himself two aged crones, comfortably seated upon a rough slab of
wood, elevated two feet or so above the ground, by a massive block of
granite which supported either end. This, together with the cottage
wall against which their backs reclined, might, even with individuals
more fastidious than its present occupants, have appeared a luxury
little inferior to a sofa, especially in that bland and beautiful
hour when daylight dies along the hills, and our feelings, partaking
of the softness of the scene and hour, dispose us to be pleased, we
ask not why and care not wherefore. On either hand was situated a
door, over which hung suspended a very homely signboard. From one of
these, the wayfarer might learn that good entertainment for man and
beast could be supplied within, by Janet Baird, who, it appeared,
was, by special permission of government, permitted to retail
spirits, porter, ale, and other items. Lest any mistake should occur
as to the nature of the invitation (or, perhaps, it was a _ruse_ to
provoke the alimentary faculties), there was a painting of the
interior, representing a table, which seemed to groan under the
weight of bottles, glasses, porter and ale cans, bread, cheese, and
what not; whilst two jolly companions, with rubicund faces, where an
infinity of good nature predominated, sat round it, each with a cup
in hand, and both evidently sublimed by their potations far above
this "dirty planet, the earth." At the entrance to the apartment was
seen the landlady, who, with one hand pushed open the door, whilst
the other, projecting forwards, supported a huge tankard, charged
with the favourite beverage, which mantled or effloresced at the top,
like a cauliflower. The neighbouring sign had fewer attractions for
the weary traveller or the droughty villager, throwing out merely
hints as to the condition of the reader's linen, by intimating that
clothes might here undergo purification, and be mangled by the hour
or _peace_ (such was the orthography) by Nelly Gray.
The two neighbours lived on terms of the utmost harmony; for there
was no rivalry of interests. Their callings were antipodes to each
other--one being devoted to the decoration and comfortable appearance
of the human exterior, whilst the other took special cognizance of
the internal condition of the animal economy. They, of course,
carried on a mutual traffic; but it was on the primitive principle of
barter--the weekly account for washing and dressing which Janet owed,
being duly balanced by her accommodating Nelly with a certain potent
nostrum, which we shall not name, but merely describe as a sovereign
remedy for aching bones and pains, and other complaints of the
stomach, to which this petticoat Diogenes (for she likewise practised
in a tub) was very subject, especially after washing a whole day, or
impelling her crazy creaking machine for the same space of time. It
was their invariable practice to spend an hour or two every evening
in what is termed in the vernacular a "twa-handed crack," either
seated out doors, or snugly immured in Janet's back parlour--a small
dark room, encumbered with sundry articles of retail The subject of
their conversation, on the present occasion, will immediately become
apparent.
"They say he's gaun to learn folk ellykeashun," said Janet, in
reference to May's lover.
"An' what's that, Janet?" asked the other.
"Ne'er a bit o' me kens very weel," rejoined Janet, "but, I'm thinkin
it's the way the gentry speak, eghin an' owin, and sichin and sabbin,
an' makin yer voice gang up an doun, like daft Jock playin on the
fife."
"Hech, sirs, that's an idle kind o' way o' making ane's bread,"
sighed Janet. "It's naething else than begging. He'd better pit a
napping hammer in his hand an' tak the roadside for an honest
livelihood."
"'Deed, Nelly, it's my opinion he's been on the road before,
following anither trade," said Janet. "I'm sair mistaen if he's no a
hempie; an' we'll maybe hear mair aboot him yet than some folks wad
like to ken o'. I never liked your land-loupers an' spoutin gentry
a' my days. They're nae better than tinklers, that carry off
whatever they lay their han's on, nae matter whether it's beast or
body. It cowes the gowan hoo sae sensible a man as John Darling wad
e'er hae looten his dochter tak up wi' sic like clamjamfrey. But he
was aye owre easy wi' his family, an' gied them owre muckle o' their
ain wull frae the first. But the mother was sair to blame in pittin
sic daft-like notions intil a bairn's head as to read playactorin
books an' novels. Wae am I to say sae, noo that she's whar the Lord
wull."
"Is't true, Janet, that they're to be coupled i' the kirk?" asked
Nelly. "They say the minister's taen an unco likin' to the lad; an',
to mak' things look as genteel as possible, he's offered the use o'
the kirk for marrying them in; an's to gie them a ploy forbye, after
it's a' owre."
"Guid faith, it's a true saying--'The fat sow gets a' the draff,'"
rejoined Janet. "It wad be lang or he did a turn like that for ony
puir body like oorsels. The birkie doesna stand in need o' cash; for
he gies saxpence to this ane, an' a shilling to the ither ane, for
gauging errans. He micht hae provided something for the waddin folks
doun at Michael Crummie's, whase tred's no sae brisk noo, sin' that
kick-up wi' him an' the Mason Lodge folk, wha swore he gied them up
ill whusky--an' that was, maybe, nae lee. He ne'er, since ever I
mind, keepit the real stuff, like that o' mine. But see, Nelly,
whatna puir, waebegone looking creature's that coming alang the road,
scarcely able to trail ae leg after anither?--an' a bairn, too, help
us a'!"
The object which drew the attention of the honest ale-wife was, as
the reader may have already sagaciously conjectured, the same forlorn
being whom May Darling and her lover had accidentally encountered.
With a slow and faltering step, she approached the village dames, and
inquired of them how far it was from the town of H--.
"Five miles guid," said Janet Baird, and continued--"but ye'll no'
think o' gaun there the nicht; it's gettin dark, an' ye've mair need
o' a while's rest; an', maybe, ye wa'dna be the waur o' something to
support nature; for, wae's me! ye do look thin an' hungert like!
Tak' her in by, Nelly, an' I'll fetch her some cordial, as weel as a
morsel to eat."
So saying, she proceeded to her shop, for the purpose of making good
her word, whilst Nelly followed up that part of the duty of relieving
the stranger which devolved upon her, and conducted the "wearied one"
into the interior of her humble domicile.
"Ye'll hae travelled a gey bit the day, na, I sudna wonder?" said
Nelly.
"Yes," said the stranger, whom we shall now designate as Mrs B.
"Since morning, I have prosecuted my journey with all the speed which
want and weariness would permit of. But these were nothing, did I
only know how it was to terminate."
Meantime, Janet had returned, bearing in her apron an ample stock of
provisions; and, having heard the latter part of Mrs B.'s reply to
Nelly, her curiosity was not a little excited to know something of
her history. This she set about with the characteristic _pawkiness_
(there is no purely English word sufficiently expressive) of the
Scotch--that style of speaking which is half asking, half answering a
question; and she was successful in her endeavours.
"It'll be the guidman that ye're gaun to meet at H--?" said Janet.
"He'll be in the manufacturing line, nae doot; for there's little
else done there; an', indeed, that itsel has faun sair aff sin' that
dirt o' machinery was brought in to tak' the bread out o' the puir
man's mouth."
"Yes--no; he is not in that line, nor do I know, indeed, if he is to
be found there at all; but--but--excuse me, kind friends, for showing
a little reserve touching one who"--
Here, however, her feelings overcame her; and, turning round to gaze
on the helpless being that clung to her bosom, tears from her
suffused eyes began to find a ready passage down her pale emaciated
cheek--a channel with which they appeared to be familiar.
"He never saw thee, my little Henry, my sweet boy! Methinks, that
cherub smile of innocence which lies upon that countenance, would be
powerful enough to melt the icy feelings of his soul, and recall--.
Pardon me, kind friends," she continued; "but the name of husband is
associated in my mind with all that human nature can suffer of
unmitigated, hopeless wretchedness. You see before you the victim
of--. But you shall hear all."
She then commenced her history, recounting every circumstance of a
tale of misery but too common. As it is, in some measure, connected
with that of May Darling, we shall give a few of of its leading facts.
She was the daughter of a respectable farmer in the north of England,
and, being an only child, received an accomplished education; and,
from her engaging manners, personal attractions, and skill in music,
she was much courted even by those who moved in the higher circles.
At the house of a neighbouring clergyman, Mr G--, she was a very
frequent visitor; and her charms captivated the heart of Dr G--, a
young medical gentleman, and the nephew of the clergyman. On her
part, however, there was no attachment, although the ardour with
which Dr G-- pressed his suit might have captivated a bosom less
stubborn than hers. But another idol was shrined and secretly
worshipped there. This was a Mr Henry Bolton, a fellow-student of Dr
G--'s, who, in calling at the house of Mr G--, to see his friend the
Doctor, was induced to spend a few days with him. His stay was
protracted to weeks, months--in short, till the farmer's daughter and
he, having come to an understanding with respect to the all important
matter of love, agreed to join hands for better for worse. The
marriage took place at a neighbouring town, where the couple remained
for several months, living in a state of great privacy, for no one
was in the secret of their union, not even the lady's father. The
finances of Mr Bolton became exhausted; and a letter from his father
having shut out all hope of succour from that quarter, he was thrown
into a state of extreme dejection. His temper soured, and harshness
towards his wife soon followed; for an application on her part to her
father, to whom she was compelled by necessity to reveal her
situation, met with a reception similar to the other. One day he
dressed himself with more than usual care, packed up in a small
parcel the principal part of his body clothes, and having told his
wife that he meant to go as far as ----, naming a considerable town,
which was situated at some miles distance, parted from her, like Ajut
in "The Rambler," never to return. The sun arose and set, and arose
again and again, and week after week, but still he came not; nor was
she ever able to obtain the faintest trace of him. Her health began
to droop, and, in the depth of her humiliation and misery, like the
prodigal of old, she was compelled to seek for shelter under the
paternal roof. Her father received her even with kindness; for time,
the softener of affliction, the soother of wrath, had not passed over
his head without exercising its due influence upon his feelings.
Here she gave birth to a child, the baby which now lay at her breast.
Time passed away, and still no intelligence of her runaway husband
reached her, till, "about a week back," she said, "communication was
made me by letter, that, if I would repair to the town of H--, I
would hear something of my lost husband. Without the knowledge of my
father, I have undertaken the journey; and God alone knows whether
the information, so mysteriously conveyed to me, be true or
false--whether my hopes will be disappointed or realised. A few
hours, however, will be sufficient to set my mind at rest. I have
wearied you, I fear; but my present wretched appearance required some
explanation on my part--for, oh, it is difficult to lie under the
suspicion of being a vagrant or vagabond, as heaven knows I am
neither." And, clasping her hands and raising her eyes, she remained
for a few minutes in that reverential but death-like attitude which
is assumed when a human soul prays in agony.
Her painful narrative had its due influence upon the minds of those
to whom it was addressed; and, although both admitted the propriety
of proceeding to the town of H--, yet they earnestly exhorted her to
remain with them for a night; and to this proposal she acceded.
After breakfast next morning, Mrs B. (who must now be looked upon as
one of the principal of our _dramatis personæ_) set out for the town
of H--. What the nature of her reflections were, as she drew near
the termination of her journey, may be readily conceived; but of
their intensity no idea can be formed by any one except by the
broken-hearted female who has passed through the same fiery ordeal of
desertion and despair. She had arrived within a short distance of
the town, when a chaise, driving rapidly down the principal entrance
to it, attracted her attention. It approached; and from the favours
which profusely adorned the driver, his team, and his vehicle, it was
evident that some happy pair were destined soon to become its
occupants. The blinds were all drawn up; but, as the chaise passed
her, one of them was partially let down, and she heard some one from
within instruct the driver to proceed to the manse by a road more
retired than that usually taken. There was something in the tone of
the voice (though indistinctly heard from the rattling of the wheels)
which startled Mrs B. from a reverie in which she had been indulging,
and made every fibre of her body to thrill, as if an electric
discharge had shot through it. In mute astonishment, not unmingled
with thick coming fancies, horrible forebodings, which, without
assuming any definite form, were prophetic of woe, she fixed her eyes
upon the retiring vehicle, and, rooted to the spot where she stood,
motionless as a Niobe of stone, gazed and gazed till her eyeballs
ached. "Can it be?" she at last exclaimed, with wild emotion--"can
it be?--No--no--'tis but fancy; yet the place!--gracious powers!"
Her eyes continued to follow the retiring wheels, fixed upon them she
knew not by what mysterious power; and long she might have remained
in this position, had not some person from behind softly addressed
her. She turned round, and her eyes fell upon her former suitor, Dr
G--. Let her astonishment be imagined--we will not attempt to give
words to her feelings.
"It is to you, then," she said, after recovering from her
surprise--"it is to you, Dr G--, that I am indebted for information
regarding my lost husband."
"It is," he replied; "but not a moment is to be lost. Things are in
a worse condition than they were when I dispatched my letter to you.
But let us proceed instantly to Grassyvale. On the way I will inform
you of all that has come to my knowledge regarding that monster--it
were a profanation of language to call him husband." So saying, they
commenced their journey, which we shall leave them to prosecute
whilst we bring up some parts of our narrative necessarily left in
the rear.
We need hardly say that the morning of her marriage was an anxious
and a busy one to May Darling. It is true that she had plenty of
assistance afforded her by the village matrons, and by a few youthful
associates, whom she had singled out as especial favourites from
amongst many who were regarded by her with affection. But still a
fastidiousness of taste always seizes people on those occasions when
they are desirous of appearing to the best advantage. Besides, when
there are a number of lady's maids, all busily engaged in decorating
a single individual, a difference of opinion relative to the various
items of dress always takes place, and occasions much delay. One of
them is clear that such and such a colour of ribbon will best suit
the complexion of the wearer; another holds out strongly for an
opposite hue; and a third silences them both by asserting that
neither answer the colour of the bonnet. What sort of flowers would
most fittingly ornament the hair, was also a subject of protracted
debate; and half-an-hour was wasted in determining whether the ribbon
which was to circle her waist like a zone, should hang down or not.
Matters, however, were at last adjusted--the bride was arrayed, the
hour of twelve was struck by a small wooden clock which ticked behind
the door; and with the hour there arrived at the cottage a sort of
rude palanquin, fashioned of birch-tree boughs, which intertwisted
with each other, and were interwoven with branches of flowering
shrubs; and upon this some of the kindest and blithest-hearted of the
villagers had agreed to bear May to the kirk. Some modest scruples
required to be overcome before she would be induced to avail herself
of this mode of conveyance; and, after being seated, with the
bridesmaid walking on one side, and John Darling on the other, the
cavalcade began to move. Many hearty good wishes for the happiness
of the bride from the elder people, and many joyous shouts from the
younger part of the villagers, greeted the ears of the marriage
party; whilst a pretty long train which drew itself out in the rear,
sent up its rejoicings on the wind from a distance. But one step
must bring us to the altar of Hymen. Side by side stood the
bridegroom and the bride; and a more interesting, handsome, and
apparently well-matched pair, never were seen in the same situation,
as we are informed by the clergyman who officiated on the occasion.
The ceremony proceeded with due formality--one moment more would have
joined their hands, when a person who had just entered the church
called to the clergyman to stay the nuptials; and, at the same
moment, a shriek from a female who had entered along with him, rose
so wild, thrilling, and distracted, that every bosom shook beneath
its glittering attire.
"Base, inhuman miscreant!" shouted Dr G--, addressing himself to
Wilkinson (which name must now be supplanted by his real one,
Bolton), at the same time rushing forward to seize the bridegroom.
He, however, had ere this dropped the hand of May Darling--that hand
which, till now, like Desdemona's, had "felt no age, nor known no
sorrow"--and, unsheathing a dagger which was concealed about his
person (doubtless one of his theatrical weapons), he threatened to
make a ghost of any one who disputed his retreat from the church.
His menacing attitude and wild gesticulations terrified every
beholder, and even Dr G-- gave way, allowing him unmolested to quit
the sacred place which he was about to profane, and possibly might
have stained with blood. Only one attempted to arrest him, and, for
a short time, succeeded. It was his wife--she who the night
previously had kindled up in his soul the fires of conscience, as she
lay asleep, unsheltered save by heaven's blue canopy, and apparently
an abandoned outcast.
"Henry," she said, holding up their child, and stretching forth her
arms--"Henry, look on this dear pledge of our affection, the child of
love, though born in bitterness and tears, the offspring of your
choice--look on him, Henry, and let the voice of conscience in your
breast, which must be heard now or hereafter, plead in his behalf.
The helpless darling innocent--of what crime has he been guilty, that
his natural protector should cast him forth to meet the buffetings of
fate without a shield--that he should be launched upon the sea of
life without an oar? If not for my sake, at least for the sake of
little Henry--for he bears your name--restore us both to honour and
society, by returning to the path of duty. The arms that have so
often embraced you, will again encircle the neck to which they have
clung so often and so fondly. O Henry. Henry! reflect for an
instant on my destitute, outcast condition--without you, I am a weed
cast from the rock, to be driven whithersoever the storm sets
wildest. Think what my sufferings have been and must be!--God alone
can estimate them. Henry, hear me." And, taking her child in one
arm, she stretched out the other to detain him; but the heartless
villain shook her rudely from him, and darted from the church.
What were May Darling's feelings during this heart-rending scene?
She was not a spectator of it. The moment that the dreadful truth
flashed upon her mind, she sank into the arms of her father, dead to
consciousness and time. By the same conveyance which had brought her
in triumph to the church, she was borne to her father's cottage, a
wretched but a gentle maniac.
Days, weeks, months passed away, and she remained the same listless,
mild, and inoffensive creature--a baby-woman, a human being ripe in
years and an infant in thought, feeling, and everything mental. 'Tis
painful to contemplate the situation of an individual overwhelmed by
such a calamity under any circumstances; but, under the present, how
terrible indeed! To be struck down at the altar, arrayed in bridal
robes, and with all her hopes blooming around her--how does it humble
human pride, set at nought all calculations of human happiness, and
assign narrow limits to human hope! And yet there was mercy in the
dispensation. Better unconscious almost of existence itself, than
alive to all the horrors of a doom like that of May Darling. Better
the vacant stare, and the look of silent indifference on all beneath
the sun, than the wild gesticulations of violent grief, the shriek of
woe, or the agony of despair, for the alleviation of which "hope
never comes that comes to all."
Every means were had recourse to for rousing her from the dismal
trance into which she had fallen, to dispel from her thoughts the
gloomy, the dead images by which they were haunted; but in vain.
Sometimes she would sit amongst her gay companions; and, whilst they
laughed, chatted, and sung, as in former happy days, a faint smile
would rekindle about her lips, so rosy once, so wan and withered now,
and for a moment playing like a mental coruscation, would suddenly
expire, and then she would droop again into the gloom of moody
madness, and weep amidst all the gaiety that surrounded her--weep
even like a child. If spoken to, she made no reply; but, lifting up
her dark streaming eyes, sparkling through the humid medium in which
they were suffused, like a star in motionless water, she would sing
snatches of old songs about disappointed love, blighted hopes, and
broken hearts. And the melancholy tones of her voice would sadden
all around her, as if some powerful spell had suddenly passed over
their minds like a cold wind, and frozen up the fount of joyous
feeling; and they would weep, too--weep along with her; for she was
so beloved, so good, so beautiful, so happy once, and so woe-begone
and wretched now. Then would the gentle maniac start up on a sudden,
as if some one had hastily summoned her, and, rushing towards home,
would mutter, in a quick tone of voice--"I am coming--I am coming! I
knew we would be in time!--I knew we would be in time! He is
there!--he--he!--Who?" She was silent now. Many an eye was filled
with tears as she passed through the straggling village of Grassyvale.
Winter had passed away--the vernal eruption of spring had been
matured into the bloom, and the promise which spring gives of autumn,
when May Darling, one evening, wandered forth from her father's
cottage, attended only by a little sister. Striking into that
beautiful and unfrequented path where she had last walked with him
who, on the following day, was to have become her husband, she had
arrived at the very spot where lay asleep, on the grassy bank, by the
hedge-side, the wife of Bolton. A train of thought seemed suddenly
to rush through her mind; for she sat, or rather dropped gently down.
'Twas the recollection of former events which had begun to be
reanimated within her; and, though faint, it was sufficient to cause
a temporary suspension of muscular energy: her sight became dim, only
vague images being presented to the eye; and she might probably have
fallen backwards, had not a person sprung through the hedge, and,
putting his arms around her slender form, maintained her in an erect
position. The individual who had thus so opportunely come to her
assistance was closely wrapped up in a greatcoat, although the warmth
of the weather rendered such a covering scarcely necessary. The
upper part of his countenance was concealed by a slouched hat drawn
pretty far down; but from what of it was visible, it was plain that
care, remorse, and dissipation had gone far to modify its natural
expression.
May gradually revived from her partial swoon; and the stranger,
uncovering his head, and fixing his eyes upon the languid features
which began to assume the hue of life and the expression of conscious
being, said, in a low, trembling voice--
"May Darling, hear me--do not curse me--I am miserable enough without
the malison of her whom"--But his feelings for a moment choked his
utterance. "Through a thousand dangers and difficulties have I
sought this interview, only that I might obtain your forgiveness, and
acceptance of this small gift." Here he flung a purse down by her
side. "Say you forgive me, May--breathe but the word, and, in a few
days, an ocean shall roll between us."
But he spoke to ears which heard not. The moment that May recognised
Bolton, reason was restored, but animation fled, and she sank dead
for a time in his arms. He was about to take measures for her
restoration, when the rapid trampling of horses' hoofs drew his
attention in another direction; and, looking over the hedge-row, he
perceived two horsemen, at a very little distance, advancing towards
the village. He seemed to be aware of their errand and the cause of
their speed; for, no sooner had he cast his eyes on them, than his
head instinctively slunk down behind the hedge. But his precaution
was too late. He had been seen; and, that night, he was led, a
fettered man, to the gaol of H--, charged with highway robbery. We
may as well conclude his history, as well as that of the other
individuals who have been interwoven with our tale, before returning
to May Darling.