For some days after this melancholy event had taken place, the family, and
indeed all the inhabitants of the dale, were in the utmost state of
distress. Mrs. Martin had been universally beloved by all ranks in the
neighbourhood of her residence; and there was not a single individual for
ten miles round, that did not, in some way or other, show a sympathy in
the minister's affliction.
Helen struggled with her feelings; and this exertion was of infinite
service both to herself and her father, who, struck by seeing so much
fortitude in so young a girl, felt it his duty to encourage her by
example, at least in her presence; and Helen, aware of this, took good
care to be with him continually.
Her grandmother was perfectly astonished at her conduct; and took every
opportunity of praising her when they were alone. "My Helen," would she
say, "you will be the means, through the blessing of God, of saving your
father's life. I really feared for him for the first week or two; but he
begins now to look more like himself, and I think, by a continuance of the
same attention and unobtrusive kindness, you will in time reconcile him in
some degree to his loss, and bring him again into his former habits of
employment and usefulness."
On one of these occasions, Helen caught her grandmother's hand, saying
"Hush! no more, dear madam; I cannot hear praise on this subject. I am
only endeavouring to follow the precepts and example of the best and most
beloved of mothers. Her advice, and the solemn promise I gave her a few
hours before her death, are never out of my mind; but it is a subject too
sacred for me to bear hearing it talked of;" and straining her clasped
hands across her chest, she added solemnly, "No! that I cannot do." Her
grandmother folded her to her breast, saying, "My Helen, pardon me, I will
never distress you on this subject again; we now perfectly understand each
other."
Helen for many months continued the same mild, quiet, but unceasing
attention to her father; who at length had acquired composure, and even
began to smile at his daughter's little sallies of humour. She had became
his pupil in drawing, and this tempted him to resume their usual walks and
rides when the weather would permit, so that by the end of the summer,
content, and even cheerfulness, had in some degree again appeared at the
Manse. Helen, however could never bring her mind to mention her mother's
name to any one but her father; and only to him, from observing that it
would deprive him of a great enjoyment, which he evidently had, in talking
of her and her virtues.
William had sailed before he heard of his mother's death. For the present,
therefore, he had been spared the punishment of his disobedience; but Mr.
Martin had written both to him and his uncle, and inclosed his mother's
last legacy. Helen likewise had thought it her duty to write to William,
and assure him how kindly and affectionately her mother had spoken of him
before her death, and how much she wished to impress on both their minds
love and confidence in each other. She then entreated him to write soon,
and often, as their father was not in a state to bear much anxiety; she
durst not say a word about her grandmother, for the old lady had
positively refused to allow her name to be mentioned to him, and it
evidently gave her pain whenever she heard Helen and her father conversing
about him.
At this time, Mrs. Scott, the gardener's wife at Craigie Hall, was
obliged, by the sudden illness of her father, to go to Edinburgh. Her
husband was to accompany her, and leave her there if necessary, but they
knew not exactly what to do with little Marion. Mr. Martin and Helen
happening to call in one of their daily walks, he asked them to send
Marion to the Manse. "She will be much better with us, Mrs. Scott, than
being left here; and I am sure my daughter will take care to make her
attend to all that she has learnt from you during your absence." Helen,
also, was quite pleased with the plan, and pressed Mrs. Scott to agree to
it. "I am sure, Sir," said Mr. Scott, "my wife can have no objection,
unless it be the thought of giving you and Miss Helen trouble: but Marion
is a good little girl, and will trouble you as little as possible; and
therefore, as you are kind enough to ask her, Sir, I really think we ought
to accept the offer; the advantage of being near so good a daughter, and
seeing how she conducts herself, may be of use to her all her life."
Accordingly, the next day Marion was brought down to the Manse by her
father; and John was not a little surprised and pleased to find her
established there when he came in the evening. Marion was but a short
while under Helen's care, when her grandmother perceived she was of the
greatest use, both to her health and spirits; she was a tractable child,
with a very feeling heart. She had heard from her parents the continued
praises of Miss Martin's conduct, from the time of her mother's death, and
Marion fancied her the first of human beings; she therefore had the
greatest ambition to please her. She watched even her looks to anticipate
which she thought might be her wishes, and if ever a cloud of sorrow came
over Helen's face, Marion was sure, by some little winning attention, to
endeavour to direct her thoughts into a different channel. She remained at
the Manse nearly three months, and returned home, to the great regret of
all the family; from that time, however, she was a constant visitor, and a
sincere attachment took root between her and Helen, which has lasted all
their lives.
Very little change took place in the dale after this, for the space of
several years. Mr. Martin had in some degree recovered his health and
spirits; but a shock had been given to his nerves, which rendered him more
delicate, and requiring more care than he did before; and it was not
likely, Mr. Armstrong said, that he would ever be otherwise. Mrs. Elliott
still enjoyed good health, though from rheumatism she was obliged to live
more within doors. Helen was their comfort and support; she was now fast
approaching womanhood, and never was there a more amiable creature; her
dear mother's lessons and instructions had _indeed_ not been thrown away.
She had unfortunately known sorrow in early youth; but it had acted upon
her for good, in teaching her the proper regulation of her mind and she
now felt the comfort of having done so, by being the friend and confident
both of her father and grandmother.
John had gone on under Will the shepherd, performing his duty as a servant
in the day, and improving his mind with Mr. Martin in the evening; for
though he had learned all that was necessary for him to know, yet Helen
encouraged his constant attendance in the study, as she thought it amused
her father's mind. John was now becoming a stout lad, almost too big for
the hills, and on some occasion, when Mr. Martin happened to mention that
he thought he must begin to consider whether he meant to be a shepherd all
his life, John answered directly, "No, Sir, not if I can help it;" but
recollecting himself immediately, he added, "in that as in every thing
else, I feel it is my duty to be regulated by your advice. I certainly
have formed a wish to see a little more of the world, and if I could go
into the service of some gentleman who would have patience with my
awkwardness, I think I should prefer that, at least for a few years, to
settling here immediately for life. I have wished to speak to you, Sir,
upon this subject, as my time is out next summer with Mr. Laurie; but if
you think I am wrong, I will give up all thoughts of leaving the dale, and
hire myself out as a shepherd. I have no doubt any of the farmers around
will engage me, as I am well known among the hills; and Will's herd-boys
are always preferred, as he takes so much pains to teach us our duty." Mr.
Martin replied, "My dear John, I am rather unprepared to give you an
answer; but I will think of the subject, and talk it over with you before
your time is out with Mr. Laurie. You are a good lad, and will, I am sure,
be guided by reason."
The day after this conversation took place a letter arrived from Capt.
Elliott, saying that he was safely arrived in England; that he was now at
Portsmouth, and he hoped in a very few weeks to be in Eskdale. He gave a
most flattering account of William, who was now all that his warmest
friends could wish. His poor mother's death had had a most astonishing
effect upon his whole conduct. When he first received the sad tidings, he
was so affected, that his uncle feared for his reason, and could scarcely
ever trust him out of sight; but at length he became calm and composed,
and from that time was never seen, even in a single instance, out of
humour. For the first two years this appeared to cost him great mental
exertion, his colour often rising when any thing displeased him; but he
always on those occasions left the cabin, or retired to a corner away from
every one, and on his joining the company again appeared with a placid
countenance. Now all appearance of passion, or any thing approaching to
it, had entirely vanished; his uncle entreated that his father, for his
own sake, would allow him to come down with him to the dale, as he was
quite sure he would be delighted to witness so complete a reformation.
Mr. Martin immediately answered this letter, by requesting William to come
to him as soon as he could be spared from the duties of his ship. As Capt.
Elliott found he should be detained in town longer than he at first
expected, he thought it cruel to keep William from going to his father a
day longer than was necessary; he therefore despatched him off by the
mail, about a week after he had heard from Mr. Martin.
As soon as this news had reached the Manse, both Helen and her father felt
the greatest anxiety; wishing, yet fearing to see one who would recall so
many bitter thoughts to their minds. The having a few days to prepare
themselves for this meeting was of great service to them: for, long before
the time of his arrival was come, the delight of once more seeing a being
so beloved had overcome in their minds all unpleasant reflections. Not so
with Mrs. Elliott. When his arrival in England was first mentioned to her
she made no remark, not even when it was told her that he was coming down
with her son; but, as soon as she understood that he was coming alone, she
informed Helen she was determined to go away before he arrived, and would
take that time for paying a long promised visit to some friends at
Melrose. Helen was absolutely in despair when she heard this. Her
grandmother had been very far from well for some time, and was in her
opinion quite unable to take such a journey; she therefore used every
argument she could think of herself, being very unwilling to let her
father know any thing of the matter if she could possibly help it, but all
was in vain. She was therefore obliged, at last, to tell him what was her
grandmother's intention. Mr. Martin was excessively distressed. He joined
Helen in her entreaties, representing, in the mildest way, the great
necessity we all have for forgiveness from our heavenly father, and that
therefore it becomes a first-rate duty to forgive those who injure us.
Poor William, now that he was sensible of his former bad conduct, was in
fact an object rather of pity than of dislike; since in all probability he
would never in this life be able to forgive himself. All their arguments
were however vain, till Helen said, "Well, my dear grandmother, since you
really are determined to act in this cruel manner, it must deprive me of
the pleasure of enjoying my brother's society whilst he is here; for, in
the state of your health, I consider my self bound, both by affection and
the solemn promise I gave my dearest mother on her death-bed, never to
separate from you while you require any assistance; and I never will,
however much it may cost me. My father will receive William, and I hope
will explain to him the great sacrifice I am taking in not remaining to
welcome him; I have no doubt my brother will come and see me at the inn at
Melrose; for I know not how I could bear to be entirely deprived of seeing
an object, endeared to me, both by natural affection, and by the strong
injunctions of one whom, I trust, I have never yet intentionally
disobeyed."--"You are right, my dearest girl," said her father, "your
grandmother must not be permitted to go alone in the present state of her
health. It is a great sacrifice we must all make to part at this time; but
to you, my sweet child, it is even of more importance than to any of us,
as it must in a great degree prevent that intimacy and friendship taking
place with your brother, which I think of essential consequence to the
happiness of you both, and which you may not have another opportunity of
forming for many years; but we must act (according to our best judgment)
up to our duty, however much that duty may be unpleasant to us." Mrs.
Elliott said she would on no account agree to this arrangement; but
finding that nothing could shake Helen's resolution, she then proposed
going only into Langholm, where she thought she might easily procure
lodgings. "I can, I am sure," said she, "get Marion Scott to come and be
with me, when you are in the Manse; and by this plan you can both see me
every day. And besides, Mrs. Armstrong will then be near me, if any thing
should be the matter. Will you, my dear son, agree to this plan? I cannot,
indeed I cannot see William and live," added she, in great agitation: "at
least I feel quite unable to bring my mind to it: I bear him no ill will;
on the contrary, I shall ever be thankful to God for his reformation and
prosperity, but I feel I was myself greatly to blame in my conduct towards
him whilst under my charge; and to see him now would bring the
recollection of my own culpability so strongly to my mind, that I am
persuaded my life would fall a sacrifice to the acuteness of my feelings."
Mr. Martin and Helen now thought it improper to press her further upon the
subject; but they agreed that it would be much more satisfactory to them
to adopt the plan of going into Langholm, than that at the present season
(for it was now December) she should take so long a journey as Melrose.
Helen proposed speaking to Mr. Armstrong on the subject who, as he was an
unmarried man and had a good house, she did not doubt, for the few weeks
her grandmother might require it, would offer to receive her at his own
home.
Mr. Martin liked the idea very much, and said he would walk into Langholm
and endeavour to arrange something immediately, as they had very little
time, William being expected in the course of two days. Helen in the mean
time got her pony and rode up to Mr. Scott's, to make her request
concerning Marion. She felt that if she could succeed in this her mind
would be quite at ease, as Marion was extremely handy and attentive, and
what was of equal importance, a great favourite of Mrs. Elliott's; she
might therefore with safety and satisfaction to herself be able to be a
great deal at the Manse, without feeling any anxiety at leaving her
grandmother. Mrs. Scott cheerfully agreed to her request. "I am sure, Miss
Helen," said she, "any thing that Marion can ever be able to do for you or
your worthy father she will have the greatest pleasure in doing; and I
cannot, my dear miss, wonder much at the old lady's disliking to meet her
grandson. Being a mother myself," continued she, looking at Marion with
affection, "I do not think I could ever bear to see any one who, however
innocently, occasioned the loss of my child. Oh, no! (shuddering at the
bare thought of it). I am sure I could not." "We must and ought to forget
and forgive, Mrs. Scott," answered Helen. "Poor William was but a boy when
he brought so much distress upon us; but he is quite an altered character
now I do assure you, and I am certain would not give any of us a minute's
uneasiness."--"I am rejoiced to hear you say so; the sight of him will
then be a cordial and a blessing to our dear and esteemed friend the
minister; pardon my presumption in styling him so, but a friend in the
truest sense of the word he is to us, and indeed to all that are in the
dale." Helen now wished her good morning, she having promised to send
Marion down in the evening. "I shall send John up early," said Helen,
"that he may carry her parcel, and take care of her, for it gets soon dark
at this time of the year."--"That will do nicely," said Mrs. Scott; "I was
just thinking how unlucky it was her father was not at home to-day; he is
gone down as far as Canonby this morning, and it will be late before he
returns."
Mr. Martin had settled with Mr. Armstrong, that Mrs. Elliott and Marion
were to be his visitors, as he would not for a moment hear of their going
anywhere else; and Mrs. Elliott, when informed of the arrangements,
expressed herself perfectly satisfied. "I am glad it has happened, my
dear," said she to Helen, "that Mr. Armstrong can take me into his own
house, for now you and your dear father will feel satisfied that I am
quite comfortable. It has given me the greatest distress that I have been
obliged to vex you both as I have done, but you must pardon an old woman,
who has not strength now left, either of body or mind, to make the
exertion that would have been necessary to have acted otherwise. Had I
attempted it, I think it would have brought on you more serious evils than
the little inconvenience of my changing my residence for a few weeks."
The following morning, a chaise, which Mr. Martin had ordered from
Langholm, arrived to carry Mrs. Elliott and Marion to Mr. Armstrong's.
Helen went along with them, and having stayed to see them safely settled,
and all her grandmother's little comforts placed around her, she returned
home to her dear father, well knowing that he required her society at that
moment even more than the old lady.