The safety of Eliza was the object that now occupied my cares. To have
slept, after her example, had been most proper; but my uncertainty with
regard to her fate, and my desire to conduct her to some other home,
kept my thoughts in perpetual motion. I waited with impatience till she
should awake and allow me to consult with her on plans for futurity.
Her sleep terminated not till the next day had arisen. Having recovered
the remembrance of what had lately happened, she inquired for her
sister. She wanted to view once more the face and kiss the lips of her
beloved Susan. Some relief to her anguish she expected to derive from
this privilege.
When informed of the truth, when convinced that Susan had disappeared
forever, she broke forth into fresh passion. It seemed as if her loss
was not hopeless or complete as long as she was suffered to behold the
face of her friend and to touch her lips. She accused me of acting
without warrant and without justice; of defrauding her of her dearest
and only consolation; and of treating her sister's sacred remains with
barbarous indifference and rudeness.
I explained in the gentlest terms the reasons of my conduct. I was not
surprised or vexed that she, at first, treated them as futile, and as
heightening my offence. Such was the impulse of a grief which was
properly excited by her loss. To be tranquil and steadfast, in the midst
of the usual causes of impetuosity and agony, is either the prerogative
of wisdom that sublimes itself above all selfish considerations, or the
badge of giddy and unfeeling folly.
The torrent was at length exhausted. Upbraiding was at an end; and
gratitude, and tenderness, and implicit acquiescence in any scheme which
my prudence should suggest, succeeded. I mentioned her uncle as one to
whom it would be proper, in her present distress, to apply.
She started and betrayed uneasiness at this name. It was evident that
she by no means concurred with me in my notions of propriety; that she
thought with aversion of seeking her uncle's protection. I requested her
to state her objections to this scheme, or to mention any other which
she thought preferable.
She knew nobody. She had not a friend in the world but myself. She had
never been out of her father's house. She had no relation but her uncle
Philip, and he--she could not live with him. I must not insist upon her
going to his house. It was not the place for her. She should never be
happy there.
I was, at first, inclined to suspect in my friend some capricious and
groundless antipathy. I desired her to explain what in her uncle's
character made him so obnoxious. She refused to be more explicit, and
persisted in thinking that his house was no suitable abode for her.
Finding her, in this respect, invincible, I sought for some other
expedient. Might she not easily be accommodated as a boarder in the
city, or some village, or in a remote quarter of the country? Ellis, her
nearest and most opulent neighbour, had refused to receive her; but
there were others who had not his fears. There were others, within the
compass of a day's journey, who were strangers to the cause of Hadwin's
death; but would it not be culpable to take advantage of that ignorance?
Their compliance ought not to be the result of deception.
While thus engaged, the incidents of my late journey recurred to my
remembrance, and I asked, "Is not the honest woman, who entertained
Wallace, just such a person as that of whom I am in search? Her
treatment of Wallace shows her to be exempt from chimerical fears,
proves that she has room in her house for an occasional inmate."
Encouraged by these views, I told my weeping companion that I had
recollected a family in which she would be kindly treated; and that, if
she chose, we would not lose a moment in repairing thither. Horses,
belonging to the farm, grazed in the meadows, and a couple of these
would carry us in a few hours to the place which I had selected for her
residence. On her eagerly assenting to this proposal, I inquired in
whose care, and in what state, our present habitation should be left.
The father's property now belonged to the daughter. Eliza's mind was
quick, active, and sagacious; but her total inexperience gave her
sometimes the appearance of folly. She was eager to fly from this house,
and to resign herself and her property, without limitation or condition,
to my control. Our intercourse had been short, but she relied on my
protection and counsel as absolutely as she had been accustomed to do
upon her father's.
She knew not what answer to make to my inquiry. Whatever I pleased to do
was the best. What did I think ought to be done?
"Ah!" thought I, "sweet, artless, and simple girl! how wouldst thou have
fared, if Heaven had not sent me to thy succour? There are beings in the
world who would make a selfish use of thy confidence; who would beguile
thee at once of innocence and property. Such am not I. Thy welfare is a
precious deposit, and no father or brother could watch over it with more
solicitude than I will do."
I was aware that Mr. Hadwin might have fixed the destination of his
property, and the guardianship of his daughters, by will. On suggesting
this to my friend, it instantly reminded her of an incident that took
place after his last return from the city. He had drawn up his will, and
gave it into Susan's possession, who placed it in a drawer, whence it
was now taken by my friend.
By this will his property was now found to be bequeathed to his two
daughters; and his brother, Philip Hadwin, was named executor, and
guardian to his daughters till they should be twenty years old. This
name was no sooner heard by my friend, than she exclaimed, in a tone of
affright, "Executor! My uncle! What is that? What power does that give
him?"
"I know not exactly the power of executors. He will, doubtless, have
possession of your property till you are twenty years of age. Your
person will likewise be under his care till that time."
"Must he decide where I am to live?"
"He is vested with all the power of a father."
This assurance excited the deepest consternation. She fixed her eyes on
the ground, and was lost, for a time, in the deepest reverie.
Recovering, at length, she said, with a sigh, "What if my father had
made no will?"
"In that case, a guardian could not be dispensed with, but the right of
naming him would belong to yourself."
"And my uncle would have nothing to do with my affairs?"
"I am no lawyer," said I; "but I presume all authority over your person
and property would devolve upon the guardian of your own choice."
"Then I am free." Saying this, with a sudden motion, she tore in several
pieces the will, which, during this dialogue, she had held in her hand,
and threw the fragments into the fire.
No action was more unexpected to me than this. My astonishment hindered
me from attempting to rescue the paper from the flames. It was consumed
in a moment. I was at a loss in what manner to regard this sacrifice. It
denoted a force of mind little in unison with that simplicity and
helplessness which this girl had hitherto displayed. It argued the
deepest apprehensions of mistreatment from her uncle. Whether his
conduct had justified this violent antipathy, I had no means of judging.
Mr. Hadwin's choice of him, as his executor, was certainly one proof of
his integrity.
My abstraction was noticed by Eliza with visible anxiety. It was plain
that she dreaded the impression which this act of seeming temerity had
made upon me. "Do not be angry with me," said she; "perhaps I have been
wrong, but I could not help it. I will have but one guardian and one
protector."
The deed was irrevocable. In my present ignorance of the domestic
history of the Hadwins, I was unqualified to judge how far circumstances
might extenuate or justify the act. On both accounts, therefore, it was
improper to expatiate upon it.
It was concluded to leave the care of the house to honest Caleb; to
fasten closets and drawers, and, carrying away the money which was found
in one of them, and which amounted to no inconsiderable sum, to repair
to the house formerly mentioned. The air was cold; a heavy snow began to
fall in the night; the wind blew tempestuously; and we were compelled to
confront it.
In leaving her dwelling, in which she had spent her whole life, the
unhappy girl gave way afresh to her sorrow. It made her feeble and
helpless. When placed upon the horse, she was scarcely able to maintain
her seat. Already chilled by the cold, blinded by the drifting snow, and
cut by the blast, all my remonstrances were needed to inspire her with
resolution.
I am not accustomed to regard the elements, or suffer them to retard or
divert me from any design that I have formed. I had overlooked the weak
and delicate frame of my companion, and made no account of her being
less able to support cold and fatigue than myself. It was not till we
had made some progress in our way, that I began to view, in their true
light, the obstacles that were to be encountered. I conceived it,
however, too late to retreat, and endeavoured to push on with speed.
My companion was a skilful rider, but her steed was refractory and
unmanageable. She was able, however, to curb his spirit till we had
proceeded ten or twelve miles from Malverton. The wind and the cold
became too violent to be longer endured, and I resolved to stop at the
first house which should present itself to my view, for the sake of
refreshment and warmth.
We now entered a wood of some extent, at the termination of which I
remembered that a dwelling stood. To pass this wood, therefore, with
expedition, was all that remained before we could reach a hospitable
asylum. I endeavoured to sustain, by this information, the sinking
spirits of my companion. While busy in conversing with her, a blast of
irresistible force twisted off the highest branch of a tree before us.
It fell in the midst of the road, at the distance of a few feet from her
horse's head. Terrified by this accident, the horse started from the
path, and, rushing into the wood, in a moment threw himself and his
rider on the ground, by encountering the rugged stock of an oak.
I dismounted and flew to her succour. The snow was already dyed with the
blood which flowed from some wound in her head, and she lay without
sense or motion. My terrors did not hinder me from anxiously searching
for the hurt which was received, and ascertaining the extent of the
injury. Her forehead was considerably bruised; but, to my unspeakable
joy, the blood flowed from the nostrils, and was, therefore, to be
regarded as no mortal symptom.
I lifted her in my arms, and looked around me for some means of relief.
The house at which I proposed to stop was upwards of a mile distant. I
remembered none that was nearer. To place the wounded girl on my own
horse, and proceed gently to the house in question, was the sole
expedient; but, at present, she was senseless, and might, on recovering,
be too feeble to sustain her own weight.
To recall her to life was my first duty; but I was powerless, or
unacquainted with the means. I gazed upon her features, and endeavoured,
by pressing her in my arms, to inspire her with some warmth. I looked
towards the road, and listened for the wished-for sound of some carriage
that might be prevailed on to stop and receive her. Nothing was more
improbable than that either pleasure or business would induce men to
encounter so chilling and vehement a blast. To be lighted on by some
traveller was, therefore, a hopeless event.
Meanwhile, Eliza's swoon continued, and my alarm increased. What effect
her half-frozen blood would have in prolonging this condition, or
preventing her return to life, awakened the deepest apprehensions. I
left the wood, still bearing her in my arms, and re-entered the road,
from the desire of descrying, as soon as possible, the coming passenger.
I looked this way and that, and again listened. Nothing but the sweeping
blast, rent and fallen branches, and snow that filled and obscured the
air, were perceivable. Each moment retarded the course of my own blood
and stiffened my sinews, and made the state of my companion more
desperate. How was I to act? To perish myself, or see her perish, was an
ignoble fate; courage and activity were still able to avert it. My horse
stood near, docile and obsequious; to mount him and to proceed on my
way, holding my lifeless burden in my arms, was all that remained.
At this moment my attention was called by several voices issuing from
the wood. It was the note of gayety and glee. Presently a sleigh, with
several persons of both sexes, appeared, in a road which led through the
forest into that in which I stood. They moved at a quick pace, but their
voices were hushed, and they checked the speed of their horses, on
discovering us. No occurrence was more auspicious than this; for I
relied with perfect confidence on the benevolence of these persons, and,
as soon as they came near, claimed their assistance.
My story was listened to with sympathy, and one of the young men,
leaping from the sleigh, assisted me in placing Eliza in the place which
he had left. A female, of sweet aspect and engaging manners, insisted
upon turning back and hastening to the house, where it seems her father
resided, and which the party had just left. I rode after the sleigh,
which in a few minutes arrived at the house. The dwelling was spacious
and neat, and a venerable man and woman, alarmed by the quick return of
the young people, came forth to know the cause. They received their
guest with the utmost tenderness, and provided her with all the
accommodations which her condition required. Their daughter relinquished
the scheme of pleasure in which she had been engaged, and, compelling
her companions to depart without her, remained to nurse and console the
sick.
A little time showed that no lasting injury had been suffered.
Contusions, more troublesome than dangerous, and easily curable by such
applications as rural and traditional wisdom has discovered, were the
only consequences of the fall. My mind, being relieved from
apprehensions on this score, had leisure to reflect upon the use which
might be made of the present state of things.
When I remarked the structure of this house, and the features and
deportment of its inhabitants, methought I discerned a powerful
resemblance between this family and Hadwin's. It seemed as if some
benignant power had led us hither as to the most suitable asylum that
could be obtained; and, in order to supply to the forlorn Eliza the
place of those parents and that sister she had lost, I conceived that,
if their concurrence could be gained, no abode was more suitable than
this. No time was to be lost in gaining this concurrence. The curiosity
of our host and hostess, whose name was Curling, speedily afforded me an
opportunity to disclose the history and real situation of my friend.
There were no motives to reserve or prevarication. There was nothing
which I did not faithfully and circumstantially relate. I concluded with
stating my wishes that they would admit my friend as a boarder into
their house.
The old man was warm in his concurrence. His wife betrayed some
scruples; which, however, her husband's arguments and mine removed. I
did not even suppress the tenor and destruction of the will, and the
antipathy which Eliza had conceived for her uncle, and which I declared
myself unable to explain. It presently appeared that Mr. Curling had
some knowledge of Philip Hadwin, and that the latter had acquired the
repute of being obdurate and profligate. He employed all means to
accomplish his selfish ends, and would probably endeavour to usurp the
property which his brother had left. To provide against his power and
his malice would be particularly incumbent on us, and my new friend
readily promised his assistance in the measures which we should take to
that end.