_Oh! grief has changed me since you saw me last;
And careful hours, and time's deforming hand
Have written strange defeatures in my face._
Shakspeare.
Though I resisted all idea of returning, even for an hour, to the
control of Mrs Boswell, it was thought necessary, since I had been
confined upon her authority and at her expense, that, before my
departure, she should be informed of my recovery, and consequent
dismission. After waiting impatiently the return of a message despatched
for this purpose; I learnt that Mr Boswell's house was shut up; the
whole family having removed to the country. My kind friend, Dr ----,
however, would not permit this to retard my departure. He undertook for
Mrs Boswell's performance of her engagement; which, he said, he could
easily compel, by threatening to expose her conduct. For my part, I had
no doubt that she had fled from the fear of detection, and with the
design of preventing her husband from discovering the barbarity she had
practised; for I knew that it was not the love of rural life, nor even
of the fashion, which could have roused Mrs Boswell to the exertion of
travelling fifty miles.
So far as I was concerned, however, her precaution was unnecessary; for
she had injured me too seriously to have any return of injury to fear.
Nothing short of necessity could have induced me to expose her, while I
saw reason to dread that self-deceit might, under the name of justice,
countenance the spirit of revenge. The only reason I had to regret her
departure was, that I was thus prevented from receiving the money which
Mr Boswell had acknowledged to be my right. Every thing else which
could be called mine had been sent with me from the house, and was now
faithfully restored to me. Feeble indeed must have been the honesty to
which my possessions could have furnished a temptation! The whole
consisted in a few shillings, and a scanty assortment of the plainest
attire. And yet the heir of the noblest domain never looked round him
with such elation as I did, when I once more found myself under the open
canopy of heaven; nor did ever the 'harp and the viol' delight the ear
like the sound of the heavy gate which closed upon my departing steps. I
paused for a moment, to ask myself if all was not a dream; then leant my
forehead against the threshold, and wept the thanksgiving I could not
utter.
I was roused by an enquiry from the person who was carrying my
portmanteau, 'whither I chose to have it conveyed?' The only residence
which had occurred to me, the only place with which I seemed entitled to
claim acquaintance, was my old abode at Mrs Milne's; and I desired the
man to conduct me thither.
Though the gladness of my heart disposed me to good-humour with every
living thing, I could not help observing that my landlady received me
coolly. To my enquiry whether my former apartment was vacant, I could
scarcely obtain an intelligible reply; and when I requested that, if she
could not accommodate me, she would recommend another lodging-house to
me, the flame burst forth. She told me 'that she had had enough of
recommending people she knew nothing about. Mrs Boswell had very near
turned away her sister for recommending me already.' I assured the woman
that I should have sincerely regretted being the occasion of any
misfortune to her sister; and declared that I was utterly unconscious of
having ever done discredit to her recommendation. 'It might be so,' the
landlady said, 'but she did not know; it seemed very odd that I had been
sent away in a hurry from Mr Boswell's, and that I had never been heard
of from that day to this. To be sure,' said she, 'it was no wonder that
Mrs Boswell dismissed a person who had brought so much distress and
trouble into the family, and almost been the death of both Mr Boswell
and little miss.'
'Mr Boswell! did he catch the infection too?'
'To be sure he did; and so I dare say would the whole house, if you had
not been sent away.'
I expressed my unfeigned sorrow for the mischief which I had innocently
caused; for I was at this moment less disposed to resent impertinence
than to sympathise in the joys and sorrows of all human kind.
My landlady's countenance at last relaxed a little; and either won by my
good-humour, or prompted by her curiosity to discover my adventures
during my mysterious disappearance, or by a desire to dispose of her
lodging at a season when they were not very disposable, she told me that
I might, if I chose, take possession of my former accommodation. With
this ungracious permission I was obliged to comply; for the day was
already closing, and my scarcely recovered strength was fast yielding to
fatigue.
I was aware, however, that in those lodgings it was impossible for me,
with only my present funds, to remain; for humble as were my
accommodations, they were far too costly for my means of payment. Mr
Boswell had, indeed, acknowledged himself my debtor for a sum, which, in
my situation, appeared positive riches; but my prospect of receiving it
was so small, or at least so distant, that I dared not include the
disposal of it in any plan for the present. That I might not, however,
lose it by my own neglect, I immediately wrote to remind Mr Boswell of
his promise, and to acquaint him whither he might transmit the money. I
had no very sanguine hopes that this letter would ever reach the person
for whom it was intended; and was more sorry than surprised, when day
after day passed, and brought no answer.
In the mean time, I made every exertion to obtain a new situation. I
enquired for Mrs Murray; and found that she was still in England, where
she had been joined by her son. I went unwittingly to the house of her
repulsive sister; and found, to my great relief, that it was, like half
the houses in its neighbourhood, deserted for the season. It was in vain
that I endeavoured to procure employment as a teacher. The season was
against my success. The town was literally empty; for though this is a
mere figure of speech when applied to London, it becomes a matter of
fact in Edinburgh. Besides, I had no introduction; and I believe there
is no place under Heaven where an introduction is so indispensable.
Without it, scarcely the humblest employment was to be obtained. Had I
asked for alms, I should probably have been bountifully supplied; but
the charity which in Scotland is bestowed upon a nameless stranger, is
not of that kind which 'thinketh no evil.'
Observing one day in the window of a toy-shop some of those ingenious
trifles, in the making of which I had once been accustomed to amuse
myself, I offered to supply the shop with as many of them as I could
manufacture. The shopman received my proposal coolly. Had I ordered the
most expensive articles of his stock, they would probably have been
intrusted to me without hesitation; but even he seemed to think that
pin-cushions and work-baskets must be made only by persons of
unequivocal repute. At last, though he would not intrust me with his
materials, he permitted me to work with my own; promising that, if my
baubles pleased him, he would purchase them. Even for this slender
courtesy I was obliged to be thankful; for I had now during a week
subsisted upon my miserable fund, and, in spite of the most rigid
economy, it was exhausted. The price of my lodging too for that week was
still undischarged; and it only remained to choose what part of my
little wardrobe should be applied to the payment of this debt.
The choice was difficult; for nothing remained that could be spared
without inconvenience; and when it was at length fixed, I was still
doubtful how I should employ this last wreck of my possessions. I was
strongly tempted to use it in the purchase of materials for the work I
had undertaken; because I expected that in this way it might swell into
a fund which might not only repay my landlady, but contribute to my
future subsistence. But, fallen as I was, I could not condescend to
hazard, without permission, what was now, in fact, the property of
another: and, humbled as I had been, my heart revolted from owing the
use of my little capital to the forbearance of one from whom I could
scarcely extort respect. Once more, however, stubborn nature was forced
to bow; for, between humiliation and manifest injustice, there was no
room for hesitation; and I summoned my landlady to my apartment. 'Mrs
Milne,' said I, 'I can this evening pay what I owe you; and I can do no
more. I shall then have literally nothing.'
The woman stood staring at me with a face of curious surprise; for this
was the first time that I had ever spoken to her of my circumstances or
situation. 'If you choose to have your money,' I continued, 'it is
yours. If you prefer letting it remain with me for a few days longer, it
will procure to me the means of subsistence, and to you the continuance
of a tenant for your apartment.'
After enquiring into my plan with a freedom which I could ill brook, Mrs
Milne told me, 'that she had no wish to be severe upon any body; and
therefore would, for the present, be content with half her demand.' This
arrangement made, nothing remained except to procure the money; and,
for this purpose, I hasted to the place which I had formerly visited on
a similar errand.
It was a shop little larger than a closet, dark, dirty, and confused;
and yet, I believe, Edinburgh, at that time, contained none more
respectable in its particular line. Some women, apparently of the lowest
rank, were searching for bargains among the trash which lay upon the
counter; while others seemed waiting to add to the heap. All bore the
brand of vice and wretchedness. Their squalid attire, their querulous or
broken voices, their haggard and bloated countenances, filled me with
dread and loathing.
Having despatched my business, I was hastening to depart, when I was
arrested by a voice less ungentle than the others. It spoke in a
melancholy importunate half whisper; but it spoke in the accents of my
native land, and I started as if at the voice of a friend. The face of
the speaker was turned away from me. Her figure, too, was partly
concealed by a cloak, tawdry with shreds of what had once been lace. An
arm, on which the deathy skin clung to the bones, dragged rather than
supported a languid infant. She seemed making a last effort to renew a
melancholy pleading. 'If it were but the smallest trifle, sir,' said
she.
'I tell you woman, I cannot afford it,' was the answer. 'You have had
more than the gown is worth already.'
'God help me then,' said the woman, 'for I must perish;' and she turned
to be gone. The light rested upon her features. Altered as they were,
they could not be forgotten. 'Juliet! Miss Arnold!' I exclaimed; and the
long tale of credulity and ingratitude passed across my mind in an
instant. I stood gazing upon her for a moment. Sickness, want and
sorrow, were written in her face. I remembered it bright with all the
sportive graces of youth and gaiety. The contrast overcame me. 'Juliet!
dear Juliet!' I cried, and fell upon her neck.
Strong emotion long kept me silent; while she seemed overpowered by
surprise. At length she recovered utterance. 'Ah, Ellen!' said she, 'you
are avenged on me now.'
'Avenged! oh, Juliet!'
It was then that I remembered the vengeance which I had imprecated upon
her head; and it was she who was avenged!
When I again raised my eyes to her face, it was crossed by a faint
flush; and she looked down as if with shame upon her wretched attire. 'I
am sadly changed since you saw me last, Miss Percy,' said she.
I could not bear to own the horrible truth of her words. 'Let us leave
this place,' said I. 'Come where you may tell me what has caused this
wreck.'
I offered her my arm, and, with a look of surprise, she accepted it.
'Sure,' said she, 'you must be ashamed to be seen with a person of my
appearance.'
'Can you imagine,' said I, 'that appearance is in my thoughts at such a
moment as this?' and vexed and chilled by this cold attention to
trifles, I silently conducted her towards my home.
It was at a considerable distance from the place of our meeting; and the
strength of my companion was scarcely equal to the journey. We had not
gone far before she stopped, arrested by the breathlessness of
consumption. Alarmed, I held out my arms to relieve her from the burden
of the infant. Then first a painful suspicion struck a sickness to my
heart. I looked at her, then at the child, and feared to ask if it was
her own. She seemed to interpret the look, for a blush deepened the
hectic upon her cheek. 'My boy is not the child of shame, Miss Percy,'
said she. My breast was lightened of a load--I pressed her arm to me,
and again we went on.
We at length reached my lodgings; and, regardless of the suspicious
looks which were cast upon us by the people of the house, I led Miss
Arnold to my apartment, and shared with her the last refreshment I could
command. During our repast, I could not help observing that the change
in Miss Arnold's appearance had but partially extended to her manners.
She was no sooner a little revived than she began to find occasions of
flattering me upon my improved beauty, which she hinted had become only
more interesting by losing the glow of health.
'In one respect, Juliet,' said I coldly, 'you will find me changed. I
have lost my taste for compliments.' Then fearing I had spoken with
severity, I added more gaily, 'Besides, you can talk of me at any time.
Now tell me rather why I find you here so far from home, so much--tell
me every thing that it will not pain you to tell.'
Miss Arnold showed no disinclination to enter on her tale. She told me
that, in consequence of her intimacy with Lady St Edmunds, she had,
after leaving me, _necessarily_ improved her acquaintance with her
Ladyship's niece, Lady Maria de Burgh. A smile of self-complacency
crossed her wasted face as she told me that a very few interviews had
served to dispel all Lady Maria's prejudices against her. 'But to be
sure,' added she, 'Lady Maria is such a fool, that I had no great glory
in changing her opinion.' I remembered with a sigh the time when this
comment would have given me pleasure; but I did not answer; and Miss
Arnold went on to relate, that Lady Maria soon pressed her, with such
unwearied importunity to become her guest, that the invitation was
absolutely not to be resisted without incivility.
Lord Glendower was at that time Lady Maria's suitor; or rather, Miss
Arnold said, he talked and trifled in such a way, that her Ladyship was
in anxious expectation of his becoming so. 'However,' continued she, 'I
soon saw that, had our situations been equal, he might have preferred me
to his would-be bride.'
She stopped, but I waited in silence the continuation of her story. 'You
know, Ellen,' said she, 'it was not to be supposed that I would neglect
so splendid a prospect. I had no obligation to Lady Maria which bound me
to sacrifice my happiness.'
'Happiness!' repeated I involuntarily, while I recollected my humble
estimate of Lord Glendower's talents for bestowing it.
'Any thing, you know, was happiness,' said Miss Arnold, 'compared with
the life of dependence and subjection which I must have endured with my
brother.' She went on detailing innumerable circumstances which seemed
to lay her under a kind of necessity to encourage Lord Glendower.
'Ay, ay, Juliet,' interrupted I, 'as Mr Maitland used to say, we ladies
can always make up in the number of our reasons whatever they want in
weight.'
Miss Arnold seemed to feel some difficulty in proceeding to the next
step of her narrative. 'At last,' said she, hesitating, 'it was
agreed;--I consented to--to go with Glendower to Scotland.'
'To Scotland! Was not Lord Glendower his own master? Could he not marry
where he pleased?'
'It was his wish,' said Miss Arnold, blushing and hesitating; 'and--and
you know, Ellen, when a woman is attached--you know----'
'Don't appeal to my knowledge, Juliet, for I never was attached, and
never shall be.'
A pause followed; and it was only at my request that Miss Arnold went on
with her story. 'When we arrived here,' said she, 'I found Glendower's
attentions were not what I expected. You may judge of my despair! I
knew, though I was innocent, nobody would believe my innocence;--I saw
that I was as much undone as if I had been really guilty.'
'Oh no, Juliet!' cried I, 'there is, indeed, only one step between
imprudence and guilt; but that one is the passage from uneasiness to
misery, abiding misery. But what did you resolve upon?'
'What could I do, Ellen? A little dexterity is the only means of defence
which we poor women possess.'
'Any means of defence was lawful,' said I rashly, 'where all that is
valuable in this world or the next was to be defended.'
'Certainly,' said Miss Arnold. 'Therefore, what I did cannot be blamed.
I had heard something of the Scotch laws in regard to marriage; and I
refused to see Glendower, unless he would at least persuade the people
of the lodging-house that I was his wife. Afterwards, I contrived to
make him send me a note, addressed to Lady Glendower. The note itself
was of no consequence, but it answered the purpose, and I have preserved
it. I took care, too, to ascertain that the people about us observed him
address me as his wife; and in Scotland this is as good as a thousand
ceremonies. Besides, you know, Ellen, a ceremony is nothing. Whatever
joins people irrevocably, is a marriage in the sight of God and man.'
'Yes,' answered I, 'provided that both parties understand themselves to
be irrevocably bound.'
Miss Arnold averted her eye for a moment; then looked up more steadily,
and went on with her story. 'After this, I had no hesitation to
accompany him to a shooting lodge, which he had hired, in the Highlands.
We were there some months: I am sure I was heartily sick of it. In
winter last we came here, and Glendower talked of going to town; but I
was not able, nor indeed much inclined to go with him; he has got into
such a shocking habit of drinking. So he left me here, promising to come
back after I was confined; but he had not been gone above two months,
when I saw in a newspaper an account of his marriage with Lady Maria. It
came upon me like a thunder-stroke. The shock brought on a premature
confinement, and I was long in extreme danger. However, I dictated
letters both to Glendower and Lady Maria, asserting my claims, and
declaring that, if they were resisted, the law should do me justice. I
wrote often before I could obtain an answer; and at last Glendower had
the effrontery to write, denying that I had any right over him. He had
even the cruelty to allege, that the time of my poor little boy's birth
in part refuted my story.' Juliet, who had hitherto told her tale with
astonishing self-possession, now burst into tears. 'As I hope for mercy,
Ellen,' said she, folding her infant to her breast with all the natural
fondness of a mother,--'as I hope for mercy, this boy is Glendower's;
and, as I truly believe, is his only lawful heir, if I could see him
once restored to his rights, I should ask no more.'
She soon composed herself, and resumed her disastrous story. Lord
Glendower, incensed by her claim, refused to remit her money. She wrote
to her brother an account of her situation. He answered, that he had
already spent upon her education a sum sufficient, if she had acted
prudently, to have made her fortune; that he was not such a fool as to
spend more in publishing her disgrace in a court of law, where he was
sure no judge would award her five shillings of damages;--that he sent
her thirty pounds to furnish a shop of small wares, and desired he might
never hear of her more. The money came in time to rescue her from a
prison; but the payment of her debts left her penniless. She had
subsisted for some time by the sale of her trinkets and clothes. Lower
and lower her resources had fallen; narrower and more narrow had become
the circle of her comforts, till she was now completely a beggar.
She had also long struggled with ill health. 'This exhausting cough,'
said she, 'and this weakness that makes every thing a burden to me, are
very disheartening, though I know they are not dangerous.' I looked at
her, and shuddered. If ever consumption had set its deadly seal upon any
face, hers bore the impression.
'What is the matter, Ellen?' said she, 'I assure you I am not so ill as
I look.'
'I hope not,' said I, trying to smile.
Evening was now closing; and as I knew that the place which Juliet had
for some days called her home was at a considerable distance, I was
about to propose sharing my apartment with her for the night; when my
landlady opening my door, desired, in a very surly tone, that I would
speak with her. Half guessing the subject of our conference, I followed
her out of hearing of my unfortunate companion. In terms which I must
rather attempt to translate than record, she enquired what right I had
to fill her house with vagrants. With some warmth I resisted the
application of the phrase, telling her that the misfortunes of a
gentlewoman gave no one a right to load her with suspicion or abuse.
'Troth, as for gentility,' said the landlady, 'I believe you are both
much about it. I might have my notion; but I never knew rightly what you
were, till I saw the company you keep. A creature painted to the eyes!'
'Painted! The painting of death!'
'Well, well, painted or not painted, send her out of this house; for
here she shall stay no longer!'
'Mrs Milne,' said I, scorning the altercation in which I was engaged,
'while that apartment is called mine, it shall receive or exclude
whomsoever I please.' I turned from her, determined to use the right
which I had asserted.
'Yours, indeed!' cried the enraged landlady, following me. 'It shall not
be called yours long then. Either pay for the week you have had it, or
else leave it this moment; and don't stay here bringing disgrace upon
creditable people that never bore but a good character till now.'
I am ashamed to own that the insolence of this low woman overcame my
frail temper. 'Disgrace!' I began in the tone of strong indignation; but
recollecting that I could only degrade myself by the contest, I again
turned away in silence.
She now forced herself into my apartment; and, addressing Miss Arnold,
commanded her to leave the house instantly. Miss Arnold cast a
supplicating look upon me. 'I shall never reach home alone,' said she.
'There is no need for your attempting it,' returned I; 'for if you go, I
will accompany you.'
To this proposal, however, Miss Arnold appeared averse. She showed a
strong inclination to remain where she was, and even condescended to
remonstrate with the insolent landlady. Had I guessed the reason of this
condescension, I might have been saved one of the most horrible moments
of my existence. It had no other effect than to increase the
impertinence it was meant to disarm; for the 'soft answer which turns
away wrath' must at least seem disinterested. Disgusted with this scene
of vulgar oppression and spiritless endurance, 'Come, Juliet,' said I,
'if I cannot protect you from insolence here, I will attend you home;
and since you cannot share my apartment, let me take part of yours.'
Miss Arnold still lingered, however, and again made a fruitless appeal
to the compassion of Mrs Milne; but finding her inexorable, she
consented to depart.
I threw my purse upon the table. 'Mrs Milne,' said I, 'after what you
have obliged me to hear, I will not put it in your power to insult me by
farther suspicion. There is the money I owe you.'
The landlady, now somewhat softened, followed us to the door, assuring
me that it was not to me she made objections. I left her without reply;
and giving Juliet my arm, supported her during a long and melancholy
walk.
It was almost dark; and the thoughts of passing unprotected through the
streets of a great city filled me with alarm. I breathed painfully, and
scarcely dared to speak even in a whisper. Every time that my exhausted
companion stopped to gather strength, I shook with the dread that we
should attract observation; and when we proceeded, I shrunk from every
passenger, as if from an assassin. Without molestation, however, we
reached Miss Arnold's abode.
It was in the attic story of a building, of which each floor seemed
inhabited by two separate families; and in this respect alone it seemed
superior to the dwelling of my poor friend Cecil, who shared her
habitation with a whole community. Miss Arnold knocked; and a dirty,
wretched-looking woman cautiously opened the door. Presenting me, Miss
Arnold began, 'I have brought you a lady who wishes to take----' But the
moment the woman perceived us, her eyes flashed fury; and she
interrupted Miss Arnold with a torrent of invective; from which I could
only learn, that my companion, being her debtor, had deceived her as to
her means of payment, and that she was resolved to admit her no more.
Having talked herself out of breath, she shut the door with a violence
which made the house shake.
I turned to the ghastly figure of my companion, and grew sick with
consternation. Half bent to the earth, she was leaning against the
threshold, as if unable to support herself. 'Plead for me, Ellen,' said
she faintly. 'I can go no farther.' In compliance with this piteous
request, I knocked again and again; but no answer was returned.
I now addressed myself to Juliet; entreating her to exert herself, and
assuring her of my persuasion, that if she could once more reach my
lodgings, even the inexorable Mrs Milne would not permit her to pass the
night without a shelter. But the weakness of the disease had extended to
the mind. Miss Arnold sunk upon the ground. 'Oh, I can go no farther!'
she cried; wringing her hands, and weeping like an infant. 'Go--go home,
and leave me, Ellen. I left you in your extremity, and now judgment has
overtaken me! Go, and leave me.'
It was in vain that I entreated her to have mercy on herself, and on her
child; imploring that she would not, by despair, create the evil she
dreaded. 'Oh, I cannot go, I cannot go,' said she; and she continued to
repeat, weeping, the same hopeless reply to all that I could urge to
rouse her.
The expectation which I had tried to awaken in her was but feeble in my
own breast; and I at last desisted from my fruitless importunity. But
what course remained for me? Even the poorest shelter I had not the
means to procure. We were in a land of strangers; and many a heart open
to human sympathies was closed against us. To solicit pity was to
provoke suspicion, perhaps to encounter scorn. I myself might return to
my inhospitable home, but what would then become of the unfortunate
Juliet? While I gazed upon the dying figure before me, and weighed the
horrible alternative of leaving her perhaps to perish alone, or
remaining with her exposed to all from which the nature of woman most
recoils, my spirits failed; and the bitter tears of anguish burst from
my eyes. But there are thoughts of comfort which ever hover near the
soul, like the good spirits that walk the earth unseen. There is a hope
that presses for admission into the heart from which all other hope is
fled. 'Juliet,' said I, 'let us commend ourselves to God. It is His will
that we should this night have no protection but His own. Be the
consequence what it may, I will not leave you.'
My unhappy companion answered only by a continuance of that feeble
wailing which was now more the effect of weakness than of grief; while
I, turning from her, addressed myself to Heaven, with a confidence which
they only know who have none other confidence.