Among many vague threats, there was one pretty definite menace which had
encountered Hope from various quarters of late. By whose agency, and by
what means, he did not know, but he apprehended a design to supplant him
in his practice. There was something more meant than that Mr Foster
from Blickley appeared from time to time in the village. Hope imagined
that there was a looking forward to somebody else, who was to cure all
maladies as soon as they appeared, and keep death at a distance from
Deerbrook. It seemed to be among the poor people chiefly that such an
expectation prevailed. Philip was sure that Mr Rowland knew nothing of
it, nor Mrs Enderby. Mr Grey, when spoken to, did not believe it, but
would quietly and discreetly inquire. Mrs Grey was sure that the
Deerbrook people would not venture to discountenance altogether any one
who had married into their connection so decidedly. Her young folks
were to hear nothing of the matter, as it would not do to propagate an
idea which might bring about its own accomplishment.
At the almshouses to-day, the threat had been spoken plainly enough; and
Hope had found his visit there a very unpleasant one. It had been
wholly disagreeable. When within a mile and a half of the houses, a
stone had been thrown at him from behind a hedge. It narrowly missed
him. A little further on, there was another, from the opposite side of
the road. This indication was not to be mistaken. Hope leaped his
horse over a gate, and rode about the field, to discover who had
attacked him. For some time he could see no one; but, on looking more
closely to the fence, he saw signs in one part that hedging was going
on. As he approached the spot, a labourer rose up from the ditch, and
was suddenly very busy at his work. He looked stupid, and denied having
thrown any stones, but admitted that there was nobody else in the field
that he knew of. Further on, more stones were thrown: it was evidently
a conspiracy; but Hope could find no one to call to account for it, but
an old woman in one case, and two boys in another.--As he rode up to the
almshouses, the aged inmates came out to their doors, or looked from
their fanciful Gothic windows, with every indication of displeasure in
their faces and manner. The old women shook their heads at him, and
some their fists; the old men shook their sticks at him. He stopped to
speak to one man of eighty-three, who was sitting in the sun at his
door; but he could get no answer out of him, nothing but growls about
the doctor being a pretty doctor not to have mended his patient's
eye-sight yet. Not a bit better could he see now than he could a year
ago, with all the doctoring he had had: and now the gentleman would not
try anything more! A pretty doctor, indeed! But it would not be long
before there would be another who would cure poor people's eyes as if
they were rich: and poor people's eyes were as precious to them as rich
people's.--He next went into a house where an aged woman was confined to
bed with rheumatism; but her gossips stopped him in the middle of the
room, and would not let him approach her, for fear he should be her
death. As she had been lying awake the night before, she had heard her
deceased husband's shoes dance of their own accord in the closet; and
this was a sign that something was going to happen to somebody. She
thought of the doctor at the time, and prayed that he might be kept from
coming near her; for she knew he would be the death of her, somehow, as
he had been of other folks. So Hope was obliged to leave her and her
rheumatism to the gossips. The particular object of his visit to the
place to-day, however, was a little girl, a grandchild of one of the
pensioners, admitted by special favour into the establishment. This
girl had small-pox, and her case was a severe one. Hope was admitted
with unwillingness even to her, and was obliged to assume his ultimate
degree of peremptoriness of manner with her nurses. He found her
muffled up about the head with flannel, and with a slice of fat bacon,
folded in flannel, tied about her throat,--a means considered a specific
for small-pox in some regions. The discarding of the flannel and bacon,
of course, caused great offence; and there was but too much reason to
fear that all his directions as to the management of the girl would be
observed by contraries, the moment his back was turned. He had long ago
found explanation and argument to be useless. All that he could do was,
to declare authoritatively, that if his directions were not followed,
the girl would die, and her death would lie at the door of her nurses;
that, in that case, he expected some of the people about her would be
ill after her; but that if he was obeyed, he trusted she might get
through, and nobody else be the worse. Almost before he was out of the
house, another slice of fat bacon was cut, and the flannels put to the
fire to heat again.
Hope mounted his horse to depart, just at the hour when the labourers
were at their dinners in all the cottages around. They poured out to
stare at him, some shouting that they should not have him long to look
at, as they would get a better doctor soon. Some sent their dogs
yelping at his horse's heels, and others vented wrath or jokes about
churchyards. Soon after he had left the noise behind him, he met Sir
William Hunter, riding, attended by his groom. Hope stopped him, making
it his apology that Sir William might aid in saving the life of a
patient, in whom he was much interested. He told the story of the
small-pox, of the rural method of treating it with which he had to
contend, and proposed that Sir William should use his influence in
securing for the patient a fair chance of her life. Sir William
listened coolly, would certainly call at the almshouses and make
inquiry; but did not like to interfere with the notions of the people
there: made a point indeed of leaving them pretty much to their own
ways; owned that it would be a pity the girl should die, if she really
might be got through; would call, therefore, and inquire, and see
whether Lady Hunter could not send down anything from the Hall. He
smiled rather incredulously when assured that it was not anything that
could be sent down from the Hall that was wanted by the patient, but
only the use of the fresh air that was about her, and the observance of
her doctor's simple directions. Sir William next began to make his
horse fidget, and Hope took the hint.
"This has been my business with you at present," said he. "At some more
convenient time, I should be glad of a little conversation with you on
other matters connected with these almshouses."
Sir William Hunter bowed, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off, as
if life or death depended on his reaching the Hall in three minutes and
a half.
These hints of "another doctor"--"a better doctor"--"a new man"--met
Hope in other directions. Mrs Howell was once quoted as a whisperer of
the fact; and the milliner's young lady was known to have speculated, on
whether the new doctor would prove to be a single man. No one turned
away from such gossip with more indifference than Hope; but it came to
him in the form of inquiries which he was supposed best able to answer.
He now told Hester of them all; warned her of the probable advent of a
rival practitioner; and at the same time urged upon her a close economy
in the management of the house, as his funds were rapidly failing. If
his practice continued to fall off as it was now doing, he scarcely saw
how they were to keep up their present mode of living. It grieved him
extremely to have to say this to his wife in the very first year of
their marriage. He had hoped to have put larger means in her power,
from year to year; but at present he owned his way was far from being
clear. They had already descended to having no prospect at all.
For all this Hester cared little. She had never known the pinchings of
poverty, any more than the embarrassments of wealth. She could not
conceive of such a thing, as being very anxious about what they should
eat, and what they should drink, and wherewith they should be clothed;
though, if she had looked more narrowly at her own imaginations of
poverty, she would perhaps have discovered on the visionary table always
a delicate dish for her husband--in the wardrobe, always a sleek black
coat--and in his waiting-room, a clear fire in winter; while the rest of
the picture was made up of bread and vegetables, and shabby gowns for
herself, and devices to keep herself warm without burning fuel. Her
imagination was rather amused than alarmed with anticipations of this
sort of poverty. It was certainly not poverty that she dreaded. A more
serious question was, how she could bear to see her husband supplanted,
and, in the eyes of others, disgraced. This question the husband and
wife now often asked each other, and always concluded by agreeing that
time must show.
The girl at the almshouses died in a fortnight. Some pains were taken
to conceal from the doctor the time and the precise spot of her
burial-points which the doctor never thought of inquiring about, and of
which it was therefore easy to keep him in ignorance. A few of the
neighbouring cottagers agreed to watch the grave for ten nights, to save
the body from the designs of evil surgeons. One of the watchers
reported, after the seventh night, that he had plainly heard a horse
coming along the road, and that he rather thought it stopped opposite
the churchyard. He had raised himself up, and coughed aloud, and that
was no doubt the reason why nobody came: the horse must have turned back
and gone away, whoever might be with it. This put people on the watch;
and on the eighth night two men walked about the churchyard. They had
to tell that they once thought they had caught the doctor in the fact.
They had both heard a loud whistle, and had stood to see what would come
of it (they could see very well, for it had dawned some time). A person
came through the turnstile with a sack, which seemed to leave his
intentions in no doubt. They hid themselves behind two opposite trees,
and both sprang out upon him at once: but it was only the miller's boy
on his way to the mill. On the ninth and tenth nights nothing happened;
the neighbours began to feel the want of their regular sleep; and the
querulous grandmother, who seemed more angry that they meant to leave
the poor girl's body to itself now, than pleased that it had been
watched at all, was compelled to put up with assurances that doctors
were considered to wish to cut up bodies within the first ten days, if
at all, and were not apt to meddle with them afterwards.
It was full three weeks from this time when Hope was sent for to the
almshouses, after a longer interval than he had ever known to elapse
without the old folks having some complaint to make. The inmate who was
now ill was the least aged, and the least ignorant and unreasonable
person, in the establishment. He was grateful to Hope for having
restored him from a former illness; and, though now much shaken in
confidence, had enough remaining to desire extremely to see his old
friend, when he found himself ill and in pain. His neighbours wondered
at him for wishing to court destruction by putting himself again into
the hands of the suspicious doctor: but he said he could have no ease in
his mind, and was sure he should never get well till he saw the
gentleman's face again; and he engaged an acquaintance to go to
Deerbrook and summon him. This acquaintance spread the fact of his
errand along the road as he went; and therefore, though Hope took care
to choose his time, so as not to ride past the cottage-doors while the
labourers were at dinner, his visit was not more private or agreeable
than on the preceding occasion.
The first symptom of his being expected on the road was, that Sir
William Hunter, riding, as before, with his groom behind him, fell in
with Hope, evidently by design.
Sir William Hunter's visit to the almshouses had produced the effect of
making him acquainted with the discontents of the people, and had
afforded him a good opportunity of listening to their complaints of
their surgeon, without being troubled with the answers. Since the
election, he had been eager to hear whatever could be said against Hope,
whose vote, given contrary to Sir William's example and influence, was
regarded by the baronet as an unpardonable impertinence.
"So you lost your patient down there, I find," said Sir William, rudely.
"The girl slipped through your fingers, after all. However, I did my
duty by you. I told the people they ought to allow you a fair chance."
"I requested your interference on the girl's account, and not on my
own," said Hope. "But as you allude to my position among these people,
you will allow me to ask, as I have for some time intended, whether you
are aware of the treatment to which I am subjected, in your
neighbourhood, and among your dependants?"
"I find you are not very popular hereabouts, indeed, sir," replied the
baronet, with a half-smile, which was immediately reflected in the face
of the groom.
"With your leave, we will have our conversation to ourselves," said
Hope.
The baronet directed his groom to ride on slowly. Hope continued:
"The extreme ignorance of the country people has caused some absurd
stories against me to be circulated and believed. If those who are not
in this state of extreme ignorance will do me justice, and give me, as
you say, a fair chance, I have no fear but that I shall live down
calumnies, and, by perseverance in my professional duty, recover the
station I lately held here. This justice, this fair chance, I claim,
Sir William, from all who have the intelligence to understand the case,
and rightly observe my conduct. I have done my best in the service of
these pensioners of yours; and excuse my saying that I must be protected
in the discharge of my duty."
"Ay, there's the thing, Mr Hope. That can't be done, you see. If the
people do not like you, why then the only thing is for you to stay
away."
"Then what is to become of the sick?"
"Ay, there's the thing, Mr Hope. If they do not like one, you see, why
then they must try another. That is what we have been thinking. Now,
if you take my advice, you will not go forward to-day. You will repent
it if you do, depend upon it. They do not like you, Mr Hope."
"I need no convincing of that. You do not seem disposed to stir, Sir
William, to improve the state of things; so I will go and try what I can
do by myself."
"I advise you not, sir.--Mr Hope!" shouted Sir William, as Hope rode
rapidly forward, "take care what you are about. They do not want to see
you again. The consequences may be serious."
"And this man is a magistrate, and he fancies himself my patron!"
thought Hope, as he rode on. "He wants me to throw up the appointment;
but I will not, till I see that the poor old creatures can be consigned
to care as good as my own. If he chooses to dismiss me, he may, though
we can ill afford the loss just now."
For one moment he had thought of turning back, as Sir William's caution
had seemed to foretell some personal risk in proceeding; but the
remembrance of Hester's parting look inspired him afresh. Instead of
the querulous anxiety which had formerly harassed him from its
groundlessness and apparent selfishness, it was now an anxiety worthy of
the occasion that flushed her cheek. So far from entreating him to
remain with her, she had bidden him go where his duty led him. She had
calculated the probable length of his absence, and the watch was laid on
the table as formerly: but she had used the utmost expedition in sewing
on the ring of his umbrella, and had kissed her hand to him from the
window with a smile. He would not return to her without having fully
discharged his errand. "She might be a soldier's or sailor's wife,
after all," thought he.
The hours of his absence were indeed very anxious ones to the family at
home. For nearly two hours, the sisters amused themselves and one
another as well as they could: but it was a great relief when Philip
came in. He would not believe anything they said, however, about their
reasons for fear. It was nonsense--it was Deerbrook talk. What harm
could a dozen old men and women, at almost a hundred years apiece, do to
Hope?--and the country people, the labourers round, they had their own
business to attend to: they would just swear an oath at him, and let him
pass; and if they ventured to lay a finger on his bridle, Hope knew how
to use his whip. He would come home, and get his dinner, and be very
dull, they would see, from having nothing to tell.--Before Philip had
finished his picture of the dull dining they might expect, Morris
entered, and shut the door before she came forward to the table and
spoke. She said she did not like to make mysteries, out of fear of
frightening people; and she hoped there would be nothing to be really
afraid of now: but if Mr Enderby thought he could contrive to meet her
master out on the road, and get him to leave his horse somewhere, and
come walking home by Turnstile Lane, she thought it would be best, and
save some bad language, at least. Charles had brought in word that
people--angry people--were gathering at the other end of the street, and
her master could quite disappoint them by coming home on foot the back
way.--How many angry people were there!--and what sort of people?--They
were mostly countrymen out of the places round--more of those than of
Deerbrook folks. There were a good many of them--so many as nearly to
block up the street at one part. If the ladies would step up into the
boy's attic, they would see something of what was going on, from the
little window there, without being seen.
Philip snatched his hat, and said he would soon bring them news. He
hoped they would go up to the attic, and amuse themselves with the show:
for a mere show it would end in being, he was confident. He observed,
however, that it would be as well to keep Charles at home, in case, as
was possible, of a messenger being wanted. He himself would soon be
back.
Charles was called up into the drawing-room, and questioned. Never
before having been of so much importance, he was very grand in his
statements, and made the most of all he had to say. Still, however, it
was a story which no telling could have made other than an unpleasant
one. Some of the people who had come in from the country had
pitchforks. Two or three of the shopkeepers had put up their shutters.
Many strangers were in the churchyard, peeping about the new graves: and
others had set scouts on the road, to give notice when master was
coming. Mrs Plumstead was very busy scolding the people all round; but
it did not do any good, for they only laughed at her.
"You may go, Charles; but do not set foot out of the house till you are
bid," said Hester, when she found the boy had told all he knew, and
perhaps something more. Morris left the room with him, in order to keep
her eye upon him.
"Oh, Margaret, this is very terrible!" said Hester.
"Most disagreeable. We must allow something for Charles's way of
telling the story. But yet--is there anything we can do, Hester?"
"Mr Grey will surely be here, presently. Do not you think so?"
"Either he or Mr Rowland, no doubt."
"Dr Levitt is a magistrate: but this is Saturday, and he is so deep in
his sermon, he could not be made to understand and believe till it would
be too late.--Do you go up to the attic, Margaret, and I will keep the
hall door. I shall hear his horse sooner than any one, and I shall
stand ready to open to him in an instant. Hark now!"
It was only the boy with the post-bags, trotting slowly to Mrs
Plumstead's, amusing himself by the way with observations on the unusual
animation of Deerbrook.
"It is too soon yet, by half an hour," said Margaret. "He cannot
possibly be here for this half-hour, I think. Do not wear yourself out
with standing in the hall so long. I must just say one thing, love, I
fear all kinds of danger less for Edward than for almost any one else in
the world: he does always what is most simple and right; and I think he
could melt anybody's heart if he tried."
"Thank you," said Hester, gratefully. "I agree and trust with you: but
what hearts have these people? or, how can you get at them, through such
heads? But yet he will triumph, I feel."
When Margaret went up-stairs to the attic window, Hester moved a chair
into the hall, softly opened the window a little, to facilitate her
hearing whatever passed outside, and took her seat by it, listening
intently. There was soon but too much to listen to. Shuffling feet
multiplied about the door; and some of the grumbling voices seemed to
come from men who had stationed themselves on the steps. Hester rose,
and, with the utmost care to avoid noise, put up the chain of the house
door. While she was doing this, Morris came from the kitchen, for the
same purpose. She feared there was an intention to surround the house:
she wished her master would keep away, for a few hours at least; she
could not think where all the gentlemen of the place were, that they did
not come and see after her young ladies. Before the words were uttered,
there was a loud rap at the door. Morris made her mistress keep back,
while she found out who it was, before letting down the chain. Hester
knew it was not her husband's knock; and it turned out to be Mr Grey's.
Margaret came flying down, and they all exclaimed how glad they were to
see him.
"I wish I could do you any good," said he; "but this is really a sad
business, my dears."
"Have you heard anything, sir?"
"Nothing about your husband. Enderby bade me tell you that he is gone
out to meet him, and to stir up Sir William Hunter, who may be said to
be the cause of all this, inasmuch as he never attempted to stop the
discontent when he might. But that unlucky vote, my dear, that was much
to be deplored."
"No use casting that up now, surely," observed Morris.
"Yes, Morris, there is," said her mistress; "it gives me an opportunity
of saying that I glory in the vote; and I would have my husband give it
again to-day, if he had to pass through yonder crowd to go up to the
poll."
"My dear," remonstrated Mr Grey, "be prudent. Do not urge your husband
on into danger: he has quite enthusiasm enough without; and you see what
comes of it.--But I am here to say that my wife hopes you and Margaret
will retire to our house, if you can get round without bringing any of
these troublesome people with you. We think you might slip out from the
surgery, and along the lane, and through the Rowlands' garden door, and
over the hedge which they tell me you managed to climb one day lately
for pleasure. By this way, you might reach our house without any one
being the wiser."
"On no account whatever," said Hester. "I shall not leave home, under
any circumstances."
"You are very kind," said Margaret; "but we are expecting my brother
every moment."
"But he will follow you by the same road."
Both wife and sister were sure he would do no such thing. They thought
the kindest thing Mr Grey could do would be to go out the back way, and
see that the constable was kept up to his duty. He promised to do so;
and that he would speak to Dr Levitt, to have some of Grey and Rowlands
men sworn in as special constables, if such a measure should appear to
be desirable.
"I do not know how to believe all this now," said Margaret; "it seems so
causeless and ridiculous! In Birmingham we could never have given
credit to the story of such a riot about nothing."
Morris was not sure of this. In large towns there were riots sometimes
for very small matters, or on account of entire mistakes. She had
always heard that one of the worst things about living in a village is,
that when the people once get a wrong idea into their heads, there is no
getting it out again; and that they will even be violent upon it against
all reason; but such things she knew to happen occasionally in towns.
Another knock. It was Mr Rowland, and Hester's heart turned sick at
there being no news of her husband. Mr Rowland had every expectation,
of course, that Mr Hope would be quite safe, and that this would turn
out a disturbance of very slight consequence: but he would just ask
whether it would not be advisable to close the window-shutters. If
stones should find their way into the parlours, it might be disagreeable
to the ladies.--There was no doubt of that: but would not closing the
shutters be a hint to the people outside to throw stones?--Well, perhaps
so. He only thought he would offer the suggestion, and see if he could
be of any service to the ladies.
"Morris, go up to the attic and watch; and Margaret, do you stay here.
Yes, Mr Rowland," said Hester, fixing her glorious eyes full on him;
"you can be of service to us, if my husband outlives this day. You
ought to pray that he may; for if not, it is your wife who has murdered
him."
Mr Rowland turned as pale as ashes.
"We know well that you have no share in all this injury: we believe that
you respect my husband, and have friendly feelings towards us all. I
will spare you what I might say--what Mrs Rowland should sink to the
earth to hear, if she were standing where you stand. I look upon you as
no enemy--"
"You do me only justice," said Mr Rowland, leaning upon the chair which
Hester had brought for herself.
"I wish to do you justice; and therefore I warn you that if you do not
procure complete protection for my husband--not only for this day--but
for the future;--if you do not cause your wife to retract her
slanders--"
"Stop, Mrs Hope! this is going too far," said Mr Rowland, drawing
himself up, and putting on an air of offended dignity.
"It is not going too far. You cannot, you dare not, pretend to be
offended with what I say, when you know that my noble husband has been
injured in his character and his prospects, attacked in his domestic
peace, and now exposed to peril of his life, by the falsehoods your wife
has told. I tell you that we do not impute her crimes to you. If this
is justice, you will prove it by doing your full duty to my husband. If
you decline any part of this duty--if you countenance her slanders--if
you shrink from my husband's side in whatever we may have to go
through--if you do not either compel your wife to do us right, or do it
yourself in opposition to her--you are her partner in guilt, as well as
in life and lot."
"Consider what a situation you place me in!--But what would you have me
do?"
"I would have you see that every false charge she has brought is
retracted--every vile insinuation recanted. You must make her say
everywhere that my husband has not stolen dead bodies; that he is not a
plotter against the peace and order of society; that he has not poisoned
a child by mistake, or cut off a sound limb for the sake of practice and
amusement. Your wife has said these things, and you know it; and you
must make her contradict them all."
"Consider what a situation you place me in!" said Mr Rowland again.
"Be generous, Hester!" said Margaret.
"Do not trample on a wretched man!" cried Mr Rowland, covering his face
with his hands.
"`Consider!' `Be generous!'" exclaimed Hester in a softened tone. "I
might well say, Consider what a situation my husband is placed in! and
that I must see justice done to him before I can be generous to others;
but I have such a husband that I can afford to spare the wretched, and
be generous to the humbled. Go now and do _your_ duty by us: and the
next time you hear your wife say that we do not love and are not happy,
tell her that if we forbear to crush her, it is because we are too
strong for her--too strong in heart, however weak in fortunes:--because
we are strong in a peace which she cannot poison, and a love which she
will never understand."
Even at a moment like this, and while feeling that she could not have
said the things that Hester said, Margaret's eyes swam in tears of joy.
Here was her sister, in a moment of that high excitement when nothing
but truth ventures upon utterance, acknowledging herself blessed in
peace which could not be poisoned, and love which the vile could not
understand. The day, whatever might be its events, was worth enduring
for this.
Mr Rowland walked once or twice up and down the hall, wiped his brows,
and then, evidently unable to endure Hester's presence, said he would
let himself out, and there await Mr Hope's arrival, or anything else
that might occur.
Oh! would he ever come? It seemed to Hester like a week since she had
given him his umbrella, and seen him ride away.
Hark! Surely this must be--it certainly was his horse this time. Yes--
there was Morris calling from the stairs that her master was fighting
his way down the street! There was Charles giving notice that the crowd
was running round from the back to the front of the house! There was
the noise among the people outside, the groaning, the cries!
"Now, ma'am!" said Morris, breathless with the haste she had made down
stairs. Morris supposed her mistress would softly let down the chain,
open the door just wide enough for Hope to slip in, and shut, bolt, and
chain it again. This was what Hester had intended; but her mood was
changed. She bade the servants all step out of sight, and then threw
the door wide open, going forth herself upon the steps. The people had
closed round Hope's horse; but Philip was pushing his in between the mob
and their object, and riding round and round him with a sort of
ludicrous gravity, which lowered the tone of the whole affair to
Margaret's mind, and gave her great relief. Mr Rowland was shaking
hands with Hope with one hand, and holding the bridle of the uneasy
horse with the other. Hope himself was bespattered with mud from head
to foot, and his umbrella was broken to pieces. He nodded cheerfully to
Hester when she threw open the door. When she held out her hand to him
with a smile as he ascended the steps, the noise of the crowd was
suddenly hushed. They understood rather more of what they saw than of
anything that could be said to them. They allowed Charles to come out,
and lead the horse away round the corner to the stable. They stood
stock-still, gaping and staring, while Hope invited Mr Rowland in, and
Mr Rowland declined entering; while that gentleman shook hands with the
ladies, spoke with Mr Enderby, mounted Mr Enderby's horse, and rode
off. They saw Philip turn slowly into the house with the family party,
and the door closed, before they thought of giving another groan.
"Well, love!" said Hester, looking anxiously at her husband.
"You made good battle," said Philip.
"Yes, I had a pretty hard fight of it, from the toll-bar hither," said
Hope, stretching vigorously. "They wrenched my whip out of my hand--
five hands to one; but then I had my umbrella. I broke it to pieces
with rapping their knuckles."
"Which are as hard as their pates," observed Philip. "What are we to do
next?"
"If they do not disperse presently, I will go and speak to them; but I
dare say they have had enough of the show for to-day: Mrs Plumstead
must have satisfied them with oratory. That poor woman's face and voice
will haunt me when I have forgotten all the rest. One had almost rather
have her against one, than that such screaming should be on one's
behalf. Now, my love, how has the morning gone with you?"
"Very pleasantly, I would answer for it from her looks," said Philip.
And Hester's face was certainly full of the beauty of happiness.
"Thank God, the morning is over! That is all I have to say about it,"
replied she.
"Surely those people outside are growing more noisy!" observed Margaret.
"I must change my clothes, in case of its being necessary to speak to
them," said Hope. "I look too like a victim at present."
While he and Hester were out of the room, Philip told Margaret how her
brother had been treated at the almshouses. He had narrowly escaped
being pulled from his horse and thrown into the pond. He had been
followed half-way to Deerbrook by a crowd, throwing stones and
shrieking; and just when he had got beyond their reach, he had met
Philip, and learned that he had the same thing to go through, at the
other extremity of his journey. Finding that both his doors were
surrounded, he had judged it best to make for the front, coming home as
nearly as possible in his usual manner. He had kept his temper
admirably, joking with his detainers, while dealing his blows upon their
hands.
"Where will all this end?" cried Margaret.
"With some going to dinner, and others to supper, I imagine," replied
Philip, stepping to the window. "From what I see, that seems likely to
be the upshot; for here is Sir William Hunter talking to the people. I
had rather he should do it than Hope; and, Margaret, I had rather set my
mischievous sister to do it than either. This uproar is all of her
making, I am afraid."
"Hester has been telling Mr Rowland so, this morning."
"I am glad of it. He must help me to work upon her fears, if there is
nothing better left to operate upon."
"You will not succeed," said Margaret. "Your sister is as strong a
heroine in one direction as mine is in another."
"She shall yield, however. She may be thankful that she is not here
to-day. If she was, I would have her out upon the steps, and make her
retract everything; and if she should not be able to speak, I would
stand by her and say it for her."
"Oh, Philip! what a horrible idea!"
"Not half so horrible as the mischief she has done. Why, Margaret, if
you were one-tenth part as guilty as Priscilla is, I should require you
to make reparation."
"Indeed, I hope you would: or rather, that--"
"But do not let us conjure up such dreadful images, my Margaret. You
never wronged any one, and you never will."
"Edward never did, I am sure," said Margaret.
"Not even by poisoning children, nor cutting off limbs for sport? Are
you quite sure, love? What is Sir William doing here, with only his
groom? He and the people look in high good-humour with each other, with
all this shaking of hands, and nodding and laughing. I cannot conceive
what he can be saying to them, for there are not three faces among the
whole array that look as if they belonged to rational creatures."
"Never mind," said Margaret. "If what he says sends them away, I care
for nothing else about it."
"Oh, but I do. One would like to be favoured with a specimen of this
kind of rural oratory. I ought to benefit by all the oratory that comes
in my way, you know: so I shall just open the window an inch or two, now
he is drawing hitherward, and take a lesson."
It seemed as if Sir William Hunter desired that his powers of persuasion
should be expended on none but the immediate objects of them: for
whatever he said was spoken as he bent from his horse, and with the air
of a mystery. Many a plump red face was thrust close up to his--many a
pair of round staring eyes was puckered up with mirth as he spoke: the
teamster in his olive-coloured smock, the hedger in his shirt-sleeves,
and the little bumpkins who had snatched a holiday from scaring the
crows, all seemed, by their delight, to be capable of entering into the
baronet's method of argumentation. All this stimulated Philip's
curiosity to learn what the speechifying tended to. He could catch only
a few words, and those were about "a new man,"--"teach him to take
himself off,"--"all bad things come to an end,"--"new state of things,
soon." Philip was afraid there was treachery here. Margaret had no
other expectation from the man--the tyrannical politician, who bore a
grudge against a neighbour for having used his constitutional liberty
according to his conscience.
Some spectacle now drew the attention of the crowd another way. It was
Lady Hunter, in her chariot and greys, statelily pacing through the
village. She had heard that there was some commotion in Deerbrook; and,
as sights are rare in the country, she thought she would venture to come
to the village to shop, rather than wait for Sir William's account of
the affair in the evening, over their wine and oranges, and before he
dropped off into his nap. She rightly confided in the people, that they
would respect her chariot and greys, and allow her to pass amidst them
in safety and honour. She had never seen a person mobbed. Here was a
good opportunity. It was even possible that she might catch a glimpse
of the ladies in their terrors. At all events, she should be a great
person, and see and hear a great deal: so she would go. Orders were
given that she should be driven quickly up to the milestone beyond the
toll-bar, and then very slowly through Deerbrook to Mrs Howell's. Her
servants were prompt, for they, too, longed to see what was going
forward; and thus they arrived, finding a nice little mob ready-made to
their expectations, and no cause of regret but that they arrived too
late to see Mr Hope get home. There were no ladies in terror within
sight: but then there was the affecting spectacle of Sir William's
popularity. In full view of all the mob, Lady Hunter put a corner of
her embroidered handkerchief to each eye, on witnessing the affection of
his neighbours to her husband, shown by the final shaking of hands which
was now gone through. Sir William then rode slowly up to the
carriage-door, followed by his groom, who touched his hat. Orders were
given to drive on; and then Lady Hunter's servants touched their hats.
The carriage resumed its slow motion, and Sir William rode beside it,
his hand on the door, and his countenance solemn as if he was on the
bench, instead of on horseback. The great blessing of the arrangement
was that everybody followed. Lady Hunter having come to see the mob,
the mob now, in return, went to see Lady Hunter: and while they were
cherishing their mutual interest, the family in the corner-house were
left in peace to prosecute their dinners. Philip threw up the window
which looked into the garden, and then ran down to bring Margaret some
flowers to refresh her senses after the hurry of the morning. Margaret
let down the chain of the hall door; and Morris laid the cloth, as she
had sent Charles to sweep down the steps and pavement before the house,
that all things might wear as much as possible their usual appearance.
Hester ordered up a bottle of her husband's best ale, and the servants
went about with something of the air peculiar to a day of frolic.
"Dear heart! Lady Hunter! Can it be your ladyship?" exclaimed Mrs
Howell, venturing to show her face at the door of her darkened shop, and
to make free entrance for her most exalted customer.
"Good heavens! your ladyship! Who would have thought of seeing your
ladyship here on such a day?" cried Miss Miskin.
"Where's Bob, Miss Miskin? Do, Miss Miskin, send Bob to take down the
shutters:--that is, if your ladyship thinks that Sir William would
recommend it. If Sir William thinks it safe,--that is my criterion."
"I hope we are all safe, now, Mrs Howell," replied the lady. "Sir
William's popularity is a most fortunate circumstance for us all, and
for the place at large."
"Oh dear, your ladyship! what should we be, not to estimate Sir William?
We have our faults, like other people: but really, if we did not know
how to value Sir William--"
"Thank Heaven!" said Miss Miskin, "we have not fallen so low as that.
Now your ladyship can see a little of our goings on--now the shutters
are down: but, dear heart! your ladyship would not have wondered at our
putting them up. I am sure I thought for my part, that that middle
shutter never would have gone up. It stuck, your ladyship--"
"Oh!" cried Mrs Howell, putting her hands before her face, as if the
recollection was even now too much for her, "the middle shutter stuck--
Bob had got it awry, and jammed it between the other two, and there,
nothing that Bob could do would move it! And there we heard the noise
at a distance--the cries, your ladyship--and the shutter would not go
up! And Miss Miskin ran out, and so did I--"
"Did you really? Well, I must say I admire your courage, Mrs Howell."
"Oh, your ladyship, in a moment of desperation, you know... If anybody
had seen Miss Miskin's face, I'm sure, as she tugged at the shutter--it
was as red... really scarlet!"
"And I'm sure so was yours, Mrs Howell, downright crimson."
"And after all," resumed Mrs Howell, "we should never have got the
shutter up, if Mr Tucker had not had the politeness to come and help
us. But we are talking all this time, and perhaps your ladyship may be
almost fainting with the fright. Would not your ladyship step into my
parlour, and have a little drop of something? Let me have the honour--a
glass of mulled port wine, or a drop of cherry-bounce. Miss Miskin--you
will oblige us--the cherry-bounce, you know."
Miss Miskin received the keys from the girdle with a smile of readiness;
but Lady Hunter declined refreshment. She explained that she felt more
collected than she might otherwise have done, from her not having been
taken by surprise. She had been partly aware, before she left the Hall,
of what she should have to encounter.
"Dear heart! what courage!"
"Goodness! how brave!"
"I could not be satisfied to remain safe at the Hall, you know, when I
did not know what might be happening to Sir William; so I ordered the
carriage, and came. It was a very anxious ride, I assure you, Mrs
Howell. But I found, when I got here, that I need not have been under
any alarm for Sir William. He has made himself so beloved, that I
believe we have nothing to fear for him under any circumstances. But
what can we think, Mrs Howell, of those who try to create such danger?"
"What, indeed, ma'am! Any one, I'm sure, who would so much as dream of
hurting a hair of Sir William's head... As I said to Miss Miskin, when
Mr Tucker told us Sir William was come among them--`that's the
criterion,' said I."
"As it happens, Sir William is in no danger, I believe; but no thanks to
those who are at the bottom of this disturbance. It is no merit of
theirs that Sir William is so popular."
"No, indeed, your ladyship. We may thank Heaven for that, not them.
But what _is_ to be done, your ladyship? I declare it is not safe to go
on in this way. It makes one think of being burnt in one's bed." And
all the three shuddered.
"Sir William will take the right measures, you need not doubt, Mrs
Howell. Sir William looks forward--Sir William is very cautious,
though, from his intrepidity, some might doubt it. The safety of
Deerbrook may very well be left to Sir William."
"No doubt, your ladyship, no doubt! We should be really afraid to go to
our beds, if we had not Sir William to rely on, as Miss Miskin said to
me only this morning. But, dear heart! what can Sir William, or an
angel from heaven do, in some sorts of dangers? If one might ask, for
one's confidential satisfaction, what does Sir William think of this
affair of the church-door?"
Amidst shrugs and sighs, Miss Miskin drew quite near, to hear the fate
of Deerbrook revealed by Lady Hunter. But Lady Hunter did not know the
facts about the church-door, on which the inquiry was based. This only
showed how secret some people could be in their designs. There was no
saying what Lady Hunter might think of it; it really seemed as if
Deerbrook, that had had such a good character hitherto, was going to be
on a level with Popish places--a place of devastation and conflagration.
Lady Hunter looked excessively grave when she heard this; and, if
possible, graver than ever, when she was told that not only had a
lantern been found in the churchyard with a bit of candle left in the
socket, but that a piece of charred stick, full three inches long, had
been picked up close by the church-door. After hearing this, Lady
Hunter would not commit herself any further. She asked for some
hair-pins, with a dignified and melancholy air. While she was selecting
the article, she let Mrs Howell talk on about the lantern and the
stick--that no one wondered about the lantern, knowing what practices
went on in the churchyard when quiet people were asleep; but that the
charred stick was too alarming: only that, to be sure, anybody might be
aware that those who would go into churchyards for one bad purpose would
be ready enough for another; and that Heaven only knew how long the
churches of the land would be safe while Lowrys were sent to Parliament,
and those that sent them there were all abroad. Lady Hunter sighed
emphatically, whispered her desire that the hair-pins should be set down
in her account, and went away, amidst deep and mournful curtseys from
those whom she left behind.
Under certain circumstances, the mind becomes so rapidly possessed of an
idea, is enabled to assimilate it so completely and speedily, that the
possessor becomes unaware how very recently the notion was received, and
deals with it as an old-established thought. This must be Lady Hunter's
excuse (for no other can be found) for speaking of the plot for burning
Deerbrook church as one of the signs of the times which had alarmed Sir
William and herself of late. She had so digested Mrs Howell's fact by
the time she had reached Mr Tucker's shop, that she thus represented
the case of the charred stick to Mr Tucker without any immediate sting
of conscience for telling a lie. She felt rather uncomfortable when Mr
Jones, the butcher, who had stepped in at Tucker's to discuss the event
of the morning, observed, with deference, but with much decision, that
he was sorry to hear Sir William was made uneasy by the circumstance of
the charred stick having been found, as it seemed to him a very simple
matter to account for. Several of the boys of the village--his own son
John for one--had lately taken to the old sport of whirling round a
lighted stick at the end of a string, to make a circle of fire in the
dark. Sometimes it happened that a spark caught the string; and then
the stick was apt to fly off, nobody knew where. It was an unsafe
sport, certainly; and as such he had forbidden it to his son John: but
there was no doubt in his mind (without defending the sport), that the
stick in question had jerked itself over the churchyard wall, and had
not been put there by anybody;--to say nothing of its having lain so far
from the door (and in the grass, too), that it was difficult to see what
could be expected to catch fire from it. Jones took up his hat from the
counter, saying, that as Sir William was close at hand, he would step
and tell him what he thought would ease his mind about this affair.
This movement laid open to Lady Hunter's mind the enormity of her fib:
and remembering that, as far as she knew, her husband had never heard of
the charred stick, she vigorously interfered to keep Mr Jones where he
was, averring that Sir William had rather hear the explanation from her
than from any person actually resident in Deerbrook. He had his
reasons, and she must insist. Mr Jones bowed; her alarm ceased, and
her compunction gradually died away.
When Mr Tucker had received his orders about the fire-guard (which
occasioned his whispering that there had never been so much need in
Deerbrook of guards against fire as now), Lady Hunter's footman came
into the shop to say that his master was in the carriage. Sir William
had sent his horse home, and would return in the chariot with his lady.
She hastened away, to prevent any chat between Sir William and Mr
Jones. But, once in the carriage, in all the glory of being surrounded
and watched by a number of gaping clowns and shouting boys, she could
not resolve to bury herself in the seclusion of the Hall, without
enjoying the bustle a little longer. She therefore suddenly discovered
that she wanted to order a morning cap at Miss Nares'; and the carriage
drew up in state before the milliner's door. Miss Flint, whose hair had
come out of curl, from her having leaned out of an upper window to watch
the commotion, now flew to the glass to pull off her curl-papers; Miss
Nares herself hastily drew out of drawers and cupboards the smart things
which had been huddled away under the alarm about the sacking of
Deerbrook; and then threw a silk handkerchief over the tray, on which
stood the elder wine and toast with which she and her assistant had been
comforting themselves after the panic of the morning. All the caps were
tried on with mysterious melancholy, but with some haste. Sir William
must not be kept long waiting: in times like these, a magistrate's
moments were valuable. Sir William was reading the newspaper, in order
to convey the impression that he considered the affair of this morning a
trifling one; but--
"These are strange times, Miss Nares."
"Very alarming, my lady. I am sure I don't know when we shall recover
from the fright. And no further back than six weeks, I had that person
in, my lady, to attend Miss Flint in a sore throat. So little were we
aware!"
"I am thankful enough it was not for a broken arm," observed Miss Flint,
in accents of devout gratitude.
"Yes, indeed, my dear," observed Miss Nares, "it would have ruined all
your prospects in life if he had done by you as he did by the Russell
Taylors' nursemaid. Have you never heard that, my lady? Well! I am
astonished! I find the story is in everybody's mouth. Mrs Russell
Taylor's nursemaid was crossing the court, with the baby in her arms,
when she tripped over the string of Master Hampden Taylor's kite. Well,
my lady, she fell; and her first thought, you know, was to save the
baby; so she let all her weight go on the other arm--the right--and, as
you may suppose, broke it. It snapped below the elbow. The gentleman
in the corner-house was sent for immediately, to set it. Now they say
(you, my lady, know all about it, of course,) that there are two bones
in that part of one's arm, below the elbow."
"There are so. Quite correct. There are two bones."
"Well, my lady, all the story depends upon that. The gentleman in
question did set the bones; but he set them across, you see,--as it
might be so." And Miss Nares arranged four pieces of whalebone on the
table in the shape of a long, narrow letter X; there could not have been
a better exemplification. "The consequence was, my lady, that the poor
girl's hand was found, when she had got well, to be turned completely
round: and, in fact, it is all but useless."
"When her hands are in her lap," observed Miss Flint, "the palm of the
right lies uppermost. Ugh!"
"When she beckons the children with that hand," observed Miss Nares,
"they think she means them to go further off. A girl who has to earn
her bread, my lady! It is in everybody's mouth, I assure you."
"What has become of the girl?" asked Lady Hunter.
"Oh, she was got rid of--sent away--to save the credit of the gentleman
in the corner-house. But these things will come out, my lady. You are
aware that the Russell Taylors have for some time been employing Mr
Foster, from Blickley?"
"Ah, true! I had heard of that."
With unrelaxed gravity, Lady Hunter returned to her equipage, carrying
with her Miss Nares's newest cap and story.
As the carriage drew near the corner-house, the driver, as if
sympathising with his lady's thoughts, made his horses go their very
slowest. Lady Hunter raised herself, and leaned forward, that she might
see what she could see in this dangerous abode. The spring evening
sunshine was streaming in at the garden window at the back of the house;
so that the party in the room was perfectly visible, in the thorough
light, to any one who could surmount the obstacle of the blind. Lady
Hunter saw four people sitting at dinner, and somebody was waiting on
them. She could scarcely have told what it was that surprised her; but
she exclaimed to Sir William--
"Good heavens! they are at dinner!"
Sir William called out angrily to the coachman to drive faster, and
asked whether he meant to keep everybody out till midnight.
The Hopes were far less moved by seeing the baronet and his lady driving
by, than the baronet and his lady were by seeing the Hopes dining. They
had not the slightest objection to the great folks from the Hall
deriving all the excitement and amusement they could from an airing
through the village; and they were happily ignorant of the most
atrocious stories about Hope which were now circulating from mouth to
mouth, all round Deerbrook.
It was not long, however, before they found that they had been indebted
to the great folks from the Hall for a certain degree of protection,
partly from the equipage having drawn off the attention of some of the
idlers, and partly from the people having been unwilling to indulge all
their anger and impertinence in the presence of a magistrate. Scarcely
half an hour had elapsed after the sound of the carriage wheels had died
away, before a face was seen surmounting the blind of the windows
towards the street. Presently another appeared, and another. Men below
were hoisting up boys, to make grimaces at the family, and see what was
going on. The shutters were closed rather earlier than usual. Philip
went out to make a survey. He and Mr Grey soon returned, to advise
that the ladies should quit the house, and that a guard should enter it.
The first proposition was refused; the second accepted. Mr Grey
carried off all the money and small valuables. Hester and Margaret
bestirred themselves to provide refreshments for Messrs. Grey and
Rowland's men, who were to be ready to act in their defence. They
scarcely knew what to expect; but they resolved to remain where Edward
was, and to fear nothing from which he did not shrink.
There was much noise round the house--a multitude of feet and of voices.
Messengers were sent off to the Hall and to Dr Levitt, who must now be
disturbed, whatever might become of his sermon. Philip brought in Mr
Rowland's men, and declared he should not leave the premises again if
the ladies would not be persuaded to go. He took up his station in the
hall, whence he thought he could learn most of what it was that the
people had intended to do, and be most ready to act as occasion might
require. No one could imagine what was designed, or whether there was
any design at all on foot. The only fact at present apparent was, that
the crowd was every moment increasing.
Hester was stooping over the cellaret in the room where they had dined,
when a tremendous crash startled her, and a stone struck down the light
which stood beside her, leaving her in total darkness. Philip came to
her in a moment. No one had thought of closing the shutters of the back
windows; and now the garden was full of people. The house was besieged
back and front; and, in ten minutes from the entrance of this first
stone, not a pane of glass was left unbroken in any of the lower
windows. Hope ran out, his spirit thoroughly roused by these insults;
and he was the first to seize and detain one of the offenders; but the
feat was rather too dangerous to bear repetition. He was recognised,
surrounded, and had some heavy blows inflicted upon him. He succeeded
in bringing off his man; but it was by the help of a sally of his
friends from the house; and having locked up his prisoner in his
dressing-room, he found it best to await the arrival of a magistrate
before he went forth again.
The surgery was the most open to attack; and this being the place where
the people expected to find the greatest number of dead bodies, their
energies were directed towards the professional part of the premises.
The pupil took flight, and left the intruders to work their pleasure.
They found no bodies, and were angry accordingly. When the crashing of
all the glass was over, the shelves and cases were torn down, and, with
the table and chairs, carried out into the street, and cast into a heap.
Other wood was brought; and it was owing to the pertinacity of the mob
in front of the house, in attacking the shutters, that the rioters met
with no opposition in the surgery. Hope, Enderby, and their assistants,
had more on their hands than they could well manage, in beating off the
assailants in front. If the shutters were destroyed, the whole
furniture of the house would go, and no protection would remain to
anybody in it. The surgery must be left to take its chance, rather than
this barrier between the women and the mob be thrown down. Whatever
offensive warfare was offered from the house was from the servants, from
the upper window. The women poured down a quick succession of pails of
water; and Charles returned, with good aim, such stones as had found
their way in. The gentlemen were little aware, for some time, that the
cries of vexation or ridicule, which were uttered now and then, were
caused by the feats of their own coadjutors overhead: and it was in
consequence of seeing Hester and Margaret laughing in the midst of their
panic that the fact became known to them.
Soon after, a bright light was visible between the crevices of the
shutters, and a prodigious shout arose outside. The bonfire was
kindled. Hester and Margaret went to the upper windows to see it; and
when the attacks upon the shutters seemed to have ceased, Enderby joined
them. There were very few faces among the crowd that were known even to
Charles, whose business it was, in his own opinion, to know everybody.
Mr Tucker was evidently only looking on from a distance. Mrs
Plumstead had been on the spot, but was gone--terrified into quietness
by the fire, into which the rioters had threatened to throw her, if she
disturbed their proceedings. She had professed to despise the idea of a
ducking in the brook; but a scorching in the fire was not to be braved;
so no more was heard of her this night. Three or four of the
frequenters of the public-house were on the spot; but though they lent a
hand to throw fresh loads of fuel on the fire, they did not take their
pipes from their mouths, nor seem to be prime movers in the riot. The
yellow blaze lighted up a hundred faces, scowling with anger or grinning
with mirth, but they were all strange--strange as the incidents of the
day. A little retired from the glare of the fire, was a figure,
revealed only when the flame shot up from being freshly fed--Sir William
Hunter on horseback with his immovable groom behind him. How long he
had been there, nobody in the house could tell; nor whether he had
attempted to do anything in behalf of peace and quiet. There he sat, as
if looking on for his amusement, and forgetting that he had any business
with the scene.
It was no wonder that Dr Levitt was not yet visible. If he should
arrive by dawn, that was all that could be expected. But where were Mr
Grey and Sydney? Where was Mr Rowland? Like some of Mr Hope's other
neighbours, who ought to have come to his aid on such an occasion, these
gentlemen were detained at home by the emotions of their families.
Sydney Grey was locked up by his tender mother as securely as Mr Hope's
prisoner; and all the boy's efforts to break the door availed only to
bruise him full as seriously as the mob would have done. His father was
detained by the tremors of his wife, the palpitations of Sophia, and the
tears and sobs of the twins, all of which began with the certainty of
the first stone having been thrown, and were by no means abated by the
sight of the reflection of the flames on the sky. Mr Grey found it
really impossible to leave his family, as he afterwards said. He
consoled himself with the thought that he had done the best he could, by
sending his men. These things were exactly what his partner said. He,
too, had done the best he could, in sending his men. He, too, found it
impossible to leave his family. In the dusk of the evening, when the
first stones had begun to fly, the carriage which was heard, in the
intervals of the crashes, to roll by, contained Mrs Rowland and her
children, and some one else. It may easily be imagined that it was made
impossible to Mr Rowland to leave his family, to go to the assistance
of the people in the corner-house.
A fresh shout soon announced some new device. A kind of procession
appeared to be advancing up the street, and some notes of rude music
were heard. A party was bringing an effigy of Mr Hope to burn on the
pile. There was the odious thing--plain enough in the light of the
fire--with the halter round its neck, a knife in the right hand, and a
phial--a real phial out of Hope's own surgery, in the left!
"This is too bad to be borne," cried Enderby; while Hope, who had come
up to see what others were seeing, laughed heartily at the
representative of himself. "This is not to be endured. Morris, quick!
Fetch me half a dozen candles!"
"Candles, sir?"
"Yes, candles. I will put this rabble to flight. I wish I had thought
of it before."
"Oh, Philip!" said Margaret, apprehensively.
"Fear nothing, Margaret. I am going to do something most eminently
safe, as you will see."
He would not let any one go with him but Charles and Morris. It was
some minutes before any effect from his absence was perceived; but, at
length, just when the effigy had been sufficiently insulted, and was
about to be cast into the flames, and Hester had begged her husband not
to laugh at it any more, a roar of anguish and terror was heard from the
crowd, which began to disperse in all directions. The ladies ventured
to lean out of the window, to see what was the cause of the uproar.
They understood it in a moment. Mr Enderby had possessed himself of
the skeleton which hung in the mahogany case in the waiting-room, had
lighted it up behind the eyes and the ribs, and was carrying it aloft
before him, approaching round the corner, and thus confronting the
effigy. The spectre moved steadily on, while the people fled. It made
straight for Sir William Hunter, who now seemed for the first time
disposed to shift his place. He did so with as much slowness and
dignity as were compatible with the urgency of the circumstances, edging
his horse further and further into the shade. When he found, however,
that the spectre continued to light its own path towards him, there was
something rather piteous in the tone of his appeal:--"I am Sir William
Hunter! I am--I am Sir William Hunter!" The spectre disregarding even
this information, there was nothing for the baronet to do but to gallop
off--his groom for once in advance of him. When they were out of sight,
the spectre turned sharp round, and encountered Dr Levitt, who was now
arriving just when every one else was departing. He started, as might
have been expected, spoke angrily to the "idle boy" whom he supposed to
be behind the case of bones, and laughed heartily when he learned who
was the perpetrator, and what the purpose of the joke. He entered
Hope's house, to learn the particulars of the outrage, and order off the
prisoner into confinement elsewhere, his ideas being too extensively
discomposed to admit of any more sermon-writing this night. Charles had
already captured the effigy, and set it up in the hall: a few more
pailsful of water extinguished the fire in the street; and in a quarter
of an hour the neighbourhood seemed to be as quiet as usual.
"Where are you to sleep after all this fatigue?" said Hope to his wife
and sister, when Dr Levitt and Philip were gone, and the men were at
their supper below. "I do not believe they have left you a room which
is not open to the night air. What a strange home to have put you in!
Who would have thought it a year ago?"
Hester smiled, and said she was never less sleepy. Morris believed that
not a pane of glass was broken in the attics, and her ladies could sleep
there, if they preferred remaining at home to stepping to Mr Grey's.
They much preferred remaining where they were: and, on examination, it
was found that Margaret's room was also entire. Hope proposed to take
possession of Charles's attic, for once; and Charles enjoyed the novelty
of having a mattress laid down for him in a corner of the upper landing.
Morris tempted the ladies and her master to refresh themselves with
tea. She piled up the fire to a Christmas height, to compensate for the
draughts which blew in from the broken windows. Hope soon grew
discontented with her plan.
"This will never do," said he, shivering. "You will all be ill: and
nobody must be ill now, for I have no medicines left."
Morris murmured a wish that the physic had been forced down the people's
throats.
"It is better where it is, Morris," said her master; "and we will
forgive these poor people; shall we not? They are lamentably ignorant,
you see."
Morris thought forgiveness was always pretty sure to come in time but it
was not very easy at the moment. She thought she could get over their
robbing her master of any amount of property; but she could not excuse
their making him ridiculous before his lady's own eyes.
"They cannot make him ridiculous, Morris," said Hester, cheerfully.
"People who are persecuted are considered great, you know, Morris," said
Margaret.
"Bravo, ladies!" cried Hope. "You keep up your own spirits, and my
complacency, bravely. But seriously, Morris," he continued, perceiving
that the vulgarity of the present affliction weighed down the good
woman's heart; "is it not true that few of our trials--none of those
which are most truly trials--seem dignified at the time? If they did,
patience would be easier than it is. The death of martyrs to their
faith is grand to look back upon; but it did not appear so to the best
of the martyrs at the time. This little trial of ours looks provoking,
and foolish, and mean, to us to-night; but whether it really is so, will
depend on how we bear it; and whatever it may bring after it, grand or
mean, all we have to do is to be good-humoured with it, Morris."
Morris curtsied low.
"And now, to your rooms," resumed Hope: "this place is growing too
chilly for you, notwithstanding Morris's capital fire."
"One thing more," said Margaret. "I am a little uneasy about Maria.
Has any one thought of her? She must be anxious about us."
"I will go this moment," said Hope. "Nay, my love, it is early yet; no
one in Deerbrook is gone to rest yet, but the children. I can be back
in ten minutes, and the street is empty."
"Let him go," said Margaret. "It will be a great kindness; and surely
there is no danger now."
Hope was gone. He did not come back in ten minutes, nor in half an
hour. Even Margaret heartily repented having urged him to leave home.
During his absence she thus repented, but no longer when he returned.
He brought news which made her hasten to dress herself for the open air,
when she was quite ready to retire to rest. It was well that her
brother had gone. Maria had been thrown down by the crowd, which had
overtaken her as she was walking homewards, and she had broken her leg.
The limb was set, the case was a simple and promising one; but she was
in pain, and Margaret must go and pass the night with her. How thankful
were they all now, that some one had thought of Maria! She had been in
extreme anxiety for them; and she would not certainly have sent for aid
before the morning. It was indeed a blessing that some one had thought
of Maria.