Two weeks more went by, and the pressure upon Mrs. Darlington was
heavier and heavier. Her income was below her table expenses and
servant-hire, and all her reserve fund being exhausted, she felt the
extremity of her circumstances more than at any time before. To bear
longer the extra weight of poor, deserted Mrs. Marion and her two
children was felt to be impossible. With painful reluctance did Mrs.
Darlington slowly make up her mind to say to Mrs. Marion that she must
seek another home; and for this purpose she one day waited upon her in
her room. As tenderly and as delicately as possible did she approach
the subject. A word or two only had she said, when Mrs. Marion, with
tears upon her face, replied,--
"Pardon me that I have so long remained a burden upon you. Had I known
where to go, or what to do, I would not have added my weight to the
heavy ones you have had to bear. Daily have I lived in hope that my
husband would return. But my heart is sick with hope deferred. It is
time now that I began the work of self-dependence."
"Where can you go?" asked Mrs. Darlington.
"I know not," sadly returned Mrs. Marion. "My only relative is a poor
aunt, with scarcely the ability to support herself. But I will see her
to-day. Perhaps she can advise me what to do."
When Mrs. Marion returned from this visit to her aunt, she looked very
sad. Mrs. Darlington was in the passage as she came in; but she passed
her without speaking, and hurried up to her chamber. Neither at tea
time on that evening nor at breakfast time on the next morning did she
appear, though food for herself and children was sent to her room.
Deeply did Mrs. Darlington and her daughters suffer on account of the
step they were compelled to take, but stern necessity left them no
alternative. During the day, Mrs. Marion went out again for an hour or
two, and when she came back she announced that she would leave on the
next day. She looked even sadder than before. Some inquiries as to
where she was going were made, but she evaded them. On the day
following, a carriage came for her, and she parted with her kind
friends, uttering the warmest expressions of gratitude.
"I have turned her from the house!" said Mrs. Darlington, in a tone of
deep regret, as she closed the door upon the poor creature. "How would
I like my own child treated thus?"
For the rest of the day she was so unhappy, owing to this circumstance,
that she could scarcely attend to any thing.
"Do you know where Mrs. Marion went when she left our house?" said
Edith to her mother, about two weeks afterwards. There was a troubled
look in Edith's face as she asked this question.
"No. Where is she?"
"At Blockley."
"What!"
"In the Alms-house!"
"Edith!"
"It is too true. I have just learned that when she left here, it was to
take up her abode among paupers. She had no other home."
Mrs. Darlington clasped her hands together, and was about giving
expression to her feelings, when a domestic came in and said that Mr.
Ellis was in the parlour, and wished to see her immediately.
"Where is Miriam?" asked the brother, in a quick voice, the moment Mrs.
Darlington entered the parlour, where he awaited her.
"She's in her room, I believe. Why do you ask?"
"Are you certain? Go up, Edith, quickly, and see."
The manner of Mr. Ellis was so excited that Edith did not pause to hear
more, but flew up stairs. In a few moments she returned, saying that
her sister was not there, and that, moreover, on looking into her
drawers, she found them nearly empty.
"Then it was her!" exclaimed Mr. Ellis.
"Where is she? Where did you see her?" eagerly asked both mother and
sister, their faces becoming as pale as ashes.
"I saw her in a carriage with a notorious gambler and scoundrel named
Burton. There was a trunk on behind, and they were driving towards the
wharf. It is ten minutes before the boat starts for New York, and I may
save her yet!"
And, with these words, Mr. Ellis turned abruptly away, and hurried from
the house. So paralyzed were both Mrs. Darlington and Edith by this
dreadful announcement, that neither of them had for a time the power of
utterance. Then both, as by a common impulse, arose and went up to the
chamber where Miriam slept. Almost the first thing that met the eyes of
Mrs. Darlington was a letter, partly concealed by a book on the
mantel-piece. It was addressed to her. On breaking the seal, she read--
"MY DEAR, DEAR MOTHER: I shall be away from you only a little while;
and, when I return, I will come with relief for all your present
troubles. Do not blame me, dear mother! What I have done is for your
sake. It almost broke my heart to see you so pressed down and
miserable. And, then, there was no light ahead. Mr. Burton, who has
great wealth, offered me his hand. Only on condition of a handsome
settlement upon you would I accept of it. Forgive me that I have acted
without consultation. I deemed it best. In a little while, I will be
back to throw myself into your arms, and then to lift you out of your
many troubles. How purely and tenderly I love you, mother, dear mother!
I need not say. It is from this love that I am now acting. Take
courage, mother. Be comforted. We shall yet be happy. Farewell, for a
little while. In a few days I will be with you again.
"MIRIAM."
As Mrs. Darlington read the last sentence of this letter, Henry, her
son, who had not been home since he went out at breakfast-time, came
hurriedly into the room, and, in an excited manner, said--
"Mother, I want ten dollars!"
The face of the young man was flushed, and his eyes unsteady. It was
plain, at a glance, that he had been drinking.
Mrs. Darlington looked at him for a moment, and then, before Edith had
seen the contents of Miriam's letter, placed it in his hands.
"What does this mean?" he exclaimed, after running his eyes over it
hurriedly. "Miriam gone off with that Burton!"
The letter dropped upon the floor, and Henry clasped his hands together
with a gesture of pain.
"Who is Mr. Burton? What do you know of him?" asked Edith.
"I know him to be a man of the vilest character, and a gambler into the
bargain! Rich! Gracious heaven!"
And the young man struck his hands against his forehead, and glanced
wildly from his pale-faced mother to his paler sister.
"And you knew the character of this man, Henry!" said Mrs. Darlington.
There was a smiting rebuke in her tone. "You knew him, and did not make
the first effort to protect your young, confiding, devoted sister!
Henry Darlington, the blood of her murdered happiness will never be
washed from the skirts of your garments!"
"Mother! mother!" exclaimed the young man, putting up his hands to
enforce the deprecation in his voice, "do not speak so, or I will go
beside myself! But where is she? When did she go? I will fly in
pursuit. It may not yet be too late."
"Your Uncle Hiram saw her in a carriage with Mr. Burton, on their way,
as he supposed, to the steamboat landing. He has gone to intercept
them, if possible."
Henry drew his watch from his pocket, and, as he glanced at the time,
sank into a chair, murmuring, in a low voice of anguish--
"It is too late!"