After Mr Darnley the elder had finished his unpleasant colloquy with
his son, and had seen his daughters walk out together; though at the
time he had not any suspicion of their intentions, yet he began to be
suspicious that some intercourse might be carried on thus clandestinely
with the prohibited fair one of Smatterton. He then sought for his son,
whom he found in the dining-room with a book spread open before him,
but apparently little occupied with the contents of the volume. With a
dry and careless air, the father addressed the young man:
“Where are your sisters, Robert?”
“They are gone out to take their morning’s walk, sir,” replied the son.
“And where are they gone?” said the elder gentleman, with greater
emphasis and asperity than was usual with him.
To an interrogation thus suspiciously addressed to him, the young
gentleman did not feel inclined to give a very explicit and
satisfactory answer. There is frequently a great difficulty in managing
replies to some questions, which force, as it were, an unpleasant
answer, or an untruth. It is hard and ungenerous to ask such questions,
and when people of any delicacy of feeling find that they have by any
unintentional impertinence proposed a question of this nature, they
will immediately, and with as good a grace as possible, waive pressing
for an answer. But in the present case, the question was put for the
very express purpose of extorting reluctant information. And the
younger Darnley did not feel himself at all inclined to give an answer,
or to tell a falsehood. He therefore remained silent and looked again
upon his book, considering that the recent discussion between himself
and his father was sufficient to account for a little sulkiness and
gloom.
The father became now more suspicious, and he repeated his question
with greater earnestness, and he said in an angry tone, “I ask you,
Sir, where your sisters are gone. Why do you not answer me?”
Then the young man was angry in his turn, and he replied, “I am not
in the habit, Sir, of interrogating my sisters as to the direction in
which they may please to walk.”
Now as Mr Darnley the elder was not quite so much aware of the
angriness of his own tones as he was of the sharpness of the answer,
his suspicions were still farther corroborated, and he said, “You know
that they are gone to Smatterton.”
Robert Darnley was again silent, and though his father repeated the
assertion in a variety of modes, he gave no answer to it. Mr Darnley
the elder, then in a most angry mood, set out to walk to Smatterton,
that he might convince himself of the truth of his suspicions.
In the course of his walk, Mr Darnley was interrupted and delayed by
meeting with Sir George Aimwell and Colonel Crop. People who are not
mightily gifted with any great flow of words are sometimes as tedious
as professed and notorious praters. For though they do not convey much
information, and do not utter any great quantity of words, yet if they
have not much to do, and are at a loss for the passing of their time,
they will sometimes stand dribbling out monosyllables for half an hour
together and more too. Thus did the two troublesome ones above named
most mercilessly and remorselessly pounce on the rector of Neverden.
The baronet and the colonel were on foot, walking slowly in a direction
opposite to that in which the rector was walking. When the clergyman
saw the two gentlemen, he felt himself necessitated to lay aside the
frowning look of the angry father, and to assume a more gracious and
courtier-like smile. And when the two distinguished characters met the
reverend gentleman bearing smiles upon his countenance, which smiles
were manifestly designed to signify how great was the delight which
he felt in meeting the said gentlemen, they could not of course for a
moment imagine that he should be very glad to part with those whom he
appeared so happy to meet.
Therefore the unpaid and the half-paid made at the rector, what is
called a dead set. They fairly and completely stopped him; stopped him
as completely as a couple of footpads, one on one side of him and the
other on the other. They did not indeed demand his money or threaten
his life, but they demanded his time, which was to him at that moment
as valuable as his money, and they put in danger his politeness, which
was as dear to him as life.
The first salutations were soon paid, acknowledged, and returned. Then
the interrupters stood still looking at Mr Darnley and at each other;
and then Mr Darnley having nothing more to say, and fancying that
his friends by their silence were similarly situated, made a slight
movement, as if indicating an intention of taking leave. But his good
friends were not disposed to give him leave; and the worthy baronet
then began a short speech by saying, “Oh, Mr Darnley, have you had your
newspaper this morning?”
Mr Darnley replied very politely, “I have, Sir George.”
Then the baronet asked: “Is there anything new?”
Then Mr Darnley said, “Nothing, Sir George.”
And then Sir George was silent again; and then Mr Darnley, after a
little interval, made another move. Then Colonel Crop took up the tale
and said, “The papers are very dull now.”
To which Mr Darnley suitably and assentingly replied; “Very:”--thinking
perhaps at the same time that Colonel Crop was as dull as any of them.
Once more Mr Darnley was in hopes of getting away from his tormenting
detainers; but the excellent magistrate thinking that it was now his
turn to speak, directed himself again to the impatient rector, saying,
“What remarkably mild weather it is for the time of year.”
“Remarkably mild;” replied Mr Darnley.
Thus did the cruel ones, unmindful of the inconvenience to which they
put the poor man, detain him a most unreasonable length of time with
an unconnected and uninteresting succession of idle common-places,
interlarded with long intervals of insipid silence. So long as he stood
still silently looking at them, so long did they hold their tongues,
but whenever the poor man shewed symptoms of moving, they stopped him
by some unmeaning gabble. So does a wantonly cruel cat play with a
poor innocent mouse which she suffers for a moment to escape from her
claws, and leaves unmolested while it is motionless; but, as soon as it
moves a limb in signal of departure, down comes her merciless paw upon
it again.
At length however when the worthy baronet and his friend were tired of
their own laziness, they suffered the persecuted divine to escape from
them; for after having detained him an unreasonable length of time, and
that for no purpose whatever, the considerate baronet very coolly said:
“Well, Mr Darnley, perhaps we are detaining you: good morning.”
“Good morning,” said Colonel Crop; and so also said Mr Darnley.
It was now absolutely impossible for the rector of Neverden to overtake
his daughters before they should arrive at Smatterton parsonage, if
that were the object of their excursion, and nothing remained for him
but the prospect of meeting them on their return, and the satisfaction
which he might have in reproving them for their implied disobedience.
The delay which he had experienced by no means softened his asperity or
abated his anger; and when at a little distance before him, just at the
entrance of the village of Smatterton, he saw his three daughters in
deep and apparently interesting conversation approaching him, and not
perceiving him in consequence of the interest which they seemed to take
in the subject of their conversation, he concluded of course that they
had been at the rectory at Smatterton contrary to his known will and
inclination.
They were within reach of his voice before they saw him; and when they
heard him address them, they lifted up their faces and were astonished
into silence, and surprised into apparent confusion. It was merely
the unexpectedness of the meeting that confused them, but the rector
thought their silence was from the conviction of their guilt.
“And so, young ladies, you have, in despite of your father’s authority,
been paying a visit to Smatterton rectory! And pray let me ask you,
what is your motive for this act of rebellion?”
Now the young ladies mentally pleaded not guilty to the accusation, and
they gave voice also to the plea, saying: “Indeed, Sir, we have not
been at the rectory.”
“But have you not seen Miss Primrose?”
“We have,” replied the eldest. “We have seen Miss Primrose, but we have
not been paying her a visit. Our meeting was accidental.”
The young lady did not say that there was intention in the accident;
and if there be a fault in that omission, we are humbly of opinion
that at least one half of the blame rests upon Mr Darnley himself, for
assuming such magnificent airs and playing the great bashaw in his
family. We could write a long dissertation on this subject, but whether
such dissertation would be read is doubtful.
As when the above reply was given to Mr Darnley by his daughter he
stood in mute astonishment for a while, an opportunity was thus
afforded for the young lady to continue, and to endeavour to divert for
a moment her father’s thoughts from Penelope, and to direct them to
poor Fitzpatrick. Miss Darnley therefore said:
“And we met Miss Primrose, Sir, as she was coming from a visit of
consolation to a poor old man, of whom we have often heard you speak?”
Mr Darnley in an instant understood to whom the allusion was made, and
he exclaimed: “Bless me! Is poor old Fitzpatrick living still, and in
Smatterton?”
Seeing how completely and pleasantly the current of her father’s
thoughts was changed by this recollection, Miss Darnley proceeded to
give a full and abundant relation of all the particulars of the poor
man’s case, and the illness of the grand-daughter.
Mr Darnley was moved at the narration, and he said, “I will go and see
the poor man and his grand-child.”
Miss Darnley then directed her father to the cottage, and with her
sisters returned to Neverden. They were all three much pleased that
their father’s attention was thus directed, and they entertained some
hopes that good might result from his accidental meeting with Penelope,
which they anticipated, as they had not many minutes back parted with
her at the door of the poor man’s cottage. And when they arrived at
Neverden, they told their brother all that had passed, and he also was
pleased, and he anticipated favourable results from the meeting.
In the mean time, Mr Darnley the elder found his way to Fitzpatrick’s
cottage; and as he entered the wretched abode, his feelings were
shocked at the sight of such miserable destitution as appeared in the
lower apartment. Scarcely could he believe that such a place could be
the abode of human beings; and he could not help thinking, that though
there was not in Neverden so splendid a building at Smatterton castle,
yet at the same time there was not a hovel so miserable as that in
which he was then standing. He felt compassion for the poor man who
was destined to close his life in so desolate an abode, and he thought
of the service which that poor man had rendered to him.
As Mr Darnley had entered the cottage with gentle step, as fearing to
disturb the sick, those who were above were not aware of his presence
till he entered the upper room. And when he was there, though Miss
Primrose herself was before him, and though his anger had been strongly
excited against her, he thought not of the offence or the offender.
His attention was first arrested by the sight of the poor old man, who
was standing by his grand-daughter’s bed side, and trembling with age
and infirmity. There was not in the countenance of the poor man any
expression of grief or sympathy; his eye, expressive of no emotion or
even consciousness, rested coldly on his grand-daughter; and as Mr
Darnley entered the room, the old man just turned his face towards the
visitor, and no otherwise altered his position or expressed any sense
of a stranger’s presence.
Penelope was leaning over the bed on which the sick girl lay, and was
endeavouring to soothe her with kind words, and to persuade her to
take some slight nourishment. And when the patient saw Mr Darnley, she
started with astonishment, which led Miss Primrose to look towards the
door of the apartment. Penelope was the only one of the three who at
that moment knew Mr Darnley; for the old man had forgotten him, and the
poor girl had never known him.
The young lady was much moved at the sight of Mr Darnley; and she was
preparing to rise to pay her respects to the gentleman. She could not
rise very quickly, for her left arm was supporting the sick girl’s
head, and Penelope was unwilling to withdraw that support hastily. Mr
Darnley saw this, and signified by the moving of his hand, and by a
gentle whisper, that he would not have the sick one disturbed. Then he
came near and took the old man’s hand, which was yielded placidly and
wonderingly. But when Mr Darnley spoke to him and called him by name,
the old man’s recollection returned, and the light of intelligence came
into his looks.
“Have you no recollection of me, Fitzpatrick?” said Mr Darnley.
“Oh yes, Sir,” replied the old man; “I do recollect you now. But it is
a long time since I have seen you, Sir.”
Then Fitzpatrick pointed to the poor girl, and said to Mr Darnley:
“There’s a sight, Sir, for an old man. You remember my boy; he was at
one time likely to do well in the world; but he was carried off by a
fever in the prime of life, and there lies his only child.”
The old man was going to say more, but his feelings prevented his
utterance. And Mr Darnley spoke kindly to him, and gave him assurance
that he should not want, but that every comfort should be given him to
cheer his declining days.
“You are good, Sir, very good; but I shall not long stand in need of
any comforts. This good young lady, Sir, has been very kind to us both.”
By this time Penelope had gently and gradually disengaged her arm from
supporting the head of the poor girl; and Mr Darnley addressed himself
to the exhausted and almost expiring patient. But she was unable to
make any audible reply to Mr Darnley’s enquiries, but her lips moved
and there was a hectic flush which lasted only for a moment, and was
succeeded by a paleness more livid than before. She turned her eyes
tearfully and gratefully towards Penelope, and thus corroborated by
her looks what the old man had said of the kindness of their gentle
benefactor.
Mr Darnley now felt himself compelled to speak to Miss Primrose; and,
considering the habitual haughtiness of his manner and the unfriendly
feelings which he had entertained towards her, he spoke with great
gentleness. He enquired how long the poor people had been in that
miserable abode, and he asked if there was anything which he could do
for their assistance. And Penelope thanked him with as much grateful
energy of expression as though the kindness were offered to herself,
and she added:
“It is but little, Sir, that they want, and that little we can easily
supply them with. But I wish I could as easily soothe the poor girl’s
mind. She reproaches herself so bitterly, and will hear no consolation.”
Penelope said this in a low and gentle tone. She was hardly aware that
the patient heard her, till poor Ellen’s voice interrupted her, and the
sick one spoke audibly and distinctly, and said, “I am happy now.”
At hearing this, Mr Darnley and Penelope turned hastily round, and they
caught a glimpse of an expiring smile, and they heard the unchecked
breath rush through the pale lips of the sufferer, and then poor
Ellen’s earthly sorrows were at an end.