Love often keeps men awake: knocks on the head will have the same
effect, if they be not too hard, when they sometimes prove very
soporific; and agitating thoughts of any kind, with the generality of
mortals, have the same tendency. It is not always so, indeed; for I
know some people who, when they are very unhappy or very anxious, go
sound to sleep. They are wise. It is the best thing they can do.
Nevertheless, although Henry Hayley was not one of the latter class,
was in love, had received two severe blows on the head, and had had a
great many strong emotions within him, he slept very soundly, for he
was weary and exhausted.
There is something, too, in habit; for the mind is very much more like
the body than we imagine, and either will learn to bear almost
anything by custom, if it be not sufficiently strong to break down all
powers of resistance at first.
Now, Henry had in the course of his life gone through so many
agitating moments, and had so frequently encountered difficulty,
danger, and distress, that he bore them now more lightly than most
men, gave to thought the time due to thought, and to repose the time
necessary for refreshment. Thus, as I have said, he slept soundly and
well till daylight on the following morning; and he had just raised
himself on his arm, and was looking at the sunshine playing with the
white dimity curtains of the windows, when he heard a knock at the
door.
"Come in," he said, and his friend the pedlar appeared.
"Good morning, sir," said the man. "I have just come up for a minute,
while Farmer Graves is out, to have a chat with you upon what happened
last night. I don't mean about the robbery, but about the marriage and
all that."
Now, Joshua Brown was somewhat forcibly in possession of a portion of
Henry Hayley's confidence: I say forcibly, because our young friend
was not a man to entrust his affairs to the discretion of a wandering
pedlar, whom he had only known for a few hours, although all that he
had seen of him was favourable. But the pedlar, having been present
when so much had passed regarding his early history, had that degree
of command of the story which rendered it a nice point of discretion
whether he should be told more or not. Henry resolved to see farther,
however, before he decided, and to allow the man to take the lead,
maintaining, for his own part, what may be called the defensive in the
conversation.
"Well, my good friend," he said, in reply, "it is a very curious
circumstance that this good farmer should see so strong a likeness
between myself and his daughter."
"I don't know, sir," said the pedlar; "that is as it may be. That you
are very like her is certain, for I remember her well; and if you do
not know who your mother was, it is just as likely that she was your
mother as any other woman."
This proposition Henry did not think fit to contradict; and the next
moment the pedlar went a step farther, saying--
"Besides, sir, I rather think that you must yourself have some cause
to believe that you are this poor young lady's child, because,
although Farmer Graves, from the way I took with him, does not know
anything about it, I know that you came over seeking him."
"I might have a thousand other things to talk to him about," replied
Henry, although he could not help feeling that this was a home-thrust.
"Well, sir," answered the pedlar, "I do not want to pry into your
affairs: it is not curiosity or anything of that kind that makes me
speak; but I think I can perhaps help you in what you want--that is to
say, if I am right in believing I know what you do want."
"If you will tell me what you suppose me to want," replied Henry
Hayley, "I will at once answer you, yes or no, and will moreover ask
you a few questions in return, your answers to which will soon satisfy
us both as to whether you can afford me the assistance I require, and
for the wish to render which I am very much obliged."
"Why, you see, sir," rejoined the man, "last night you asked Mr.
Graves, quite quietly, whether he had got the certificate, and some
time after, whether he knew at what church the marriage took place.
Now, I fancy that your object is to prove that you are legitimate,
whether you may think fit to acknowledge your mother's family or not;
for I can see clearly that you have been bred up as a very high
gentleman."
Henry Hayley smiled.
"My good friend," he said, "let me assure you, in whatsoever rank I
may have been brought up, I would never disclaim as relations good and
honourable men, to whom I am really tied by kindred blood. A much
higher rank than ever I shall attain to would not at all justify such
evil pride. I will acknowledge, however, that my object is that which
you state, and I will reward any one very handsomely who will enable
me to prove the marriage of Miss Graves."
"I think I can do it, sir," said the pedlar, rubbing his hands slowly
one over the other; "I don't doubt it. This wandering trade of mine is
one of the best and most interesting in the world; we see all that
happens round about us in every part of the country, hear a great
number of curious stories, and as we go very quickly from one place to
another, we often get the two ends of a history which itself takes a
very long turn between them, and learn more about it than people who
have more to do with it."
"But how do you intend to act in this instance?" demanded Henry: "have
you any particular information?"
"Not much, sir," replied the man; "but I will work it out,
notwithstanding."
"I should like to hear how," said the young gentleman; raising himself
higher in bed. "When we were talking with Mr. Graves, you seemed to
have no further information than that which you had previously given
to me, and I should be very glad to hear what more you know."
"That is hardly fair, sir," said the pedlar with a smile.
"I can assure you," replied Henry, "that whatever you tell me will
make no difference whatever as to the recompense I shall give, if by
your means I can prove the fact of the marriage."
"That is not the point at all, sir," answered Joshua Brown. "I am
quite sure you would behave like a gentleman. I should know a
gentleman when I see him, I think, or I have walked the world for
well-nigh thirty years to no purpose. But you see, sir, there's a
pleasure in working a thing of this kind out by one's self. It's a
thing I'm very fond of, and often, when I see something happen that I
don't understand, I set to work to make it out; and I get a little bit
of information here, and a little bit there, till the whole thing is
as clear as possible. I don't mind telling you this much, however,
if you'll just let me follow the string my own way:--Some
seven-and-twenty years ago--it was in the month of August--as I was
trudging along with my box on my shoulders, down in Hertfordshire,
just about the place where Farmer Graves told us last night he was
sent for to his daughter, a post-chaise passed me, and I saw in it a
face I thought I knew. It was a woman's face, and one not likely to be
forgotten; but she had on a white bonnet with a white feather in it,
and a white lace veil partly hanging down; and as I had never seen the
young lady so dressed, I was puzzled for a long time to think who it
could be. I went along saying, 'It is surely pretty Mary Graves;' but
I was not quite certain. About a mile farther on I came to a church,
and looking over the wall of the church-yard I saw the clerk, or the
sexton, or somebody, shutting the vestry-door. So I hallooed out to
him, 'Master Clerk, do you want anything in my way?' He was a sulky
old fellow, and he said 'No.' Then I answered, 'Come, come--you want a
ribbon for a wedding favour for the two young people who have just
passed, who have been tying the knot with their tongue they can never
untie with their teeth.' So he laughed a little at that, but he said,
'No, I don't. If they had wanted me to wear a favour, they might have
given me one.' Then speaking quietly, just as you did last night when
asking about the certificate, I said, 'Pray who are they, Master
Clerk?' But he answered quite short, 'What's that to you?' and I
couldn't get another word out of him, for he walked away. Some nine or
ten months after that, I came down here--I always take these parts
about the end of May or the beginning of June--and I began to ask the
people questions. I soon found that Mary Graves had gone away with a
rich young merchant, was married to him, and was dead: in short, I
heard the whole story that I told you. It was two years after that
before I saw her father again, but then I found him quite heart-broken
still."
"Do you know the name of the church?" asked Henry eagerly.
"No, I do not, sir," replied the man; "but I'll find it out, and see
the register for that year--only I don't know what name to look for."
"Mary Graves, of course," replied Henry; adding, the moment after,
"bring me a certificate of her having been married in that year, and I
will make you a rich man for the rest of your life. But, my good
friend, it may be months before you trace the whole of this business;
and from particular circumstances it is necessary for me to ascertain
the facts immediately."
"It shan't be long, sir," said the pedlar. "I must go back to London,
for I have no pack now, and so I travel light."
"What might be the value of your pack, my good friend?" asked the
young gentleman.
"Oh, not very much, sir," answered the man, "for I had sold a good
deal out of it. There were ten pair of spectacles, some gold pins, and
two or three wedding rings; but the whole wasn't worth more than nine
pounds, I think, and the box wasn't worth a pound more, for it was an
old one."
"Do you think you can get me a pen and ink and a sheet of paper?"
"Oh, certainly," said the pedlar, walking away; and when he returned
he found the young gentleman up and partly dressed.
"I will pay you for your pack, my good friend," he said, "as it was
lost in consequence of your guiding me here. I have not got money
enough about me, for I gave the greater part of what I had to the men
who came to help us; but a cheque upon my banker, I dare say, will do
as well."
"I'm very much obliged to you indeed, sir," replied the pedlar,
"though it is scarcely fair to take it, I think."
Henry, however, drew the cheque and gave it to the pedlar, whose eyes
instantly fixed upon the words "Frank Middleton," written at the
bottom. A look of some surprise came upon his face, evidently showing
he had not quite believed that the name which had been given to the
farmer was the real one. Nevertheless, he made no comment, but only
said--
"Now, sir, will you let me have your address in London? I think in
three or four days you shall hear something more of me."
Henry gave his address accordingly, at the hotel where he was lodging;
and merely reading the words "Colonel Middleton," the pedlar seemed
about to retire, when the young gentleman stopped him, saying--
"There is another thing we have to consider, my good friend--namely,
the recovery of my pocket-book; for there are some papers in it of the
utmost importance."
"I will put that in train, sir, before I go," replied the man; "and I
don't mind telling you how, for you must give me authority. As to
trying to catch these men and get it from them by force, that is out
of the question. The only way to do is, to apply to some of what they
call their bankers. They call them 'blinds' in London, I believe. Now,
I have heard the names of two or three of these scoundrels, in the
different towns round about; and I'll go to them, and tell them that
you will give a hundred pounds to get the book back again with all it
contains."
"You may say I will give that to the people who have got it," replied
Henry, "and fifty pounds more to whichever of these so-called bankers
gets it for me."
"And no inquiries made," said the pedlar: "that will soon settle the
matter, I think. But now I'll go, sir, for there I see Farmer Graves
coming up the walk, and it's as well he shouldn't know that we've been
talking over these matters."
"I have not the slightest objection to his knowing," replied the young
gentleman; "for it is my intention to tell him this morning a great
deal more concerning myself than I did last night, as I think he will
now be able to talk over the matter more calmly."
"He will like your telling him, and his telling you, much better than
my having anything to do with it," said the pedlar, "and therefore I
had better go. Good-bye, sir: a week shan't pass without your hearing
from me."
Thus saying, he quitted the room, leaving Henry to finish his toilet;
and Henry dressed, and descended the large, wide staircase, which, to
say the truth, occupied nearly a third of the whole house. He entered
the room where he had taken tea the night before; and seeing that,
although it was untenanted, the table was laid for breakfast, he sat
down and gazed out of the window, obtaining a view to the left of the
double row of yew-trees, over the top of the neighbouring copses, to
the wide-extended heath of which he had traversed a part during the
preceding evening. The country lay soft and fair in the hazy morning
light; but, though Henry's eyes were fixed upon it, he saw little,
except that a sweet picture was hung up before him; for his mind was
occupied with thoughts too eager and too active to suffer the volatile
part of the mind to stray after the ordinary sources of enjoyment. He
had not much faith in the success of good Joshua Brown's efforts to
recover his lost pocket-book; and when he came to consider all that it
contained, the necessity of regaining it became every moment more and
more evident to his eyes. There was in it, first, the paper given to
him by his father, immediately before he started for the Continent.
Besides this, there was his passport under the name of Frank
Middleton; and there were documents of various kinds, which went a
great way to establish the identity of the person so named with the
Henry Hayley who had fled from England more than ten years before.
Whether the possession of these papers would ever be of any great
service to himself, he might doubt, in the undecided state of his mind
as to the course he should pursue; but yet he saw clearly that they
might be very dangerous in the hands of another, if ever the person
who had possessed himself of them should obtain a clue to the history
of the real owner. Yet, however much he thought over the
circumstances, he could see no better plan for recovering his property
than that which had been proposed. To employ an officer of police
would have been more dangerous than to leave it where it was. To
search for it in person offered very small prospect of success, as he
was but little aware of the haunts and habits of the persons by whom
he had been assailed.
He resolved, however, to consult the good old fanner as to the best
means of proceeding; and the opportunity was not long wanting, for in
about ten minutes Mr. Graves entered the room. He advanced towards
Henry with an outstretched hand, and with his eye fixed--I must call
it anxiously--upon his guest's countenance; he asked how he was, how
he had slept, how his head felt; and he then told him that his guide
of the night before had just departed.
"He's an honest fellow, Joshua Brown," said the old man. "I have dealt
with him in small things for many years, and never found him deceive
me. I would willingly have kept him to breakfast; but he would take
nothing but a slice of bread and a cup of beer, and then posted off
upon his way."
"I must go very soon likewise," replied Henry; "but before I go, and
before breakfast is served, let me say one word to you, my dear sir. I
have many reasons to believe that we are very near akin to each other.
My early history is still a mystery, in some degree, to myself; but I
will now tell you fairly, which I did not choose to do last night,
that the name of Mary Graves has been mentioned to me, once in my
life, as that of my mother."
The old man threw his arms round him, pressed him to his heart, and
Henry clasped his hand warmly; but he said--
"Do not let us yet feel too sure, Mr. Graves. I have determined to
investigate the whole matter to the bottom, and to discover all the
facts; nor will I delay at all in so doing. My father has been dead
some years, otherwise the whole would have been made perfectly clear
before now; for many circumstances, which I cannot well explain at
present, prevented him during a long period from holding any
communication with me regarding my birth. Of this, however, be
assured, Mr. Graves--that as soon as ever all the facts are in my
possession, I will see you again; and, if it be as I think, will
gladly claim that connection with you which my father did not
acknowledge--not from any feeling of pride on his part, but from
motives so powerful that you yourself, when you hear them, will admit
their force."
The old man mused, with tears in his bright dark eyes.
"They should be powerful indeed," he said, "to justify--nay, to
palliate--such conduct as his. But perhaps, after all, he knew not how
I loved her; perhaps he knew not the full bitterness of the cup he
forced me to drink. Often have I cursed him, but I curse him not now:
I have learned to forgive, and I pray that God may forgive him."
"Amen!" said Henry. "Every man needs forgiveness; and he who has
caused another pain and grief, however it may have happened, requires
it much."
As he ended, the woman-servant came in with the materials for
breakfast; and he and the old man sat down together, avoiding, as if
by mutual consent, any reference to the subject of their previous
conversation. Henry spoke at large, however, with regard to his
pocket-book, and explained to Mr. Graves as well as he could, without
describing the contents, how important it was for him to recover it.
"I could wish," he added, "though I don't know if it be possible, that
it should be restored to me without being opened."
"I would not look into the inside for the world," replied the old man;
"but if it be still within ten miles of this place, I think I will
have it before night; for immediately after breakfast I will mount my
horse, and I will get all my own men and my son's together, and will
sweep the whole country between this and Frimley, without leaving a
hole unsearched in which any one of the villains could harbour. But
where are you going to now? Cannot you stay and help us?"
"I am afraid not," replied Henry: "I have promised to be in London
to-night; but I will write down my address, and hope to hear from
you."
"Don't write; tell me," said the farmer: "that is as good as writing.
I never forget: since that terrible day, it seems as if everything
that happens to me is dug into my memory as if with a penknife. Like
names that boys carve on the bark of trees, the marks grow larger and
stronger as time passes. These things touch different men in different
ways. I have heard of some men who have quite lost their memory under
misfortunes--with me the effect has been the reverse. What is the
address?"
When Henry told him, he murmured--
"Colonel Middleton!--that is not the name."
"I do not believe it is," replied Henry; "I do not believe it is my
own name; but that will be all explained to you hereafter. And now, is
it possible to get a chaise to Hartford Bridge? I left my portmanteau
there last night, and must go back for it."
"You can go in my gig," said the old man: "tell the people at the
'White Lion' to send it back. I will order it directly; then go you on
your way while I go on mine--and success attend us both!"