EVIL TONGUES.
“I will not go in with you, Isa dear,” said Edith, as the carriage
approached the little country town. “Lottie will speak to you more freely
if no one is by. I hope that we shall be able to carry back with us to
Wildwaste your runaway little gipsy maid.”
“I am sure that we shall,” replied Isa. “Lottie is an affectionate girl,
and loves me. I must chide her a little, but gently; she is one with whom
a short reproof will go a long way.”
“And all your scourges are made of feathers, like those in the
fairy-tale,” said Edith with a smile, as the carriage rolled up to the
door of Mrs. Green’s shop.
Courteously declining the guidance of the cobbler’s stout wife, Isa
lightly ascended the stair to the lodging above. She entertained not
the slightest doubt of succeeding in bringing back her truant; her only
subject of consideration was how far reproof should be blended with
kindness. Lottie’s strange conduct had given her mistress just cause of
offence; it must not be overlooked, though in Isa’s heart it was already
forgiven.
The lady tapped at the door, and entered the room where Lottie stood
trembling. Her face was buried in her hands; but Isa could see the red
burning flush on her neck. The girl’s attitude was so expressive of
humiliation and grief, that her gentle mistress forgot at once all her
intended rebuke.
“My poor Lottie, what has happened?” There was nothing but kindness and
sympathy in the voice which uttered the question.
The tears trickled through Lottie’s brown fingers; but she did not remove
her hands or raise her head.
“What has happened?” repeated Isa, addressing herself to the lad, who had
risen from his seat on the entrance of the lady.
Steady tugged hard at the button of his jacket; his nostrils dilated;
he looked first to one side and then to the other, an image of dull
perplexity. He jerked out the answer, “She won’t tell no one;” and then,
unable to bear another interview like that which had just passed between
his sister and Mr. Eardley, the poor lad shuffled hastily out of the room.
Isa went up to Lottie Stone, and gently laid her hand on her shoulder.
“If you have had anything to pain and distress you, open your heart to
me. I am not angry with you, Lottie, though you did wrong to leave the
house without giving notice. I am willing to take you back if you tell me
frankly the cause of your going.”
“I can’t tell,” replied Lottie in a choking voice.
[Illustration: MISS ISA QUESTIONS LOTTIE.]
“Something that was said distressed you, perhaps. Was it what your master
spoke about drinking, when you threw down the weights last evening?”
Isa’s question suddenly opened for the young maid a little door of
escape. The lady had found out a cause for Lottie’s strange conduct
when she herself could give none. Would there be any harm in leaving
Miss Gritton to think, and to lead others to think, that the whole
strange affair had arisen from a burst of passionate feeling, caused
by an accusation which had been both unjust and cruel? A disingenuous
girl would have gladly availed herself of the lady’s mistaken view, and
have left her to form her own conclusions from it. But Lottie had the
straightforward simplicity of one in whose spirit there is no guile. She
shook her head on Isa’s repeating her question, and her mistress remained
more perplexed than ever. Isa felt, as Mr. Eardley had felt, surprised,
discouraged, and at length a little displeased. Lottie would neither
apologize, nor explain, nor consent to go back to her place. No sentence
could be wrung from her lips but a repetition of “I can’t tell,” “I can
never go back;” and yet her manner expressed fervent, grateful affection
towards her young mistress. Isa was convinced that the girl’s obstinate
reserve was not that of indifference or of pride.
“Lottie, you quite grieve me,” said Isa at length, as she turned to
depart, lingering at the open door with her fingers on the handle, to
give the girl an opportunity of calling her back.
Lottie clutched her own black hair with both her hands, and tore it,
as if physical pain could relieve the anguish of her heart. She turned
suddenly away to the window, to escape as far as she could from the
presence of her lady. Edith, waiting in the carriage below, chanced to
glance up at the moment, and caught sight of a young face clouded with an
expression of such misery as she had never seen on a countenance before.
In the meantime, Mr. Eardley, having resolved, if possible, to clear
up the mystery, and at least ascertain whether poor Lottie were not
unjustly accused of dishonesty, walked over to Wildwaste Lodge. He was
much disappointed at not finding Miss Gritton at home, but asked for an
interview with her brother.
“Master ain’t very well, he don’t see visitors,” said Hannah, who,
grumbling at being left to do all the work of the house, had come
out from the kitchen smoothing her soiled apron and pulling down her
tucked-up sleeves.
“I have walked from Axe, being anxious to speak on a matter of some
importance,” said the heated and weary clergyman. “Pray, ask Mr. Gritton
to have the kindness to see me but for five minutes.”
Ushered into the study, Mr. Eardley almost immediately entered on the
object of his visit. Gaspar was embarrassed; he had not contemplated the
difficulties which must arise from Lottie’s faithful adherence to her
promise.
“Really, sir, I can’t be answerable for—I can’t be expected to know
anything about the doings of a girl like Lottie.” Gaspar took a large
pinch of snuff to cover his embarrassment.
“But what I am most anxious to ascertain is this: has anything been
missed here, is there the slightest cause to suspect the young girl of
dishonesty?” Gaspar could not meet the gaze of the clear eyes that were
fixed upon him.
“No; she’s no thief; she’s awkward, ignorant, but honest—yes, perfectly
honest.” The words were spoken as if with effort, and again Gaspar had
recourse to his snuff-box.
“That is a great relief to me; that is what I wanted to ascertain. I
thank you, Mr. Gritton,” said the clergyman, rising; “I need not longer
intrude on your time.”
As Mr. Eardley was about to depart, Isa returned from her fruitless
expedition to Axe. To her the presence of the vicar was ever welcome, and
more than usually so at the present moment. She eagerly related to him
all that had happened, as far as her knowledge extended, emphatically
confirming Gaspar’s testimony as to the perfect honesty of poor Lottie.
The interview did not last as long as either Henry Eardley or Isa would
have wished, as Hannah came clattering in with the tray to prepare for
early dinner. It would have been an act of common courtesy to have asked
the weary minister to stop and partake of the meal. Isa glanced at her
brother, without whose assent she dared not give the invitation which
was upon her lips, but Gaspar did not choose to understand the look;
hospitality was foreign to his nature, and to his sister’s mortification
he suffered the tired guest to depart unrefreshed.
Henry Eardley left the Lodge with a joyous feeling of a more complicated
nature than would have arisen only from satisfaction at having been
relieved of painful doubts in regard to a member of his flock. His
thoughts were by no means absorbed by the case of Lottie, though he went
out of his way to let it be known in the cottage of Holdich, and in
various dwellings in Axe, that the young maid had not been dismissed for
any fault, and that she had taken nothing with her that was not honestly
her own.
Mr. Eardley did what he could to clear the character of Lottie from
the imputation resting upon it; but it is as easy to force back an
overflowing river into its usual channel as to stay the flood of calumny
when once it has spread far and wide. The vicar could not throw light on
the mystery of Lottie’s hasty flight from Wildwaste, or her possession of
a considerable sum of money for which she would not account.
“Folk may talk till they’re black in the face,” said Mrs. Green to
her neighbour the baker, “but they can’t talk away them five bright
sovereigns as I seed with these eyes. Girls can’t make gold pieces out
of old tea-leaves; and if any one gave ’em to her, why don’t she say so
at once?”
Young Stone returned to his lodging that evening with a black eye and a
great swelling on his brow.
“O Steady, you have had one of your falls!” exclaimed Lottie, with
affectionate sympathy.
The lad’s face was working with suppressed emotion. He sat down heavily,
and passed his hand through his mass of shaggy light hair before he
replied in his slow, peculiar drawl,—
“Bat Maule says—says he—you took fifteen pounds from your master’s desk,
and he was a-goin’ to send you to jail, only Miss Isa begged and prayed,
and so he let you off.”
It was a long speech for the lad to utter; his drawled-out words fell on
Lottie’s ear like the drip, drip of water, which is said at length to
produce madness in the victim on whose head it descends.
“And what did you say?” exclaimed the miserable Lottie, starting up from
her seat.
“I didn’t say nothing, I knocked him down,” replied Steady; “but he did
the like by me.”
The lad pressed his rag of a handkerchief against his bruised and swollen
forehead—the stain of blood was upon it.
“Hurt for me!” moaned Lottie, whose courage was beginning to give way
under her complicated trials.
“I wish you’d clear up about that money,” her brother went on, “’cause
I can’t knock down all them folk as talk, and I can’t stand hearing ’em
call you a thief.”
Lottie went up to the lad, threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed on
his shoulder.
“Don’t take on so—don’t take on so,” said poor weak-witted Steady, almost
beginning himself to cry in his rough sympathy with his sister. “I trust
you, Lottie, you ain’t no thief; but why—why won’t you clear up?”
And still that painful silence had to be maintained, that cruel promise
had to be kept. A hundred times was Lottie on the point of breaking it,
but simple faith kept her firm in temptation. To break her word would
be to disobey her Lord; it was better to suffer than to sin. “But oh!”
thought Lottie, “it’s a blessing that mother is away; how could I have
kept any secret from her!”
Poor Steady’s rude championship of his sister had been worse than
useless; it only, as was the case with any violent excitement, brought
on one of his sudden attacks, which, though very brief in duration, were
always distressing, and very painful to witness. Sleep, however, soon
removed from the afflicted lad all consciousness of earthly trouble;
but for Lottie there was no rest throughout all the night. She heard the
church-clock strike every hour as she lay on her pallet-bed, almost too
wretched even for tears.
“But oh,” thought the poor girl, “it’s such a comfort that there is One
who knows all; He knows that I did no wrong, except—except in letting
curiosity lead me on, and touching that bag of gold, and thinking those
wicked, covetous thoughts. But He has forgiven me—I feel that He has,
though He lets me suffer for my folly. It seems as if all my friends
and my comforts were being a-taken from me together. Mother away—father
ill—Mr. Eardley and my dear lady vexed and displeased—all my neighbours
turning against me—even poor Steady scarcely knowing what to think of
me, though he will never desert me. It is just as Mr. Eardley said in
his lecture, all my blossoms are falling from the tree.” The idea linked
itself on to others connected with Gideon when his faith was in trial,
when, just before the struggle with the foe, he was constrained to
deprive himself of the help of those on whose support he had counted.
“It must have seemed strange and hard to him,” mused Lottie, “to have
had the greater part of his friends sent from him, with all these fierce
enemies gathering in front. Now it seems as if my Midianites were getting
stronger than ever, and I more helpless against them. There’s dreadful
Disappointment, and worse than Discontent, and I seem at Dissension with
all my neighbours, though I never willingly did them wrong; and as for
Distrust, ’tis just crushing me down, for I can’t see any way out of my
troubles, and it looks as if the Lord had forsaken me. And now those of
whom I would have said, ‘They will always comfort and care for me and
trust me,’ are those who cause me most grief and pain. They are still
good, patient, and kind; yet I have, as it were, to send them from me,
and struggle with temptation alone. But God gave victory to Gideon in a
way that man would not have thought of. It was not to make him really
weaker that he was deprived of his friends; I suppose that it was to make
him rest more entirely on God. Perhaps that is why a poor child like me
is left so desolate now. I look to this side, and to that side, and no
one seems able to help me; and then, when there’s hope nowhere else, I
look up straight to my God. I should like to hear more of what happened
to Gideon. I think that I could walk to Mrs. Holdich’s cottage on Friday
with Steady, who goes whenever he can. It would be dreadful, indeed, to
face all the people; do they not look upon me as a thief! And yet,” said
the poor girl, half aloud, raising herself on her elbow, as the first
morning ray glimmered through her casement, “I should like to show to
all that I am not ashamed, that I dare show my face before my accusers.
I should like Mr. Eardley to see that I prize his holy words—for, oh!
I need them—I need the comfort and strength which only religion can
give. It would be a pleasure, too, to look on the face of my sweet young
mistress; I would not speak to her—oh, no—but I do so long to see her;
and I would quietly slip away as soon as the prayer was done.”
The resolution thus taken seemed to calm the mind of Lottie, or perhaps
Nature at last was claiming her rights, and sorrow of mind gave way to
overpowering weariness of body. Deeply and peacefully the young girl
slept, with her hands folded as if in prayer.
Lottie rose with a brave spirit, though a heavy heart; she was resolved
to seek comfort in a clear conscience toward man and a humble confidence
in her God, however painful might be the struggle before her. Lottie did
not sit down in idle sorrow, though she shrank from quitting her lodging;
for wherever she went she would have to encounter suspicious looks and
cruel taunts. The young maid read her chapter, and said her prayers with
her brother, and after giving him his simple breakfast, set resolutely
to work to prepare, as she said, for her parents’ return. The room was
thoroughly washed and scrubbed—even the window-panes cleaned; and when
the little place had been made the picture of neatness, Lottie turned to
mending her brother’s garments, in which many a darn and many a patch
showed the skill of her busy fingers. The most trying event of the day
to Lottie was a second long interview with her pastor; but she again
resisted the almost overpowering temptation to pour out her whole heart
to him, and to tell him all that had happened. It was a satisfaction to
find that Mr. Eardley had no suspicion of her honesty, notwithstanding
the mystery regarding the money; and that Miss Gritton had never doubted
that honesty for a moment. Lottie saw that the clergyman was now rather
perplexed than displeased by her reserve; and when, with her honest eyes
looking full into his, she assured him that if he knew all he would not
blame her silence, it was a relief to the poor child to feel that he had
not lost faith in her word.
Friday brought no tidings from Southampton. Lottie felt keenly “the
sickening pang of hope deferred,” and she had now but little occupation
wherewith to fill up the tedious hours. The day passed slowly and
wearily, till it was time to start for the cottage-meeting. Glad was
Lottie to leave Axe, though only for a space so brief; the cottage
of Holdich was connected in her mind only with thoughts of holiness
and peace, and she was thankful to be permitted still to kneel as a
worshipper there.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]