May heard the mention of her name, and, coming quietly towards her,
touched her on the arm. The Blind Girl turned immediately, and held her
by both hands.
"Look into my face, Dear heart, Sweet heart!" said Bertha. "Read it
with your beautiful eyes, and tell me if the truth is written on it."
"Dear Bertha, yes!"
The Blind Girl, still upturning the blank sightless face, down which the
tears were coursing fast, addressed her in these words:
"There is not, in my soul, a wish or thought that is not for your good,
bright May! There is not, in my soul, a grateful recollection stronger
than the deep remembrance which is stored there of the many many times
when, in the full pride of sight and beauty, you have had consideration
for Blind Bertha, even when we two were children, or when Bertha was as
much a child as ever blindness can be! Every blessing on your head!
Light upon your happy course! Not the less, my dear May,"--and she drew
towards her in a closer grasp,--"not the less, my bird, because, to-day,
the knowledge that you are to be His wife has wrung my heart almost to
breaking! Father, May, Mary! Oh, forgive me that it is so, for the sake
of all he has done to relieve the weariness of my dark life: and for the
sake of the belief you have in me, when I call Heaven to witness that I
could not wish him married to a wife more worthy of his goodness!"
While speaking, she had released May Fielding's hands, and clasped her
garments in an attitude of mingled supplication and love. Sinking lower
and lower down, as she proceeded in her strange confession, she dropped
at last at the feet of her friend, and hid her blind face in the folds
of her dress.
"Great Power!" exclaimed her father, smitten at one blow with the truth,
"have I deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at last?"
It was well for all of them that Dot, that beaming, useful, busy little
Dot--for such she was, whatever faults she had, and however you may
learn to hate her, in good time--it was well for all of them, I say,
that she was there, or where this would have ended, it were hard to
tell. But Dot, recovering her self-possession, interposed, before May
could reply, or Caleb say another word.
"Come, come, dear Bertha! come away with me! Give her your arm, May! So.
How composed she is, you see, already; and how good it is of her to mind
us," said the cheery little woman, kissing her upon the forehead. "Come
away, dear Bertha! Come! and here's her good father will come with her,
won't you, Caleb? To--be--sure!"
Well, well! she was a noble little Dot in such things, and it must have
been an obdurate nature that could have withstood her influence. When
she had got poor Caleb and his Bertha away, that they might comfort and
console each other, as she knew they only could, she presently came
bouncing back,--the saying is, as fresh as any daisy; _I_ say
fresher--to mount guard over that bridling little piece of consequence
in the cap and gloves, and prevent the dear old creature from making
discoveries.
"So bring me the precious Baby, Tilly," said she, drawing a chair to the
fire; "and while I have it in my lap, here's Mrs. Fielding, Tilly, will
tell me all about the management of Babies, and put me right in twenty
points where I'm as wrong as can be. Won't you, Mrs. Fielding?"
Not even the Welsh Giant, who, according to the popular expression, was
so "slow" as to perform a fatal surgical operation upon himself, in
emulation of a juggling trick achieved by his arch enemy at
breakfast-time; not even he fell half so readily into the snare prepared
for him as the old lady into this artful pitfall. The fact of Tackleton
having walked out; and furthermore, of two or three people having been
talking together at a distance, for two minutes, leaving her to her own
resources; was quite enough to have put her on her dignity, and the
bewailment of that mysterious convulsion in the Indigo Trade, for
four-and-twenty hours. But this becoming deference to her experience, on
the part of the young mother, was so irresistible, that after a short
affectation of humility, she began to enlighten her with the best grace
in the world; and, sitting bolt upright before the wicked Dot, she did,
in half an hour, deliver more infallible domestic recipes and precepts
than would (if acted on) have utterly destroyed and done up that Young
Peerybingle, though he had been an Infant Samson.
To change the theme, Dot did a little needlework--she carried the
contents of a whole workbox in her pocket; however she contrived it, _I_
don't know--then did a little nursing; then a little more needlework;
then had a little whispering chat with May, while the old lady dozed;
and so in little bits of bustle, which was quite her manner always,
found it a very short afternoon. Then, as it grew dark, and as it was a
solemn part of this Institution of the Picnic that she should perform
all Bertha's household tasks, she trimmed the fire, and swept the
hearth, and set the tea-board out, and drew the curtain, and lighted a
candle. Then she played an air or two on a rude kind of harp, which
Caleb had contrived for Bertha, and played them very well; for Nature
had made her delicate little ear as choice a one for music as it would
have been for jewels, if she had had any to wear. By this time it was
the established hour for having tea; and Tackleton came back again to
share the meal, and spend the evening.
Caleb and Bertha had returned some time before, and Caleb had sat down
to his afternoon's work. But he couldn't settle to it, poor fellow,
being anxious and remorseful for his daughter. It was touching to see
him sitting idle on his working stool, regarding her so wistfully, and
always saying in his face, "Have I deceived her from her cradle, but to
break her heart?"
When it was night, and tea was done, and Dot had nothing more to do in
washing up the cups and saucers; in a word--for I must come to it, and
there is no use in putting it off--when the time drew nigh for expecting
the Carrier's return in every sound of distant wheels, her manner
changed again, her colour came and went, and she was very restless. Not
as good wives are when listening for their husbands. No, no, no. It was
another sort of restlessness from that.
Wheels heard. A horse's feet. The barking of a dog. The gradual approach
of all the sounds. The scratching paw of Boxer at the door!
"Whose step is that?" cried Bertha, starting up.
"Whose step?" returned the Carrier, standing in the portal, with his
brown face ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night air. "Why, mine."
"The other step," said Bertha. "The man's tread behind you!"
"She is not to be deceived," observed the Carrier, laughing. "Come
along, sir. You'll be welcome, never fear!"
He spoke in a loud tone; and, as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman
entered.
"He's not so much a stranger that you haven't seen him once, Caleb,"
said the Carrier. "You'll give him house room till we go?"
"Oh, surely, John, and take it as an honour!"
"He's the best company on earth to talk secrets in," said John. "I have
reasonable good lungs, but he tries 'em I can tell you. Sit down, sir.
All friends here, and glad to see you!"
When he had imparted this assurance, in a voice that amply corroborated
what he had said about his lungs, he added in his natural tone, "A chair
in the chimney-corner, and leave to sit quite silent and look pleasantly
about him, is all he cares for. He's easily pleased."
Bertha had been listening intently. She called Caleb to her side, when
he had set the chair, and asked him, in a low voice, to describe their
visitor. When he had done so (truly now, with scrupulous fidelity), she
moved, for the first time since he had come in, and sighed, and seemed
to have no further interest concerning him.
The Carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was, and fonder of
his little wife than ever.
"A clumsy Dot she was, this afternoon!" he said, encircling her with his
rough arm, as she stood, removed from the rest; "and yet I like her
somehow. See yonder, Dot!"
He pointed to the old man. She looked down. I think she trembled.
"He's--ha, ha, ha!--he's full of admiration for you!" said the Carrier.
"Talked of nothing else the whole way here. Why, he's a brave old boy! I
like him for it!"
"I wish he had a better subject, John," she said with an uneasy glance
about the room. At Tackleton especially.
"A better subject!" cried the jovial John. "There's no such thing. Come!
off with the great-coat, off with the thick shawl, off with the heavy
wrappers! and a cosy half-hour by the fire. My humble service, mistress.
A game at cribbage, you and I? That's hearty. The cards and board, Dot.
And a glass of beer here, if there's any left, small wife!"
His challenge was addressed to the old lady, who, accepting it with
gracious readiness, they were soon engaged upon the game. At first, the
Carrier looked about him sometimes with a smile, or now and then called
Dot to peep over his shoulder at his hand, and advise him on some knotty
point. But his adversary being a rigid disciplinarian, and subject to an
occasional weakness in respect of pegging more than she was entitled to,
required such vigilance on his part, as left him neither eyes nor ears
to spare. Thus, his whole attention gradually became absorbed upon the
cards; and he thought of nothing else, until a hand upon his shoulder
restored him to a consciousness of Tackleton.
"I am sorry to disturb you--but a word directly."
"I'm going to deal," returned the Carrier. "It's a crisis."
"It is," said Tackleton. "Come here, man!"
There was that in his pale face which made the other rise immediately,
and ask him, in a hurry, what the matter was.
"Hush! John Peerybingle," said Tackleton, "I am sorry for this. I am
indeed. I have been afraid of it. I have suspected it from the first."
"What is it?" asked the Carrier with a frightened aspect.
"Hush! I'll show you, if you'll come with me."
The Carrier accompanied him without another word. They went across a
yard, where the stars were shining, and by a little side-door, into
Tackleton's own counting-house, where there was a glass window,
commanding the ware-room, which was closed for the night. There was no
light in the counting-house itself, but there were lamps in the long
narrow ware-room; and consequently the window was bright.
"A moment!" said Tackleton. "Can you bear to look through that window,
do you think?"
"Why not?" returned the Carrier.
"A moment more," said Tackleton. "Don't commit any violence. It's of no
use. It's dangerous too. You're a strong-made man; and you might do
murder before you know it."
The Carrier looked him in the face, and recoiled a step as if he had
been struck. In one stride he was at the window, and he saw----
Oh, Shadow on the Hearth! Oh, truthful Cricket! Oh, perfidious wife!
He saw her with the old man--old no longer, but erect and
gallant--bearing in his hand the false white hair that had won his way
into their desolate and miserable home. He saw her listening to him, as
he bent his head to whisper in her ear; and suffering him to clasp her
round the waist, as they moved slowly down the dim wooden gallery
towards the door by which they had entered it. He saw them stop, and saw
her turn--to have the face, the face he loved so, so presented to his
view!--and saw her, with her own hands, adjust the lie upon his head,
laughing, as she did it, at his unsuspicious nature!
He clenched his strong right hand at first, as if it would have beaten
down a lion. But, opening it immediately again, he spread it out before
the eyes of Tackleton (for he was tender of her even then), and so, as
they passed out, fell down upon a desk, and was as weak as any infant.
He was wrapped up to the chin, and busy with his horse and parcels, when
she came into the room, prepared for going home.
"Now, John dear! Good night, May! Good night, Bertha!"
Could she kiss them? Could she be blithe and cheerful in her parting?
Could she venture to reveal her face to them without a blush? Yes.
Tackleton observed her closely, and she did all this.
Tilly was hushing the baby, and she crossed and recrossed Tackleton a
dozen times, repeating drowsily:
"Did the knowledge that it was to be its wives, then, wring its hearts
almost to breaking; and did its fathers deceive it from its cradles but
to break its hearts at last!"
"Now, Tilly, give me the Baby! Good night, Mr. Tackleton. Where's John,
for goodness' sake?"
"He's going to walk beside the horse's head," said Tackleton; who helped
her to her seat.
"My dear John! Walk? To-night?"
The muffled figure of her husband made a hasty sign in the affirmative;
and, the false stranger and the little nurse being in their places, the
old horse moved off. Boxer, the unconscious Boxer, running on before,
running back, running round and round the cart, and barking as
triumphantly and merrily as ever.
When Tackleton had gone off likewise, escorting May and her mother home,
poor Caleb sat down by the fire beside his daughter; anxious and
remorseful at the core; and still saying, in his wistful contemplation
of her, "Have I deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at
last?"
The toys that had been set in motion for the Baby had all stopped and
run down long ago. In the faint light and silence, the imperturbably
calm dolls, the agitated rocking-horses with distended eyes and
nostrils, the old gentlemen at the street-doors, standing half doubled
up upon their failing knees and ankles, the wry-faced nut-crackers, the
very Beasts upon their way into the Ark, in twos, like a Boarding-School
out walking, might have been imagined to be stricken motionless with
fantastic wonder at Dot being false, or Tackleton beloved, under any
combination of circumstances.