WHEN Vincent awoke next morning, his mother was standing by his bedside.
Her eyes were dewy and moist, a faint tinge of colour was on her sweet
old cheek, and her steps tottered a little as she came up to his bed,
and stooped to kiss him. "Oh, Arthur, my dear boy, she knows me!" said
Mrs. Vincent, putting up her hand to her eyes. "I must not be away from
her a moment, but I could not resist coming to tell you. She knows me,
dear. Make haste and dress, and come and see your sister, Arthur; and I
will give orders about your breakfast as I go back. My dear, I know you
have been anxious," said the widow, putting back his hair fondly with
the soft little hand which still trembled; "though men have not the way
of showing it, I know you have been very anxious. You looked quite pale
and thin as you slept. But I must speak to the landlady now and see
about your food. Come to Susan's room as soon as you are dressed, and I
will order your breakfast, my dear boy," said his mother, going softly
out again, with her tender little figure all beautified and trembling
with joy. Mrs. Vincent met the landlady near the door, and stopped to
speak to her. "My daughter is a great deal better," said the minister's
mother. "I have been so anxious, I have never been able to thank you as
I ought to have done for your kindness and attention. We have been as
quiet as if we had been at home. We will all remember your attention,
though I have never been able to thank you before; and I am sure it is
very gratifying to my son to think it is one of his own flock who has
taken so much pains for us. Mr. Vincent has been very anxious about his
sister," continued the widow; "I fear he has not been taking his food,
nor keeping his regular time for meals. You would oblige me very much if
you would try to have something nice for his breakfast. We were all much
shaken yesterday, being so anxious;--some new-laid eggs perhaps--though
I know they are scarce in a town at this time of the year--or anything
you can think of that will tempt him to eat. I would not say so much,"
said Mrs. Vincent, smiling upon the astonished landlady, and leaning to
support her own weakness on the rail of the passage upon which the
staircase opened, "but that I know your kind interest in your minister.
I am sure you will take all the pains you can to get him to attend to
his precious health. Thank you. I am very much obliged."
With this the little woman passed on, feeling indeed too weak to stand
longer; and leaving the landlady, who had intended to mingle some
statement of her own grievances with her congratulations, with the plea
quietly taken out of her hands, and the entire matter disposed of. Mrs.
Vincent was moving back again to the sick-room, when the door opened
down-stairs, and some one asked for Mr. Vincent, and came up hurriedly.
The minister's mother recognised Tozer's voice, and made a pause. She
was glad of the opportunity to make sure that all was well in the flock.
She leant over the railing to shake hands with the butterman, moved to a
little effusion of thankfulness by the recollection of the state of
anxiety she was in when she saw him last.
"My son is not up yet," she said. "We were very anxious yesterday. It
was the crisis of the fever, and everything depended upon it. I daresay
you would see how anxious Mr. Vincent was; but, thank heaven, now all is
going on well."
"You see, ma'am," said Tozer, "it must have all been on the nerves, and
to be sure there ain't nothing more likely to be serviceable than good
news. It's in the paper this morning. As soon as I see it, I said to my
missis, 'This is why the minister was so pecooliar yesterday.' I divined
it in a moment, ma'am; though it wasn't to say prudent, Mrs. Vincent,
and not as you would have advised no more nor myself, to fly off like
that out of chapel, without as much as shaking hands with one o' the
deacons. But I make allowances, I do; and when I see it in the paper, I
said to my missis, 'It's all along o' this Mr. Vincent was so queer.' I
don't doubt as it'll be quite looked over, and thought no more of, when
it's known what's the news."
"What news?" said Mrs. Vincent, faintly, holding fast by the railing.
"You mean the news of my dear child's recovery," she added, after a
breathless pause. "Have they put it in the papers? I am sure it is very
good, but I never heard of such a thing before. She has been very ill
to be sure--but most people are very ill once in their lives," said the
widow, gasping a little for breath, and fixing her eyes upon the paper
which Tozer held in his hand.
"Poor soul!" said the deacon, compassionately, "it ain't no wonder,
considering all things. Phoebe would have come the very first day to
say, Could she be of any use? but her mother wasn't agreeable. Women has
their own ways of managing; but they'll both come to-day, now all's
cleared up, if you'll excuse me. And now, ma'am, I'll go on to the
minister, and see if there's anything as he'd like me to do, for Pigeon
and the rest was put out, there's no denying of it; but if things is set
straight directly, what with this news, and what with them sermons
yesterday, I don't think as it'll do no harm. I said to him, as this
Sunday was half the battle," said the worthy butterman, reflectively;
"and he did his best-- I wouldn't say as he didn't do his best; and I'm
not the man as will forsake my pastor when he's in trouble.
Good-morning, ma'am; and my best respects to miss, and I hope as she'll
soon be well again. There ain't no man as could rejoice more nor me at
this news."
Tozer went on to Vincent's room, at the door of which the minister had
appeared summoning him with some impatience and anxiety. "News? what
news?" said Mrs. Vincent, faintly to herself, as she held by the rail
and felt the light forsaking her eyes in a new mist of sudden dread. She
caught the look of the landlady at that moment, a look of half-pity,
curiosity, and knowledge, which startled her back to her defences. With
sudden firmness she gathered herself together, and went on to the
sick-room, leaving behind her, as she closed the door, the whole
troubled world, which seemed to know better about her most intimate
affairs than she did; and those newspapers, which somehow mentioned
Susan's name, that sweet maiden name which it was desecration to see so
much as named in print. Rather the widow carried that uneasy world in
with her to the sick-room which she had left a few minutes before in all
the effusion of unhoped-for joy. Everything still was not well though
Susan was getting better. She sat down by the bedside where Susan lay
languid and pale, showing the change in her by little more than
quietness and a faint recognition of her mother, and in her troubled
heart began to look the new state of affairs in the face, and to make up
her mind that more of the causes of Susan's illness than she had
supposed known, must have become public. And then Arthur and his flock,
that flock which he evidently had somehow affronted on the previous day.
Mrs. Vincent pondered with all the natural distrust of a woman over
Arthur's imprudence. She almost chafed at her necessary confinement by
her daughter's bedside; if she herself, who had been a minister's wife
for thirty years, and knew the ways of a congregation, and how it must
be managed, could only get into the field to bring her son out of the
difficult passages which she had no faith in his own power to steer
through! So the poor mother experienced how, when absorbing grief is
removed, a host of complicated anxieties hasten in to fill up its
place. She was no longer bowed down under an overwhelming dread, but she
was consumed by restless desires to be doing--cravings to know
all--fears for what might at the moment be happening out of her range
and influence. What might Arthur, always incautious, be confiding to
Tozer even now?--perhaps telling him those "private affairs" which the
widow would have defended against exposure with her very life--perhaps
chafing at Salem and rejecting that yoke which, being a minister, he
must bear. It was all Mrs. Vincent could do to keep herself still on her
chair, and to maintain that quietness which was necessary for Susan. If
only she could have been there to soften his impatience and make the
best of his unnecessary confidences! Many a time before this, the widow
had been compelled to submit to that female tribulation--to be shut up
apart, and leave the great events outside to be transacted by those
incautious masculine hands, in which, at the bottom of her heart, a
woman seldom has perfect confidence when her own supervising influence
is withdrawn. Mrs. Vincent felt instinctively that Arthur would commit
himself as she sat resigned but troubled by Susan's bed.
Tozer went directly to the door of Vincent's room, where the minister,
only half-dressed, but much alarmed to see the colloquy which was going
on between his mother and the butterman, was waiting for him. The deacon
squeezed the young man's hand with a hearty pressure. His aspect was so
fatherly and confidential, that it brought back to the mind of the young
Nonconformist a certain rueful half-comic recollection of the suppers
in the back parlour, and all the old troubles of the pastor of Salem,
which heavier shadows had driven out of his mind. Tozer held up
triumphantly the paper in his hand.
"You've seen it, sir?" said the butterman; "first thing I did this
morning was to look up whether there wasn't nothing about it in the
latest intelligence; for the 'Gazette' has been very particular,
knowing, at Carlingford, folks would be interested--and here it is sure
enough, Mr. Vincent; and we nigh gave three cheers, me and the lads in
the shop."
To this Vincent listened with a darkening brow and an impatience which
he did not attempt to conceal. He took the paper with again that quick
sense of the intolerable which prompted him to tear the innocent
broadsheet in pieces and tread it under foot. The 'Gazette' contained,
with a heading in large characters, the following paragraph:--
"THE DOVER TRAGEDY.
"Our reader will be glad to hear that the unfortunate young lady whose
name has been so unhappily mixed up in this mysterious affair, is likely
to be fully exonerated from the charge rashly brought against her. In
the deposition of the wounded man, which was taken late on Saturday
night, by Mr. Everett, the stipendiary magistrate of Dover, he
distinctly declares that Miss---- was not the party who fired the
pistol, nor in any way connected with it--that she had accompanied his
daughter merely as companion on a hasty journey, and that, in short,
instead of the romantic connection supposed to subsist between the
parties, with all the passions of love and revenge naturally involved,
the ties between them were of the simplest and most temporary character.
We are grieved to add, that the fright and horror of her awful position
had overpowered Miss---- some time before this deposition was made, and
brought on a brain-fever, which, of course, made the unfortunate young
lady, who is understood to possess great personal attractions, quite
unable to explain the suspicious circumstances surrounding her. We have
now only to congratulate her respectable family and friends on her
exoneration from a very shocking charge, and hope her innocence will
soon be confirmed by full legal acquittal. Our readers will find Colonel
Mildmay's deposition on another page. It will be perceived that he
obstinately refuses to indicate who was the real perpetrator of the
deed. Suspicion has been directed to his groom, who accompanied him, in
whom, however, the wounded man seems to repose perfect confidence. He is
still in a precarious state, but little doubt is entertained of his
ultimate recovery."
"There, Mr. Vincent, that's gratifying, that is," said Tozer, as Vincent
laid down the paper; "and I come over directly I see it, to let you
know. And I come to say besides," continued the butterman with some
diffidence, "as I think if you and me was to go off to Mr. Brown the
solicitor, and give him his orders as he was to put in bail for
Miss---- or anything else as might be necessary--not meaning to use no
disagreeable words, as there ain't no occasion now," said the good
deacon; "but only to make it plain, as you and me is responsible for
her, if so be as she was ever to be called for again. It would be the
thing to do, that would, sir, if you take my advice. It ain't altogether
my own notion, but was put into my head by one as knows. The gentleman
as come here from Dover inquiring into the business was the one as
suggested it to me. He turned out uncommon obliging, and wasn't to say
no trouble in the house; and when word came as the Colonel wasn't dead,
he went away as civil as could be. I'll go with you cheerful to Mr.
Brown, if you'll take my advice, afore Mrs. Vincent gets moving about
again, or the young lady knows what's a-going on; that's what I'd do,
sir, if it was me."
Vincent grasped the exultant butterman's hand in an overflow of
gratitude and compunction. "I shall never forget your kindness," he
said, with a little tremor in his voice. "You have been a true friend.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I will go at once, and accept
this other great kindness from you. I shall never forget what I owe to
you as long as I live."
"I never was the man to forsake my pastor in trouble--not to say a young
man like you as is a credit to the connection, and the best preacher I
may say as I ever heard in Salem," said Tozer, with effusion, returning
the grasp; "but we ain't a-going a step till you've had your breakfast.
Your good mother, Mrs. Vincent, as is a real lady, sir, and would never
advise you different from what I would myself, being for your own
interests, would have little opinion of me if I took you out on a Monday
mornin' after your labours without so much as a bit o' breakfast to
sustain you. I'll sit by you while you're a-eating of your bacon.
There's a deal to consider of concerning Salem as I couldn't well bring
before you as long as you were in such trouble. Them were uncommon
sermons, sir, yesterday, I don't know as I ever heard anything as was
just to be compared with the mornin' discourse, and most of the flock
was of my opinion; but what is the good of standing up for the pastor--I
ask you candid, Mr. Vincent--when he'll not take no pains to keep things
square? I'm speaking plain, for you can't mistake me as it's anything
but your own interests I am a-thinking of. We was all marching in,
deacons and committee and all, to say as we was grateful to you for your
instructions, and wishing you well out of your trouble--and I was in
great hopes as matters might have been made up--when behold, what we
finds was the vestry empty and the pastor gone! Now, I ain't a-finding
fault. Them news would explain anything; but I don't deny as Pigeon and
the rest was put out; and if you'll be guided by one as wishes you well,
Mr. Vincent, when you've done our business as is most important of all,
you'll go and make some visits, sir, and make yourself agreeable, if
you'll excuse me. It ain't with no selfish thoughts as I speak," said
Tozer, energetically. "It's not like asking of you to come a-visiting to
me, nor setting myself forward as the minister's great friend--though
we was remarking as the pastor was unknown in our house this fortnight
and more--but it's for peace and union, Mr. Vincent, and the good of the
flock, sir, and to keep--as your good mother well knows ain't easy in a
congregation--all things straight."
When this little peroration was delivered, Vincent was seated at table,
making what he could of the breakfast, in which both his mother and
Tozer had interested themselves. It was with a little effort that the
young man accepted this advice as the character and intentions of his
adviser deserved. He swallowed what was unpalatable in the counsel, and
received the suggestion "in as sweet a frame of mind as I could wish to
see," as Tozer afterwards described.
"I will go and make myself agreeable," said the minister, with a smile.
"Thank heaven! it is not so impossible to-day as it might have been
yesterday; I left the chapel so hurriedly, because----"
"I understand, sir," said Tozer, benevolently interposing as Vincent
paused, finding explanation impossible. "Pigeon and the rest was put
out, as I say, more nor I could see was reasonable--not as Pigeon is a
man that knows his own mind. It's the women as want the most managing.
Now, Mr. Vincent, I'm ready, sir, if you are, and we won't lose no
time."
Before going out, however, Vincent went to his sister's room. She was
lying in an utter quietness which went to his heart;--silent, no longer
uttering the wild fancies of a disordered brain, recovering, as the
doctor thought; but stretched upon her white couch, marble white,
without any inclination apparently to lift the heavy lids of her eyes,
or to notice anything that passed before her--a very sad sight to see.
By her sat her mother, in a very different condition, anxious, looking
into Arthur's eyes, whispering counsels in his ears. "Oh, my dear boy,
be very careful," said Mrs. Vincent; "your dear papa always said that a
minister's flock was his first duty; and now that Susan is getting
better, O Arthur! you must not let people talk about your sister;--and
have patience, O have patience, dear!" This was said in wistful
whispers, with looks which only half confided in Arthur's prudence; and
the widow sank into her chair when he left her, folding her hands in a
little agony of self-restraint and compulsory quietness. She felt equal
for it herself, if she had been at liberty to go out upon the flock once
more in Arthur's cause; but who could tell how he might commit himself,
he who was a young man, and took his own way, and did not know, as Tozer
said, how to keep all things straight? When Mrs. Vincent thought of her
son in personal conflict with Mrs. Pigeon, she lost faith in Arthur. She
herself might have conquered that difficult adversary, but what weapons
had he to bring forth against the deacon's wife, he who was only a
minister and a man?