FORGIVENESS.
Bess Thompson started off on her way to her desolate home, almost
heart-broken, and with such a wrathful resentment against Stephen, and
Martha, and Tim, as seemed to blot out all memory of the lessons she had
been learning from Miss Anne since the little child's death. She could
never bear to go near them, or speak to them again, since they had sworn
against her father; and had not he been good to them when Stephen was
ill, often sparing her to watch with Martha, as well as helping to make
up his wages? If this was their religion, she did not care to have it;
for nobody else in Botfield would have done the same. And now she might
as well give up all thoughts of getting to heaven, where little Nan and
her baby sister were; for there would be nobody to care for her, and she
would be obliged to go back to all her old ways.
These were her bitter thoughts as she walked homewards alone, for
Stephen was gone up to the doctor's house to inquire after the master
and Miss Anne, and the others were waiting for him in Longville. She
heard their voices after a while coming along the turnpike road, and
walking quickly as if to overtake her; so she turned aside into a field,
and hid herself under a hedge that they might pass by. She crouched down
low upon the grass, and covered her red and smarting eyes from the
sunshine with her shawl, and then she listened for their footsteps to
die away in the distance. But she felt an arm stealing round her, and
Martha's voice whispered close in her ear,--
'Bess, dear Bess, thee must not hide thyself from us. We love thee,
Bess; and we are sore sorry for thee. Stephen is ever so down-hearted
about thee and thy father. Oh, Bess, thee must have no spite at us.'
'Bess,' said Stephen, 'thy father owned I was telling the truth, and
said he forgave me for speaking agen him; and he shook hands with me
afore he went; and he said, "Stephen, thee be a friend to my poor lass!"
and I gave him a sure promise that I would.'
'Nobody'll ever look at me now,' cried Bess; 'nobody'll be friends with
me if father's transported.'
'We're thy friends,' answered Stephen, 'and thee has a Father in heaven
that cares for thee. Listen, Bess; it will do thee good, and poor old
grandfather no harm now. He was transported beyond the seas once; and no
one casts it up to him now, nor to us; and haven't we got friends? Cheer
up, Bess. Miss Anne says, maybe this very trouble will bring thy father
to repentance. He said he'd repent some time; and maybe this will be the
very time for him. And Miss Anne sends her kind love to thee and thy
mother, and she'll come and see thy mother as soon as she can leave the
master.'
Thus comforted, poor sorrowful Bess rose from the ground, and walked on
with them to Botfield. Most of the house doors were open, and the women
were standing at them in order to waylay them with inquisitive
questions; but Stephen's grave and steady face, and the presence of
Bess, who walked close beside him, as if there was shelter and
protection there, kept them silent; and they were compelled to satisfy
their curiosity with secondhand reports. Martha went on with Bess to her
own cottage to stay all night with her, and help her to console her
broken-hearted mother.
Though Martha was truly sorry for Black Thompson's family, she felt her
importance as one of the chief witnesses against him; especially as the
cinder-hill cabin was visited, not only by the gossips of Botfield, but
by more distinguished persons from all the farmhouses around; and her
thrilling narrative of her hazardous journey through Botfield along the
high road was listened to with greedy interest. In this foolish talking
she lost that true sympathy which she ought to have felt for poor Bess,
and forfeited the blessing which would have been given to her own soul.
But it was very different with Stephen in his lonely work upon the
mountains. There he thought over the crimes and punishment of Black
Thompson, until his heart was filled with an unutterable pity and
fellow-feeling both towards him and his family; and every night, as he
went home from his labour, he turned aside to the cottage, to read to
Bess and her mother some portion of the Scriptures which he had chosen
for their comfort, out of a pocket Bible given to him by Miss Anne.
About a fortnight after these events Stephen received a visitor upon the
uplands, where he was seeking a lamb that had strayed into a dwarf
forest of gorse-bushes, and was bleating piteously in its bewilderment.
A pleasant-sounding voice called 'Stephen Fern!' and when he got free
from the entangling thorns, with the rescued lamb in his arms, who
should be waiting for him but the lord of the manor himself! Stephen
knew his face again in an instant, and dropped the lamb that he might
take off his old cap, while the gentleman smiled at him with a hearty
smile.
'I am Danesford, of Danesford,' he said gaily; 'and I believe you are
Stephen Fern, of Fern's Hollow. I've brought you a message, my boy. Can
you guess what young lady has sent me over the hills after you?'
'Miss Anne,' answered Stephen promptly.
'No; there are other young ladies in the world beside Miss Anne!'
replied Mr. Danesford. 'Have you forgotten Miss Lockwood? She has not
forgotten you; and we are come home ready to give battle to your
enemies, and reinstate you in all your rights. She gives Mr. Lockwood
and me no rest until we have got Fern's Hollow, and everything else, for
you again.'
'Sir,' said Stephen, and his eyes filled with tears, 'nobody can give me
back little Nan.'
'No,' answered Mr. Danesford gravely; 'I know how hardly you have been
dealt with, my boy. Tell me truly, is your religion strong enough to
enable you to forgive Mr. Wyley indeed? Is it possible that you can
forgive him from your heart?'
Stephen was silent, looking down at the heath upon which his feet were
pressed, but seeing none of its purple blossoms. It was a question that
must not be answered rashly, for even that morning he had glanced down
the fatal shaft with a deep yearning after little Nan; and as he passed
the ruins of his master's house, his memory had recalled the destruction
of the old hut with something of a feeling of triumph.
'Sir,' he said, looking up to him, 'I'm afraid I can't explain myself.
You know it was for my sake that the Lord Jesus was killed, yet His
Father has forgiven me all my sins; and when I think of that, I can
forgive the master even for little Nan's death with all my heart. But I
don't always remember it; and then I feel a little glad at the fire. I
haven't got much religion yet. I don't know everything that's in the
Bible.'
'Yet I could learn some lessons from you, Stephen,' said Mr. Danesford,
after a pause. 'What do you suppose I should do if anybody tried to take
Danesford Hall from me?'
'I don't know, sir,' answered Stephen.
'Nor do I,' he said, smiling; 'at any rate, they should not have it with
my consent. Nor shall anybody take Fern's Hollow from you. I have been
down to Longville about it, but Mr. Wyley is too ill to see me. By the
way, I told Miss Anne I was coming up the hills after you. She wants to
see you, Stephen, as soon as possible after your work is done.'
Mr. Danesford rode on over the hills, and Stephen walked some way beside
him, to put him into the nearest path for Danesford. After he was gone
he watched earnestly for the evening shadows, and when they stretched
far away across the plains, he hastened down to the cabin, and then on
to Longville, to his appointed interview with Miss Anne.