The fare which the Henrys partook at the cottage of the female Rymers was
such as the sister had described--mean, and even scanty; but this did not
in the least diminish the happiness they received in meeting, for the
first time since their arrival in England, human beings who were glad to
see them.
At a stinted repast of milk and vegetables, by the glimmering light of a
little brushwood on the hearth, they yet could feel themselves
comparatively blest, while they listened to the recital of afflictions
which had befallen persons around that very neighbourhood, for whom every
delicious viand had been procured to gratify the taste, every art devised
to delight the other senses.
It was by the side of this glimmering fire that Rebecca and her sisters
told the story of poor Agnes's fate, and of the thorn it had for ever
planted in William's bosom--of his reported sleepless, perturbed nights;
and his gloomy, or half-distracted days; when in the fullness of
_remorse_, he has complained--"of a guilty conscience! of the weariness
attached to a continued prosperity! the misery of wanting an object of
affection."
They told of Lord Bendham's death from the effects of intemperance; from
a mass of blood infected by high-seasoned dishes, mixed with copious
draughts of wine--repletion of food and liquor, not less fatal to the
existence of the rich than the want of common sustenance to the lives of
the poor.
They told of Lady Bendham's ruin, since her lord's death, by gaming. They
told, "that now she suffered beyond the pain of common indigence by the
cutting triumph of those whom she had formerly despised."
They related (what has been told before) the divorce of William, and the
marriage of his wife with a libertine; the decease of Lady Clementina,
occasioned by that incorrigible vanity which even old age could not
subdue.
After numerous other examples had been recited of the dangers, the evils
that riches draw upon their owner; the elder Henry rose from his chair,
and embracing Rebecca and his son, said--"How much indebted are we to
Providence, my children, who, while it inflicts poverty, bestows peace of
mind; and in return for the trivial grief we meet in this world, holds
out to our longing hopes the reward of the next!"
Not only resigned, but happy in their station, with hearts made cheerful
rather than dejected by attentive meditation, Henry and his son planned
the means of their future support, independent of their kinsman
William--nor only of him, but of every person and thing but their own
industry.
"While I have health and strength," cried the old man, and his son's
looks acquiesced in all the father said, "I will not take from any one in
affluence what only belongs to the widow, the fatherless, and the infirm;
for to such alone, by Christian laws--however custom may subvert them--the
overplus of the rich is due."