WE GO FORWARD AGAIN.
THE strength of Charlotte's constitution combatted against her disorder,
and she began slowly to recover, though she still laboured under a
violent depression of spirits: how must that depression be encreased,
when, upon examining her little store, she found herself reduced to
one solitary guinea, and that during her illness the attendance of an
apothecary and nurse, together with many other unavoidable expences,
had involved her in debt, from which she saw no method of extricating
herself. As to the faint hope which she had entertained of hearing from
and being relieved by her parents; it now entirely forsook her, for
it was above four months since her letter was dispatched, and she had
received no answer: she therefore imagined that her conduct had either
entirely alienated their affection from her, or broken their hearts, and
she must never more hope to receive their blessing.
Never did any human being wish for death with greater fervency or
with juster cause; yet she had too just a sense of the duties of the
Christian religion to attempt to put a period to her own existence. “I
have but to be patient a little longer,” she would cry, “and nature,
fatigued and fainting, will throw off this heavy load of mortality, and
I shall be released from all my sufferings.”
It was one cold stormy day in the latter end of December, as Charlotte
sat by a handful of fire, the low state of her finances not allowing her
to replenish her stock of fuel, and prudence teaching her to be careful
of what she had, when she was surprised by the entrance of a farmer's
wife, who, without much ceremony, seated herself, and began this curious
harangue.
“I'm come to see if as how you can pay your rent, because as how we hear
Captain Montable is gone away, and it's fifty to one if he b'ant killed
afore he comes back again; an then, Miss, or Ma'am, or whatever you may
be, as I was saying to my husband, where are we to look for our money.”
This was a stroke altogether unexpected by Charlotte: she knew so little
of the ways of the world that she had never bestowed a thought on the
payment for the rent of the house; she knew indeed that she owed a
good deal, but this was never reckoned among the others: she was
thunder-struck; she hardly knew what answer to make, yet it was
absolutely necessary that she should say something; and judging of the
gentleness of every female disposition by her own, she thought the best
way to interest the woman in her favour would be to tell her candidly to
what a situation she was reduced, and how little probability there was
of her ever paying any body.
Alas poor Charlotte, how confined was her knowledge of human nature, or
she would have been convinced that the only way to insure the friendship
and assistance of your surrounding acquaintance is to convince them you
do not require it, for when once the petrifying aspect of distress and
penury appear, whose qualities, like Medusa's head, can change to stone
all that look upon it; when once this Gorgon claims acquaintance with
us, the phantom of friendship, that before courted our notice, will
vanish into unsubstantial air, and the whole world before us appear a
barren waste. Pardon me, ye dear spirits of benevolence, whose benign
smiles and cheerful-giving hand have strewed sweet flowers on many a
thorny path through which my wayward fate forced me to pass; think not,
that, in condemning the unfeeling texture of the human heart, I forget
the spring from whence flow an the comforts I enjoy: oh no! I look up
to you as to bright constellations, gathering new splendours from the
surrounding darkness; but ah! whilst I adore the benignant rays that
cheered and illumined my heart, I mourn that their influence cannot
extend to all the sons and daughters of affliction.
“Indeed, Madam,” said poor Charlotte in a tremulous accent, “I am at a
loss what to do. Montraville placed me here, and promised to defray all
my expenses: but he has forgot his promise, he has forsaken me, and I
have no friend who has either power or will to relieve me. Let me hope,
as you see my unhappy situation, your charity--”
“Charity,” cried the woman impatiently interrupting her, “charity
indeed: why, Mistress, charity begins at home, and I have seven children
at home, HONEST, LAWFUL children, and it is my duty to keep them; and do
you think I will give away my property to a nasty, impudent hussey, to
maintain her and her bastard; an I was saying to my husband the other
day what will this world come to; honest women are nothing now-a-days,
while the harlotings are set up for fine ladies, and look upon us no
more nor the dirt they walk upon: but let me tell you, my fine spoken
Ma'am, I must have my money; so seeing as how you can't pay it, why you
must troop, and leave all your fine gimcracks and fal der ralls behind
you. I don't ask for no more nor my right, and nobody shall dare for to
go for to hinder me of it.”
“Oh heavens,” cried Charlotte, clasping her hands, “what will become of
me?”
“Come on ye!” retorted the unfeeling wretch: “why go to the barracks and
work for a morsel of bread; wash and mend the soldiers cloaths, an cook
their victuals, and not expect to live in idleness on honest people's
means. Oh I wish I could see the day when all such cattle were obliged
to work hard and eat little; it's only what they deserve.”
“Father of mercy,” cried Charlotte, “I acknowledge thy correction just;
but prepare me, I beseech thee, for the portion of misery thou may'st
please to lay upon me.”
“Well,” said the woman, “I shall go an tell my husband as how you can't
pay; and so d'ye see, Ma'am, get ready to be packing away this very
night, for you should not stay another night in this house, though I was
sure you would lay in the street.”
Charlotte bowed her head in silence; but the anguish of her heart was
too great to permit her to articulate a single word.