RISEN FROM THE DEAD.
I take up my pen again, but in what a different spirit to that with
which I laid it down, as I thought for ever. Then I believed that I had
done with the world; that its joys and its pleasures, its griefs and
anxieties, were no more for me, but that I was to remain a mere
spectator of the drama; interested indeed, as a spectator always is,
hoping that virtue will be rewarded, and the villains of the play
unmasked and punished in the end, and giving my best wishes to all the
young lovers, but really caring only for the happiness of Harry, and
Polly and Ada; and my greatest ambition and hope being to become some
day a quiet, contented old maid, the friend and confidant of the young
people round me, and the beloved aunty of Polly's and Harry's children.
But in these three months two events have happened, the first of which
is important enough for me to have taken up my pen to have chronicled;
but the second, and which is the one of which I shall write first, has
once more altered all my life, has at once changed all the plans which I
had, in my sagacity, thought so unalterably settled, and has, when I
least dreamt of it, given me fresh life, and hope, and happiness. I
cannot stay to tell it as it was told me, my heart is too full, I must
write it at once. Percy is alive, is alive; think of that! My eyes are
full of tears of joy as I write it, and I can hardly sit still, although
it is a week now since I heard it, but I could not trust myself to write
it before. I am wild with joy; thank God--thank God for all his mercies,
and for this most of all. Oh, how happy, how intensely happy I am! Percy
is alive; he has written to me, and in another year he will be home to
claim me. What a changed being I am in this short week. I can hardly
keep myself from bursting into wild songs of joy. My happiness is so
exquisite, it is almost too much for me, and I want all the world to
rejoice with me, for this, my own Percy, who was dead and is alive
again; who was lost, and is found. Mrs. Mapleside tells me that I look
ten years younger than I did a week ago. I can quite believe her; I feel
fifty. If I had Polly here now, to play for me, I think it would be a
relief to dance myself into a state of exhaustion; but poor Mrs.
Mapleside would not understand it. As it is she says she does not know
my step about the house; so I forego the relief a tarantella would give
me, and keep myself as quiet as I can, and continually bless and thank
God for all this, His great mercy to me. And now I must tell how it
happened.
Last Friday--that is, this day week--we had finished lunch, and Mrs.
Mapleside had just gone out, when a fly stopped at the door. There was a
knock, a word or two in the passage to Hannah, and then the parlour door
opened, and in walked--I could hardly believe my eyes--Polly.
What a surprise! but what a pleasure it was; and how delighted I felt to
see her!
"My dear, darling Polly," I said, as soon as our first embrace was over,
"what on earth brings you to Canterbury?"
"You, Agnes, I suppose. It is nearly three months since you were up, and
it will be as much before your next visit; so as it was about half-way,
I persuaded Charley to let me run down for three or four days to see
you, so that I might judge for myself what your life was like here.
Besides, it is so long since I was down in dear old Canterbury that I
had a great longing to see it again. You told me that you had a spare
room here, and Charley has promised to come down to-morrow and stay till
Monday. He says I rave so about the place, that though he can't help
thinking it must be dreadfully slow, with no river wide enough to pull
on, still he really must come down, too, to see it."
"I am so, so glad, Polly; but why did you not write to tell me?"
"I thought I would surprise you, Agnes; and, indeed, it was not finally
settled before last night. Charley could not tell whether he should be
able to get away or not. And now I will go up to your room, Agnes, and
take off my things."
It was not until we had come down again, and had at last sat quietly
down, that I noticed Polly's face, and then I saw at once that she was
not looking at all herself. She was very pale, and looked, I thought,
anxious and flurried.
"There is nothing the matter, Polly, is there?" I asked anxiously. "You
have not any bad news to tell me?"
"No, Agnes, none at all," Polly said.
"You are quite sure, Polly?" I repeated, for I could not help thinking
that there was something the matter. "You have not heard any bad news
from Harry, in Australia, have you?"
"No, indeed, Agnes; I have not heard of him since the last mail, a
fortnight since, and you had a letter from him at the same time."
"Nor about Ada, or her family?" I persisted.
"Nothing at all, Agnes. I assure you I have no bad news of any kind
whatever to give you."
I could not help believing, although still I could not understand her.
"Excuse me, Polly," I said, at last; "but you have not had any foolish
quarrel with Charley, have you?"
"Bless me, no, Agnes," she laughed. "The idea of my quarrelling with my
dear old bear. What will you imagine next?"
I could not help laughing, too--the idea was ridiculous, certainly; for
Polly and Charley were about as little likely to quarrel as any pair I
ever saw. Here Hannah brought up the tray. Polly ate a little and had a
glass of wine. When Hannah took away the things, she requested her to
leave a tumbler of water on the table, as she felt rather thirsty after
her journey. When we were alone again, she asked me to give her a piece
of work to keep her fingers employed while she talked to me.
I accordingly gave her a piece of embroidery to do, and we chatted over
our friends at Putney, and my quiet little doings here; but I could see
that Polly was thinking of something else, for her answers to my
questions were sometimes quite vague; and it certainly was not from the
attention she was bestowing upon my work, for I could see that her
needle moved quite mechanically, and that she was making a terrible mess
of my unfortunate piece of embroidery. I was quite confirmed in my
belief that something or other was the matter; but as Polly was
evidently not inclined to tell it, I waited patiently, but rather
anxiously, for her to take her own time and manner of so doing.
At last she changed the subject of the conversation from Putney and
Canterbury to a topic in which I at first felt little interest, as I
thought she had merely started it to delay the communication which I was
sure, whatever it was, was coming presently.
"Have you seen the paper to-day, Agnes?"
"I have seen our paper; but that, as I have told you, is three days'
old. Is there any particular news this morning?"
"The Indian mail is in to-day."
"Is it?" I said, indifferently. "One has no great interest in it now,
ever since Sir Colin Campbell relieved Lucknow. One mail is exactly like
another; merely the exploits of the flying columns, and the gradual
restoration of order."
"Yes, Agnes; but still, many of these captures of forts are very gallant
actions."
"No doubt, Polly; but unless one has some friend actually engaged, one
has no great interest in them."
"No," Polly said, absently, "of course not. Still, it is pleasant to
read how sometimes, when they take these distant forts, they find
captives long since missing, and given up by their friends."
"Yes, indeed," I said, "I always do feel an interest in that; it is such
joyous news to those who have grieved for them."
Polly was silent; and I wondered how much longer she was going on
talking about indifferent matters, and what it could be that she took so
long before she could tell me. Presently she asked--
"Do you think, Agnes, that sudden joy ever kills?"
"I do not know, Polly, my experience has been so entirely the other way
that I cannot say how it might be; and there is one thing certain that I
am never likely to have the experiment tried upon myself."
"I do not know that," Polly said in a low voice.
There was a something in the way she spoke, a strange meaning tone which
sent a thrill through me; and yet there was no good news I could have to
receive, except, indeed, that the will was found; but if it ever should
be, I should be more likely to give the news to Polly than she to me;
besides, even this would give me no such great pleasure now.
"Who can tell," Polly went on, seeing that I made no remark, "such
strange things do happen, that one should never be surprised. Fortunes
turn up which were long thought lost; people come to life again who were
long since mourned for as dead; people, for instance, supposed to be
lost at sea, but who were picked up by some passing ship; people, who in
this Indian mutiny we were speaking of just now, have been hidden for
months by some native prince or peasant; officers who have been cut off
from their regiments, and left for dead on the battle-field."
I had dropped my work now, and was looking at her, with my breath held,
while my heart seemed to stop beating. What did she mean? These
questions about sudden joy, this talk about officers found after being
long supposed dead?--could it be?--but I could not speak. Polly looked
up at me now for the first time, for she had before kept her eyes on her
work; then she threw down the embroidery, came over to me, and knelt
down beside me.
"Drink a little water, Agnes, prepare yourself to bear what I have to
tell you. God is very, very good to you, Agnes. The news from India
to-day, says, that two officers long supposed to be dead have been
recovered, and one of them is----"
"Percy," I gasped.
"Yes, dearest, your own Percy Desborough."
I did not faint; by a mighty effort I kept myself from screaming wildly,
then all the blood seemed to rush up to my head, and I should have
fallen had not Polly supported me, and sprinkled some water in my face
and moistened my lips with it. Then the quiet tears of joy and
thankfulness came to my relief, and I was able to hang round Polly's
neck and kiss her and cry with her for a little time, till I was
composed enough to kneel down at the sofa, and to thank God for this His
great and unexpected mercy to me. When I rose from my knees, I felt more
myself again, but I was still dazed and giddy with my great joy. I could
hardly even now believe that it was true, and that Percy whom I had
mourned as dead so long was yet alive--would yet come home again; it
seemed too great a happiness to be true, and yet I could not doubt, for
there was the paragraph in the Indian telegram, before my eyes, to
assure me that it was so.
"Two officers, Major Payne, 105th regiment, and Lieutenant Desborough,
25th Lancers, were found concealed by friendly natives in the district
of Jemundar, by the flying column under Colonel Heaviside."
There could be no mistake or doubt about it. Percy was saved. I need not
say what my feelings were; they were too deep for me to express then,
and are far too deep for me to write of now. Polly was so pleased, too,
not only at the news itself, but also because I had borne it better than
she had been afraid I should have done. When we became composed at last,
Polly made me sit in the easy chair, while she drew a stool up and took
her old position upon it by my side, and we talked long and thankfully
of my changed life and restored happiness.
At last I said, "Do you know, Polly, I could not think what you had to
tell me. I saw you had something on your mind, that you were anxious and
absent, and that your visit had some purpose more than you
pretended,--and yet, as you assured me that all I cared for were well, I
could not conceive what it could be. Did you see it in the paper before
Charley started to business?"
"I did, Agnes, and we had quite a scene, I can assure you. I will tell
you all about it. You know, Agnes, we always breakfast at a quarter past
eight, and Charley goes up by the nine o'clock train, that gives him
plenty of time, and he hates being hurried. The newspaper comes a few
minutes past eight, and Charley always looks at the money article the
first thing, before we begin, for I won't let him read at breakfast; as
I tell him, he has all day for business, and he can study his paper as
he goes up in the train, so I insist on his giving up his breakfast-time
to me. Well, my dear, he had just sat down to the table, and had opened
the paper quite wide to look at his City article; I was standing up,
waiting for the coffee to be brought up, when I noticed on the part of
the paper turned towards me, the Indian telegrams--they are always in
large print, you know--so I could read them easily as I stood, and I
glanced down them till I came to the one about Percy; without a word I
snatched the paper out of Charley's hand to read it closely, and then I
saw that I was not mistaken, and that it was indeed he. I am not quite
clear what I did--something extravagant, I daresay. I think I kissed
Charley violently, and then, for the first time in my life, went into a
sort of hysterics. The first thing I distinctly remember is, that my
dear old Charley was trying to calm me. He was evidently in the greatest
alarm, and had not the least idea what was the matter, or what ought to
be done, and I believe he thought I had gone suddenly out of my mind. He
was evidently afraid to touch me lest it should make me more violent,
but was going on,--'Now, my dear Polly!--Oh, I say, now, Polly!--It is
all right, Polly; it is, indeed!--For God's sake, try and compose
yourself!' and he looked so dreadfully frightened, and his dear red old
cheeks were so pale, that with another wild fit of laughing, which I
could not help, I threw my arms round his neck and kissed him;
frightening him more than ever, for he evidently thought my madness had
taken a fresh turn.
"'It is all right, Charley,' I said, as soon as I could speak at all.
"'I am only so pleased.'
"'Oh, you are?' Charley said, still thinking I was out of my mind; 'that
is right, my dear--you are quite right to be pleased, but try and quiet
yourself. It is very jolly, no doubt, and I quite agree with you; but
there now, dear, don't laugh any more like that--for, upon my soul, you
frighten me horribly!'
"'I am better now, Charley,' I said. 'Get me a little cold water.'
"Just at this moment the servant came in with the breakfast, and Charley
rushed up to her, snatched the coffee-pot from her, and shouted out at
the top of his voice,--'Some cold water,--quick, quick!' frightening the
servant nearly as much as I alarmed him; he then ran back to the table,
burning himself terribly from the way he had taken the coffee-pot in his
hands, and then swearing to himself--which he only does on very rare
occasions now--dreadfully. It nearly set me off again; however, the girl
now came back with some water, and when I had drank a little I began to
recover myself.
"'Do you know what it was that gave me so much pleasure, Charley?'
"'Not in the least, my dear; but never mind telling me now. I dare say
it was very clever; but you can tell me presently. I shan't go up to
town to-day.'
"'It was something I read in the paper, Charley.'
"'Oh, it was!' he said, doubtfully, evidently not believing me in the
least, but considering that I was still wandering in my mind.
"'Yes, Charley, only think, Percy Desborough, who was engaged to
Agnes----'
"'Yes, my dear, I know; the man who was killed at Lucknow a year ago.'
"'He is not dead after all, Charley.'
"'No, I dare say not,' Charley said, soothingly; 'I should not be at all
surprised. I never thought he was myself; but don't mind him now. Lay
down, my dear, and try and compose yourself.'
"'You silly old goose,' I said, 'look in the paper yourself.'
"Charley, evidently to humour me, turned to the paper; but he still
watched me closely, in case I should be going to do anything fresh. When
he saw that it was really as I said, he was quite delighted; at first
principally for my sake, as he now began to see that after all, I had
only had a fit of hysterics from my sudden delight, and was not out of
my mind after all: that fear once removed, he was truly pleased at the
news for your sake. Presently I said,--
"'Oh, Charley, only think of Agnes; if she reads it in the papers, the
sudden shock will kill her.'
"'By Jove!' Charley said, 'so it might. What is to be done?'
"'May I run down and tell her?' I asked. 'She does not see the _Times_
the first day, and no one in Canterbury knows that she is engaged to
him; every one supposed it was broken off years ago, so no one is likely
to go in to tell her the first thing."
"'Of course you may, Polly, if you like; and, look here! I think I will
go down with you, for you have frightened me so confoundedly that I
shall be fit for nothing to-day in the City, and as to-morrow is
Saturday, I will go down with you and bring you back on Monday morning.'
"We looked in a Bradshaw, and found there was an eleven o'clock train
down here; so he went up to town directly after breakfast, to say he
should be away till Monday; I went up rather later, and he met me at the
London Bridge Station in time to catch the train."
"Then where is Charley?" I asked, when Polly had finished her story.
"I sent him on to Ramsgate. I told him that I should have to take some
time to break it to you; and that then we should want to be alone; so
that, as altogether he would be dreadfully in the way, his best plan was
to go on to Ramsgate, and out for a sail, and to have dinner there; and
that he could come back here about seven o'clock. I mean to sleep here,
as I said, Agnes; but Charley will go to an hotel. He will like that
much better, as then he can smoke and do as he likes."
I was now quite myself again, and Polly had evidently made her story as
long as she could, to allow me to recover myself, and to divert my
thoughts a little from my great joy.
Mrs. Mapleside now came in, and was very surprised and glad to see
Polly. We confided to her, under promise of strict secrecy, the good
news Polly had come down to bring; a promise which the dear old lady did
not keep, for she was so delighted and full of it, that I really do not
believe she could have kept it to herself had her life depended upon it.
So she informed--also in the strictest confidence--three or four of her
most intimate friends, and as these were the greatest gossips in
Canterbury, it was not long before the whole town knew of it; and,
although I would, perhaps, rather that it had not been known, yet I
could not be vexed with the kind old lady, for I was very pleased at the
sincere pleasure all my friends seemed to feel at my happiness.
I wrote the same afternoon to Ada, telling her that Polly had come down
to break the news to me, and congratulating her on the happiness which
she, as well as myself, must be feeling.
A few days after, I heard from her, saying that my letter had been
forwarded to her in Scotland, where she was visiting with her husband,
and how great a relief it had been to her; for that after she had seen
the joyful news in the paper, she was very anxious about me, and had she
been in London, she should certainly have acted as our dear Polly had
done, and have come down to break the news to me.
At about seven o'clock Charley came in from his trip to Ramsgate, and
very hearty and cordial was he in the pleasure he felt at my happiness.
Mrs. Mapleside took a great fancy to him, and their three days' stay was
altogether a delightful time. On Monday morning they returned to town,
as Charley could not stay away longer from his business. Polly and he
tried hard to persuade me now to give up my plan of a residence at
Canterbury, and to go and live with them; but this I would not do. I am
very comfortable and happy where I am, and Mrs. Mapleside looks upon me
quite as her own child, and would, I know, miss me dreadfully; and as at
farthest I thought Percy would be back in two years, I made up my mind
to remain as I was till then, but I promised to pass a good deal of my
time with Polly.
Yesterday I got a letter from Percy, which Polly forwarded to me from
Putney, where he had of course directed it. It was a very long letter,
and began by saying how grieved he was to think how much I must have
suffered at the news of his supposed death, and that he should be very
anxious about my health till he heard from me. He then went on to tell
me all his adventures and hairbreadth escapes, and it really seemed as
if over and over again he had been saved almost by a miracle. He had, as
was supposed, been severely wounded by a rebel ball, and had fallen from
his horse; but he had strength enough left to crawl away and conceal
himself under some bushes till the rebels had passed, which, occupied as
they were in harassing the retreating column, they did without much
search. Before their return he had crawled some considerable distance,
and again concealed himself till night, he had then made his way to a
cottage which he entered and threw himself on the hospitality of the
peasants who lived there.
The poor people had been most kind to him and had concealed him there
for nearly a month, by which time his wounds, for he had two, had
healed; neither of them, fortunately, were very serious, and it was
principally from loss of blood that he had fallen from his horse. They
had then sent him up the country to a friendly Zemindar who had received
him kindly, but had not the power openly to protect him. Here he had
stayed ten months, till the arrival of Colonel Heaviside's column had
given him an opportunity of rejoining the British forces. This ten
months had been one continual danger, and had been passed sometimes in
one disguise, sometimes in another, which only his perfect knowledge of
Hindostanee had enabled him to carry through.
He wrote word that he was now quite well and strong again, and that he
hoped to be in England in a year at the farthest; but he promised to
give me at any rate a couple of months notice, and said that he should
expect to have everything ready to be married a week after he landed;
for that after waiting all these years he did not see any reason why he
should be kept without me a single day, after he returned, longer than
necessary.
This was only yesterday. All this has happened in a week. I can hardly
steady myself down--I can hardly believe that all this happiness is
true, and that in another year Percy will be home to claim me. But yet
it is all true, and it seems to have given me back my youth and life
again. Every one tells me that in this short week I am so changed, that
they look at me almost with wonder, and are hardly able to believe that
I am the same person they knew ten days ago, as a quiet,
melancholy-looking woman. Thank God for it all--for all His exceeding
mercy and goodness to me!
This great grief has had one good effect. It has removed the only
obstacle to my marriage with Percy. Three days after I received the
joyful news, a letter came to me from Lady Desborough. It was such a
letter as I had not imagined that she could have written. She said that,
in her grief, she had thought often of me, and had seen how wrong she
had been in her conduct towards us. She had said to herself that, if the
opportunity could but come over again, she would act differently. That
opportunity, by God's mercy, had come, and she wrote to say that she
should no longer, in any way, raise the slightest obstacle to our union.
She besought me to forget the past, and the weary years of separation
and waiting which her cruelty had entailed upon us, and she prayed me to
forgive her, and to think of it as if it had never been.
This letter gave me, for Percy's sake, great pleasure. I, of course,
responded to it; and from that time we exchanged letters regularly.