“Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer,
Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures?”
_Cato._
The scene must now be shifted to Rattletrap. Biberry was deserted. Even
the rumours with which its streets had been so lately filled, were
already forgotten. None have memories as frail as the gossip. Not only
does this class of persons—and a numerous class it is, including nearly
all whose minds are not fitted to receive more elevated materials—not
only, we say, does this class of persons overlook the contradictions and
absurdities of the stories they repeat, but they forget the stories
themselves almost as soon as heard. Such was now the case at Biberry.
Scarce an individual could be found in the place who would acknowledge
that he or she had ever heard that Mary Monson was connected with
robbers, or who could recollect that he once fancied the accused guilty.
We may as well say here, that nothing has ever been done with Sarah
Burton. She is clearly guilty; but the law, in these times of progress,
disdains to pursue the guilty. Their crimes are known; and of what use
can it be to expose those whom every one can see are offenders! No; it
is the innocent who have most reason to dread the law. _They_ can be put
to trouble, cost, vexation and loss, if they cannot be exactly
condemned. We see how thousands regard the law in a recent movement in
the legislature, by which suits have been ordered to try the titles of
most of the large landed proprietors, with the very honest and modest
proposal annexed, that their cases shall be prejudged, and the landlords
deprived of the means of defending themselves, by sequestering their
rents! Everybody says this is the freest country on earth; the only
country that is truly free; but we must be permitted to say, that such a
law, like twenty more that have been passed in the same interest within
the last ten years, savours a good deal of the character of a Ukase.
Our characters, with the exception of McBrain and his bride, were now
assembled at Rattletrap. Dunscomb had ascertained all it was necessary
to know concerning Mildred, and had taken the steps necessary to protect
her. Of her qualified insanity he did not entertain a doubt; though it
was a madness so concealed by the blandishments of education and the
graces of a refined woman, that few saw it, and fewer still wished to
believe it true. On most subjects this unhappy lady was clear-minded and
intelligent enough, more especially on that of money; for, while her
expenditures were generous, and her largesses most liberal, she
manifested wonderful sagacity in taking care of her property. It was
this circumstance that rendered it so difficult to take any steps to
deprive her of its control; though Dunscomb had seen enough, in the
course of the recent trial, to satisfy him that such a measure ought to
be resorted to in the interest of her own character.
It was in cunning, and in all the low propensities connected with that
miserable quality, that Mildred Millington, as she now insisted on
calling herself, most betrayed her infirmity. Many instances of it have
been incidentally related in the course of our narrative, however
unpleasant such an exhibition has been. There is nothing more repugnant
to the principles or tastes of the right thinking and right feeling,
than the practices which cunning engenders. Timms, however, was a most
willing agent in all the schemes of his client; though some of her
projects had puzzled him by their elaborate duplicity, as much as they
had astounded him by their boldness. These were the schemes that had
their origin in obliquity of mind. Still, they were not without merit in
the eyes of Timms, who was cunning without being mad.
Before quitting Biberry, Timms was liberally paid and dismissed.
Dunscomb explained to him the situation of his handsome client, without
adverting to the state of her mind; when the attorney at once caught at
the chances of a divorce. Among the other “ways of the hour,” that of
dissolving the marriage tie has got to be a sort of fashionable mania.
Neither time, nor duties, nor children, seem to interpose any material
obstacle; and, if our own laws do not afford the required facilities,
those of some of our more liberal neighbours do. Timms keeps this
principle in his mind, and is at this moment ruminating on the means by
which he can liberate his late client from her present chains, and bind
her anew in some of his own forging. It is scarcely necessary to add,
that Mildred troubles herself very little in the premises, so far as
this covert lover is concerned.
The ridicule of Williams was, at first, the sorest portion of Timms’s
disappointment. Bachelors alike, and rivals for popular favour, these
two worthies had long been looking out for advantageous marriages. Each
had the sagacity to see that his chances of making a more and more
eligible connexion were increasing slowly, and that it was a great thing
for a rising man to ascend without dragging after him a wife chosen from
among those that prop the base of the great social ladder. It was nuts
to one of these competitors for the smiles of the ladies to discover
that his rival was in love with a married woman; and this so much the
more, because the prospects of Timms’s success, arising from his seeming
intimacy with the fair occupant of the gaol, had given Williams a very
serious fright. Place two men in competition, no matter in what, and all
their energies become concentrated in rivalry. Again and again, had
these two individuals betrayed their mutual jealousy; and now that one
of them had placed himself in a position so false, not to say
ridiculous, the other did not fail to enjoy his disappointment to the
top of his bent. It was in this manner that Saucy Williams took his
revenge for the defeat in the trial.
Mrs. Gott was also at Rattletrap. Dunscomb retained much of his original
tenderness for Mildred, the grandmother of his guest of that name, and
he granted her descendant every indulgence she could ask. Among other
things, one of the requests of the liberated prisoner was to be
permitted to manifest this sense of her gratitude for the many acts of
kindness received from the wife of the sheriff. Gott, accordingly, was
left to take care of himself, while his nice little companion was
transported to a scene that she found altogether novel, or a temporary
residence in a gentleman’s dwelling. Sarah’s housekeeping, Sarah’s good
nature, attentions, neatness, attire and attractions, would have been
themes to monopolize all of the good little woman’s admiration, had not
Anna Updyke, then on a visit at Rattletrap, quite fairly come in for her
full share. She might almost be said to be in love with both.
It was just after breakfast that Mildred locked an arm in that of Anna,
and led her young friend by one of the wooded paths that runs along the
shores of the Hudson, terminating in a summer-house, with a most
glorious view. In this, there was nothing remarkable; the eye rarely
resting on any of the ‘bits’ that adorn the banks of that noble stream,
without taking in beauties to enchant it. But to all these our two
lovely young women were momentarily as insensible as they were to the
fact that their own charming forms, floating among shrubbery as fragrant
as themselves, added in no slight degree to the beauty of the scene. In
manner, Mildred was earnest, if not ardent, and a little excited; on the
other hand, Anna was placid, though sensitive; changing colour without
ceasing, as her thoughts were drawn nearer and nearer to that theme
which now included the great object of her existence.
“Your uncle brought me letters from town last evening, Anna dear,”
commenced the liberated lady: “one of them is from Mons. de
Larocheforte. Is that not strange?”
“What is there so strange in a husband’s writing to his wife? To me, it
seems the most natural thing in the world.”
“It does?—I am surprised to hear you say so—you, Anna, whom I regarded
as so truly my friend. I have discarded Mons. de Larocheforte, and he
ought to respect my pleasure.”
“It would have been better, my dear mamma, had you discarded him before
marriage, instead of after.”
“Ah—your dear mamma, indeed! I was your school mamma, Anna, and well had
it been for me had I been left to finish my education in my own country.
Then, I should have escaped this most unfortunate marriage! Do not
marry, Anna—take my advice, and never marry. Matrimony is unsuited to
ladies.”
“How long have you been of this opinion, dear mamma?” asked the young
girl, smiling.
“Just as long as I have been made to feel how it crushes a woman’s
independence, and how completely it gives her a master, and how very,
very humiliating and depressing is the bondage it inflicts. Do you not
feel the force of my reasons?”
“I confess I do not,” answered Anna, in a subdued, yet clear and
distinct voice. “I see nothing humiliating or depressing in a woman’s
submission to her husband. It is the law of nature, and why should we
wish to alter it? My mother has ever inculcated such opinions, and you
will excuse me if I say I think the bible does, also.”
“The bible!—Yes, that is a good book, though I am afraid it is very
little read in France. I ought, perhaps, to say, ‘read very little by
strangers resident in France.’ The French women, themselves, are not one
half as negligent of their duties, in this respect, as are the strangers
who go to reside among them. When the roots, that have grown to any size
in their native soil, are violently transplanted to another, it is not
often that the tree obtains its proper dimensions and grace. I wish I
had never seen France, Anna, in which case I should never have been Mad.
de Larocheforte—_vicomtesse_, by the old law, and I am afraid it was
that idle appellation that entrapped me. How much more truly respectable
I should have been as Mrs. John Smith, or Mrs. John Brown, or Mrs. David
Smith, the wife of a countryman, if I must be a wife, at all!”
“Choose at least some name of higher pretension,” said Anna, laughing.
“Why not a Mrs. Van Rensselaer, or a Mrs. Van Cortlandt, or a Mrs.
Livingston, or a Mrs. Somebody else, of one of our good old families?”
“Families!—Do you know, child, it is treason to talk of families in this
age of anti-rentism. They tell me that the man who makes an estate, may
enjoy it, should he happen to know how, and this, though he may have
cheated all he ever dealt with, in order to become rich; but, that he
who inherits an estate, has no claim. It is his tenants who have the
high moral claim to his father’s property.”
“I know nothing of all this, and would rather talk of things I
understand.”
“By which you mean wedlock, and its cares! No, my dear, you little
understand what matrimony is, or how much humiliation is required of us
women to become wives, or you would never think of marrying.”
“I have never told you that I _do_ think of marrying—that is, not much.”
“There spoke your honest nature, which will not permit even an
unintended deception. This it was that so much attached me to you as a
child; for, though I am not very ingenuous myself, I can admire the
quality in another.”
“This admission does not exactly prove the truth of your words, mamma!”
said Anna, smiling.
“No matter—let us talk of matrimony. Has John Wilmeter proposed to you,
Anna?”
This was a home question; no wonder the young lady started. After a
short, musing pause, however, the native candour of Anna Updyke
prevailed, and she admitted that he had.
“Thank you for this confidence; but you must go further. Remember, I am
your mamma. Is the gentleman accepted?”
A rosy blush, succeeded by a nod of the head, was the answer.
“I am sorry I was not consulted, before all this happened; though I have
managed my own matters so ill, as to have very few claims to your
confidence. You scarce know what you undertake, my child.”
“I undertake to become Jack Wilmeter’s wife,” answered the betrothed, in
a very low but a very firm voice; “and I hope I shall make him a good
one. Most of all, do I pray to be obedient and submissive.”
“To no man that breathes, Anna!—no, to no man breathing! It is _their_
business to submit to _us_; not we to them!”
“This is not my reading of the great rule of woman’s conduct. In my view
of our duties, it is the part of woman to be affectionate, mild, patient
and sympathizing,—if necessary, forgiving. I firmly believe that, in the
end, such a woman cannot fail to be as happy as is permitted to us to
be, here on earth.”
“Forgiving!” repeated Mildred, her eyes flashing; “yes, that is a word
often used, yet how few truly practise its teachings. Why should I
forgive any one that has wronged me? Our nature tells us to resent, to
punish, if necessary, as you say—to revenge.”
A slight shudder passed through the frame of Anna, and she unconsciously
moved farther from her companion, though their aims still continued
locked.
“There must be a great difference between France and America, if revenge
is ever taught to a woman, as a part of her duty,” returned the younger
female, now speaking with an earnestness she had not before betrayed;
“here, we are told that Christianity forbids the very thought of it, and
that to forgive is among the very first of our duties. My great
instructor in such things, has told me that one of the surest evidences
of a hopeful state of the feelings, is the banishment of every thing
like resentment, and a desire to be at peace with all around us—to have
a perception that we love the race as beings of our own wants and
hopes.”
“Is this the sort of love, then, with which you give your hand to young
Wilmeter?”
Scarlet is not brighter than was the colour that now glowed in the
cheeks of Anna, stole into her temples, and even diffused itself over
her neck and chest. To herself it seemed as if her very hands blushed.
Then the power of innocence came to sustain her, and she became calm and
steady.
“It is _not_ the feeling with which I shall marry John,” she said.
“Nature has given us another sentiment, and I shall not endeavour to be
superior to all of my sex and class. I love John Wilmeter, I own; and I
hope to make him happy.”
“To be a dutiful, obedient wife, for ever studying his tastes and
caprices!”
“I trust I shall not be _for ever_ studying the indulgence of my own. I
see nothing degrading to a woman, in her filling the place nature and
Christianity have assigned to her, and in her doing her duty, as a
wife.”
“These are not _my_ feelings, receiving your terms as you wish them to
be understood. But several have told me I ought never to have married; I
myself know that I should have been an American, and not a French wife.”
“I have ever heard that greater latitude is given to our sex, in France,
than in this country.”
“That is true in part only. Nothing can exceed the =retenue= of a French
girl, or anything that is decent exceed the want of it that is
manifested by many Americans. On the other hand, a married woman here,
has no privileges at all, not even in society; while in France, under an
air of great seeming propriety, she does very much as she sees fit. It
is a mistake, however, to suppose that faithful wives, and devoted
mothers, most especially the last, are not to be found all over
Europe—in France, in particular.”
“I am glad to hear it,” cried Anna, with a really gratified air; “it
gives me pleasure when I hear of any of our sex behaving as they should
behave.”
“Should behave! I fear, Anna, a little covert reproach is intended, in
that remark. Our estimate of the conduct of our friends must depend on
our notions of our own duties. Now, hearken to my manner of reasoning on
this subject. In a physical sense, man is strong, woman is weak; while,
in a moral sense, woman is strong and man is weak. You admit my
premises?”
“The first part of them, certainly,” said Anna, laughing, “while I
pretend to no knowledge of the last.”
“You surely do not believe that John Wilmeter is as pure, ingenuous,
good, as you are yourself?”
“I see no reason why he should not be. I am far from certain Jack is not
even better.”
“It is useless to discuss such a subject with you. The principle of
pride is wanting, without which you can never enter into my feelings.”
“I am glad it is so. I fancy John will be all the happier for it. Ah! my
dear mamma, I never knew any good come of what you call this ‘principle
of pride.’ We are told to be humble and not to be proud. It may be all
the better for us females that rulers are given to us here, in the
persons of our husbands.”
“Anna Updyke, do you marry John Wilmeter with the feeling that he is to
rule? You overlook the signs of the times, the ways of the hour, child,
if you do aught so weak! Look around you, and see how everybody, almost
everything, is becoming independent, our sex included. Formerly, as I
have heard elderly persons say, if a woman suffered in her domestic
relations, she was compelled to suffer all. The quarrel lasted for a
life. Now, no one thinks of being so unreasonably wretched. No, the
wronged wife, or even the offended wife—Monsieur de Larocheforte snuffs
abominably—abominably—yes, abominably—but no wife is obliged, in these
times of independence and reason, to endure a snuffy husband——”
“No,” broke in Dunscomb, appearing from an adjoining path, “she has only
to pack up her spoons and be off. The Code can never catch her. If it
could on one page, my life for it there is a hole for her to get out of
its grasp on the next. Your servant, ladies; I have been obliged to
overhear more of your conversation than was intended for my ears,
perhaps; these paths running so close to each other, and you being so
animated—and now, I mean to take an old man’s privilege, and speak my
mind. In the first place, I shall deal with the agreeable. Anna, my
love, Jack is a lucky fellow—far luckier than he deserves to be. You
carry the right sentiment into wedlock. It is the right of the husband
to be the head of his family; and the wife who resists his authority is
neither prudent nor a Christian. He may abuse it, it is true; but, even
then, so long as criminality is escaped, it were better to submit. I
approve of every word you have uttered, dear, and thank you for it all
in my nephew’s name. And now, Mildred, as one who has a right to advise
you, by his avowed love for your grandmother, and recent close
connection with yourself, let me tell you what I think of those
principles that you avow, and also of the state of things that is so
fast growing up in this country. In the first place, he is no true
friend of your sex who teaches it this doctrine of independence. I
should think—it is true, I am only a bachelor, and have no experience to
back me—but, I should think that a woman who truly loves her husband,
would find a delight in her dependence——”
“Oh! certainly!” exclaimed Anna—biting her tongue at the next instant,
and blushing scarlet at her own temerity.
“I understand you, child, and approve again—but there comes Jack, and I
shall have to turn you over to him, that you may receive a good scolding
from head-quarters, for this abject servitude feeling, that you have
betrayed. Go—go—his arm is held out already—and harkee, young folk,
remember that a new maxim in morals has come in with the
Code—‘Principles depend on Circumstances.’ That is the rule of conduct
now-a-days—that, and anti-rentism, and ‘republican simplicity,’ and the
‘cup-and-saucer law,’ and—and—yes—and the ever-blessed Code!”
Dunscomb was obliged to stop for breath, which gave the young couple an
opportunity to walk away. As for Mildred, she stood collected, extremely
lady-like in mien, but with a slight degree of hauteur expressed in her
countenance.
“And now, sir, that we are alone,” she said, “permit me to inquire what
_my_ part of the lecture is to be. I trust you will remember, however,
that, while I am Mildred Millington by birth, the law which you so much
reverence and admire, makes me Madame de Larocheforte.”
“You mean to say that I have the honour of conversing with a married
woman?”
“Exactly so, Mr. Dunscomb.”
“I comprehend you, ma’am, and shall respect your position. You are not
about to become my niece, and I can claim no right to exceed the bounds
of friendship——”
“Nay, my dear sir, I do not wish to say this. You have every right to
advise. To me, you have been a steady and well judging friend, and this,
in the most trying circumstances. I am ready to hear you, sir, in
deference, if not in your beloved humility.”
“That which I have to say refers solely to your own happiness, Mildred.
Your return to America has, I fear, been most inopportune. Among other
innovations that are making on every side of us, even to the verge of
the dissolution of civilized society, comes the liberty of woman. Need I
tell you, what will be the next step in this downward career?”
“You needs must, Mr. Dunscomb—I do not comprehend you.—What will that
step be?”
“Her licentiousness. No woman can throw off the most sacred of all her
earthly duties, in this reckless manner, and hope to escape from the
doom of her sex. After making a proper allowance for the increase of
population, the increase in separated married people is getting to be
out of all proportion. Scarce a month passes that one does not hear of
some wife who has left her husband, secreted herself with a child
perhaps, as you did, in some farm-house, passing by a different name,
and struggling for her rights, as she imagines. Trust me, Mildred, all
this is as much opposed to nature as it is to prescribed duties. That
young woman spoke merely what an inward impulse, that is incorporated
with her very being, prompted her to utter. A most excellent mother—oh!
what a blessing is that to one of your sex—how necessary, how heavenly,
how holy!—an excellent mother has left her in ignorance of no one duty,
and her character has been formed in what I shall term harmony with her
sex. I must be plain, Mildred—you have not enjoyed this advantage.
Deprived of your parent young, known to be rich, and transplanted to
another soil, your education has necessarily been entrusted to
hirelings, flatterers, or persons indifferent to your real well-being;
those who have consulted most the reputation of their instruction, and
have paid the most attention to those arts which soonest strike the eye,
and most readily attract admiration. In this, their success has been
complete.”
“While you think it has not been so much so, sir, in more material
things?” said the lady, haughtily.
“Let me be sincere. It is due to my relation to you—to your
grandmother—to the past—to the present time. I know the blood that runs
in your veins, Mildred. You are self-willed by descent, rich by
inheritance, independent by the folly of our legislators. Accident has
brought you home, at the very moment when our ill-considered laws are
unhinging society in many of its most sacred interests; and, consulting
only an innate propensity, you have ventured to separate from your
husband, to conceal yourself in a cottage, a measure, I dare say, that
comported well with your love of the romantic——”
“Not so—I was oppressed, annoyed, unhappy at home, and sought refuge in
that cottage. Mons. de Larocheforte has such a passion for snuff!—He
uses it night and day.”
“Then followed the serious consequences which involved you in so many
fearful dangers——”
“True,” interrupted the lady, laying her small, gloved hand hastily on
his arm—“very true, dear Mr. Dunscomb; but how cleverly I contrived to
escape them all!—how well I managed your Mr. Timms, good Mrs. Gott, the
puffy, pompous sheriff, that wily Williams too, whose palm felt the
influence of my gold—oh! the excitement of the last two months has been
a gift of paradise to me, and, for the first time since my marriage,
have I known what true happiness was!”
Dunscomb turned, astonished, to his companion, and stared her in the
face. Never was the countenance more lovely to the cursory glance, the
eye brighter, the cheek with a richer glow on it, or the whole air, mien
and attitude more replete with womanly loveliness, and womanly graces;
but the observant eye of the lawyer penetrated beyond all these, and
detected the unhappy spirit which had gained possession of a tenement so
lovely. The expression of the countenance denoted the very triumph of
cunning. We pretend not to a knowledge of the arcana of nature, to be
able to detect the manner in which the moving principles prompt to good
or evil, but we must reject all sacred history, and no small portion of
profane, not to believe that agencies exist that are not visible to our
ordinary senses; and that our boasted reason, when abandoned to its own
support, becomes the victim of those that are malign. We care not by
what names these agents are called, imps, demons, evil spirits, or evil
passions; but this we do know, let him beware who submits to their
control. Better, far better, were it that such an one had never been
born!
Three days later Mildred Millington was in a state that left no doubt of
her infirmity. The lucid intervals were long, however, and at such times
her mind seemed clear enough on all subjects but one. Divorce was her
“ruling passion,” and, in order to effect her purpose, all the
extraordinary ingenuity of a most fertile mind was put in requisition.
Although means were promptly, but cautiously, taken to see that she did
not squander her large pecuniary resources, Dunscomb early saw that they
were uncalled for. Few persons were better qualified to look after their
money than was this unfortunate lady, in the midst of the dire
visitation that intellectually reduced her below the level of most
around her. On this head her sagacity was of proof; though her hand was
not closed in the gripe of a miser. Accustomed, from childhood, to a
liberal expenditure, she was willing still to use the means that an
inscrutable Providence had so liberally placed in her way, her largesses
and her charities continuing the same as ever. Down to the present
moment the fund-holder, the owner of town property, the mortgagee, and
the trader is allowed to enjoy his own, without any direct interference
of the demagogue with his rights; but how much longer this exception is
to last, is known only to the Being who directs the destinies of
nations; or, at least, not to any who are now on earth, surrounded
equally by the infirmities and ignorance of the present state.
But Mildred was, and is yet, permitted to exercise her rights over her
own property, though care is had to see that no undue advantage is taken
of her sex, years, and ignorance. Beyond this her control was not
disputed, and she was suffered to manage her own affairs. She set about
the matter of a divorce with the whole energy of her nature, and the
cunning of her malady. Timms was again summoned to her service, unknown
to Dunscomb, who would never have winked at the measures that were
taken, though so much in accordance with “the ways of the hour.”
Provided with proper credentials, this managing agent sought an
interview with Mons. de Larocheforte, a worn-out debauchee of some rank,
who, sooth to say, had faults even graver than that of taking snuff.
Notwithstanding the great personal attractions of Mildred, the motive
for marrying her had been money: as is usually the case in a very great
proportion of the connections of the old world, among persons of
condition. Love is to succeed, and not to precede, matrimony. Mildred
had been taught that lesson, and grievously had she been disappointed.
The snuff got into her eyes. Mons. de Larocheforte—Mons. le Vicomte as
he had been, and was still determined to be, and in all probability will
be, in spite of all the French “republican simplicity” that was ever
summoned to a nation’s rescue—Mons. le Vicomte was directly approached
by Timms, and a proposal made that he should put himself in a condition
to be divorced, for a stipulated price. Notwithstanding the opinion of
the learned Attorney-General of this great state, of the European
aristocracy, and who is so every way qualified to give such an opinion,
_ex officio_ as it might be, Mons. de Larocheforte declined lending
himself to so vile a proposition, Frenchman and noble as he was. Nor did
the husband believe that the discreditable proposal came from his wife.
He compelled Timms to admit as much, under a menace of losing his case.
That worthy was puzzled at this result, for he had made the proposal on
his “own hook,” as he afterwards explained the matter to Williams, in
the fullest confidence of “republican simplicity,” and was astonished at
meeting with the self-respect of a gentleman, if with no very elevated
principles in a nobleman! It was accordingly necessary to have recourse
to some other mode of proceeding.
Luckily for the views of Timms and his fair client, one can scarcely go
amiss in this country, when a divorce is desired. Although a few of the
older states remain reasonably inflexible on this subject, in some
respects _unreasonably_ so, indeed, they are generally surrounded by
communities that are more indulgent. By means of some _hocus pocus_ of
the law, that we pretend not to explain, the names of Gabriel Jules
Vincent Jean Baptiste de Larocheforte ads. Mildred de Larocheforte, were
just beginning to steal on the dawn of the newspapers, in a case that,
ere long, might blaze in the meridian of gossip.
Dunscomb frowned, and reproached, but it was too late to recede. He has
told Mildred, and he has told Timms, that nuptial knots tied in one
community, cannot be so readily unloosed in another, as many imagine;
and that there must, at least, be good faith—the _animus revertendi_—in
the change of residence that usually precedes the application. But money
is very powerful, and smooths a thousand difficulties. No one could
predict the termination; and, as the vicomte, though only to be
approached in a more delicate way than that adopted by Timms, was as
tired of the connection as his wife, and was very anxious to obtain a
larger share of the fortune than the “cup and saucer” law will give him,
it was by no means improbable that the end of the affair would be a
quasi divorce, that would at least enable each party to take his or her
own course, without fear of molestation from the other.
In the mean time, Millington was married very shortly after the trial.
The engagement had not been long, but the parties had known each other
intimately for years. The bridegroom, in one sense, was the head of his
family, though by no means possessed of its largest fortune. In this
character, it devolved on him to care for the interests of his fair
relative. Although as much opposed as Dunscomb to the course she was
taking, he did not shrink from his duties as a relative; and it is
understood that his house is Mildred’s home when in town. Rattletrap
opened its hospitable doors to the unfortunate woman, whenever she chose
to visit the place; and Timbully has also claims on her time and
presence.
Dunscomb announced his intention to retire from practice at the end of a
twelvemonth, the morning that Michael and Sarah were married. In the
intervening time, John Wilmeter and his new nephew were received as
partners, and the worthy bachelor is now sedulously but silently
transferring as respectable and profitable a list of clients, as any man
in the courts can claim. His own advice is promised, at all times, to
his old friends; and, as not a soul has objected, and the young men bid
fair, there is every reason to hope that useful and profitable labour
will keep both out of mischief.
[Illustration]