Even my prayers,
When with most zeal sent upward, are pull’d down,
With strong imaginary doubts and fears,
And in their sudden precipice o’erwhelm me.
MASSINGER.
The close of the December following the battle of Keinton found
Cuthbert in winter quarters at Warwick. His regiment marched into that
city on the day before Christmas-day; and, as soon as the men were
distributed in their quarters, he walked towards Milverton, from that
natural impulse which inclines us all to revisit any spot where we
have passed a part, however small, of our mysterious lives.
It was a bright, clear, invigorating day: the ground was firm under
the foot, and, though the sun shone out in a cloudless sky, there was
so hard a frost that the pathways were clean. The trees glittered in
the sun’s rays like frosted silver, and the face of nature looked
healthy and cheerful, like the winter season of a hale old age.
The step of Cuthbert was not so fast or active as travellers use in
such weather. He walked like one who reluctantly takes exercise, and
in company in which he takes no pleasure. He was alone, indeed, but
with care and doubt for his companions. Since the battle, he had been
advanced to the command of a company of musketeers, and Maxwell had
distinguished him by particular attentions. Randal was still his more
constant associate; and the petty and disagreeable perplexities to
which he had been at first subjected by the uncongenial persons with
whom he had been thrown, and by the novelty of the duties to which he
had been called, had altogether vanished: for in three months habits
are formed, and we become accustomed to any mode of life. To be
accustomed, however, is not to be reconciled to it. But this was the
least, and the most trifling and despised ingredient in the bitter cup
from which Cuthbert daily drank,--his conscience was not at peace. He
drugged it with an opium, extracted, by a very common process, from
the precepts and the promises of Scripture; but there was not a day of
his life that it did not awake to some doubts and horrors, and the
same medicine, dangerous where it is unskilfully applied, was taken to
excess. He felt himself embarked in a black ship, with a wild and
motley crew, and he dared not own to himself that he mistrusted those
who navigated the vessel. Her way was through gloom and danger, and
the voyage might, after all, end in shipwreck.
From the day of the battle, he was never seen to smile by any one; and
from the severity of his thoughts, his countenance had gathered a sad
yet stern complexion, which was not unsuitable to his present
fortunes.
In a sort of hope that the sight of Milverton House might beguile his
melancholy, might soothe him, by reviving sweet images of past and
precious hours, and building, as he walked along, a new fabric of
happy and peaceful liberty for his distracted country, he reached the
well known gates of the once hospitable mansion. Absorbed in his
reflections, he never raised his eyes to direct them towards the
house, till he stood at the very portal. The gates lay upon the
ground; the noble edifice was a blackened and a yawning ruin. A sudden
and terrific thunder clap, bursting from a serene sky, could not so
painfully have startled him. All around was silent--desolately,
dreadfully silent; and the sun was bright, and the stony skeleton of
the vast dwelling was black. He poured a passionate cry to God: he
fell down upon the earth, and petitioned feverishly that the evil one
might not hunt him to despair.
When he had in some measure recovered his composure, he rose and
walked through the lonely and roofless ruins. The rubbish, which had
fallen in when the floors and ceilings of the upper chambers gave way,
or were consumed, had been disturbed, and removed in large quantities,
to be sifted for any valuable metals which they might contain, so that
he could make his way without difficulty, and could still trace
distinctly all the lower apartments.
Near the fire-place in the large kitchen, on a part of the wall that
had only been scorched, might still be read one of those rude and
homely posies which were the delight of our honest forefathers, and
might be found alike in the manor-house and the humbler cottage of the
husbandman:--
“At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal,
And feast thy poor neighbours, the great with the small;
Yea all the year long, to the poor let us give,
God’s blessing to follow us while we do live.”