The day for Dr Greendale’s funeral arrived. It was Sunday. This
arrangement was made in order to give opportunity for the poor and the
labouring classes to attend, and pay their last tribute of respect to
their benefactor and friend. It was a very fine day, such as often
happens in the middle of September; and the day seemed like a holiday.
For, such is the nature of the human mind that the attending on any
ceremony seems more a matter of amusement than of sorrow. Joy, it
appears, cannot be solitary, and sorrow can hardly be social. When
a multitude assembles, be the purpose what it may for which the
assembling takes place, it wears generally the aspect of amusement or
pleasure. This is particularly the case at funerals, and much more so
in other countries than our own.
The village of Smatterton was unusually full. Many came from a
distance, some to visit their friends, some for a little extraordinary
amusement for the Sunday, and some probably with a desire to pay a
tribute of respect to the late rector; for the name of Dr Greendale
was celebrated beyond the narrow limits of his own parish. There
were visitors at almost every house in the village, and the little
public-houses, which on Sunday were ordinarily closed, now were
indulged with the privilege of being open, Indeed the indulgence was
absolutely necessary. The funeral procession was very long, and many of
the mourners were mourners indeed. They had a great regard for the late
doctor, not for any very profuse generosity which he had exhibited,
for that was not in his power; not for any unbounded hospitality, for
in that respect he was limited in his circumstances, and confined as
to his time; not because he was a very eloquent and entertaining
preacher, for his sermons were plainness itself; not because he was a
sturdy politician, either demagogue or sycophant, for it was absolutely
impossible for any one to conjecture with plausibility to which party
he belonged; not because he indulged and flattered the vices of either
the great or the little, for he was not unsparing in his rebukes of
wickedness whenever he met with it; but they loved and respected
him for the steadiness and respectability of his character, for the
integrity, purity, simplicity, and sincerity of his life. Therefore
they mourned at his grave, and wept tears of real sorrow at the loss of
him.
The very persons who paid tithes were sorry that he was departed from
them, for they did not think it likely that any other could be put
in his place to whom they would more cheerfully make such payments.
The funeral service was impressively read by Mr Darnley, and in the
afternoon the same gentleman took the duty at the church, in order to
deliver a funeral sermon for his late friend and neighbour.
While the rites of sepulture were being performed at the church, the
daughters of Mr Darnley were, by their presence and kind sympathy,
endeavouring to console the sorrowing widow, and the doubly orphaned
niece, at the rectory house. Miss Darnley had heard at the beginning
of the week from her father the suspicion which he entertained of the
unsteadiness of Penelope’s affections; and though the present was not
a proper time to make any direct enquiries, or to use any obvious
diligence to discover the secret, yet she could not help showing her
attention a little alive to aught which might seem to promise any clue
for the discovery of the young lady’s state of mind to her brother.
And as Mr Darnley had given a hint that Penelope Primrose seemed to
regard Lord Spoonbill with very great approbation, and to throw herself
entirely on the patronage of the Countess, Miss Darnley endeavoured to
let a word or two fall which might either corroborate or remove the
suspicions which had been entertained on that head.
It was very easy to direct the conversation to their noble friends at
the castle. Mrs Greendale and Penelope both expressed great gratitude
for the kind sympathy which they had experienced from the earl and
countess. Penelope also praised the very humane and feeling conduct
of Lord Spoonbill; but the language which she used, and the manner
in which she spoke of his lordship, gave no light upon the subject
of suspicion. It was not indeed probable that the son of so proud a
nobleman as the Earl of Smatterton should think of allying himself by
marriage with the niece of a clergyman, portionless and unconnected.
Nor indeed was it likely that a young woman of such excellent
understanding as Miss Primrose should be weak enough to imagine an
attachment where none existed. Suffice it to say, that notwithstanding
all the pains which Miss Darnley used for the purpose, she could
not ascertain whether or not there existed such an attachment. Her
conclusion rather inclined to the opinion that her brother’s suspicions
were but a little emanation of constitutional jealousy.
We have said that Mr Darnley was engaged to perform the service of the
church in the afternoon. On this occasion the multitude assembled was
very great. The church was crowded to suffocation, and besides the
great mass of people within, there were also many without; many young
persons who loved rather to idle about the churchyard than to take
pains to press their way in. They loitered about in groups, and they
amused themselves with reading the monumental inscriptions, and some
perhaps were then and there reminded of pious and amiable parents,
of intimate friends and companions. They did not loiter altogether
unprofitably, if feelings of a kind and tender nature were excited in
their breasts by recollections of the departed.
But there was one who seemed to have no companion there, or friend
among the living or the dead. There was a young female in deep
mourning, walking sorrowfully up and down the broad gravel-walk which
led from the road to the church-door. She looked not at those that
passed her, and she did not seem to regard the monumental inscriptions
with any interest. Her form was graceful, but her figure was small.
There was a paleness on her cheeks which looked like the paleness of
sorrow and privation; but amidst that paleness might be discerned
much beauty. There had been brightness in those eyes, and dimples on
those cheeks, and wreathed smiles upon those lips; but these were now
departed, and instead thereof was the
“Leaden look that loves the ground.”
She seemed to be heedless of all that was around her. The young beaux
and coquettes of the village attracted not her attention, and all the
change of look that was seen was an occasional and earnest direction
of her eyes towards the door of the church when any footsteps were
heard near it. There were no tears in the eyes, but there was an
expression of countenance, which told that tears had been, and there
was a stillness of sorrow which intimated that tears had done their
utmost, and could no longer relieve.
The young are ever prone to pity, and they most deeply and feelingly
commiserate such as seem to be least importunate for sympathy; for
despair is the sublimity of grief, and its very unobtrusiveness rivets
the attention. An image of sorrow like this is not easily shaken from
the mind. We may pass by it, and seem not to heed it; but it comes
upon us again in our recollections; and our thoughts revert to it
without effort, or even against effort. Thus did this vision fascinate
and enchain the minds of those who in the indolence of their sabbath
holiday were strolling about the churchyard. By degrees their idle talk
was suspended or subdued. Their own little interests were forgotten,
and they one and all wondered who it could be. And they were saying one
to another, “How beautiful she looks!”--“How very pale she is!”--“She
looks as if she were very ill.” Many such remarks were made, but they
were uttered in a low tone, and with an endeavour not to appear to take
particular notice of the melancholy stranger.
At length the service in the church was over, and the multitude was
pouring out. Then the beautiful mourner took her station at the porch,
and watched with earnestness every face that passed by; and over her
pale countenance there came a hectic flush, as the numbers increased
and as the expected one seemed to be nearer. The numbers diminished and
the paleness returned.
A sound of carriage-wheels was heard at a little distance, and the
stranger, moving from the porch at which she had stationed herself, saw
in another direction a narrow path, leading from a different door, and
on that path were walking three persons, who, before she could reach
them, were seated in the carriage and had vanished from her sight.
To explain these appearances as far as it is at present necessary, we
must turn our attention awhile from the newly-introduced fair one, and
accompany the Earl and Countess, with their hopeful son, back again to
the castle.
Scarcely had the Earl alighted from the carriage when he was informed
that, during his absence, a young person in deep mourning had been at
the castle nearly an hour ago, and had been very importunate for an
audience with his lordship. To the very natural enquiries of name,
description, and business, the only answer which could be given was,
that the stranger refused to state her name or business, and that her
appearance was that of a very respectable and rather pretty young
woman; and that though she had expressed great anxiety to see his
lordship, yet there was nothing in her manner obtrusive or troublesome.
While this information was being conveyed to the Earl, the Countess had
passed on to her own apartment; but Lord Spoonbill attended to what was
said, and that with no small share of interest. His recollection and
conscience interpreted the mystery, and his ingenuity was now taxed to
evade an exposure, which he dreaded. Assuming an air of indifference,
he said:
“Perhaps, sir, it may be a daughter of one of your Yorkshire tenants.
She is described as being in mourning, and if I recollect rightly,
we heard of the death of one of them very lately. It is however very
unsuitable to come here on a Sunday on matters of business. I am about
to walk down into the village, and if I can meet with the young person
I will save you the trouble of attending to her.”
“Do so, Spoonbill, do so: I do not approve of being interrupted on a
Sunday; it is a bad example to the people in the country: it does not
so much signify in London.”
It was fortunate, or, more properly speaking unfortunate, for the young
lord that the Earl his father was very easy to be imposed upon; and
perhaps the more so from the very high opinion which he entertained of
his own wisdom and sagacity. But such was his confidence in the good
conduct and good disposition of his son, that he would not easily have
been brought to give credence to any story of a disgraceful nature told
against him. The young man took advantage of this, and so he always
passed for a very prudent and steady person: and it was not unfrequent
that the Earl himself would commend the steadiness and sobriety of his
son, and propose him as an example to those who were companions of his
irregularities.
After the conversation above recorded, the young lord made the best of
his way through the park towards that gate which led into the village;
carefully at the same time observing that his victim did not escape
him and return by another path to the castle.
He met her not in the park; and when he arrived at the gate he was at a
loss which way to turn. It would have been a miserable exposure of his
conduct had the stranger found her way back to the castle and obtained
an interview with the Earl. Still worse in the mind of Lord Spoonbill
would it have been that the Countess should become acquainted with that
part of his character and conduct which might be communicated to her by
the mysterious stranger; for, with all his irregularity of demeanour,
and amidst conduct which manifested a most serious want of good feeling
and good principle, he felt a regard for his mother, and an anxiety for
her comfort and composure of mind: he disguised himself to his father
from fear, and to his mother from love.
Agitated by distracting thoughts, he stood at the park gate, gazing
alternately in different directions; and by the intensity of his
feelings was at last rivetted in an almost unconscious state of mind
to the spot on which he was standing. Suddenly his pulse beat quicker,
and his heart seemed to swell within him, when at a little distance he
saw the dreaded one approaching him. Had he seen her anywhere else his
first impulse would have been to avoid her; but here his truest and
best policy was to submit to an interview, however painful. Shall he
meet her with kindness?--shall he meet her with reproaches?--shall he
meet her with coldness? These were enquiries rapidly passing through
his mind as she drew nearer and nearer. It was difficult for him to
decide between cruelty and hypocrisy: but the last was most natural to
him, so far as custom is a second nature.
The afflicted one moved slowly with her eyes fixed on the ground, and
she saw not her enemy till so near to him, that on lifting up her face
and recognizing his well-known features, the sudden shock produced a
slight hysteric shriek.
Lord Spoonbill was not so lost to all feeling of humanity as to be
insensible to the anguish of mind which she now suffered, who had
once regarded him as a friend, and had loved him, “not wisely, but
too well.” He held out his hand to her with an unpremeditated look
of kindness and affection; and which, being unpremeditated, bore the
aspect of sincerity. The stranger at first hesitated, and seemed not
disposed to accept the offered hand; but she looked up in his face, and
the blood mounted to her cheeks and the tears stood in her eyes, and
she gave him her hand, and covered her face and wept bitterly.
There are moments in which shameless profligates look foolish and feel
that they are contemptible. This was such a moment to Lord Spoonbill.
He was moved, and he was mortified that he was moved; and there was a
general feeling of confusion and perplexity in his mind. What could
he say? or how could he act? He began to stammer out something like
gentleness, and something like reproof. But she who stood before him
was as an accusing spirit, to whom apology was mockery, and repentance
too late. At length, when the first emotion began to abate, he said:
“Ellen, what brings you here? Surely this is not a proper day for a
visit like this. What could induce you too to endeavour to see the
Earl? If you once mention the affair to him you are irretrievably
ruined; I can do nothing for you.”
A reproachful look, a deep sigh, and the withdrawing her hand from his,
were the only answer which the above speech received. She attempted to
speak, but words were wanting; and after a little more appearance of
confusion on the part of his lordship, he seemed for the first time to
notice her mourning dress, and with real tenderness of manner asked
her what peculiar loss or misfortune had brought her to Smatterton.
Assuming then a steadiness of tone and greater composure of manner, she
at last spoke out:
“My lord, it is indeed a deep affliction which has brought me to
appeal to your pity. You took me from a widowed mother; you deserted
me with promises unfulfilled. I returned to that dwelling which was
destined to be my home no more. I have closed my mother’s eyes, which
did indeed look a forgiveness which she could not speak. I am now an
outcast, unless I can find the means of reaching a distant relative,
who will give me a home. I have made frequent application by letter to
your lordship and to the Earl, and I was fearful that my letters had
not reached you; and I had no resource but to come here to speak for
myself.”
Lord Spoonbill had received these letters; not only those addressed
to himself, but those designed for his father. He had paid but little
attention to them; for the name of Ellen Fitzpatrick had ceased to
be interesting to him. He had in former days made small pecuniary
remittances; but had latterly declined them. But now seeing before him
one whom he had deeply injured, and beholding her as a suppliant in
the most humble attitude, and hearing that it was possible that an
arrangement might be made, whereby he should no longer be troubled with
her visits or letters, he felt his mind greatly relieved, and he was
disposed to be generous. He therefore promptly supplied her with the
means of reaching her friend, and enjoined, with no little earnestness,
that she should leave Smatterton immediately, and that without even
returning again to the village.
What account the hopeful hereditary legislator gave to the Earl we
shall not state; suffice it to say, that he told his own story, that
the Earl believed it, that it answered the purpose for which it was
invented. And it came to pass that, on the day following, when there
was mention made of the young person in deep mourning who was seen
in the churchyard on Sunday, it was confidently stated, and easily
believed, that it was a young lady out of her mind who had escaped from
her keepers.