Once more back to London, dear reader, and to the house of Lord
Woodhall, near the court. There were two rooms occupied in that house,
and a little episode going on in each, about an hour after Ralph
Woodhall's departure. Into each of these I should like to give my
reader an insight, but know not well which to proceed with first.
Perhaps the one the most completely detached from the story, and
having the least influence upon the result, had better be chosen. We
will walk up stairs, then, and into Margaret's room, where she sits
with her door bolted to guard against interruption, and two letters
before her. She has read one, in the hand of Ralph Woodhall, and it
has clouded many hopes, and cast a deep shadow back upon her mind It
has told her that he whom she loves is a prisoner, and that all chance
of escape is at an end; that he must abide a prejudiced trial, and
encounter all that the wrath of her own relations can do to destroy
him. But as there are drops of bitter in every cup, so are there drops
of sweetness in the bitterest chalice; and Ralph's letter has given
her the most solemn assurances that he had no share whatever in her
brother's death, and that he has loved her ever, and will love
her ever to the last hour of life. He has spoken, too, of
Hortensia--freely--frankly--easily, telling all that she has done for
him, and showing the painful situation in which she has been placed by
the result of her generous kindness to the son of her mother's friend.
That was a great satisfaction to her; for Margaret was a woman; but
yet, perhaps, for the same reason, she was not quite satisfied. She
would certainly have been better pleased had it been a man who thus
befriended her lover. Nevertheless, she felt very grateful, and tried
to persuade herself that there was not a vestige of such a thing as
jealousy in her mind.
The other letter was written in a small, woman's hand, more beautiful
than was common in those days, and though it was open. Margaret had
kept it unread till she had perused every word in Ralph's handwriting
twice. She had only seen the first words, and those were so familiar
and affectionate that she thought they must come from some well-known
friend, though she could not remember the writing. She now turned to
it with some interest, and read:
"DEAREST MARGARET,
"If to have learned to love you like a sister can give me a claim to
call you so, I have a right to use these words. I write to you in
great sadness, but yet I will not be deterred from writing; for there
are many causes which induce me to seek personal communication with
yourself, and among the chief of these is the hope of serving you in
times of difficulty, and supporting you in hours of trial. One very
dear to you, and deservedly so both as a man and a relation, has read
me a part of your letter to him, warning him that his residence at my
house had been discovered, and that danger menaced him there. Do not
think that this was a breach of confidence on his part, for it was
absolutely necessary in the circumstances in which he was placed. That
letter only served to heighten my affection for you both, and increase
my anxiety to serve you. You spoke of gratitude toward me for what I
did to shelter and save him. I deserve no such gratitude, for I acted
entirely from personal feelings. He is the son of one whom my mother
loved as few have ever loved a sister; and, therefore, I felt that he
had as much claim upon me as a near relation. I served him, also,
because I have a deep regard for him, and because I look upon him as
injured and persecuted. After I had heard your letter, believe me, I
only redoubled my exertions, periled myself, my fortune, and perhaps
my fair fame to save him; but my own heart is satisfied that I did
right, and I do not think that you will judge otherwise. We set out to
seek for some port where he could embark, traveling in my carriage,
and well attended; but we were met and turned by various parties of
contending troops, till, in the end, my carriage broke down, and I was
obliged to fly with him on horseback, traveling with a single servant
only. At length, most unfortunately, we were suddenly stopped by a
party of Lord Churchill's horse, and he was immediately made a
prisoner.
"I give you all these details, because I know there are some about you
who may seek to give a false impression of my conduct and his. The
inconveniences I suffered I care not for at all; the opinion of the
world I care for little; but your good opinion, dear Margaret, I care
for much, as it must greatly depend upon that how much you trust me,
and how far we can act together to frustrate the designs of those who
wish no good to you, and all evil to him who loves you. Believe not a
word that they say, Margaret; believe only that I have acted toward
him as a sister to a brother, and that I have done that, ever thinking
of you, and of his love for you, and seeking as one object to promote
your happiness. I will own that when I saw him arrested, I wept for
him as bitter tears as I ever shed, and probably exposed myself to
imputations which I did not deserve; but be assured that there is no
act of my life that I could have wished you not to see; no word that I
have ever uttered to him that I could not desire you to hear.
"And now, dear Margaret--believing this, as I know you will believe
it--listen to a few words of counsel from one more world-learned than
yourself. Remember that you are surrounded by his enemies--by those
who, either from malice or mistake, seek to destroy him, and if they
can not succeed in that, to deprive him of you. Trust them not,
Margaret. Receive every thing they tell you with doubt. Be firm,
constant, and true to the last; for be sure it is the only road
to--the only chance of happiness. Let them not persuade you to any
thing that can ever put a bar against your union with him. Let them
never induce you to give up faith in despair. Far be it from me to
urge any child to disobey a parent; but there is a limit to obedience
beyond which no parent has a right to exact it, and the less when any
command is founded on passion, prejudice, or error. I see before you
many a difficulty and many a trial; but still, be firm under them all,
and if any service can be rendered to you, or any support afforded,
fear not to apply to me.
"HORTENSIA DANVERS."
Why, I will not stop to inquire, but Margaret wept when she read those
lines.
It is now time that we should descend to the room below, in which Lord
Woodhall still sat after his young relation Robert had left him. He
had read over twice the news from Sedgemoor, and was reading it again,
when first there was a tap at the door, and then a portly and jovial
figure entered, in very neat and bright attire. The black silk
stockings fitted the sturdy calves of the legs and the neat ankle to
the utmost nicety. Nothing could be brighter than the shoe. The
cassock glistened like a raven's wing; and the round, smooth,
well-shaven face, beaming with good nature and a kindly heart, was
almost as lustrous as the gown.
"Well, my dear lord, well," cried Doctor M'Feely, "I have won my bet,
I think. Monmouth has been beaten before the seventh of July, and I
have won the living that your lordship promised."
"You shall have it--you shall have it, parson," said the old lord,
whose spirits Robert's news had somewhat cheered, "though you have had
as narrow a squeak of it as ever ninth pig had, just escaped the
tithe. You should have had it, indeed," he added, in a good-humored
tone, "even if you hadn't won the bet. You have waited a long time,
but you have got a good one now. The presentation was made out the day
before yesterday, and you have nothing to do but go down and ring
yourself in. The dedimus, too, is made out, and sent down to Giles
somebody or other, who will receive your oaths; for, as I told you,
you must act as justice too in those wild parts. We know better than
to put many parsons in the commission in Lincolnshire."
"Ay, that's the worst part of the bargain," said good Doctor M'Feely.
"I wish I could get over that. I never could bear to send a poor
creature to prison, I'm sure."
"Pooh! pooh!" said the old peer; "go and take the oaths directly, the
first thing you do, and my word for it you will be as hard as a
flint-stone before a twelvemonth is over, committing any lad who
steals a cabbage or nooses a hare as readily as you will give a text
on a Sunday. If you look in that drawer, you will find all the
papers."
Doctor M'Feely got them out, with great reverence for the papers, and
great joy at his new situation. He was a man destitute by no means of
imagination, and it is inconceivable what apple-trees he planted in
the orchard, and how he plowed the glebe. When he had got the precious
documents in his pocket, however, which made him, with the consent of
the bishop--no very difficult thing in those days--rector of the
united parish of Bridlington cum Saddletree, and justice of the peace
in the county of Dorset, he did not forget another errand he had in
hand, though it was rather a delicate one.
"I thought I saw Master Robert Woodhall pass by me in the street," he
said, after having thanked Lord Woodhall again and again; "has he been
here? I thought he was in Somerset."
"Ay, he has been here, and brought me good news, doctor. He has
tracked out that villain Ralph; and, before the month is out, I hope
he will be hanging as high as Haman."
"Ay, now," said Doctor M'Feely, with some hesitation, "that's just
what I wanted to talk about. I can't help thinking, my lord, that your
lordship is mistaken about Master Ralph; I don't think any thing on
earth would have made that young man draw a sword upon your son.
Besides, I have letters from his father, and from the good
Doctor ----, the vicar of the parish. They both say that they are sure
he did not do it--nay, more, that it was impossible; and, moreover--"
"Is the man mad?" exclaimed Lord Woodhall, starting up from his seat
with a look of indescribable fury in his countenance, "or would he
drive me mad? Was not the challenge sent, man? Did he not say that he
would come? Was not the hour appointed? Was not my son killed? Will
you persuade me that my poor boy is still alive, when I saw him cold,
and stiff, and white, in his bloody coffin? Of what would you persuade
me? Henry was killed--at night I--without witnesses--Ralph Woodhall
killed him; and I will have vengeance."
The last words were uttered with a shout, and the old man's face was
contorted with passion; but Doctor M'Feely, though not very clerical
in all his habits, was roused, and felt himself at that moment the
minister of the Gospel; and he replied, in a solemn and warning tone,
"Vengeance is mine: I will repay, saith the Lord."
The next moment he stood in the hall; and then, taking up his hat and
cane, he quitted the house.
A little more than a week after the period of which I have just been
speaking, Doctor M'Feely stood in his small rectory-house, a few miles
from the town of Dorchester, and looked about him with evident
complacence. There was a boy in deep mourning, about fifteen years of
age, standing by his side; and the house was completely furnished,
plainly, but very neatly. The doctor was in high good humor; every
thing was somewhat better than he expected; the glebe good, and
largely measured; the house solid, and wanting no repair; the small
tithes as well as the large were his, and some of them had come in, so
that he was not likely to want butter and eggs in a hurry. There was a
prospect, in short, of pleasant abundance before him, and, what is
still better, blessed independence. At that moment he did not care a
rush for the whole world.
"Well, my dear," he said to the boy, "and what does your mother ask
for the whole of this?"
"She says she thinks, sir, two hundred pounds," replied the boy,
modestly.
"Pooh! pooh!" cried Doctor M'Feely, with some little acquired feelings
of parsimony hanging about him, "a hundred and fifty is quite enough."
"The furniture, the cart, and the garden things cost my poor father
four hundred not eighteen months ago," replied the boy, with a sigh.
"Ay, but they have been used a good deal since," replied Doctor
M'Feely, without looking at the lad.
"Well, sir, you must have them for what you will give," said the late
rector's son; "my mother is very poor, and there are eight of us; but
she says she could not bear to have the things sold by auction--it
would break her heart."
"Eight of you? God bless the poor woman!" exclaimed the good doctor,
turning and looking him full in the face, down which was rolling a
large tear; "she shall have the two hundred. I didn't think there were
eight of you!"
"Not if you think it above the value, sir," said the boy.
"I dare say not--I dare say not," said the doctor, hurriedly, with a
gush of warm blood coming into his smooth face; "besides, I can spare
it very well, my man. I have been a great economist, do you see, and
when I made two pennies I always put by one. That's the way to thrive,
young man, and to keep yourself from getting out at elbows. I have
never wanted a whole cassock or a clean shirt since I came across the
herring pond--I won't say much for what was between the two, but that
was neither seen nor felt--I can spare it quite well, I tell you, so
not a word more about it; the bargain's struck; and tell your mother,
my dear, that I will come down and see her to-night, and if I can help
you on with your Latin and Greek, I'll do it, and perhaps communicate
a touch of the genuine dialect into the bargain."
The boy went away well satisfied with his father's successor; and
Doctor M'Feely sat down and took some dinner, prepared by a clean
country servant, regretting that he had got no wine in the house to
drink his own health on the first day of his residence. He then leaned
back in his chair to indulge in an afternoon's nap, a habit which he
had lately cultivated a good deal. His eyes were just closed, and two
or three deep inspirations showed that his efforts had not been
unsuccessful, when the door of the room shook by the opening of the
outer door, and the next moment a stranger stood before him.
Doctor M'Feely started, rubbed his eyes, and gazed at the stranger,
who was a young man of powerful frame, but somewhat gaunt and haggard
in appearance, with a wild, somewhat wandering eye, and a broad but
knitted brow.
"What do you want?" asked the doctor, without rising.
"Are you a magistrate?" asked the stranger.
"Yes; by God's blessing, I am justice of the peace," replied the good
doctor. "What do you want with me in that capacity? I thought you
wanted to be married, or buried, or christened; for you look in a
perilous state of mind, young man, and I don't know which would be
most appropriate to your case."
"The second," answered the stranger, sternly. "Christened I have been,
by better hands than yours. Married I shall never be. Buried I shall
soon be. But where have I seen your face before?"
"'Pon my soul and conscience I can't tell," replied the doctor, with a
sly twinkle of the eye, "in no place, I hope, where I should not have
been. It's Ireland perhaps you're thinking of."
"Not I," cried the stranger. "Lincolnshire, if any where; but that
must be a mistake."
"Devil a bit of that," answered Doctor M'Feely, "for if you ever saw
me any where in the whole world--barring Ireland--it's just as likely
it was in Lincolnshire as any where else, for I never lived there a
bit longer than I could help, and that was three quarters of my whole
time, seeing that the old lord was so mighty fond of the hall, and the
fox-hounds, and all that, to say nothing of the good wine, which was a
sore temptation to his carnal nature, and to me too, it must be
acknowledged. The Lord have mercy on us both, and send us more of it."
"I have it now," replied the stranger, "you are the fat chaplain who
came over with him, and passed a week at Coldenham."
"I never tasted worse stuff in my life," said Doctor M'Feely, with a
bitter remembrance of Lady Coldenham's wine; "and as to fat, there's a
leg, boy! Where will you match that?" and he stuck it out from under
his cassock, adding, in the same breath, "I can tell you what,
that visit to Coldenham--what between the sour wine and the sour
woman--took two as good pounds of beef off that same identical leg as
ever were cut out of an ox's rump. I thought he'd never plump out
again."
"You were reckoned a good man, I think," said the stranger, in the
same wild, grave tone.
"Good! to be sure I was. Did you ever see any body who was not good
bloom and blossom like a rose? I always loved every thing that was
good all my life--a good bottle above all. I wish I had one now," he
added, in an under tone; "though I don't object to punch, when nothing
else is to be had; but the devil a drop of rum is there in the house."
"Well, then," said the other, taking a paper from his pocket, "I want
you to swear me to this deposition."
"Let me see--let me see," cried Doctor M'Feely, stretching out his
hand.
"Not one word," replied the stranger, sternly. "It is all written in
my own hand, properly drawn up, for I was bred to be that beastly
thing, an attorney, and all I wish you to do is to swear me to the
truth of what is contained in this paper, and to attest my signature
of it."
"Lord bless you, I'll swear you fast enough," cried Doctor M'Feely.
"I've seen a good deal of that done in my day on both sides of the
water. Heaven help us! where's the Bible? Sally, Sally!--There's a
pretty forget! Sally, is there such a thing as a Bible in the house?
The old parson must have had a Bible--if not, there must be one in the
village."
"Oh, I've got one, your reverence, up in my box," replied the servant.
"Reverence!" muttered the doctor. "Bring it me, there's a good girl.
Here's a gentleman wants to swear a little."
"Bring a light also," said the stranger.
"A light at noon day!" exclaimed the worthy divine; "what does the man
want with a light?"
"To seal this up when I have done," answered the other, with an
imperturbable countenance.
"Then you may just as well blow the candle out," said the worthy
doctor, "for there isn't a bit of sealing-wax in the whole house so
big as a boy's marble."
The servant had in the mean time disappeared, but soon returned with a
light and the Bible. Her reverend master then sent her for pen and
ink, and, when all the preparations were completed, and she had
quitted the room again, he once more held out his hand, saying, "Come,
don't be nonsensical; give me the paper. I don't want to read a word
of it--to tell the truth, I wouldn't for any thing less than half a
bottle; but I must write at the top, 'Personally appeared before me,
Peter M'Feely, Justice of Peace, et cetera.'"
"I have done all that for you except the name," replied the other;
"put it in there;" and he held the paper before the parson while he
wrote his name.
"Now, then, get over the swearing," said Doctor M'Feely. "Take the
book in your right hand, and the paper in your left--mind your thumb,
boy, when you kiss the book--the cover's not over clean, but it's as
good as your own, I fancy. Now we'll be serious--if possible. It's an
awful job, swearing. You know the nature of an oath, I suppose?"
"Better than you do," answered the stranger fiercely, "for you have
taken many an oath that you have broken to God, if not to man;" and
then, in a clear and audible voice, and without any prompting, he
proceeded to swear to the truth of every word that paper contained,
and then signed his name to it in a bold, free hand.
Doctor M'Feely then attested the signature, exclaiming, as he did so,
"Gaunt Stilling! Now I recollect. Stilling was the old clerk and
sexton at Coldenham; many a chat we've had together. Gaunt was his
son, who had been in the Tangier regiment--you are gaunt enough
now--why, what in the name of Misfortune has changed you so, lad? Why,
I do recollect you, only you look ten years older. Come, take a cup of
ale; there's that in the house, at all events."
Gaunt Stilling waved his hand. "You shall have this within three
days," he said. "It will not be wanted before then."
"Three days? I shall be at the assizes in three days," said the
parson.
"You must wait till you receive this," replied Gaunt Stilling, "and
then act with it as I shall direct you. The assizes will not be at
Dorchester for four days at least. The commission was only opened at
Winchester on Monday; and now good-by. You are not a bad man at heart,
I believe. I recollect the sermon you preached in Coldenham Church,
and you spoke bold words upon the vices of the great, which did you
honor. Do not forget your master's service in seeing justice done to
the innocent. Be bold, and true to the right, and that may cover a
multitude of little sins like yours."
"Whew!" whistled Doctor M'Feely, "as if a man were a bit the worse for
liking a good bottle and a slice out of the haunch, to say nothing of
the fat! I can prove that it's a crying sin to neglect such mercies.
All the fathers held it so, and when I write their _lives_ I'll make
it appear, whatever their _doctrines_ might be;" but Gaunt Stilling
had waited for no such proofs; and, after rubbing his good broad
forehead for a moment, Doctor M'Feely sank back in his chair again and
took a nap.