But when I see the fair wide brow
Half shaded by the silken hair,
That never looked so fair as now
When life and health were laughing there,
I wonder not that grief should swell
So wildly upward in the breast,
And that strong passion once rebel
That need not, cannot be suppressed.
All hands were now directed to save the small cottage belonging to the
Widow Dacre, but with very little effect, for the wind which came down
from the hills with furious blasts seemed to mock at every effort to
extinguish the fire, while it fanned the faintest spark into a flame,
and then spread it with wonderful rapidity. But it was not for the sake
of the tiny cottage, which its owner had long since vacated, they all
labored so zealously, but because it now seemed a link between the
ruined village and the dwelling which all looked upon with interest.
Romance seemed to have cast a kind of charm round the little family, to
which Mabel belonged.
Upon whose threshold had Mabel's light step been unwelcome? And who was
not ready to protect the roof that sheltered her from danger?
Now, as all eyes watched the building, it was, for the first time,
perceived, that no one stirred within; the shutters were fast closed,
and there was not the slightest sign that the general alarm had reached
it.
"Is it possible," said the stranger, turning to Clair, "that amidst all
this din and confusion they should sleep on and hear nothing?"
"I will go and try to get in," said Clair.
"And I," said the stranger, as they walked both together to the door and
rung the bell, at first gently, but more loudly as they heard no one
moving.
Presently a shuffling step was heard, and a somewhat sulky "Who's
there?" from within.
"It is I," said Clair, "open the door, for the village is on fire."
The door was immediately thrown open and old John the gardener staggered
back as he perceived the red sky, which glared above him on all sides.
"The ladies!--" he exclaimed.
"We will take care of them, only go and dress, and then come and help
us," said Clair.
John speedily availed himself of this permission, and then, with
considerable coolness, he hurried to the stable after his mistress's
Bath chair, which had not seen the light for many a month.
Meanwhile, the two gentleman hurried up stairs; they had, however,
scarcely reached the landing-place, when they heard a shout from the
outside, which made the stranger spring back down the stairs to
ascertain the cause, begging Clair to remain. The latter, accordingly,
began to search for the bed-rooms inhabited by Mrs. Lesly and her
daughter. Having hastily tapped at one, and receiving no answer, he did
not hesitate to open it. Here a night lamp was dimly burning, and, when
he looked at the heavy oak shutters, and the closely drawn curtains, and
perceived the stillness within, he no longer wondered that they slept.
This was Mrs. Lesly's room, and, on a bed at her feet, reposed the
faithful servant Betsy, and so soundly that Clair had to shake her with
some little violence before he could awaken her. Her expressions of
terror soon roused Mrs. Lesly, to whom Clair explained as much as he
thought proper, begging her to get up and allow him to take her from the
house, should it be necessary, saying he would wait for her on the
outside.
She needed no second bidding, but suffered the affrighted Betsy to
assist her to rise. Clair left the room with the intention of conveying
the same warning to Mabel, but, before he could do so, the stranger
hurried to him, and, seizing him by the hand, he wrung it wildly,
saying,
"That shout told that the back part of the house is already burning.
Will you take care of Mrs. Lesly and her maid? promise me not to leave
them till they are safe, and I hope I can manage the rest."
There was one other duty which Clair would willingly have chosen, but
there was now no time for parley, and the eager pressure of the hand,
which the stranger returned for his promise, made him no longer regret
it. But, as he leant against the wall of the passage, waiting for Mrs.
Lesly, his countenance became more and more haggard in appearance, and
his bloodless lips and heavy eyes rather spoke of mental pain than the
fatigue of bodily exertion.
But, there was not much time to think, the passage in which he waited
began to feel intolerably warm, and the air gradually thickened with
smoke.
He then called eagerly to Mrs. Lesly, and once again entering the room
where poor Betsy was sobbing with alarm, he hastily finished her
preparations, by taking up an immense cloak which lay on the floor, and
wrapping it round the poor invalid, who was coughing violently from the
exertion of dressing, he hurried her from the room, and down stairs to
the open air.
Here he was rejoiced to see the faithful gardener.
"Put missis in here," he said, dragging the chair forward, which he had
provided for her--"for I don't know which'll do her most harm, the fire
or the air."
"That's right," said Clair, placing her in it, and as he did so,
stooping down kindly, to sooth her anxiety for her children, and
covering her up from the night air, which blew chilly upon her, for she
had not left her bed for several weeks.
Hiding her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief, she turned away at once
from the terrific scene before her, and the many cherished objects of
her home, soon, perhaps, to be the spoil of the raging fire. A thousand
recollections crowded upon her mind, which was too sensitive, and too
delicately framed for the struggles of common life. The acuteness of her
feelings, added bitterness to every trial, by representing them to her
in the most touching, and even poetical light, till her heart was
entirely overcome by the sufferings she was too skilled in describing to
herself. In vain Clair endeavoured to comfort her, as he accompanied her
a little way on the road to the Manor House, when, finding his presence
of little service, he left her in the hands of her careful servant, and
hastened back to afford any assistance he could offer to the sisters.
During his absence, the stranger had not been idle; assured of Mrs.
Lesly's safety by the promise which Clair had given him; he turned to
another door, and, too impatient to summon its owner, he opened it
gently. Here, too, a lamp was burning, and the light that it spread
around, was quite sufficient for his rapid gaze. He turned to the bed
where lay the beautiful, delicately shaped child; her countenance still
wet with tears, yet serene and happy as if her dreams were not of earth.
Mabel's head lay upon the same pillow; the little hand in hers, and the
rich curls of her chestnut hair, half concealing her face; she seemed,
in her motionless slumber, like some trusting child, who knows that
watchful eyes guard her from danger--yet sorrow in many shapes, had
been, and was still around her.
He paused--the hasty call which would have wakened both, died upon his
lips; and he stood, as if entranced, and forgetful of the danger which
every moment's delay increased. He bent forward, and earnestly
contemplated the sleepers, and, as he did so, a smile passed over
Mabel's face, and she murmured something which made him listen still
more earnestly.
But, now she starts, her bosom heaves as if something troubled her.
Again, she sleeps--but only to start again--her hand unclasps, she turns
as if in pain--then, leaping to her feet--she suddenly stands before
him--yet scarcely roused from the dream which had awakened her.
Light, brighter than the moon, and more glowing than the sunshine,
streamed in upon the room, and rendered the stranger's face clearly
visible; Mabel's eyes fixed upon him with something between terror and
surprise; she tried to speak, but her lips trembled so convulsively,
that she could not utter a sound--she tried to advance, but she felt
that his eye quelled every movement; and what did that dark look mean,
with which he regarded her; and why, as it grew more dark, did Mabel's
form become more erect, while her lips curled, her cheeks flushed
crimson, and her eye also fixed on his, flashed with a fiery pride,
which but seldom showed itself upon her face. Yet, this was but for a
moment, for the stranger taking the cloak which he had brought for the
purpose, he threw it round her, and raising her almost from the ground
with the rapidity of his movements, he hurried her from the room, and
down the stairs. When they reached the garden, he loosened his hold, and
suffered the cloak, which had entirely covered her face and head, to
fall back. Mabel looked wildly round; a busy crowd was about the house;
the sickly smell of fire was in the air, and, as she gazed back, she saw
flames bursting from the lower windows of their cottage. In an instant
she had freed herself, and springing past him with a wild cry of terror
and agony, she entered the house, and through the smoke and sparks
scattered about her, she was once again by Amy's side, who was awake,
and greatly terrified; and, as Mabel threw herself upon her knees
beside her, she cried:--
"Do not leave me, Mabel dear--I shall die if you do."
"Leave you, my darling," cried Mabel, "nothing but death shall part us."
"If you had waited but a moment, I would have brought her to you," said
the stranger.
"Oh, why did you think of me first," cried Mabel.
"'Twas wrong, perhaps," said the stranger; "but it made only the
difference of a few moments. Come, my child," said he, stooping to lift
her from her couch.
"No, no," said Mabel, "you must take couch and all. Oh!" said she,
wringing her hands, "will no one come and help you?"
"I am not afraid of fire," said a gruff voice, and Martin entered; "I'll
help, but you must make haste."
"But my Mamma, where is she?" exclaimed Mabel.
"She is safe, and the two servants are with her."
"Oh then, dear Amy, let us go to them," she said; and, in a quick but
concise manner, she explained how the springs of the couch might be
altered, so as to render the carriage of it more easy.
The counterpane was then laid closely over, and a shawl placed over
Amy's face, and the stranger and Martin, carrying the couch, proceeded
carefully to leave the house--Mabel, bending over her sister, and
soothing her at every step, while she placed herself in the way of
anything which was blowing towards them, seemingly forgetful of her own
safety; but, though nothing shielded her, she passed through the fire
entirely uninjured.
Occupied as all were, each with his separate interests, few could resist
a feeling of admiration for the beautiful girl, who, in her own simple
neighbourhood, had won so much of the love of those around her.
Bending over the couch, which the stranger and Martin bore between them,
her hair blown in wild disorder about her face, which shewed a thousand
mingled feelings, as she sometimes turned, shrinking, from the terrible
scene around her, to which she had so suddenly awakened--sometimes,
looking up in strange bewilderment, but always, with out-stretched
hands, placing her unprotected figure between the loved child, and the
sparks and timbers, which were repeatedly blown across the road; she
looked like some wild and beautiful spirit of the storm, which it had no
power to harm. The uneasy motion gave the greatest anguish to poor Amy,
who, though usually so patient, uttered shriek after shriek of agony,
which pierced the hearts of those who hurried round in the vain hope of
affording assistance. At every turn they took, fresh torturing cries
broke from the little sufferer, who, agonised with pain, and terrified
at the scene around her, lost every power of self-control.
Entirely overcome by the cries, of the poor little sufferer, Mabel
entreated them to stop, and rather to lay her on the road side, than
take her further; Martin, who, though a bold, and not an over humane
man, looked pale and sick with the duty he had undertaken, readily
suggested that they might place her in the lodge, which had long been
deserted by its owner--an old woman--who had taken refuge with the
children at the Manor House.
To this the stranger consented; and, after some little difficulty, they
contrived to lay her in the old woman's room.
"It is the hardest night's work I've ever had," said Martin, as he
turned away. "I'll go and send some one to her, sir, as will do more
good than I can."
Poor Amy's shrieks had been heart-rending when they laid her down; but
shortly afterwards, they subsided into a low moaning sound.
"Though there's plenty of fire," said Martin, "I don't think there's a
candle left in all the place; but I'll find one if I can."
He then went away, and the stranger alone remained, for no one else had
followed so far but Clair, who had now gone to call his aunt.
"Can I do anything more for you?" said the stranger, in a voice
trembling with emotion.
Mabel raised her eyes, and as they met his for an instant, a warm blush
overspread her pale countenance.
"Bless you for what you have done," she murmured, despairingly.
"Water?" said Amy, opening her eyes.
Mabel turned entreatingly to the stranger, who, without another word,
left the room.
Martin soon afterwards returned with a light, and placed it on the
floor, and Mabel again entreated for water to moisten Amy's parched
lips; but it was more difficult to obtain than she imagined, for the
whole furniture of the house had been long since removed, and the empty
cupboard looked comfortless indeed.
But, in a short while, the stranger returned, and presented her with a
cup of pure water, which she eagerly gave to Amy.
"Thank you, sir," said Amy, gently, "and thank you for carrying me. Did
you mind my crying? I felt very ill, and could not help it," she looked
at him timidly. "Sir," she continued, rousing herself with an energy
which surprised him, "Mabel will soon be alone. Do you think any one
will comfort her, and take care of her?"
"May I," said he, to Mabel, suddenly moving towards them, "may I speak
to her alone?"
"Yes, yes," said Amy, eagerly, "let him speak to me."
"Her time is precious;" said Mabel, rising reluctantly, "do not keep me
from her long."
"No, I will not, but a few minutes," said the stranger, hurriedly, and
Mabel leaving the room went into the open air, and, leaning against the
door way, she tried to tranquillize her thoughts. The village was shut
out by the tall trees which surrounded the entrances to the Manor House,
and the low sighing of the wind, which was now beginning to sink, was
the only sound which met her ear, while the busy clouds, dimly lighted
by the occasional appearance of the moon, traced their way across the
heavens. There were wild thoughts in her own mind, which made her heart
beat tumultuously. With a sudden burst of anguish, she threw herself
upon her knees, and laid her forehead upon the cold earth in the
bitterness of her soul.
She only rose when she heard the stranger's step, and then, passing him
quickly, for she dared not trust herself to speak, she re-entered the
room.
Amy's cheeks were flushed, and the look of pain seemed entirely to have
passed away. Her eyes were bright, "as if gazing on visions of
ecstasy," while over her white countenance was spread a halo, at once so
childlike and so serene that Mabel stepped more softly and knelt in
silence by her side.
Amy put out her hand, and fondly stroked her cheeks and smoothed her
hair.
"You are very beautiful, Mabel dear," she said, with gentle pride, as if
she spoke to her own thoughts, "and you look more and more beautiful
because you are so good, and what pretty hair," she said, still speaking
to herself, while her sister blushed unconsciously at her praises.
"Oh, it is a dear, good Mabel," said Amy, fondly; then changing her
tone, and dropping her hands upon her bosom with simple devotion, she
said, softly--
"Sing me to sleep."
Mabel made a strong effort to overcome her emotion.
"I hear old John outside," said Amy, suddenly, though her sister could
hear nothing, "but I cannot see him," and her eyes filled with tears,
"but will you tell him to let no one else come, for I want to be alone a
little while, I feel better with you. Ah, poor mamma," she added,
thoughtfully, "but I cannot see her either, to-night."
Old John was at the door as Amy had said, and Mabel telling him to keep
any one from coming in, as Amy was going to sleep, returned to her and
then began the evening hymn. Sweetly did those beautiful lines sound,
breathed in low and trembling melody, but she had scarcely finished the
third verse when sobs stopped her utterance, she was, however, trying to
go on, but Amy laid her hand upon her lips.
"Don't go on, Mabel, dear, I shall soon hear angels' music. They are
waiting for me now, but I must go alone," she said, "and your dear voice
is the last sound I wished to hear on earth. Do not leave me," she
added, seeing her attempt to rise, "you have done all that can be done
for me, and you must not go away now."
Mabel saw indeed that it was too late to call for assistance, and she
scarcely breathed, lest a word might escape her ear.
"You have been very kind to me," murmured Amy, in faint accents, "and it
is very hard to part, but listen, listen," said she, holding up her tiny
hand; then, as if the sound were dying away, her hand fell softly down,
and all was over. A holy stillness stole over the chamber of death,
unbroken by a sound, for Mabel's anguish was too great for tears.
The old gardener had seated himself on the door step, and tears chased
each other down his weather beaten cheeks, as he listened to Mabel's low
singing, and remembered how often the voices of both had mingled in gay
and thrilling merriment, which had made his old heart dance, when he had
pretended not even to hear them.
"Ah," thought he, "let the old house burn since they that made it glad
are going or gone." But then came thoughts of the sunny garden, made
more pleasant by the cheerful faces and glad voices now hushed by death
or sorrow, his grief burst out afresh, and, burying his head in, his
knees, he gave himself up to old recollections, heedless of every thing
about him.
END OF VOL. I.
T. C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square.
Transcriber's Note
"_" surrounding a word or phrase represents the use of italics in the
original text.
Obvious typographical errors were corrected, as listed below. Other
apparent inconsistencies and errors have been retained, including a
mixture of British and American word usages. Perceptible missing or
incorrect punctuation or capitalization has been silently restored and
hyphenation has been made consistent. Period spellings, punctuation and
grammatical uses have been kept.
Page 5 and 332, "chesnut" changed to "chestnut". (Wide spreading oaks
and tall beeches, with the graceful birch and chestnut trees bending
their lower branches nearly to the green turf beneath,...)
Page 8, "of" changed to "or". (Though a little under the middle height,
there was a gentle dignity in his manner that could scarcely fail to be
noticed, or if not noticed, it was sure to be felt.)
Page 10 and 206, "recal" changed to "recall". (... we sigh to think that
childhood is gone--but no sigh will recall it.)
Page 22, "comtemplating" changed to "contemplating". (By the fire was
seated a strong hale young man, with his hands upon his knees,
contemplating it with gloomy fixedness.)
Page 23, "morniny" changed to "morning". ('_cursed is he that keepeth a
man's wages all night by him until the morning_,')
Page 23, "no" changed to "not". ("It is very hard, I allow, Martin,"
said Mr. Ware, "but the wrong done you does not excuse your sitting here
idle; have you been trying for work?")
Page 28, "therfore" changed to "therefore". (Besides, I do not much
approve of giving where it can be avoided; and, therefore, husband my
means for the scarcity of the coming winter.)
Page 50, "eommon" changed to "common". (I would not have any one
indifferent on common subjects, but too great attention to things of
this kind must be wrong.)
Page 61, "thonght" changed to "thought". (... so I thought it best to
avoid Mary Watson, as I could scarcely hope you would do her very much
good, and she might do you harm.)
The third paragraph on page 62 appears to contain speech from both Amy
and Mabel, and inconsistent use of double quotation marks. This has been
left as it appears in the original.
Page 72, "stffliy" changed to "stiffly". (Mrs. Villars was of imposing
appearance, though too bustling in her manners to be altogether
dignified, with colour a little too brilliant, and hair a little too
stiffly curled, to be quite natural.)
Page 85, "subjecttion" changed to "subjection". (I should think he was
too easily won to be kept long in subjection.)
Page 98, "seeemed" changed to "seemed". (It seemed that he had been in
the constant habit, of confiding every thing to her, and had always
found an admiring listener to his thoughts on most subjects.)
Page 99, "opprtunity" changed to "opportunity". (... he courted every
opportunity of disputing with them on the nature of their opinions.)
Page 104, "let" changed to "left". (Without another word to Mabel, he
left us, and I have never seen him since.)
Page 104, "wisper" changed to "whisper". (Amy sat upon her pillow nearly
all day, and would whisper, 'don't cry, dear Mabel.')
Page 116, extra "you," deleted. ("I meant it most kindly, I do assure
you," you," said Mrs. Lesly.)
Page 124, "Leslie" changed to "Lesly" for consistency. ("Well, dear,"
said Mrs. Lesly,...)
Page 124, "droppiing" changed to "dropping". ("My money," said Mrs.
Lesly, with unusual gravity, "has been reduced for your sake, to a very
few hundreds, a mere trifle, but my children!" exclaimed she, suddenly
dropping her pen, and clasping her hands convulsively.)
Page 127, "than" changed to "then". (... where right and wrong is
concerned; and then come second thoughts--why did she wait for them?)
Page 139, "und" changed to "and". (The gardens are very beautiful, and
every thing else in keeping.)
Page 150, "any ony one" changed to "any one". ("Well," said Miss Ware,
recovering from her slight pique, at thinking any one could succeed
where Edwin failed, "if you never use your ridicule for a worse purpose,
you will do well.")
Page 158, "siezed" changed to "seized". (Lucy Villars gladly seized the
opportunity of commencing a flirting conversation with Captain Clair,
who, being well drilled in the accomplishment of small talk, by long
practice, easily fell into a _tête-à-tête_.)
Page 163, "compostion" changed to "composition". (My dear uncle, you
should allow a prisoner to state his own case fairly--if he has not
studied Burke on the 'Sublime and Beautiful,' the 'Patriot King,' and
other models of pure English composition, you must let a poor fellow
express himself as he can, so that he speaks the truth.)
Page 164, 201 and 213, "Clare" changed to "Clair" for consistency.
(Clair bowed, and then said almost in a whisper: "Thank you, I was
wrong," and continued his narrative, after a moment's pause.)
Page 169, "n" changed to "in". (... yet, almost slothful in the attempt
to do so.)
Page 173, "hm" changed to "him". ("Oh! Lucy," cried Mabel, "how could
you be so imprudent as to go up there alone--how impertinent of him--why
did you let him take such a liberty.")
Page 187, "fee" changed to "feel". (The kindhearted very soon begin to
feel an interest in those who are thrown much with them, and, though
Lucy presented many faults to her notice, Mabel learnt to watch her with
great interest.)
Page 188, "Clari" changed to "Clair". (It soon became evident to her
that she was perfectly in earnest in her attempts to engage the
affections of Captain Clair ...)
Page 202, "answe" changed to "answer". (... which she would have fled
miles to have escaped hearing, was the only answer sentence thus given.)
Page 224, "past" changed to "passed". (Little Amy's sweet voice rings in
my ear wherever I go--such as it was when I first saw her, when she
looked up from the wild wreath she was twining, to give some kind word
to the laborers as they passed her, the morning after my coming here.)
Page 228, "forning" changed to "forming". ("Be not be too hasty in
forming your judgment," replied Clair.)
Page 235, "edying" changed to "eddying". (... and the withered leaves as
they spin round in the eddying wind, seem to call attention to
themselves, and to ask what men have been doing since they budded forth
in the gay spring, full of hope and promise to the sons of earth.)
Page 238, "highter" changed to "higher". (... if I mistake not, the
opinion you now entertain of her, arises from comparison with another
character of a higher standard.)
Page 274, "attemps" changed to "attempts". (... while her attempts to
divert the conversation, only renewed her companion's desire to obtain
an account of all she had been doing and seeing.)
Page 278, "errect" changed to "erect". (Not, now, with his head bent,
and his hands extended over the dying embers of his wood fire, but with
head erect in a comfortable corner, with the air of a man whose opinions
are respected, and whose words claim immediate attention.)
Page 286, extra "you" deleted. ("Do not talk in that way," said old
Giles, gently, "if I am content with my house, you should not make it a
cause for dispute.")
Page 290, "did'nt" changed to "didn't". (He often looked as if he'd got
some one looking over his shoulder as he didn't over relish--ha, ha!)
Page 294, "yonr" changed to "your". (If you ever feel as I did, do not
ask questions, and put yourself wrong, and then try and set yourself
right by your own judgment, as I did;)
Page 301, "repectful" changed to "respectful". (Your most devoted and
respectful ARTHUR CLAIR.)
Page 302, "altogther" changed to "altogether". (Some of their little
property she knew rested in the hands of an improvident and extravagant
aunt, and the remainder of their income would fail altogether when her
mother's pension dropped.)
Page 303, "footfal" changed to "footfall". (... she who could scarcely
hear the sound of a heavy footfall without pain, or be moved, without
the greatest agony, from the couch on which she constantly lay.)
Page 326, "wonnderful" changed to "wonderful". (... for the wind which
came down from the hills with furious blasts seemed to mock at every
effort to extinguish the fire, while it fanned the faintest spark into a
flame, and then spread it with wonderful rapidity.)
Page 331, "touehing" changed to "touching". (The acuteness of her
feelings, added bitterness to every trial, by representing them to her
in the most touching, and even poetical light,...)
Page 332, "haud" changed to "hand". (Mabel's head lay upon the same
pillow; the little hand in hers, and the rich curls of her chestnut
hair, half concealing her face;)
Page 344, "murmered" changed to "murmured". ("You have been very kind to
me," murmured Amy ...)