After many hair-breadth escapes from detection, John reached Boulogne in
safety, and in a small open boat crossed over to Dover, having very nearly
expended the whole of his little store in bribing the fishermen to carry
him out of the French dominions. Upon his landing, he found his finances
would not allow him any other mode of conveyance than his feet to reach
London; and though worn out and exhausted with his long march through
France, he determined to pursue his walk to the metropolis without delay.
He reached London in three days, and found no difficulty in obtaining a
direction to Portman Square. Sir James Murray's name was still on the
door, which the direction on the packet pointed out. John knocked very
humbly, and in a moment it was opened by a well-dressed footman. John
asked if Sir James was at home and could be seen? He answered very
civilly, that Sir James was at home, but particularly engaged with
company, and he did not think he could possibly see him that night. "My
business," answered John, "is very particular. I am just arrived in London
and have something of great consequence to deliver into his own hand. I
very much wish I could see him to night, as I am a perfect stranger in
this great city, and, to tell you the truth, I am afraid of keeping it in
my possession longer than I can help." While he stood talking at the door,
a well-dressed genteel-looking upper servant maid came up the steps, and
was hastily passing them when, turning round to answer some question that
her fellow-servant asked her, she fixed her eyes on John, and giving a
violent scream, exclaimed "John Telfer, I am sure!" John was too much
surprised to be able to answer; but the man-servant held a light up and
said, "I am sure you must be mistaken, recollect yourself," and was going
to lead her away. John, however, no sooner heard her voice, than all his
senses returned in full power, and straining her to his breast, he said,
"Marion Scott alone could recognize a poor worn-out wretch, after so many
long mournful years of absence, and in such a miserable plight as I am
now." The servant, when he heard John pronounce her name, was convinced
that it must be the very John Telfer he had heard her lament the loss of
so often, and very kindly begged him to walk into a small parlour near the
door. Marion had fainted at the sound of his well remembered voice, and it
was some time before she became sensible; but when she did, nothing could
equal the transport and delight they both felt in once more so
unexpectedly having met. She informed him, that one of the young ladies of
the Hall, had married Sir James Murray, and that her mother wished Marion
to live with her, as she could be trusted, and her daughter was very
young. She had been in her service nearly two years; but, continued she,
"I mean to leave this place soon, for I am now deprived of the pleasure of
seeing my dear parents in the summer, as I used to do with my old lady;
and though I am in other respects very comfortable, I cannot on any
account remain here much longer. Just as she had given this little history
of herself, the footman came in and said that he had informed his master
that John wished to see him; and, as soon as I told him who it was, he
desired me to send you up to him immediately, as he said he knew you
belonged to the same ship as his brother did, and therefore he concluded
you could give him some information concerning him." John followed the
servant into a superb room, where he found Sir James anxiously waiting for
him. The moment he entered, Sir James asked him if he knew any thing of
his brother. John said, "Indeed I do Sir: I have come to you by your kind
brother's desire. He made me promise to deliver this packet into your own
hands. He died about nine months ago, and I have never suffered it to be
out of my bosom since he gave it to me." Sir James was excessively
affected. He took the packet, and telling John to wait where he was, went
into the next room to examine it. In about half an hour he returned, and
taking John's hand said, "My dear unfortunate brother has left it in my
charge to repay his debt of gratitude to you, for your faithful services
and long attendance upon him in his severe illness. You shall ever be
considered by me, in the light of his comforter, and from this moment you
must make this house your home. He has left you in his will five hundred
pounds, which shall be paid you whenever you please to draw upon me for
it; but in the meantime, I must see to get you properly nursed and
recovered from the fatigue you must have undergone in your long march. The
papers you have brought me are indeed, of very great importance, and come
at a particular fortunate moment, as they in all probability, will save me
from a very vexatious lawsuit, with which I have been threatened." So
saying, he rang the bell, and desired the servant to take John into the
housekeeper's room, and to see that every possible attention was paid him.
John, after having had some refreshments, began to wonder that he did not
see Marion again. He asked where she was, and the housekeeper told him she
would be there presently, and desired one of the other maids to call her.
When she appeared, it was evident she had been in tears. She spoke however
cheerfully to John; and the housekeeper rising said, "I am sure you must
have much to say to each other, after so long an absence, so we shall
leave you together till supper time, which I think Marion must be earlier
to night than usual, as your friend must require rest after all his
fatigues." With these words she left the room.
They were no sooner left alone, than John, taking Marion's hand, said
"tell me, my dear friend, how are my master and Miss Helen?" Marion, in a
faultering voice, related the melancholy detail of poor Mr. Martin's
death. She was going on to tell him about Miss Helen, when surprised that
he had made no remark on what she had told him she looked up, and to her
great alarm, she saw him leaning against the wall, pale and ghastly, his
eyes fixed, and evidently gasping for breath. She spoke to him, and at
last, after making a violent effort, he pronounced his master's name. The
truth was, that though Captain Elliott had suggested the probability of
Mr. Martin's death, John, in the bottom of his own heart, would not allow
himself to believe that he never should see his dear master again; and,
even unknown to himself, the hope of being able to comfort and attend upon
him in his old age, had been the chief support and motives for exertion
through so many years of trial and suffering. To be in a moment fatally
convinced, that all such hopes were at an end quite overcame him, and for
some time he wept like a child, and could not be comforted, even by
Marion. At last he became more composed, and begged Marion to tell him
some tidings of dear Miss Helen. Marion repeated what we have before
mentioned, and then added, that Miss Helen had joined in the partnership
with Miss Maxwell, and for some time they went on very well; but that,
about two years past, Miss Maxwell had fallen into bad health, which had
gradually increased so much as to confine Miss Helen almost constantly to
her bedside; the consequence of which she said, had been that their
business had decreased very much. Miss Maxwell was just dead, and had left
Miss Helen all that she died possessed of; but, from what she had written
her, the property was very small. "However, she writes me," added Marion,
"that she has serious thoughts of getting out of business, as soon as she
can wind up her affairs, and living in retirement, upon what little
property she may find herself possessed of; but I am much afraid that her
health is the cause of this determination, for I think there is a degree
of despondency in the style of her last letter, which I never observed in
any other, notwithstanding the various afflictions she has gone through."
In a few days, John had quite recovered from all his fatigues, and
appeared, in Marion's eyes, the best looking man she had ever seen. One
evening, when they were conversing about Miss Helen, and talking over
various plans that could be followed, to assist in recovering her health,
"Marion," said John, "there is a plan I have thought of, and which would
certainly be the very best thing I could do, to be of use to her; it is to
get married, and go down and settle in Eskdale. Mr. Murray's legacy gives
me the means of taking a farm, and I have no doubt that with the knowledge
I possess of the management of sheep and cattle, I shall be perfectly able
to support a wife, and have a comfortable home for Miss Helen. What do you
think of my plan? Will you be my sweet little wife, and help me to show my
gratitude to my dear master's daughter?" Marion's heart was full, she
could not speak, but her eyes did not say no; and John was delighted to
find he had at last hit upon so admirable an expedient. He instantly wrote
to Mr. and Mrs. Scott, soliciting their consent to the marriage, and
begging of Mr. Scott to look out for a small farm, such as he thought
would suit him; and added, that he wished much to marry and bring down his
wife as soon as possible, that they might get a home ready for Miss Helen,
before they let her know of his arrival in England: for Marion thought she
was not in a state of health to be kept in suspense. If she knew he was
arrived, she might wish to see him sooner than it was possible for them to
get their affairs settled, so as to marry, and he did not like to separate
any more from Marion, but meant to bring her down himself to Eskdale as
his wife.
Great was the surprise and joy this letter occasioned to the worthy couple
in Craigie Hall; and it would scarcely have gained complete credit, had it
not been accompanied by one from Marion herself, confirming all its
intelligence. Mr. Scott answered it by return of post, giving his
unqualified consent to the match, which he thought the sooner it took
place the better, and added, "Have no concern about your farm, I know of
one that will exactly suit, and shall take care to have it in proper
order, both for yourselves and our dear young lady, whom, I trust, you
will be able to prevail with to return amongst us again; and then I think
I may once more see Eskdale look cheerful before I die, which I am sure it
has never done since you left it." Marion and John were accordingly
married, and took leave of Sir James and Lady Murray, loaded with every
mark of kindness and good wishes.
Mr. Scott had desired that they might come directly to Craigie Hall, and
said he would take them to their own house in the evening. Accordingly
they managed to drive up the dale, in the morning, both with a wish to
please Mr. Scott, and to gratify themselves by a view of all the
well-known scenes, among which their infant years had been spent. John,
even in the midst of happiness, wept bitterly, when he came within sight
of that house, which had been a home to him in his orphan state; and which
from the kind treatment and instruction he had received within its walls
must ever be dear to him. Marion, though possessing an equal warm heart,
was just at that moment too much ingrossed with the delight of seeing her
parents, and of presenting to them, as her husband, that very John they
had so often tried to persuade her was no more, to enter exactly into his
feelings. She sat looking out of the carriage, from side to side, watching
every turn and bush she formerly knew, to see if they looked as they did
when she left them; and at last, when they were approaching Mr. Elliott's
cottage, she could keep silence no longer. "Look, dear John," cried she,
"what a beautiful place this is made! Surely there must be new comers
there now. Mr. Elliott would never have built these two pretty bow
windows; and only see what lovely flowers are placed in them! It looks
like a perfect paradise."--"It really does," answered John, with a sigh,
thinking at the moment of poor Helen's wishes, on that memorable walk,
which he first took with his dear master. I should have preferred living
at that house, thought he, if I could have afforded it; but he did not
express this, as he was determined to be contented with whatever house Mr.
Scott had chosen for him.
All was happiness on their arrival at Mr. Scott's; an excellent dinner was
prepared for them, which they were too happy to do much justice to. Soon
after dinner, Mr. Scott proposed going with them to their own house; and
said he hoped they had not forgotten how to walk, as he should expect a
visit from them every day, and their house was a little distance from
Craigie Hall. They laughed, and continued chatting with him and Mrs. Scott
all down the river, till they came to the very cottage they had admired so
much in the morning. "Pray, Sir," asked John, "who lives here now? Mr.
Elliott I think must have left it, for he was not very famous for keeping
his house in such excellent order."--"He is dead," answered Mr. Scott,
"and it has been lately sold to a gentleman that has come from foreign
parts. The family are not yet come down to it, but I believe are shortly
expected. Would you like to look at the inside of the house? it is very
well worth seeing; for, according to my taste, it is as pretty a neat box
as you will meet with any where." Marion said she should like to see it of
all things; they therefore turned up the little path that led to the door.
Mr. Scott knocked, and it was opened by Peggy Oliphant, dressed in her
best Sunday's gown; she curtesied and looked eagerly at John, who shook
hands with her on entering.
They went over every room, and all the different adjoining offices, Mr.
Scott seeming to take particular pleasure in pointing out all its superior
qualities. John thought he never had seen so complete a thing and almost
wished he had not examined it, for fear of finding his own much inferior.
At length when every thing had been admired, Mr. Scott taking John's hand,
said, "Now, my dear son, Marion, long ago, let me into a secret about this
cottage, and when your joyful letter arrived, a thought came into my head,
that I would surprise you. Mr. Elliott had been dead some time, and I knew
his heirs wanted to dispose of the farm; I therefore made them an offer,
which was accepted. I have fitted it up according to what I think will be
pleasing, both to you, my dear children, and even to your intended guest.
I have only to add, it is my wedding gift to my daughter, who I hope, will
never again quit her native dale, at least during her mother's life and
mine." John and Marion were so overcome with their own happiness and Mr.
Scott's kindness, that they could only answer him with their tears; Marion
threw herself into his arms, calling him the best and kindest of fathers.
"Oh," at last said John, "had I known what a fortune Marion was, I
scarcely think I could have had courage to ask her to be my wife." "I am
very glad you knew nothing about it then," said Mr. Scott, "for we should
have been all in the wrong without you, Marion would never have had any
other man; you know she has been in love with you ever since you jumped
over Bob's ears; and to own the truth, I approve her taste from the bottom
of my heart; and I would rather see her your wife than any other man's in
Eskdale."
Two day after they were settled in their favourite cottage, John left
Marion to get every thing in order, and proceeded to Edinburgh, with a
firm determination of not quitting that city, without conducting back to
her native dale the last surviving remnant of his dear master's family.
On his arrival in Edinburgh, he wrote a few lines to Helen, saying that
one of the crew of the unfortunate Amazon had been so lucky as to find his
way back to his native country, after many years of captivity; and
expressing a desire to be permitted to see her, if it were not too painful
to her feelings. Helen had just come to the final resolution of retiring
from business her health had been greatly injured by the close attention
and fatigue she had undergone during Miss Maxwell's illness; and she now
found herself unable to sustain the kind of life she was forced to lead,
in order to make it an object worth her while to pursue.
On the receipt of John's note she was greatly agitated; at last, summoning
all her resolution, she said, "I will see this person, if it be only for
Marion Scott's sake; he may, perhaps, be able to set her mind at rest
about poor John;" so saying, she answered his note, desiring to see him
immediately. John trusted she would not recognize him, for he was greatly
altered, had grown considerably taller and stouter, and his complexion,
from being fair, was now almost as dark as an Indian's. "She cannot
possibly know me," thought he, "Nobody, but Marion, could ever know me, I
am quite sure;" and in this hope, he walked boldly into the little
parlour, in Prince's Street, where sat Helen ready to receive him. On his
entrance, he almost betrayed himself by his surprise; for in her, he
almost thought he saw his own dear master himself, Helen's features
resembled, in so strong a degree, those of her father; but she was now
thin and pale, and evidently out of health.
John looked at her a few minutes without speaking, but at last made some
apology for his intrusion. He said he had promised Captain Elliott to
deliver her a small miniature of her mother. He then approached her, and
kneeling presented her picture. Helen was surprised, but she put out her
hand to receive it; on her arm she wore as a bracelet, a miniature of her
father; John saw it, and for a moment prudence was forgotten; he snatched
her hand, and kissed the resemblance of his master. Helen, astonished,
fixed her eyes upon him, and the next moment, exclaiming, "Oh! it is John
himself!" leant upon his shoulder and wept bitterly. John succeeded in
soothing her into composure, and spent the evening in relating all the
particulars of the loss of her poor brother and uncle, which till now were
unknown to her; he then proceeded to prefer his request that she would
return with him to Eskdale. "I consider myself, dear Miss Helen, as
pledged to your uncle (independently of all I owe to my own master, and
that is far more than I ever can express), never to leave you nor separate
from you so long as you have no other protector; I have a comfortable home
to offer you, and a wife who will strive with me to see which of us can
pay you most attention; oh, do not deprive us of the delight of having you
under our roof." "You are married, then," said Helen mournfully, thinking
of poor Marion's constant attachment, "pray who is your wife? a foreigner,
I suppose."--"And could my master's daughter know so little of John
Telfer? Could she think he would ever do such a foolish thing as to bring
a foreigner into Eskdale, or ask Miss Helen to live with a stranger? No
lady, it is your friend, Marion Scott that was, now my own Marion Telfer,
that invites you through me to come to her, and let us all once more be
happy; you will not surely refuse us, Miss Helen, you cannot be so cruel."
Helen felt she could not be so cruel, either to herself or to the honest
affectionate couple, who now offered her a home. "I will come to you,
John," said she, "the moment I have finished the arrangement of my
affairs: in a few weeks I shall be at liberty; I am not much richer than
when I quitted Eskdale, yet I have enough to prevent my being a burden to
you and uncomfortable to myself: I have only one agreement to make with
you: you must both, from the moment I enter your house, consider me in the
light of a sister, nothing more, or I cannot remain with you."--"It shall
be in that and every thing else," said John, "exactly as you please; our
only wish is to see you comfortable."
John insisted on remaining in Edinburgh while Helen was detained, and she
found him of the greatest service in assisting her to arrange her
business; she had her precious library carefully packed up and sent on
before her to Eskdale, and at the end of three weeks was ready to attend
John to his peaceful home.
With what a variety of different feelings did Helen once more enter her
native dale! She wept violently all the way, till she had passed the
Manse, when, recollecting that she was actually unkindly to the good and
proved friend who sat beside her, she endeavoured to compose herself and
to appear cheerful on meeting his wife, the long attached and faithful
Marion. "How Mr. Elliott's cottage is improved!" said Helen, but she had
scarcely uttered the sentence, when on the green before the house Marion
appeared running towards the gate to let them in. "And do you indeed, my
kind friends, live here?" said she, almost overpowered. Marion flew into
her arms, exclaiming, "I was sure he would bring you; you would never
refuse to come to us; now we shall be happy again;" so saying, she led
Helen into a neat little room, with a bow-window at one end, and a
book-case, well filled with books, at the other; the furniture perfectly
neat and comfortable, but nothing fine nor out of its place; and what
amazed and pleased Helen more than can be described, over the
chimney-piece hung, in a small size, the portraits of her father and
mother. John had, when in Edinburgh, borrowed from her the miniatures of
her parents, and carrying them to Mr. Raeburn, the celebrated artist,
prevailed on him to take copies of them, and afterwards forwarded them to
Eskdale. "This is kind, indeed," said she, and taking John's hand, while
she laid her head on Marion's bosom, "now I do feel I am again at home."
In a few months, John and Marion's care of their dear guest was amply
rewarded by seeing her health completely re-established; her spirits had
resumed their former cheerfulness, and the dale did indeed look more like
itself, as Marion expressed it, than it had ever done since poor William's
elopement.
Meantime Mr. Johnstone, the clergyman, paid them daily visits; he had
become a widower, and was left with one child, a little girl; but how to
bring her up was a great source of anxiety to him. On becoming acquainted
with Helen, he thought it would be very desirable that she should
undertake the charge of his little girl's education; with this view, he
made a point of seeing her constantly, that he might be able to judge of
her abilities; on a more intimate knowledge of her good qualities, he
began to wish he could give his child such a mother, and in a very short
time made her proposals of marriage. Helen both loved and respected him;
she frankly told him so, and, in little more than a year after her return
to Eskdale, she became Mrs. Johnstone, and was conducted to the home of
her childhood, by her happy and affectionate husband, amidst the
rejoicings of the inhabitants throughout the whole dale.
John and Marion continue now to live in the cottage in the greatest
comfort and happiness; they have three children, the eldest, named William
Martin, is the idol of Helen, and from choice she would scarcely ever let
him leave the Manse; but the recollection of her poor brother's fate
prevents her from indulging her favourite wish. "No," said she to his
father, "I will not trust myself with the care of that dear infant; he
will be much safer under your and Marion's eye; and remember, my dear
friend, to train him from his earliest days in the habits of _obedience_,
and then in your old age he will be your comfort and support. Oh! what
misery did one act of _disobedience_ produce in this cheerful happy dale,
as well as to my dear unfortunate brother himself! May we, in rearing our
children, never forget the mournful, but instructive lesson!"
* * * * *
And now, my dear young readers, let the author of this little tale address
you as a friend and a mother. What think you of the Eskdale Herd-boy? You
have become acquainted with him, from the time that he was a poor
distressed little orphan, fatherless, motherless, without means of
support, with nothing but the first rudiments of instruction, not enough
to enable him to read the Holy Scriptures, and to learn his duty to his
neighbour, or his duty to his God. He had only those little seeds of
virtue, from which, if they are steadily and constantly cultivated, good
actions spring up in after life; I mean affection, gratitude, industry,
and obedience. God Almighty raised up to him a friend in the worthy
Minister of the parish; but that friend could do little or nothing for him
in the way of money; he could only teach him to read and direct him in
reading what was suited to his capacity; he could recommend him to a
master, to be employed in such work as was fit for his age and station in
life; what would all this have availed, if he had been indolent and
inattentive, if he had been sulky, ill-tempered, ungrateful, or
disobedient? The wretched little creature would then have been entirely
lost; perhaps have fallen into temptation, crime, and infamy in this
world, and endless misery hereafter. Instead of this, you see him going on
gently and quietly, but steadily and firmly, in the path of his duty;
rendering himself beloved and respected by all who knew him, gradually
raising himself in life by good behaviour in every station that he filled;
and at last made happy in his native dale, by discharging the debt of
gratitude to his benefactor's daughter, obtaining the respect and esteem
of all his friends and neighbours, and enjoying the pure affection of one
whom he had loved in childhood, as the sweet-voiced and kind hearted
little Marion.