BRIGHT HOPES
It is not surprising that Laud, as he stood by the kitchen-fire, and
scraped off the mud, a mixture of clay, weeds, and samphire, which were
clotted upon his coarse trousers, should be considered by the tenants of
that part of the house as a person worthy of all admiration. He had
signalized himself in more than one pair of eyes. The master of the
family and the head clerk had beheld his prowess, and had spoken most
highly of him. They had given orders that whatever he required should be
furnished for him. No wonder, then, that in Tom's, John's, or Sally's
eyes, he should shine with such increased lustre. In Margaret's he was
beheld with those feelings of love, and hope, and joy, which anticipated
rapid improvement after long drawbacks, and she saw the object of her
attachment at the most happy and propitious moment of her existence. The
joy of that evening was unalloyed. Master William was recovering. The
grateful father made Will and all his servants enjoy a hearty supper
together, before they retired to rest, and took care the social glass
was not wanting to make them as comfortable as possible.
The whole establishment sat around the well-spread table before a
cheerfully blazing fire, and were descanting upon the dangers of the
night and the perils which Mr. William must have encountered. At this
moment the doctor entered.
His curiosity had been excited by the account he had heard of Will Laud.
He easily distinguished that dark swarthy being, with his blue jacket,
changed, by the drying of the mud upon it, to a kind of dun or
fawn-colour. His black hair hung down over his shaggy brow with his long
man-of-war pigtail; and his whiskers, scarcely distinguishable from his
black beard, fulfilled the idea of the weather-beaten sailor which the
doctor had previously entertained. He was fully satisfied in his own
mind with what he saw. He came, he said, to report to Laud the state of
his patient; and after asking him a few questions, and making some
remarks upon his bravery, he wished them all a good-night, and returned
to the parlour, to encounter the entertaining queries of the intelligent
family at the Cliff.
His report brought them another visitor. The door again opened, and
their mistress stood before her servants. They all rose as she entered,
and Laud above the rest; but whether from the strangeness of his
situation, or from the belief that the lady was about to speak to him,
the moment that his eye met that intellectual and penetrating glance of
inquiry, it became fixed upon the ground. The voice of thanks reached
him, as well as the words of praise. If they did not gratify _him_, they
did at least the heart of the poor girl who stood close by him. She
looked in her mistress's face, and in her heart blessed her for her
kindness.
"Can we be of any service to you, young man?" said the lady. "We are
anxious to prove ourselves grateful to you: and in any way that you may
claim our future service, you will find us ready to repay you. As an
immediate help, Mr. Cobbold sends you this guinea, an earnest of some
future recompense."
"Thank you, ma'am! Let Margaret have the guinea, and the thanks too; for
she first discovered the young gentleman."
This was spoken by Laud without looking at the lady, or once lifting up
his eyes. Was it timidity, or was it shame? Perhaps Laud had never been
interrogated in the presence of a lady before that time.
He was truly relieved, when Mrs. Cobbold, hoping, as she said, that he
had been well taken care of, and again thanking him for his assistance,
wished him a good night's rest, and took her departure.
The opinion of the parlour was not so favourable to Laud as that of the
kitchen, as the character of the bold smuggler was estimated very
differently in each place. Mr. and Mrs. Cobbold, however, were not aware
that Laud was in the British navy, having been seized in his boat by a
pressgang, and been bound to serve his majesty three years on board the
_Briton_ man-of-war, then cruising off the coast of Holland.
Such was the want of British seamen just at this period of the
breaking-out of the long war, that many smugglers received not only
their pardon, but good pay for joining the navy; and even those taken by
the pressgang were only punished, if it may be termed so, by a
three-years' well-paid service. Laud had been thus taken, and had been
so well received on board, that his captain, on the night in question,
had granted him permission to come up to Ipswich. He had offered him a
crew, but Laud said he knew the river, and would rather go alone, if the
captain would only lend him one of the small boats and a pair of oars.
He had promised to be on board again the next day. The request was
granted; for the captain was pleased with Laud's confession of his
object in undertaking to go alone--so, in spite of wind and weather, ice
and snow, he had rowed himself up the river Orwell as far as Nacton
Creek.
These facts Will had already communicated to Margaret, who, rejoicing in
his present honourable position, overlooked the dangers of a
three-years' service in defence of his country. She felt more proud of
his presence that night at the Cliff than she had ever before done since
the day of his first entrance into her father's cottage. She did not
indeed experience that thrilling warmth of devotion which she once felt
when he visited her on the shores of Downham Reach; but love, through
all its shocks, was much more firm and really hopeful than even at that
enthusiastic period.
Though Margaret became acquainted with the fact of Laud's admission into
the British navy, and he spoke openly in the kitchen of his ship and her
commander, yet these things were unknown in the parlour, where, as has
just been stated, his personal appearance and character stood at a heavy
discount. In the kitchen he was a hero, in the parlour a desperado.
The doctor found Master William in a sound and apparently refreshing
sleep; and retired to a couch prepared for himself in an adjoining room,
in case his services might be required in the night. The servants soon
after parted for their respective dormitories, and Laud took leave of
Margaret for the night.
It is scarcely possible to believe that Margaret, after all her fatigues
and anxieties, should have refused to retire to her room. She actually
begged permission to sit up all night with Master William. Vain were all
attempts at persuasion. She said she knew that if she went to bed she
could not sleep, and as she begged so hard to be permitted to sit up,
the request was granted.
Hope is a sweet comforter to an anxious heart, and presented a vision of
future bliss to the wakeful spirit of the maid, which afforded her
occupation for the night, presenting to her the prospect of days to
come, when Laud should obtain an honourable discharge from his country's
service, where he was now numbered among the bold, the brave, and the
free, and in which the same Providence which had preserved him to
perform the good act of that night would, she hoped, still preserve him
for many more good deeds. In pleasant reflections the night passed away;
nor was there one in that family who did not join in the general
thanksgiving to God for the signal preservation of the youth, who was
wrapped in a profound and refreshing sleep, watched by the
ever-constant and faithful Margaret. The tempest of the night had swept
along, and was succeeded by a calm and glorious sun-rising, which shone
upon the glittering fields of snow. The fir-trees were weighed down with
the weight of the ice and snow lodged upon their branches, whilst the
beams of the sun made the drops of pendent icicles fall with a smart
sound to the earth. The sailor came down from his bedroom refreshed
after a sound sleep; and, after he had partaken of a hearty breakfast,
he shook hands with all the servants, and took a more tender leave of
Margaret: leaving his best wishes for the young gentleman, he returned
to his boat some miles down the river, and thence to his ship.
He was gone before the Cliff party assembled at the breakfast-table, but
he took with him the best prayers of all, and most especially those of
the girl of his heart, for his future safety and prosperity.
Master William gradually recovered, and took warning from this narrow
escape not to venture any more upon such dangerous excursions. Though
fond of boating, he lost the zest for wild-fowl shooting, and left it
for others to pursue who had not purchased experience at so dear a
price.