The family in the corner-house thought this the strangest Sunday morning
they had ever looked upon. Outside their premises, all was like a May
sabbath. The gardens sent up their fragrance into the warm, still air:
the cottage windows were open, and early roses and late hyacinths
appeared within the casements. The swallows were skimming and dipping
about the meadows; and the swans steered their majestic course along the
river, rippling its otherwise unbroken surface. The men of the village
sat on the thresholds of their doors, smoking an early pipe! and their
tidy children, the boys with hair combed straight, and the girls with
clean pinafores, came abroad; some to carry the Sunday dinner to the
baker's, and others to nurse the baby in the sunshine, or to snatch a
bit of play behind a neighbour's dwelling. The contrast within the
corner-house was strange. Morris and the boy had been up early to
gather the stones, and sweep up the fragments of glass from the floors,
to put the effigy out of sight, and efface the marks of feet in the hall
and parlours. The supper had been cleared away in the kitchen, and the
smell of spirits and tobacco got rid of: but this was all that the most
zealous servants could do. The front shutters must remain closed, and
the garden windows empty of glass. The garden itself was a mournful
spectacle,--the pretty garden, which had been the pride and pleasure of
the family all this spring; part of the wall was thrown down; the ivy
trailed on the earth. Of the shrubs, some were pulled up, and others
cut off at the roots. The beds were trodden into clay, and the grass,
so green and sunny yesterday, was now trampled black where it was not
hidden with fragments of the wood-work of the surgery, and with the
refuse of the broken glasses and spilled drugs. Hope had also risen
early. He had found his scared pupil returned, and wandering about the
ruins of his abode,--the surgery. They set to work together, to put out
of sight whatever was least seemly of the scattered contents of the
professional apartment; but, with all their pains, the garden looked
forlorn and disagreeable enough when Hester came down, shawled, to make
breakfast in the open air of the parlour, and her husband thought it
time to go and see how Maria had passed the night, and to bring Margaret
home.
Hester received from her husband and sister a favourable report of
Maria. She had slept, and Margaret had slept beside her. Maria carried
her philosophy into all the circumstances of her lot, and she had been
long used to pain and interruption of her plans. These things, and the
hurry of an accident in the street, might dismay one inexperienced in
suffering, but not her. When not kept awake by actual pain, she slept;
and when assured that her case was perfectly simple, and that there was
every probability of her being as well as usual in a few weeks, all her
anxieties were for the Hopes. No report of them could have satisfied
her so well as Mr Hope's early visit,--as his serene countenance and
cheerful voice. She saw that he was not sad at heart; and warmly as she
honoured his temper, she could hardly understand this. No wonder for
she did not know what his sufferings had previously been from other
causes, nor how vivid was his delight at the spirit in which Hester
received their present misfortunes. Margaret saw at once that all was
well at home, and made no inquiries about her sister.
"Here is a letter for you, with a magnificent seal," said Hester, as
they entered. "And here is tea as hot, I believe, as if we were still
blessed with glass windows."
The letter had just been left by Sir William Hunter's groom. It was
from the Baronet, and its contents informed Mr Hope that his attendance
would not be required at the almshouses in future, as their inmates were
placed under the medical superintendence of Mr Walcot.
"I am glad," said Hester. "No more danger and insult from that
quarter!"
"Nor funds either, my dear. It is pleasant enough to have no insult and
danger to apprehend; but what will you say to having no funds?"
"We shall see when that time comes, love. Meantime, here is breakfast,
and the sweet Sunday all before us?"
The pressure of her hand by her husband effaced all woes, present and
future.
"Who is Mr Walcot?" asked Margaret.
"Somebody from Blickley, I suppose," said Hester.
"No," replied Hope. "Mr Walcot is a surgeon, last from Cheltenham, who
settled in Deerbrook at seven o'clock yesterday evening, and who has
already swept the greater part of the practice of the place, I suspect.
He is, no doubt, the `better doctor,' `the new man,' of whom we have
heard so much of late."
Hester changed colour, and Margaret too, while Hope related the arrival
of Mrs Rowland and her party, as he had heard it from his pupil early
this morning.--What sort of man was Mr Walcot? Time must show. His
coming to settle in this manner, at such a conjuncture of circumstances,
did not look very well, Hope said; but it should be remembered that he
must necessarily be extremely prejudiced against the family in the
corner-house, if his information about Deerbrook was derived from Mrs
Rowland. He ought not to be judged till he had had time and opportunity
to learn for himself what was the real state of affairs in the place.
He must have fair play; and it was very possible that he might turn out
a man who would give others fair play.
At the next knock, Hester started, thereby showing that she was moved.
Mr Jones had called to know how the family were; and, after satisfying
himself on this point, had left a delicate sweetbread, with his
respects, and wishes that Mrs Hope might relish it after her fright.
This incident gave the little family more pleasure than Mr Walcot had
yet caused them pain. Here was sympathy,--the most acceptable offering
they could receive.
Next came a message of inquiry from Dr and Mrs Levitt, with an
intimation that they would call, if not inconvenient to the family,
after church. This was pleasant too.
While it was being agreed that a nurse must be found immediately for
Maria, and that the glazier at Blickley must have notice to send people
to mend the windows as early as possible to-morrow morning, a letter was
brought in, which looked longer, but less grand, than Sir William
Hunter's. It was from Mr Rowland.
"(Private.)
"My Dear Sir, _Sunday Morning, 7 o'clock_.
"During the greater part of an anxious night, my mind was full of the
intention of calling on you this morning, for some conversation on a
topic which must be discussed between us; but the more I dwell upon
what must be said, the more I shrink from an interview which cannot
but be extremely painful to each party; and I have at length come to
the conclusion that, for both our sakes, it is best to write what I
have to say. It is painful enough, God knows, to write it!
"Your position here, my dear sir, must have been anything but pleasant
for some time past. I regret that its uneasiness should have been
augmented, as I fear it has, by the influence of any one connected
with myself. My respect for you has been as undeviating as it is
sincere; and I have not to reproach myself with having uttered a word
concerning you or your family which I should be unwilling to repeat to
yourselves: but I am aware that the same cannot be said, with regard
to every one for whom I am in a manner answerable. In relation to
this unpleasant fact I can only say, that I entreat you to accept the
assurance of my deep regret and mortification.
"A new aspect of affairs has presented itself,--to me very suddenly,
as I trust you will believe, on my word of honour. A gentleman of
your profession, named Walcot, arrived last night, with a view to
settling in Deerbrook. The first inducement held out to him was the
medical charge of Mrs Enderby, and of the whole of my family: but, of
course, it is not probable that his expectations of practice among
your patients stop here; and the present unfortunate state of the
public mind of Deerbrook regarding yourself, makes it too probable
that his most sanguine expectations will be realised. I write this
with extreme pain; but I owe it to you not to disguise the truth,
however distasteful may be its nature.
"These being the circumstances of the case, it appears to me hopeless
to press the departure of Mr Walcot. And if he went away to-day, I
should fear that some one would arrive to-morrow to occupy his
position. Yet, my dear sir, justice must be done to you. After
protracted and anxious consideration, one mode of action has occurred
to me, by which atonement may be made to you, for what has passed.
Let me recommend it to your earnest and favourable consideration.
"Some other place of residence would, I should hope, yield you and
your family the consideration and comfort of which you have here been
most unjustly deprived. Elsewhere you might ensure the due reward of
that professional ability and humanity which we have shown ourselves
unworthy to appreciate. If you could reconcile yourself to removing,
with your family, I believe that the peace of our society would be
promoted, that unpleasant collisions of opinions and interests would
be avoided, and that that reparation would be made to you which I fear
would be impracticable here. All difficulty about the process of
removal might and should be obviated. To speak frankly, I should, in
that case, consider myself your debtor to such an amount as, by a
comparison of your losses and my means, should appear to us both to be
just. I believe I might venture to make myself answerable for so much
as would settle you in some more favourable locality, and enable you
to wait a moderate time for that appreciation of your professional
merits which would be certain to ensue.
"I need not add that, in case of your acceding to my proposition, all
idea of _obligation_ would be misplaced. I offer no more than I
consider actually your due. The circumstance of the father of a large
and rising family offering to become responsible to such an extent,
indicates that my sense of your claim upon me is very strong. I
should be glad to be relieved from it: and I therefore, once more,
beseech your best attention to my proposal,--_the latter particulars
of which have been confided to no person whatever_,--nor shall they
be, under any circumstances, unless you desire it.
"I shall await your reply with anxiety--yet with patience, as I am
aware that such a step as I propose cannot be decided on without some
reflection.
"I rejoice to find that your family have not suffered materially from
the outrages of last night. It was matter of sincere regret to me
that the unexpected arrival of my family at the very time prevented my
hastening to offer my best services to you and yours. The magistracy
will, of course, repair all damages; and then I trust no evil
consequences will survive.
"I beg my best compliments to Mrs Hope and Miss Ibbotson, and entreat
you to believe me, my dear sir,
"With the highest respect,
"Your obedient servant,
"H. Rowland."
For one moment Hester looked up in her husband's face, as he read this
letter in a subdued voice--for one moment she hoped he would make haste
to live elsewhere--in some place where he would again be honoured as he
once was here, and where all might be bright and promising as ever: but
that moment's gaze at her husband changed her thoughts and wishes. Her
colour rose with the same feelings which drew a deep seriousness over
his countenance.
"Mr Rowland means well," said Margaret; "but surely this will never
do."
"I hardly know what you would consider meaning well," replied Hope.
"Rowland would buy himself out of an affair which he has not the courage
to manage by nobler means. He would give hush-money for the concealment
of his wife's offences. He would bribe me from the assertion of my own
character, and would, for his private ends, stop the working out of the
question between Deerbrook and me. This is, to my mind, the real aspect
of his proposal, however persuaded he himself may be that he intends
peace to his neighbours, and justice to me. This letter," he continued,
waving it before him, "is worthy only of the fire, where I would put it
this moment, but that I suppose prudence requires that we should retain
in our own hands all evidence whatever relating to the present state of
our affairs."
"I do not exactly see what is to become of us," said Hester, cheerfully.
"Nor do I, love: but is not all the world in the same condition? How
much does the millionaire know of what is to intervene between to-day
and his death?"
"And the labouring classes," observed Margaret--"that prodigious
multitude of toiling, thinking, loving, trusting beings! How many of
them see further than the week which is coming round? And who spends
life to more purpose than some of them? They toil, they think, they
love, they obey, they trust; and who will say that the most secure in
worldly fortune are making a better start for eternity than they? They
see duty around them and God above them; and what more need they see?"
"You are right," said Hester. "What I said was cowardly. I wish I had
your faith."
"You have it," said her husband. "There was faith in your voice, and
nothing faithless in what you said. It is a simple truth, that we
cannot see our way before us. We must be satisfied to discern the duty
of the day, and for the future to do what we ought always to be
doing--`to walk by faith and not by sight.' Now, as to this present
duty, it seems to me very clear. It is my duty to offer moral
resistance to oppression, and to make a stand for my reputation. When
it pleases God that men should be overwhelmed by calumny, it is a
dreadful evil which must be borne as well as it may; but not without a
struggle. We must not too hastily conclude that this is to be the issue
in our case. We must stay and struggle for right and justice--struggle
for it, by living on with firm, patient, and gentle minds. This is
surely what we ought to do, rather than go away for the sake of ease,
leaving the prejudices of our neighbours in all their virulence, because
we have not strength to combat them, and letting the right succumb to
the wrong, for want of faith and constancy to vindicate it."
"Oh, we will stay!" cried Hester. "I will try to bear everything, and
be thankful to have to bear, for such reasons. It is all easy, love,
when you lay open your views of our life--when you give us your insight
into the providence of it. I believe I should have looked at it in this
way before, if you had been suffering in any great cause--any cause
manifestly great, because the welfare of many others was involved in it.
I see now that the principle of endurance and the duty of steadfastness
are the same, though--." And yet she paused, and bit her lip.
"Though the occasion looks insignificant enough," said her husband.
"True. Some might laugh at our having to appeal to our faith because we
have been mobbed on pretences which make us blush to think what nonsense
they are, and because a rival has come to supplant me in my profession.
But with all this we have nothing to do. The truth to us is, that we
are living in the midst of malice and hatred, and that poverty stares us
in the face. If these things are quite enough for our strength (and I
imagine we shall find they are so), we have no business to quarrel with
our trial because it is not of a grander kind. Well! wife and sister,
we stay. Is it not so? Then I will go and write to Mr Rowland."
The sisters were silent for some moments after he had left them.
Margaret was refreshing her flowers--the flowers which Philip had
brought in from the garden the day before. How precious were they now,
even above other flowers brought by the same hand--for not another
blossom was left in the desolate garden! Margaret was resolving
silently that she would keep these alive as long as she could, and then
dry them in memory of the place they came from, in its wedding trim.
Hester presently showed the direction her thoughts had taken, by
saying--
"I should think that it must be always possible for able and industrious
people, in health, to obtain bread."
"Almost always possible, provided they can cast pride behind them."
"Ah! I suspect that pride is the real evil of poverty--of gentlefolks'
poverty. I could not promise for my own part, to cast pride behind me:
but then, you know, it has pleased God to give me something to be proud
of, far different from rank and money. I could go to jail or the
workhouse with my husband without a blush. The agony of it would not be
from pride."
"Happily, we are sure of bread, mere bread," said Margaret, "for the
present, and for what we call certainty. What you and I have is enough
for bread."
"What I have can hardly be called sufficient for even that," said
Hester: "and you--I must speak my thankfulness for that--you will soon
be out of the reach of such considerations."
"Not soon: and I cannot separate my life from yours--I cannot fancy it.
Do not let us fancy it just now."
"Well, we will not. I am glad Susan has warning from me to go. It is
well that we began retrenching so soon. We must come to some full
explanation with Morris, that we may see what can best be done for her."
"She will never leave you while you will let her stay."
"It may be necessary to dismiss Charles. But we will wait to talk that
over with my husband. He will tell us what we ought to do. Was that a
knock at the door?"
"I rather think it was a feeble knock."
It was Mrs Grey, accompanied by Sydney. Mrs Grey's countenance wore
an expression of solemn misery, with a little of the complacency of
excitement under it. The occasion was too great for winks: mute grief
was the mood of the hour. Sydney was evidently full of awe. He seemed
hardly to like to come into the parlour. Margaret had to go to the
door, and laugh at him for his shyness. His mother's ideas were as much
deranged as his own, by the gaiety with which Hester received them,
boasting of the thorough ventilation of the room, and asking whether
Sophia did not think their bonfire surpassed the famous one at the last
election but one. Sophia had not seen anything of the fire of last
night. She had been so much agitated, that the whole family, Mr Grey
and all, had been obliged to exert themselves to compose her spirits.
Much as she had wished to come this morning, to make her inquiries in
person, she had been unable to summon courage to appear in the streets;
and indeed her parents could not press it--she had been so extremely
agitated! She was now left in Alice's charge.
Hester and Margaret hoped that when Sophia found there was nothing more
to fear, and that her cousins were perfectly well, she would be able to
spare Alice for some hours, to wait upon Miss Young. Maria's hostess
was with her now, and Margaret would spend the night with her again, if
a nurse could not be procured before that time. Mrs Grey had not
neglected Maria in her anxiety for her cousins. She was just going to
propose that Alice should be the nurse to-night, and had left word at
Miss Young's door that she herself would visit her for the hour and half
that people were in church. Her time this morning was therefore short.
She was rejoiced to see her young friends look so much like themselves--
so differently from what she had dared to expect. And Mr Hope--it was
not fair perhaps to ask where he was;--he had probably rather not have
it known where he might be found: (and here the countenance relaxed into
a winking frame). Not afraid to show himself abroad! Had been out
twice! and without any bad consequences! It would be a cordial to
Sophia to hear this, and a great relief to Mr Grey. But what courage!
It was a fine lesson for Sydney. If Mr Hope was really only writing,
and could spare a minute, it would be a comfort to see him. Hester went
for him. He had just finished his letter. She read and approved it,
and sat down to take a copy of it while her husband occupied her seat
beside Mrs Grey.
The wife let fall a few tears--tears of gentle sorrow and proud love,
not on her husband's letter (for not for the world would she have had
that letter bear a trace of tears), but on the paper on which she wrote.
The letter appeared to her very touching; but others might not think
so: there was so much in it which she alone could see! It took her only
a few minutes to copy it; but the copying gave her strength for all the
day. The letter was as follows:--
"My Dear Sir--Your letter expresses, both in its matter and phrase,
the personal regard which I have always believed you to entertain
towards me and mine. I cannot agree with you, however, in thinking
that the proceeding you propose involves real good to any of the
parties concerned in it. The peace of society in Deerbrook is not
likely to be permanently secured by such deference to ignorant
prejudice as would be expressed by the act of my departure; nor would
my wrongs be repaired by my merely leaving them behind me. I cannot
take money from your hands as the price of your tranquillity, and as a
commutation for my good name, and the just rewards of my professional
labours. My wife and I will not remove from Deerbrook. We shall
stay, and endeavour to discharge our duty, and to bear our wrongs,
till our neighbours learn to understand us better than they do.
"You will permit to say, with the respect which I feel, that we
sympathise fully in the distress of mind which you must be
experiencing. If you should find comfort in doing us manful justice,
we shall congratulate you yet more than ourselves: if not, we shall
grieve for you only the more deeply.
"My wife joins me in what I have said, and in kindly regards.
"Yours sincerely,
"Edward Hope."
Edward had left his seal with Hester. She sealed the letter, rang for
Charles, and charged him to deliver it into Mr Rowland's own hands,
placed the copy in her bosom to show to Margaret, and returned to the
parlour. Mrs Grey, who was alone with Hope, stopped short in what she
was saying.
"Go on," said Hope. "We have no secrets here, and no fears of being
frightened--for one another any more than for ourselves. Mrs Grey was
saying, my dear, that Mr Walcot is very popular here already; and that
everybody is going to church to see him."
Mrs Grey had half-a-dozen faults or oddities of Mr Walcot's to tell of
already; but she was quietly checked in the middle of her list by Mr
Hope, who observed that he was bound to exercise the same justice
towards Mr Walcot that he hoped to receive from him--to listen to no
evil of him which could not be substantiated: and it was certainly too
early yet for anything to be known about him by strangers, beyond what
he looked like.
"To go no deeper than his looks, then," continued Mrs Grey, "nobody can
pretend to admire them. He is extremely short. Have you heard how
short he is?"
"Yes; that inspired me with some respect for him, to begin with. I have
heard so much of my being too tall, all my life, that I am apt to feel a
profound veneration for men who have made the furthest escape from that
evil. By the way, my dear, I should not wonder if Enderby is disposed
in Walcot's favour by this, for he is even taller than I."
"I am surprised that you can joke on such a subject, Mr Hope. I assure
you, you are not the only sufferers by this extraordinary circumstance
of Mr Walcot's arrival. It is very hard upon us, that we are to have
him for an opposite neighbour--in Mrs Enderby's house, you know.
Sophia and I have been in the habit of observing that house, for the old
lady's sake, many times in a day. We scarcely ever looked out, but we
saw her cap over the blind, or some one or another was at the door,
about one little affair or another. It has been a great blank since she
was removed--the shutters shut, and the bills up, and nobody going and
coming. But now we can never look that way."
"I am afraid you will have to get Paxton to put up a weathercock for you
on his barn, so that you may look in the opposite direction for the
wind."
"Nay, Edward, it is really an evil," said Hester, "to have an unwelcome
stranger settled in an opposite house, where an old friend has long
lived. I can sympathise with Mrs Grey."
"So can I, my dear. It is an evil: but I should, under any
circumstances, hold myself free to look out of my window in any
direction--that is all. Do, Mrs Grey, indulge yourself so far."
"We cannot possibly notice him, you know. It must be distinctly
understood, that we can have nothing to say to an interloper like Mr
Walcot. Mr Grey is quite of my opinion. You will have our support in
every way, my dear sir; for it is perfectly plain to our minds, that all
this would not have happened but for your having married into our
connection so decidedly. But this intruder has been thought, and talked
about, by us more than he is worth. I want to hear all you can tell me
about the riot, Hester, love. Your husband has been giving me some idea
of it, but... Bless me! there is the first bell for church; and I ought
to have been at Miss Young's by this time. We must have the whole
story, some day soon; and, indeed, Sophia would quarrel with me for
hearing it when she is not by. Where is Sydney?"
Sydney and Margaret were in the garden, consulting about its
restoration. Sydney declared he would come and work at it every day
till it was cleared and planted. He would begin to-morrow with the
cairn for the rock-plants.
"I am glad the Levitts are to call after church," observed Mrs Grey.
"They always do what is proper, I must say; and not less towards
dissenters than their own people. I suppose Dr Levitt will consult
with you about the damages."
"Sooner or later, I have no doubt."
"Come, Sydney, we must be gone. You hear the bell. Sophia will be
quite revived by what I shall tell her, my dears. No--do not come out
to the door--I will not allow it, on my account. There is no knowing
what I might have to answer for, if you let yourself be seen at the door
on my account. I am sorry you will not come in this evening. Are you
quite determined? Well, perhaps Mr Grey will say you are right not to
leave your premises in the evening, at present. No; you must not say
anything about _our_ coming just now. We have not courage, really, for
that. Now hold your tongue, Sydney. It is out of the question--your
being out of our sight after dark. Good morning, my love."
As soon as Charles returned home, after having delivered the letter into
Mr Rowland's own hands, Mr Hope gathered his family together, for
their Sunday worship. The servants entered the room with countenances
full of the melancholy which they concluded, notwithstanding all
evidence to the contrary, that their master and mistress must be
experiencing: but, when service was over, they retired with the feeling
that the family-worship had never been more gladsome.