JONATHAN'S TROTH.
Grace had been all but an inmate of the prison, ever since her
father had been placed there on suspicion. Early and late, and often in
the day, was the duteous daughter at his cell, for the governor and the
turn-keys favoured her. Who could resist such beauty and affection,
entreating to stay with a father about to stand on trial for his life,
and making every effort to be allowed only to pray with him? Thus did
Grace spend all the week before those dread assizes.
As to her daily maintenance, ever since that bitter morning when the
crock was found, her spiritual fears had obliged her to abstain from
touching so much as one penny of that unblest store; and, seeing that
honest pride would not let her be supported by grudged and common
charity, she had thankfully suffered the wages of her now betrothed
Jonathan to serve as means whereon she lived, and (what cost more than
all her humble wants) whereby she could administer many little comforts
to her father in his prison. When she was not in the cell, Grace was
generally at the Hall, to the scandal of more than one Hurstleyan
gossip; but perhaps they did not know how usually kind Sarah Stack was
of the company, to welcome her with Jonathan, and play propriety. Sarah
was a true friend, one for adversity, and though young herself, and not
ill-looking, did not envy Grace her handsome lover; on the contrary, she
did all to make them happy, and had gone the friendly length of
insisting to find Grace and her family in tea and sugar, while all this
lasted. I like that much in Sarah Stack.
However, the remainder of the virtuous world were not so considerate,
nor so charitable. Many neighbours shunned the poor girl, as if
contaminated by the crimes which Roger had undoubtedly committed: the
more elderly unmarried sisterhood, as we have chronicled already, were
overjoyed at the precious opportunity:--"Here was the pert vixen, whom
all the young fellows so shamelessly followed, turned out, after all, a
murderer's daughter;--they wished her joy of her eyes, and lips, and
curls, and pretty speeches: no good ever came of such naughty ways, that
the men liked so."
Nay, even the tipsy crew at Bacchus's affected to treat her name with
scorn:--"The girl had made much noise about being called a trull, as if
many a better than she wasn't one; and, after all, what was the prudish
wench? a sort of she-butcher; they had no patience with her proud
looks."
As to farmer Floyd, he made a great stir about his boy being about to
marry a felon's daughter; and the affectionate mother, with many
elaborate protestations, had "vowed to Master Jonathan, that she would
rather lay him out with her own hands, and a penny on each eye, than see
a Floyd disgrace himself in that 'ere manner."
And uncles, aunts, and cousins, most disinterestedly exhorted that the
obstinate youth be disinherited--"Ay, Mr. Floyd, I wish your son was a
high-minded man like his father; but there's a difference, Mr. Floyd; I
wish he had your true blue yeoman's honour, and the spirit that becomes
his father's son: if the lad was mine, I'd cut him off with a shilling,
to buy a halter for his drab of a wife. Dang it, Mrs. Floyd, it'll never
do to see so queer a Mrs. Jonathan Junior, a standing in your tidy shoes
beside this kitchen dresser."
These estimable counsels were, I grieve to say, of too flattering a
nature to displease, and of too lucrative a quality not to be
continually repeated; until, really, Jonathan was threatened with
beggary and the paternal malediction, if he would persist in his
disreputable attachment.
Nevertheless, Jonathan clung to the right like a hero.
"Granting poor Acton is the wretch you think--but I do not believe one
word of it--does his crime make his daughter wicked too? No; she is an
angel, a pure and blessed creature, far too good for such a one as I.
And happy is the man that has gained her love; he should not give her up
were she thrice a felon's daughter. My father and mother," Jonathan went
on to say, "never found a fault in her till now. Who was more welcome on
the hill than pretty Grace? who would oftenest come to nurse some sickly
lamb, but gentle Grace? who was wont, from her childhood up, to run home
with me so constantly, when school was over, and pleased my kinsfolk so
entirely with her nice manners and kind ways? Hadn't he fought for her
more than once, and though he came home with bruises on his face, his
mother praised him for it?" Then, with a natural divergence from the
strict subject-matter of objection, vicarious felony, Jonathan went on
to argue about other temporal disadvantages. "Hadn't he heard his father
say, that, if she had but money, she was fit to be a countess? and was
money, then, the only thing, whereof the having, or the not having,
could make her good or bad?--money, the only wealth for soul, and mind,
and body? Are affections nothing, are truth and honour nothing, religion
nothing, good sense nothing, health nothing, beauty nothing--unless
money gild them all? Nonsense!" said Jonathan, indignantly, warmed by
his amatory eloquence; "come weal, come wo, Grace and I go down to the
grave together; for better, if she can be better--for worse, if she
could sin--Grace Acton is my wealth, my treasure, and possession; and
let man do his worst, God himself will bless us!"
So, all this knit their loves: she knew, and he felt, that he was going
in the road of nobleness and honour; and the fiery ordeal which he had
to struggle through, raised that hearty earthly lover more nearly to a
level with his heavenly-minded mistress. Through misfortune and
mistrust, and evil rumours all around, in spite of opposition from false
friends, and the scorn of slanderous foes, he stood by her more
constantly, perchance more faithfully, than if the course of true-love
had been smoother: he was her escort morning and evening to and from the
prison; his strong arm was the dread of babbling fools that spoke a word
of disrespect against the Actons; and his brave tongue was now making
itself heard, in open vindication of the innocent.