THE LAST RESOURCE.
Poverty once again returned--with all its hideous escort of miseries--to
the abode of Monroe and his daughter. The articles of comfort which they
had lately collected around them were sent to the pawnbroker:
necessaries then followed to the same destination.
Ellen no longer sought for needle-work: she had for some time past led a
life which incapacitated her for close application to monotonous toil;
and she confidently reposed upon the hope that the old woman would
procure her more employment with an artist or a sculptor.
But at the expiration of the ten days, the hag put her off for ten days
more; and then again for another ten days. Thus a month passed away in
idleness for both father and daughter, neither of whom earned a
shilling.
They could no longer retain the lodgings which they had occupied for
some time in a respectable neighbourhood; and now behold them returning
to the very same cold, miserable, and cheerless rooms which we saw them
occupying in the first instance, in the court leading out of Golden
Lane!
What ups and downs constitute existence!
Two years had now passed away since we first introduced the reader to
that destitute lodging in Golden Lane. We have therefore brought up this
portion of our narrative, as well as all the other parts of it, to the
close of the year 1838.
Misery, more grinding, more pinching, and more acute than any which they
had yet known, now surrounded the father and daughter. They had parted
with every thing which would produce the wherewith to purchase food.
They lay upon straw at night; and for days and days they had not a spark
of fire in the grate. They often went six-and-thirty hours together
without tasting a morsel of food. They could not even pay the pittance
of rent which was claimed for their two chambers: and if it had not been
for their compassionate neighbours they must have starved altogether.
Monroe could obtain no employment in the City. When he had failed,
during the time of Richard Markham's imprisonment, he lost all his
friends, because they took no account of his misfortunes, and looked
only to the fact that he had been compelled to give up business. Had he
passed through the Bankruptcy Court, and then opened his counting-house
again to commence affairs upon credit, he would have found admirers and
supporters. But as he had paid his creditors every farthing, left
himself a beggar, and spurned the idea of entering upon business without
capital of his own, he had not a friend to whom he could apply for a
shilling.
At length the day came when the misery of the father and the daughter
arrived at an extreme when it became no longer tolerable. They had
fasted for forty-eight hours; and their landlady threatened to turn them
out of their empty rooms into the street, unless they paid her the
arrears of rent which they owed. They had not an article upon which they
could raise the price of a loaf:--it was the depth of a cold and severe
winter, and Ellen had already parted with all her under-garments.
"My dear child," said the heart-broken father, embracing his daughter
affectionately, on the morning when their misery thus reached its utmost
limit, "I have one resource left--a resource to which I should never fly
save in an extreme like this!"
"What mean you?" inquired the daughter, anxiously glancing in the pale
and haggard countenance of her sire.
"I mean that I will apply to Richard Markham," said the old man. "He
does not suspect our appalling state of destitution, or he would seek us
out--he would fly to our succour."
"And you will apply to him who has already suffered so much by you?"
said the daughter, shaking her head. "Alas! he will refuse you the
succour you require!"
"No--no--not he!" ejaculated the old man. "Be of good cheer, Ellen--I
shall not be long absent; and on my return thou shalt have food, and
fire, and clothes!"
"God grant that it may be so!" cried Ellen, clasping her hands together.
"I have moreover a piece of news relative to that villain Montague to
communicate to him," added Monroe; "and for that reason--if for none
other--should I have called at his residence to-day. While I was roving
about in the City yesterday to endeavour to procure employment, I
accidentally learnt that Montague is pursuing his old game, at the West
End, under the name of Greenwood."
[Illustration]
"Ah! why do you not rather call upon this man," cried Ellen, "and
represent to him the misery to which his villany has reduced us? He is
doubtless wealthy, and might be inclined to give a few pounds to one
whom he robbed of thousands."
"Alas! my dear Ellen, you do not know the world as I know it! I have no
means of convincing Montague, or Greenwood, that I lost money by him. He
only knew Allen in the entire transaction: he never saw me in his
life--nor I him,--at least to my knowledge. Allen is dead;--how then can
I present myself to this man, whom villany has no doubt rendered
hard-hearted and selfish, with mere assertions of losses through his
instrumentality? He would eject me ignominiously from his abode! No--I
shall repair to Richard Markham; he is my last and only hope!"
With these words the old man embraced his daughter affectionately, and
left the room.
The moment he was gone Ellen said to herself, "My father has undertaken
a hopeless task! It is not probable that Markham, whom he has reduced to
a miserable pittance, will spare from that pittance aught to relieve our
necessities. What is to be done? There are no more artists or sculptors
who require my services--no more statuaries or photographers who need my
aid. And yet we cannot starve! When I last saw the old woman, she spoke
out plainly--her meaning could not be misunderstood. I rushed away from
her presence, as if she were a venomous reptile! Fool that I was.
Starvation is undermining those charms which I have learnt to value:
hunger is defacing that beauty which gave me bread for nearly two years,
and which may give me bread again in the same way. I am clothed in rags,
and shiver with the cold! My hands, once so white, are becoming red: my
form, lately so round and plump, is losing its fulness and its
freshness; my cheeks grow thin and hollow. And in a few hours my poor
old father will return home, wasted with fatigue, and overwhelmed with
famine and disappointment. O my God!" she continued, clasping her hands
together in an ebullition of intense agony; "pardon--pardon--I can
hesitate no longer!"
And straightway she proceeded to the dwelling of the old hag.
* * * * *
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when Mr. Monroe returned to
the court in Golden Lane.
His countenance was animated with an expression of joy, as he
encountered the landlady upon the threshold of the house in which he
resided.
"Miss Monroe is not come in yet," said the woman roughly. "Here is the
key of your lodgings--_not that I think there is much worth the locking
up._ However, this key you don't have again till my rent is paid."
"Here--pay yourself--pay yourself!" cried the old man, taking a handful
of gold and silver from his pocket.
The woman's manner instantly changed into cringing politeness. She was
not now pressed for the rent. She could wait till it was convenient. She
always knew that she had to deal with a gentleman. What did it matter to
her when she was paid, since she felt convinced the money was safe?
Monroe cut short her compliments by settling the arrears due, and
sending the landlady out to purchase some food. The old man was
determined to be extravagant that day--he was so happy! Markham had
declared that he and his daughter should never know want again;--and
then--he had such a surprise for Ellen. They were to proceed next day to
take up their abode with Richard: the young man had insisted upon
it--Whittingham had supported the proposal;--and so it was all resolved
upon. No more poverty--no more cold--no more hunger!
It was for this that the old gentleman was resolved to be extravagant.
He was anxious to provide a delicate little treat for his daughter;--and
he was glad that she was not at home when he returned. He felt convinced
that she had gone out to seek for work, and hoped that she would not be
long ere she returned.
By means of the landlady he procured a cold fowl, a piece of ham, and a
bottle of cheap wine; and his own thin and meagre hands spread the
dainties upon the table, while the landlady lighted a fire in the grate.
When these arrangements were complete, Monroe dispatched the now
obsequious mistress of the house to redeem from pledge the various
articles which had been pawned during this latter period of destitution;
and when she returned, laden with the necessaries and the comforts which
had thus been temporarily disposed of, Monroe felt pleasure in arranging
them in such a way that they might strike Ellen's eyes the moment she
should return.
The poor old man was so joyful--so happy, as he executed his task, that
he did not observe the lapse of time. Six o'clock struck, and the candle
had been burning for some time upon the mantelpiece, ere Monroe began to
wonder what could keep his daughter so long away.
Another half-hour passed; and her well-known step was heard ascending
the staircase. The door opened; and Ellen rushed into the room,
exclaiming, "My dear father, here is gold! here is gold!"
"This then appears to be a day of good fortune," said the old man,
glancing triumphantly around him. "I also have gold--and these are the
fruits of the first use which I have made of it!"
"What!" exclaimed Ellen, gazing wildly upon the well-spread table and
the various articles redeemed from the pawnbroker; "Richard Markham----"
"Is an angel!" cried Monroe. "He never will let us know want again!"
"Oh! my God!" ejaculated Ellen, throwing herself upon a chair, and
burying her face in her hands: "why did I not wait a few hours? why did
I not have patience and hope until your return?"
"Ellen, what mean those words?" demanded the old man: "speak--tell
me----"
"Simply, my dear father," she answered, raising her head, and at the
same time exercising an almost superhuman control over her inward
emotions, "that I have consented to receive work at a price which will
scarcely find us in bread; and----"
"You shall not hold to your bargain, dearest," interrupted Monroe. "The
money which you may have received in advance,--for you said, I think,
that you had money,--shall be returned to those who would condemn you to
a slavery more atrocious than that endured by the negroes in the West
Indies! Take courage my beloved Ellen--take courage: a brighter day will
yet dawn upon us."
Ellen made no reply: but her countenance wore so singular an expression,
that her father was alarmed.
"My dearest daughter," he exclaimed, "you have no longer any hope! I see
by your looks that you despair! God knows that we have encountered
enough to teach us to place but little reliance upon the smiles of
fortune: nevertheless, let us not banish hope altogether from our
bosoms! To-morrow we shall leave this dismal abode, and repair to the
house of our young benefactor, Markham."
"Markham!" cried Ellen, the very name appearing to arouse agonizing
emotions in her mind: "have you promised Mr. Richard Markham that we
will reside with him?"
"Yes, dearest Ellen; and in so doing I had hoped to give thee pleasure.
You have known each other from infancy. Methinks I see thee now, a
little child, climbing up that hill in company with Richard and his
brother----"
"His brother!" repeated Ellen, a cold shudder passing over her entire
frame.
"My dearest girl, you are not well," said the old man; and, pouring some
wine into a glass, he added, "drink this, Ellen; it will revive thee."
The young lady partook of the exhilarating beverage, and appeared
refreshed. Her father and herself then seated themselves at the table,
and partook of the meal.
Ellen ate but little. She was pensive and melancholy; and every now and
then her countenance wore an expression of supreme horror, which denoted
intense agony of feeling within her bosom. She, however, contrived to
veil from her father's eyes much of the anguish which she thus
experienced; and the old man's features were animated with a gleam of
joy, as he sate by the cheerful fire and talked to his daughter of
brighter prospects and happier days.
On the following morning they took leave of those rooms in which they
had experienced so much misery, and repaired to the dwelling of Richard
Markham.