the stairs to the
study. She opened the shutters, but the stars were glimmering yet in
the deep blue sky, there was not sufficient light for her need. Lottie
lighted a candle and began her search, under the table, the chairs, the
fender, in every likely and unlikely place she hunted, but “the little
gold bit” was not to be found.
“I’ll move the table right to the wall, and pull up the drugget, maybe
it has rolled under there,” said Lottie to herself, exerting all her
strength to move the deal table, with Gaspar’s heavy desk upon it, to the
other side of the room.
To draw up the drugget was an easier task, and scarcely had it been
removed when, stuck between two of the boards which had been covered by
the cloth, Lottie to her great relief caught sight of the bright little
weight.
She ran up to the spot, and tried to pick up the weight, but a foot had
trodden on it and pressed it in firmly. Lottie pulled harder, and to her
extreme surprise found that in moving the weight she also moved one of
the planks between which it was jammed, while a previously imperceptible
line crossed the breadth of three of them. Accident had discovered to
Lottie a most carefully concealed trap-door in the floor, in the spot
which was usually covered both by the drugget and the table. With some
little trouble Lottie managed to raise it, and with wondering curiosity
she peered down, still on her knees, into the dark vault below, into
which there was a means of descent by a ladder. Stories that had been
current in the hamlet then recurred to the mind of Lottie, stories of
the caution and mystery used in the building of Wildwaste Lodge. She
had never heard that there were cellars beneath it, and a concealed
trap-door would be a strange kind of opening into one intended to contain
only wine. As Lottie bent over the dark recess, candle in hand, the
little gilded weight which she had recovered slipped from her hold, and
fell down into the vault below. It was needful again to search for it,
and perhaps the young girl was not sorry for an excuse to explore a
little further. Slowly and softly Lottie descended the ladder, carrying
the candle in her hand. When she had reached the bottom, she found
herself in a brick-built vault; the air felt damp and chill, moisture
stains gleamed faintly on the walls. On the further side was a door,
close to which the little weight had rolled. Lottie went and picked it
up, and then pressed her hand against the door; it was not locked, but
slightly ajar, and yielded to her pressure. Lottie could not resist the
temptation of entering the inner vault. It had brick walls and floor
like the first, but was not, like the first, perfectly empty. There
were low shelves, on which was ranged all the family plate which Mr.
Gritton had inherited from his father, silver candlesticks, salvers, and
tureens, with curious old coins in cases, all looking dull and tarnished.
There were also yellow canvas bags ranged in order. Lottie put down her
candle, and, by a strong impulse of curiosity, raised one: it was very
heavy in proportion to its size; she loosened the string round the mouth
and glanced in—it was full of golden sovereigns! The black eyes of
Lottie dilated—she could scarcely breathe—the hand which held the canvas
bag trembled. The foolish young daughter of Eve had by her indiscreet
curiosity put herself into a position of sore temptation, she had given
the Enemy an advantage; he who had dared to breathe his deadly whisper in
Eden, was present to tempt in that dark deep vault.
“What a world of wealth is buried here, wealth useless to its owner,
useless to all the world! A few yellow pieces from one of those canvas
bags would never be missed, while they would bring help to a long-lost
father, bring him back to his home, fill the heart of a mother with
delight.” Nay, even the impious suggestion followed: “This discovery has
not been made by chance. Providence has guided you here to give you the
means of helping your parents in the time of their greatest need.”
Well was it then for the tempted girl that prayer had become so habitual
that she intuitively turned to her God for guidance, as a child might
turn to a parent. Then her pastor’s words recurred to her memory, “Let
us especially beware that we use no means that are not sanctified by
God’s blessing.” It was Lottie’s duty, indeed, to make every effort for
her parents, but God’s work must be only done in God’s way. His blessing
could not rest on ill-gotten gold, and without that blessing what could
come but misery and shame? Lottie’s faith was in trial; she was called
on to abstain from following the only course by which it seemed possible
for her to rescue her father. It was not by low covetousness, but by the
strong warm affections of the heart that the Tempter was seeking to draw
the simple child into guilt. It was a short, a painful struggle, and then
faith rose victorious. “Oh, no! how can I do this thing, and sin against
God!” exclaimed Lottie aloud, and not trusting herself to look again at
the bags of treasure, she turned suddenly round—and confronted her master!
Lottie started violently at the unexpected meeting with Gaspar; she then
stood as if spell-bound, with her black eyes rivetted on his; she seemed
to have no power to withdraw them, no power to utter another word. The
sight of Mr. Gritton’s sallow, shrunken countenance, looking to her
corpse-like in that dimly-lighted vault, exercised on the girl a kind of
fascination, such as that which is attributed to the serpent’s gaze.
[Illustration: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.]
Gaspar had been roused from sleep by the sounds made by Lottie in the
search for the gilded weight. He never enjoyed the deep refreshing
slumber of a mind at rest; the miser was haunted by the fears that are
natural to one whose treasure is on earth, where thieves may break
through and steal. Alarmed by the noise which he heard at an hour so
unusually early, Gaspar had risen and partially dressed, his anxiety
being increased by the recollection that he had forgotten to lock the
door of the inner vault when last he had visited it, as he frequently
did, in the night-time. It was an infirmity of Gaspar, perhaps
originating in the shock caused to him by the loss of the _Orissa_, to
feel that his money was never so safe as when immediately under his eye;
it was a satisfaction to the slave of Mammon to sleep over his buried
treasure. Mr. Gritton was, however, nervously sensitive to the danger
of keeping large sums of money in an unguarded dwelling, especially in
such a lawless neighbourhood as that of Wildwaste. He must hide from all
the knowledge of the existence of hoards which would tempt the burglar.
With this view Gaspar had caused vaults to be constructed with a special
view to concealment: no one in Wildwaste knew of their existence. Mr.
Gritton did what he could to appear before men as a gentleman of very
narrow means; and though he had not succeeded in this, he had until now
perfectly preserved the secret of a treasure kept under his house.
It was with annoyance and alarm that Gaspar now found his secret
discovered. He could not doubt the honesty of Lottie, whose words he had
just overheard; he was relieved to find that his vault had been entered
by no more formidable intruder; but he anxiously revolved the means
of preventing the discovery from spreading further, and stood sternly
regarding the trembling girl for what appeared to her a fearfully long
time.
“You have taken nothing?” he asked at length; to Lottie his voice sounded
hollow and terrible, breaking the painful silence.
“Oh, no, sir—you can search me—I never thought—;” the girl checked
herself in the midst of her sentence—“no, I mustn’t say that, for I was
tempted; but it was for my father.”
“I never heard that you had a father living,” said Gaspar.
“He is living, and in great distress, at Southampton.”
“Hear me, girl,” said the master sternly. “I believe—I know that you
are honest, but I have no means of knowing that you are discreet; after
what has happened I cannot suffer you to stay for one hour longer in
this house.” Seeing that Lottie looked aghast at this summary dismissal,
Gaspar added more gently, “I am going to exact from you a most solemn
promise that you will never utter to any being a word of what you have
seen this day, or of the cause of your being thus hastily dismissed from
my service.”
“I must tell my mother,” faltered Lottie, “or she will think that I have
done something wrong; I never hide nothing from her.”
“You must not tell your mother, nor your lady, nor any one,” said Gaspar.
“I will make it worth your while to keep silence.”
“I don’t think that I could keep it,” said poor Lottie.
Mr. Gritton laid his hand on one of the canvas bags, unloosed it, and
took out five pieces of gold. “See here, Lottie Stone,” he said sternly;
“if you will not make a solemn promise to tell no one, I will at once
give you up to justice as a person found lurking, at a strange hour and
under suspicious circumstances, in a place where treasure is kept.” He
marked that Lottie’s rosy cheek blanched at the threat, and went on, “If
you will pledge yourself to the strictest secrecy, you shall take home
these five golden sovereigns; and if in the course of a year I find that
nothing has transpired either of the cause of your leaving, or of the
existence of these vaults, I will give you five sovereigns more.”
A flash of joy beamed on the countenance of Lottie. So intense was her
desire to possess the very sum which her master offered to place in her
hands, that to obtain it she would have been ready to sacrifice anything
but her conscience.
“O sir!” she exclaimed, “I will—I do promise. I will never say one word
about this place, or what I have seen, or why you send me away—I will
rather die than speak!”
“You promise before God?” said Gaspar solemnly, before he placed the
money in the hand of the excited girl.
“I do, I do!” exclaimed Lottie, and her fingers closed over the gold. She
felt that she had saved her father.
“Now go up, pack your bundle, and be off,” said Gaspar; “and never set
foot in Wildwaste again; and remember that guilt lies on your soul if you
keep not your promise to the letter.”
“May I not stay till I can bid good-bye to dear Miss Isa?” pleaded Lottie.
“You may not stay an hour; I do not choose that you should see her;
take your money and your clothes and be gone. Leave the candle; I will
stay behind to make sure that all is right—and to lock the door,” added
Gritton, under his breath; “I will not neglect that precaution again.”
Lottie, tightly grasping her dearly-won treasure, mounted the ladder,
and re-entered the study through the trap-door. She hastily replaced the
little weight on its gilded stand, and then ran upstairs to make her
brief preparations for quitting Wildwaste for ever. Lottie soon put up
her bundle, for her earthly possessions were few, and with it in her hand
descended the staircase. Tears gushed from her eyes as she reached the
door of Isa’s chamber; Lottie could not help lingering there for a minute
to breathe a prayer for the young mistress so dearly beloved. “Oh! shall
I never serve her again, never listen to her sweet kind voice, never comb
out her long soft hair! What will she say of me, what will she think of
me—will she not call me the most ungrateful girl in the world?” Lottie’s
heart swelled at the idea, and it was with a low stifled sob that she
turned away from the door.
She found her master in the hall, himself unfastening the bolts of the
outer door. Mr. Gritton was impatient to have the girl out of the house,
and beyond the temptation of communicating with any one in the hamlet.
“Your father is in Southampton—you had better join him there,” observed
Gaspar. “Remember your solemn promise of silence made in the sight of
Heaven.”
Lottie turned as she crossed the threshold, “O sir—pray—at least—let my
dear mistress know that—”
Gaspar would not listen, he closed the door in her face, and Lottie
found herself alone with her bundle and her gold in the chill crisp air
of early morning. A dim line of red in the east showed where the sun
would shortly rise, but as Lottie hastened through the hamlet there was
not the sound of a human voice to break the stillness; Wildwaste was
still asleep; in the great manufactory the busy hum of labour had not
yet begun. But on the common, where the night dews lay heavy on fern and
furze-bush, the lark, an early riser, was already mounting on quivering
wing, and pouring out his song of joy to greet the advancing morn.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]