_June 30._
MASTER HAWKINS, Harry's captain, hath been to see us. He's a rough
sea dog, as my father says, but yet kind and good, as it seems to me,
and with a clear, honest face that I felt disposed to trust. Harry
took to him greatly, and is more than ever confirmed in his resolution
of sailing. Master Hawkins says Harry is like a young bear, with all
his troubles to come; but he adds very sensibly that troubles come
everywhere, and reminded my mother of her young cousin whose father
would not let him go to sea because he was the only son, and who was
drowned in a pond in his father's orchard. The ships do not sail till
the last of August, so we shall have Harry for two good months yet.
Something happened this morning which has vexed me more than I believe
it is worth. I was down at Freshwater, to carry some baby clothes
and a bottle of sack to Meg Yeo, who is not getting up well from her
lying-in. I noticed that two or three people stared at me curiously,
and methought there was something odd in Meg's own manner, which,
however, melted away under the influence of the baby linen. While I was
there, Dame Lee, Meg's mother, came in.
"So, Mistress Rosamond, you are looking fine and stout again," said
she, and then to her daughter: "Did I not tell you, Meg, they were but
idle tales yonder woman told? Does our young lady look like one haunted
by spectres, or hunted by a cruel step-dame?"
Her words were spoken aside, but not so low as that I did not hear them.
"What do you mean, dame?" said I. "Why should I look otherwise than
well, or like one haunted by spectres?"
"For no reason that I know, Mistress," answered the old woman: "only
fools will tell tales and other fools believe them. Nay, Meg, thou need
not be making signs to me. 'Tis right Mistress Rosamond should know."
"Know what?" I asked. "You are all as mysterious as a miracle play this
morning."
"There is no great mystery in the case," said Dame Lee. "The whole
matter is this. The woman Patience Hollins, whom Madam Corbet sent
away, has been telling everywhere that your step-dame obliged you to
leave off your convent dress, and break your vows, that she might wed
you to a needy kinsman of her own, and also that the very night the
change was made your honored mother's spirit appeared to you, all
surrounded with flames and burning sulphur, and reproached you with
your disobedience, and declared that it had taken away her last hope of
salvation. Patience says she saw herself the boards where the spirit
had stood, and they were all burned black—and that she saw the ghost
also at a distance, and smelled the sulphur."
"She saw the ghost as near as any one," said and with that I told them
the tale as it was.
"Lo, did I not tell you as much!" said the dame, turning to her
daughter. "The wicked wretch! She deserves to be hung! But is it true,
Mistress Rosamond, that you are not going to be a nun, after all?"
"'Tis quite true," said I. "You know my brother is going to sea, and
my father and mother naturally want me at home, and there are other
reasons. But there was neither force nor persuasion in the case. It was
left to myself to decide, and I have, as I believe, decided rightly."
"And I am glad on't with all my heart!" said Dame Lee, heartily. "I am
no believer in shutting up young maids in convent walls. They may do
for those who have no other home. But what can Patience mean by telling
such tales?"
"She means to hide her own disgrace and dismissal, no doubt," said I.
"She is a wicked woman, and I dare say will work me all the harm she
can. I suppose the whole village is ringing with this absurd tale."
"I shall tell the truth about it wherever I go, you may be sure," said
Dame Lee. "Mrs. Patience is not now my Lady's bower-woman, that I
should dread her anger. She used to abuse my late Lady's ear with many
a false tale, as she did about Meg here, because, forsooth, Meg would
not wed her nephew. But I shall let people know what her legends are
worth."
"Do so," said I.
And I doubt not she will; for besides that, the Lees have always been
attached to our family from the earliest times, the good gammer dearly
loves a gossip, and nuts to her to be able at once to contradict
Patience and to have the story at first hand. Yet, such is the love of
all people for the marvellous, that I should not wonder if the ghost
story should continue to be believed, and that for many generations. *
* She was right. It has been one of the family ghost stories ever
since. There are enough of them to make a chronicle by themselves.—D. C.
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