"And of our scholars let us learn
Our own forgotten lore."
_Keble_.
Little Mary Carbonel was not the worse for all the agitations, from
which, indeed, she had been so carefully shielded, but her mother was
sadly broken down by all she had undergone, and likewise by
mortification at the whole conduct of the Uphill people. After all the
years that she and her husband and sisters had striven for them, it was
very hard to find that so very few would exert themselves for their
protection, and that so many would even turn against them. It was hard
to make allowance for the bewilderment of slow minds, for sheer
cowardice, and for the instinct of going along with one's own class of
people. She and Sophy prayed that they might forgive the people, but it
was impossible just then not to feel that there was a good deal to
forgive, and Captain Caiger was always telling them that all their
trouble came in trying to help the good-for-nothing people.
They had moved into the George Hotel at Elchester. It was a good large
inn, such as used to exist in coaching days, where travellers stopped
for meals, and sometimes spent a night, and the rooms were so
comfortable that they were glad to stay there, while Captain Carbonel
could go backwards and forwards to make arrangements about the repair of
Greenhow. Of course, when he came to look the place over with a builder
from Elchester it turned out that a great deal more was needed than
simply re-building what had been burnt; and he was in difficulties about
the cost, when an offer came which he was glad to accept.
The Seven Ionian Islands had been put under the protection of England
since they had been set free from the Turkish dominion, and the
Governor, Sir Thomas Maitland, (King Tom as he was often called), was
very active in building, making roads, and improving them in every way
possible. He wanted an English officer to superintend his doings in the
little isle of Santa Maura, and being acquainted with Major Sandford,
Dora's husband, the proposal was made that Captain Carbonel should
undertake the work for two or three years, bringing out, of course, his
family with a handsome salary. It was a most opportune offer, giving
him the means of renewing Greenhow, of a visit to the sister, and of
restoring his wife's health, which had been much tried by her child's
death, little Mary's delicate state, and the alarm of the riots. So it
was gladly accepted, and the departure was to take place as soon as the
trials were over, for a special commission had been appointed to try the
rioters; and poor Sophy was much distressed at having so evidently
recognised Dan Hewlett when she found that "rioting and arson," that is,
burning, made a capital offence, so that it was a matter of life and
death.
But there was another to whom this same discovery made a great
difference--namely, Dan Hewlett himself. When he found that his life
was at stake, he declared himself willing to turn King's evidence, if
his pardon were secured to him, and this was really important, as he was
able to identify Jack Swing, who really was the chief mischief-maker,
being a young clerk whose head had been turned by foolish notions about
liberty for the people, and who really acted more generously, and with
less personal spite, than most of his unhappy followers. However, Dan
was content to purchase his own life by denouncing the leader whom he
had followed, and he was promised safety after the trial should be over,
until which time he must remain in prison at Minsterham.
Captain Carbonel had consulted George Hewlett, when arranging the ruins
at Greenhow, as to what had best be done for John, whose services he
could not forget. George considered for a night, and the next day
said--
"Well, sir, I beg your pardon, but the best thing as could be done with
that there John would be to put him somewhere to learn the
cabinet-making. He is a right sharp, clever hand, and knows pretty well
all I can teach him; and he would get on famous if he had the chance.
And it bain't so comfortable for him here. Some of 'em owes him a
grudge for bringing the soldiers down on 'em, and calls him an informer;
and it will be all the worserer for him when his father comes home--the
scamp that he is! I'm ready to wish my name wasn't the same. Wuss
shame by far than to be strung up to turn agin him as he was hand and
glove with!"
"I am quite of your opinion, Hewlett; and I fully think John would be
best out of the way, poor fellow. I will inquire for a good master for
him."
"Thank you, sir. I would have had the boy up to sleep at my place, but
he won't leave his poor aunt. He be the chief comfort she has, poor
thing. But she won't be here long anyway; and if ever there was a good
woman, 'tis Judith Grey."
It was quite true. Mr Harford, who had come home on Saturday, walked
over to Poppleby, partly for the sake of saying that Judith was
certainly near the close of her trials, and that it was her great wish
to see one of the dear ladies again, though she durst not ask one of
them to come into Dan's house. Indeed Mr Harford had only drawn the
expression of her desire out of her with difficulty.
Mrs Carbonel was not well enough for a trying interview, so it was
Sophy who drove from Elchester with her brother-in-law, grave and
thoughtful, and only wishing to avoid everybody; for she could not yet
forget how no one had shown any gratitude, nor desire to shield those
who had been so long their friends. The Poppleby doctor had been sent
to see Judith, and had pronounced that the old disease had made fatal
progress, accelerated by the hysterical convulsions caused by the night
and day of suspense and anxiety, and the attack on her nephew, as well
as the whole of Dan's conduct. He did not think that she could last
many more days.
So Sophy arrived at the well-known cottage, and was met at the door by
Molly, with her apron to her eyes, and a great deal to say about her
poor sister, and "it wasn't her wish"; but Mr Harford, who was on the
watch, began to answer her, so as to keep her from going upstairs with
the visitors. Little Judy, now a nice, neat girl of fourteen, was
sitting by her, but rose to go away when the lady came in.
Judith was leaning against pillows, and the pink flush in her cheeks and
her smile of greeting prevented Sophy from seeing how ill and wasted she
looked, thin and weak as were the fingers that lay on the coverlet.
"Why, Judith, you look much better than I expected. You will soon be as
well as ever."
Judith only smiled, and said, "Thank you, ma'am! I hope Mrs Carbonel
is better."
"Yes. She is getting better now, and she is very sorry not to come and
see you; but perhaps she may be able before we go away."
"And little Miss Mary, ma'am?"
"She has been quite another creature since we have been at Poppleby--not
at all fretty, and almost rosy."
"I am glad. And you are going away, ma'am?"
"Yes; off to a beautiful island in the Mediterranean Sea, close to all
the places where Saint Paul preached. You know Dora is at Malta, where
he was shipwrecked."
"Yes, ma'am; I like to know it. You will give my duty to her, Miss
Sophy, and thank her--oh! so much,"--and Judith clasped her hands--"for
all she and you and Mrs Carbonel have been to me. You seemed to bring
the light back to me, just as my faith was growing slack and dull."
"Yes; I will tell her, Judith. I don't like leaving you, but it won't
seem long till we come back; and we will send you those beautiful
Maltese oranges."
Judith smiled that beautiful smile again. "Ah, Miss Sophy, you have
been very good, and helped me ever so much; but my time is nearly over,
and I shall not want even you and madam where I am going. I shall see
His face," she murmured; and lifted up her hands.
Sophy was rather frightened, and felt as if she had done wrong in
talking of oranges. She did not know what to say, and only got out
something about Johnnie and a comfort.
"Yes, that he is, Miss Sophy, and little Judy too. The boy, he is that
shy and quiet, no one would believe the blessed things he says and reads
to me at night. He _be_ a blessing, and so be Judy, all owing to the
Sunday School."
"Oh! to you, Judith. You made him good before we had him, though Mary
and Dora did help," said Sophy, with rising tears.
"And oh! I am so thankful," she said, clasping her hands, "for what the
captain is doing for the boy."
"He deserves it, I am sure," said Sophy.
"It will keep him easier to the right way, and it would be harder for
him when I am gone, and his father come home! And Mr Harford, he says
he will find a good place for Judy. She is a good girl, a right good
girl."
"That she is."
"And, maybe, Mrs Carbonel and you, when you come home, would be good to
my poor sister. She've been a good sister to me, she has, with it all,
but it has all been against her, and she would be a different woman if
she could. Please remember her."
"We will, we will if we can."
Then Judith went on to beg Sophy to write to her former mistress, Mrs
Barnard, with all her thanks for past kindness. That seemed to exhaust
her a good deal, and she lay back, just saying faintly, "If you would
read me a little bit, miss."
The Prayer-Book lay nearest, and Sophy read, "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy
servant depart in peace," as well as she could amid the choking tears.
She felt as if she were lifted into some higher air, but Judith lay so
white and still that she durst not do more than say, "Good-bye, dear
Judith." She was going to say, "I will come and see you again," but
something withheld her. She thought Judith's lips said, "Up there."
She bent down, kissed the cheek, now quite white, and crept down,
passing Molly at the turn.
Two days later Mr Harford came to say that Judith was gone. Her last
communion with Johnnie, and with George Hewlett, had been given to her
the day before, and she had not spoken afterwards, only her face had
been strangely bright.
The Carbonels could only feel that her remnant of life had been
shortened by all she had undergone for their sakes, and Edmund and Sophy
both stood as mourners at her grave, Sophy feeling that her life had
been more of a deepening, _realising_ lesson than anything that had gone
before, making her feel more than had ever come yet into her experience,
what this life is compared with eternal life.